This Week in Rixflix #16: June 23-29, 2017

I am not sure if I am more excited about getting a chance to take TCM's online course about Alfred Hitchcock throughout the month of July, or the fact that they are showing over 40 of his films on their network around the same time. Granted, I do already own the bulk of his films from 1934 (starting with the original version of The Man Who Knew Too Much) through his final film in 1976 (Family Plot, which is the only Hitchcock film that I got the chance to see in a theatre upon its initial release). The other thing to take for granted is that I have seen most of his films in that span as well, with just a couple of outliers (having only missed 1937's Young and Innocent and 1953's I Confess, which I do own but haven't watched).

But they are showing most of his extant silent films and the bulk of his early British sound films, and that is where I really need to do a bit of catching up, as it were. Of his silents, the only one that I have ever watched all the way through is his breakthrough in 1927 with The Lodger, his tale of a Jack the Ripper type on the loose and the suspicions of the denizens of a boarding house over whether an odd man staying there might be the suspect. I am really excited to see the films just before The Lodger to see just where the Hitchcock style truly got going; The Lodger definitely shows him to already have developed some of the weapons in his arsenal, though he was still just under a decade away from his first great period, and he really hadn't truly settled on the thriller as his primary canvas.

In the meantime, I did finish going through the films from the Western course, which I wanted to get out of the way before I began the Hitchcock thing this week. Within this time, though outside of the course's range of interest, