panquin Reviews

Brotherhood of the Wolf (2001)

A damn good movie, with damned annoying distractions

[7/10 · 4 June 2007]

Someone in the comments called Brotherhood of the Wolf a great B-movie, and that is my take on this film - a superb diversion that doesn't insult your intelligence or waste your time in any way, but that, essentially, is a slight bit of Saturday-matinée semi-fluff. It's fun, it's historically accurate (right down to all the characters' names, save Mani), it's a period piece from one of history's most colorful periods (pre-revolutionary/revolutionary France)...hell, even the music is worth listening to (oh rarest of rare things!). Other wonders this movie deals in (that, again, are rare-to-nonexistent in 21st-century film-making): able acting, stars that aren't hyper-pretty (save, um, Monica Belluci, and her prettiness is quite contextual) and a very solid screenplay. However...

...you may've noticed I didn't mention those fight scenes that seem to send everyone over the hyperbolic edge - you know, the oh-so-super-cool Matrix-style fight scenes. Hey, okay, they're impressive, and as far as they're crucial to the story, they're necessary. But the direction of them using excessive slo-mo and crazed martial arts was (to my mind) utterly and totally fatuous, because when they happen they (ironically) distract from the ever- catapulting story that stops dead when the fights kick in. Also, generally, the direction was sound, but again, why the excessive use of slo-mo? It just got damned silly. The friend I borrowed this movie from reminded me that, when BOTW came out, Crouching Tiger and Matrix were all the rage, so of course this film went a bit over the deep end with the fights and slo-mo nonsense, and I can understand that...but...having seen it for the first time only a few days ago, I can tell you this: that style only hinders, only dilutes. It's like in the '80s, when established rock bands were going synth-crazy (Rush's Power Windows, for example), and you listen now and realize, "My God, cheese ages better than this." Ditto BOTW's heavy doses of absurd flying humans and slo-mo. Hasn't aged well, Mr. Gans.*

*To be honest, as much as I love the Matrix, that film's got the same problems when viewed in 2007. When the fights happen, it's hard to know whether to laugh or yawn or both at once.

The Departed (2006)

Pretty awful...I have to say, I hated it

[3/10 · 20 February 2007]

I'm giving The Departed 3 stars pretty much for getting the film in the camera, and those cameras' ultimate direction by one of the greats, Martin Scorsese. But I'm being nice doing that, because this movie is really quite an awful thing to deal with. Awful to watch; awful to hear; awful to experience. Just plain awful.

Where do I begin? First, the script: it's DOA. I've not seen the original movie The Departed is based on, but apparently the script is tighter than a flea's a**. If so, The Departed does indeed vary from the original in that regard - not Swiss cheese-style holes, but not exactly seamless and tight either. Second, the cell phones. I wanted to laugh out loud in inappropriate places when a cell phone in the movie went off for the 1,000th time. Laughable, and utterly without grace, and if you hated cell phones before, you'll really despise them after The Departed. Third, I didn't care about any character enough to care about what happened to them, whether maimed or killed or something in between. That's not good, you know? That's just about the worst thing you can say about a given story in general/film in particular, but The Departed has not-caring in bucketfuls when it comes to character. Take your pick, try to adhere to the character's base, see if you give a crap whether they're blown to smithereens or not. You won't.

Jack Nicholson was ludicrously over the top - a Caligula for the ages who has (possibly) lost all respect for the acting form. Am I saying he's lost his acting chops? No; hardly. I'm saying that respect for the craft of acting has gone into utter and complete hiding. He treated his role in The Departed as a raft of pleasure built solely for his riding, a king both on screen and off, and I could care less, normally, except that Jack's character suffers due to Jack's excesses. And who wins when that happens?

Vampires (1998)

Good, vicious entertainment

[8/10 · 6 February 2007]

This slight movie, which won't win any awards, which (presumably) didn't further the careers of anyone involved in its making, is - to my mind - the perfect movie, on many levels. First: the myth of the vampire is tweaked and twisted just enough to make Vampires pretty original in its treatment of these thoroughly well-known creatures. Second: the music (by John Carpenter) is spot-on perfect, and owns your brain for days - and, unlike so many movies, isn't obtrusive in the slightest; it's a perfect fit. Third: in the strange realm of the cartoonish, where earnestness and silliness must exquisitely commingle for a movie (or book, or whatever) to be "believable," well, in that strange realm Vampires succeeds beautifully. And that is sure no easy feat.

P.S. Thought I'd be safe and check "spoiler" pertaining to my critique of director/ screenwriter treatment of a female character in this film. Some viewers of Vampires will find Sheryl Lee's character's treatment to be offensive in the extreme re: misogyny/sexism/ violence against women, and as a progressive, enlightened male, it's a charge that's hard to refute. I personally think the character in question could've gone through the versions of hell she goes through and not, say, be tied naked to a bed in the process (there is nothing in her nakedness that's crucial to the scene at hand, or the movie in general; it's 100% gratuitous, meant solely for the titillation of the males in the audience, and as a male I am indeed offended by that). I also don't think it was necessary to treat Sheryl Lee's character post- vampire with total callousness, even though I understand where the filmmakers are coming from with this; they're saying she's a vampire, these vampire hunters despise vampires and, therefore, her treatment's going to be abysmal, which fits character-wise and story-wise. That's a fine argument except for one niggling detail, which is, when you pornographize to the extent which Sheryl Lee is pornographized, you're not overriding the sexually desirable with the vampirically wretched, not by any stretch. You're only dealing in sex and desirability - and given that her keeper in the scene in question (Daniel Baldwin) doesn't desire her at all, the filmmakers can't even say it's contextual. It's just plain misogyny, period.

The Omega Man (1971)

Awful film, awfully destroying a brilliant novel

[1/10 · 23 January 2007]

This movie's faults are manifold, almost without measure - it's hard to know just where to begin. The absolutely unbelievable plot? The execrable direction? The so-bad-it's-inspired music? The total lack of tension? Yeah, I don't know where to begin, but I'll tell you this: if you want to waste your money and time watching a movie that defiles cinema, really insults the hell out of it, please, check out Omega Man. It's not the worst movie ever made, but it's no Ed Wood movie, either.

And to think that this movie is "based" (yeah right) on I Am Legend, a novel that should've been brought straight over, vampires and all. I will never understand why in God's name Hollywood gets excited about a novel/story - theoretically, um, because the story is brilliant (a safe assumption, no?) - and decides the first thing that's gonna happen is a gutting of said story's magic, from the inside out. That's the relationship between I Am Legend and Omega Man, with the former a taut, smart, terrifying thrill-fest that's eminently cinematic and the latter...well, just another terrifyingly bad movie. Which the world needed, right? Even in 1971? Apparently.

Like I say, I cannot understand why the novel's main feature - vampirism - wasn't carried over to the film. Were vampires dead (as it were) in 1971? Totally uncool or something? I wish I could figure that out. Because the Family is not scary, not even a little bit, but the things in I Am Legend? Oh yeah, they're scary, to the point of being very F'd up.

Alas. I knew in my heart this movie was gonna suck, and it did suck. I hate when that happens. I crave being proved wrong. Didn't happen this time.

Don't waste your time on this. Read I Am Legend instead, believe me. Or, if you've already read it, go on a hike or something. But don't waste precious life-moments taking this dreck in. I did it for you.

The Body Snatcher (1945)

Textured loveliness...you are there

[10/10 · 14 January 2007]

This is such a beautiful movie, on so many levels - and clocking in at 78 minutes, it proves you can tell a complete, character-rich, plot-detailed story in under, say, 2 hours, or even an hour and a half...a wonderful experience; a drenching experience, in terms of Scotland and the 18th/19th-century doctor's craft, the reality of grave robbers and Robert Louis Stevenson's fervid imagination. And I don't even care if this movie deviates from Mr. Stevenson's original story-vision (I don't know how much it does or doesn't; I've never read the original story, but I'd like to now). This is a movie based in an almost old-world craftsman's style. And besides being in black and white and starring Boris Karloff, it literally could not be made again. Nothing this magical possibly could.

There are so many moments that radiate and captivate that I wouldn't know where to begin. Every last bit of casting is genius, and then some. Every camera angle is object simplicity, yet you can't help but think it took days to set the camera at just the right angle, allowing you to forget - and here's real genius for you - cameras are involved at all. You feel as if a book came to life in your midst (another example of this is Roger Corman's version of Poe's The Premature Burial, where you could almost swear you're a voyeur, that you're either dreaming the action or a miracle's taken place and the paper pages of a book are dancing before your eyes).

The producer of this movie is Val Lewton, and my DVD version is paired with I Walked With a Zombie, a Jaques Tourneur-directed marvel that's eminently worth your eyeballs' happy roving. Robert Wise directed The Body Snatcher, and it's a tribute to his boundless gifts that this movie is the perfect, seamless diversion from life's present-moment troubles. What's really astounding, though, is the evocation of old Scotland, in particular Edinburgh, and having spent time in that country and city, I can only say that everything's as it should be, everything's as I remember it - although, truthfully (and obviously), I don't remember it quite like this. I wasn't there 200+ years ago. And yeah, it'd be a hard life, transitioning from now to then, but...movies like this make you want to leap through the screen, you know? They make you want to feel a harder, more brutal but richer time.

See this. Just go and see this.

Heavy Metal (1981)

Took me 25 years to see it...

[9/10 · 19 December 2006]

...and I'm damned glad I did.

I slapped on headphones and put the DVD in the Macbook and set sail for a better time's stony realms...I read comments saying "If only this movie were made now, it would be so much better, blah blah blah," and that's the biggest crock of horsesh*t I've ever heard. If it were made now, it would be slicker than slick, void of soul, with the wretched music of our age providing the soundtrack. Heavy Metal circa 1981 has the texture and imperfect beauty that sustaining, lasting art must possess; think Miles Davis' Bi*ches Brew or Sketches of Spain, or the Rolling Stones' Exile on Main Street - that's where Heavy Metal lives. It's not perfect, parts of it are quite flawed, but as a whole, even the flaws are beautiful gems to behold, and I tell you, for every voice barking on about Heavy Metal's flaws being too much to take, I say this: you take your Saw and remakes of Texas Chainsaw and The Omen and whatever else your fetid college brains latch onto as broken things that need fixing, and we'll take Heavy Metal and the original versions of the horror movies mentioned and be artistically far richer. But you're not after richness in art, are you? You're after eye-candy and digitally rendered starscapes, aren't you? Yes, you are. And you're beggars with moldy bread because of it.

Heavy Metal is a classic, and I'll be first to admit that it's got problems, but believe it or not, problems sometimes add to a classic's being considered a classic in the first place. Exhibit A: Heavy Metal. Watch, listen and learn, youngsters.

Quintet (1979)

A deeply strange movie, full of disturbance

[7/10 · 19 December 2006]

If you're a science fiction fan and you think you're in possession of every sci-fi movie out there that matters - but you haven't seen or don't own Quintet - you have a gaping hole to deal with, for Quintet is essential viewing. It's not perfect, it's maddening at times, but as a wholly unique take on the future (and unspecified future events) it's required viewing, believe it.

Quintet is, first off, an American director's (conscious or unconscious, I'm not sure) European-movie excursion - or, it's more akin to, say, a French director's style than an American's. Very long shots of pinpoint-sized characters as they move slow as molasses into full view; utterly spare dialogue; women from a Bergman film; relentless singularity of vision; and nothing given away, no easy answers, fields of question marks all around. A slight movie, in a way...the barest bit of celluloid, with a relative few actors and a rather oblique plot. But the movie sears itself into your brain, and even though you'll never need to see it again after the first viewing (if you're like me), you're not gonna forget it.

It should also be mentioned that one of the great feats of Quintet is featuring the very environment itself as an actorly presence, something to be reckoned with - or, more precisely, cold itself as an actorly presence. This movie, next to Fargo, renders the latter a Hawaiian romp, when it comes to the depiction of bone-shivering cold. You cannot watch this movie, even in Arizona, and resist quaking along with the actors. Probably the most believable movie re: pure environmental cold I've ever seen. Which of course matches the goings-on of the story...but you'll have to find that out for yourself.

See Quintet, and witness a great director's creative restlessness touching the sci-fi genre in a completely original way. It's like nothing you've ever seen. And it will, in your depths, despite yourself, trouble you.

Manhunter (1986)

An okay movie that means well but dies of overstylization

[6/10 · 23 October 2006]

The raw materials of a damn good film are here, but Mann's typically awful (and I mean hideous) musical choices (at least for his 80s movies) are on full display in Manhunter, and the first bit of remedy would be to chuck every song and piece of music, bar none, and either (1) don't feature any music or (2) bring on the musical subtlety (not Mann's strongest point). Then I would shake the actress playing the protagonist's wife, an entirely unbelievable and utterly annoying Hollywood-style wife, and jettison her, rewrite the part and make that character way marginal. Lastly, I'd give in to the story and shed the endless reams of style that are - yes - taking up the story's space, to quite annoying effect. All of these remedies would help make the movie less about Michael Mann and his direction and more about the story that direction is supposed to be...well, directing, you know? And I guess that's problem #1 with Manhunter: it's more about the director than about the unfolding supposed-to-be- engrossing story itself.

What's amazing is that Hannibal Lecter doesn't scare in the slightest, and suspense just isn't happening here. Even revulsion isn't happening, and it should be present in bucketfuls. There just isn't any hit to the gut that the movie's working (supposedly) to give you. Very disappointing.

I just wish I hadn't bought it. Oh well.

The Big Clock (1948)

A Weak Movie that Just Doesn't Pull It Off

[5/10 · 9 October 2006]

I'd been wanting to see The Big Clock for a while, and when I finally slipped it into the DVD player, the excitement was fairly palpable (that's true, no kidding). Oh, what a misbegotten letdown it ended up being! A silly piece of fluffy nothingness that wastes quality actors, always a crying shame.

I made the mistake of buying this movie and I Wake Up Screaming together, as my sum-total "payday" films (I buy at least two every payday). I of course didn't know how strong/weak they were, as I never read reviews before I see films, and I never will, but...well, this one wasn't as bad as IWUS (that movie was pure wretchedness) but it was still pretty darned bad. Or - better - it was just plain uninteresting, easy to figure out and preposterous in more than few places. Sometimes that's okay, sometimes it's not. It was just barely okay in The Big Clock, although hardly okay enough to warrant any viewing beyond the first one, and tell me, is that not the joy of noir? Multiple viewings, and beyond?

If you ever see it and you tell me that the ending wasn't tacked on in desperation, I'll know you're lying. What a horrific waste, Ray Milland and Charles Laughton (picking at his undoubtedly fake mustache with his pinkie to hilariously distracting ends) acting to do no more than pick up paychecks. Depressing.

I Wake Up Screaming (1941)

Irredeemable Dreck...a Waste of Film

[3/10 · 9 October 2006]

I wish I had the least bit of positivity I could throw in this movie's direction...but...alas, I do not. This is what I call a "heartbreaking noir," because that's what it does - it breaks your noir-loving heart, and into tiny pieces at that.

In a nutshell, I'd put it this way: first of all, this is no film noir. This is the category known as gangster (where you'll find White Heat and Public Enemy and The Roaring Twenties, for example), so shame on Fox for utterly mislabeling this. (And a single noir-redolent shot, thrown in as if somebody said, "Hey, this'll be cool!" sure doesn't count.) Second, the story is idiot hokum of the lowest order, shamelessly imbecilic and easy/pointless to figure out (and if I'm saying that, a person who rarely figures out that X is the murderer before the final frame, then we're talking radical hokum for sure...I figured out X was the murderer before 20 minutes was up). It just doesn't hold your interest, no matter how high your disbelief is suspended. Third, the title is miles beyond misnomer, it's just plain unhinged, it's as if some studio suit absolutely insisted I Wake Up Screaming be the title, or it was originally a monster movie and every last monster scene was cut out. (Which may be true, given a Frankenstein line Carole Landis utters.) Fourth...oh forget fourth. It's just bad, bad, bad, all day long, and understand, I'm a film-noir fanatic. But I guess that's the thing - I take these films damn seriously; they have to at least be minutely engaging, you know?

Sometimes you luck out, you score a noir that's not super-great as a movie but it doesn't matter, the joys far outweigh the sorrows. This is not one of those films. In fact, I'd call this contemptuous on every level, crap from 1941 that's no different from crap in 2006, except for the heartbreak. This ain't no Somewhere in the Night, an imperfect film that's thoroughly joyful nonetheless, saturated as it is with exquisite film-noirisms. I'd say stay away from this unless you're a hardcore Victor Mature/Betty Grable fan or old movies, no matter their quality, are narcotics for you.

Hope I wasn't too hard on it!

V for Vendetta (2005)

A piece of crap by any other name

[3/10 · 8 September 2006]

V for Vainglorious, more like.

This film was awful - every moment, every frame. Oh sure, it looked great, and being a serious progressive, its politics (worn with prejudice on its sleeve) were spot-on. But that's hardly enough as a sum-total artistic/movie experience. 20,000 miles from enough.

My problems? The dialogue - atrocious. The story - vapid. The characters - beyond V (and the screenwriter's "Hey I know big words and I bet if I string enough of them together it'll sound real intelligent-like!" tendencies re: V's monologues), utterly forgettable. (And that's saying something, considering Stephen Rea and John Hurt were in the cast. If you can waste them, you can waste anything.) The cinematography - gorgeous. The music - wretched, and then some. The politics - like I say, spot-on, but delivered with all the grace of a skyscraper- dropped anvil. The mask - fantastic. And the day you find a mask that carries a film all by itself, please, let me know, because this sure wasn't that film.

I absolutely abhor movies these days; V is a shining example of why. In a nutshell, it's artless, soulless, graceless, and not in the least possession of anything magical about movies. This movie was made 22 years ago, and it was called 1984, and it also starred John Hurt, and it was directed by Michael Radford; see 1984, and stay away from this stinking rubbish. Unless you want a primer on how to make an inartistic blunt instrument that's boring as hell and feces-stupid.

Possessed (1947)

Pure brilliance...a Gothic wonderland

[9/10 · 26 April 2006]

This movie takes the smoldering talents of Joan Crawford and lets them burn the screen down, right before your eyes...she's utterly convincing as a fairly demented "possessed" lover, torn to pieces by hideous dysfunction. The lowest of lows, and not many highs...

Mildred Pierce laid the template down; Possessed fills the template and makes it its own. What I personally love is the "Hollywood Gothic" aspect, the redolence of that: every frame is steeped in it, every moment is cradled in its embrace. One of those movies that you watch, mouth agape, and whisper to yourself, "Christ, the aesthetics...was the world ever really like that?" Apparently so.

Oh, and for the record - it was a better world.

Saw (2004)

Violent porno/pornographic violence - not a horror film, just know that

[2/10 · 19 April 2006]

I watched this execrable dreck about 2 weeks ago, and it was one of THOSE experiences, one of those "Please, let me have those 2 hours back" experiences all film buffs fear and loathe beyond loathing. This is not a "film," per se; it's merely filmed. There is a difference.

Don't worry about spoilers. The real spoiler is the film itself. It reminds me of teenagers sitting around and saying, "Hey, I can think of a REALLY sick way for someone to die." That's precisely what this film is - filmed sickness. That Cary Elwes and Danny Glover (Danny Glover for God's sakes!) are in this movie at all speaks, I can only assume, to economic distress on their parts. Or, perhaps, a reading of the script over too many martinis. If I were either of them, I'd put a VERY large asterisk on my resume, like, pronto. Dissociating from this movie would be goals number 1, 2, 3...

The horror genre is a mythic one, holy to those of us who truly love it. This movie purports to be, wants to be, dies (if you will) to be a horror movie, but it assuredly is not one. It is a terror movie. And if that's your kind of genre - if you're into terror and its employments, while paradoxically NOT being terrified yourself, merely sickened 'n angered - then run, don't walk, to see Saw. But if you love the art of movies and the horror genre, I beg you, don't besmirch your psyche with this one. I watched it for you, and I offer my suffering through it to you, as a gift.

I sure as Hell wouldn't censor this, never ever. But I sure would toss it into flames, over and over again. Oh yes. I surely would.

The Lost Weekend (1945)

If you've experienced addiction, you know this movie's true

[10/10 · 13 April 2006]

From the very first shot of a bottle dangling from a window, to the last shots of a (hallucinated) bat eating a mouse (with accompanying blood running down the wall, one of the most gruesome and horrifying things I've ever seen on film, and we're talking 1945 here!), TLW is as dark as it gets - and, happily, as smart as it gets, too. But this IS a Billy Wilder film, so dark/smart, though appreciated, aren't that much of a surprise.

This is one of those beautiful movies where everything makes sense, from the Academy Awards it received to the well-deserved mantle it rests upon in movie history. And it's not pretty, not in the slightest, dealing as it does in alcoholism's terrifying DTs, as well as basic addiction's I-can't-shake-you-I-can-only-think-of-you whiskey/heroin/cocaine/cigarettes (merely plug the drug of choice into the movie's template and you have flaming, righteous addict's Hell for your spellbound perusal).

I was fascinated by the fact that TLW operates as a kind of corrective to the typical 20s, 30s and 40s depiction of alcohol as social lubricant - you know, "Hey, how's it going, glad you could come by, want a drink?" And that could be at noon, 3 in the afternoon, whenever...sometimes, even the morning. TLW grabs you by throat and drags you through the gutter with Ray Milland, stooping to the lowest human levels imaginable to wet his lips and come alive - and it's there, in the fleshing-out of the addict's "coming alive, feeling great" post-drug-use bliss-begotten rush, that TLW really gets it, and I say that as someone who knows. The detail of Milland being a writer who doesn't write, and who can't even THINK of writing before liquor's in his system, is spot-on, absolutely true. It truly gives the lie to the romantic ideal of, say, Raymond Chandler, or the myth of the alcoholic writer in general. Many, many, many writers have shriveled their livers via Milland's character's route, and the fact they may have been more prolific and functional doesn't really matter, once said livers are analyzed...really, pretty sad.

See this movie. Own it. It's crucial.

Year of the Dragon (1985)

Obviously a movie that saw many vicious cuts

[4/10 · 13 April 2006]

My memory of this movie (which I saw on video in the late 80s) was that it was a fantastic example of 80s/Michael Cimino controlled excess - or, that it rocked, along the lines of To Live and Die in L.A. (which, to my mind, is a preeminent movie from any era, but a particularly gorgeous 80s gem). How sad to have been initially excited to find YOTD on DVD at Target, buy it, wait for the perfect moment to watch it, and then...to realize my memory was more gauze-wrapped and imperfect than I'd ever want to admit. For YOTD was a serious, unqualified letdown.

Why? Pretty simple answer: obvious, wholesale editing, undoubtedly to trim a studio- ordered "too long" length, that's why. Certain characters remain on the periphery and are never fleshed out (the portly and thoroughly unattractive - in ever way - police partner of Mickey Rourke, for example), bizarre appendages that don't help the plot at all; scenes that stretch credulity over coals and are literally impossible to believe (the takeover of Ariane's apartment by Rourke and his two pals; what the hell led to this?); the obviously important marriage/breakup of Rourke's character, with his wife acting 100% unnatural and unbelievable almost the whole time (any scene involving Rourke and his wife are the dictionary definition of "truncated'); and the lurching incoherence that simply owns the film at, oh, 45 minutes or so in. And what's utterly frustrating is this: every actor is in fine form; every scene is beautifully shot; and there's enough of a story and plot line present that it seems ludicrous to blame Oliver Stone's script - Oliver Stone, who'd direct Platoon a year later and who had the screenplay for Midnight Express already under his belt. No, there are assuredly yards and yards of film somewhere, slowly rotting puzzle pieces, that flesh YOTD out proper and render it the glorious epic Cimino wanted. But you can bet some studio exec got the bright idea people wouldn't want to sit for 3.5 or 4 hours, so...well, that's the oldest story in the world, isn't it? Or, at least, the oldest story in Hollywood.

In summation: YOTD is the saddest sort of film - a hobbling thing, a dysfunctional-but- gorgeous-at-times handicapped epic, blighted by cruel scissors, dead on arrival. And even though almost every character in this film is repugnant, it's even more repugnant to cut their legs off and ask them to walk. I hope the actors were angry about that. You just know Michael Cimino was.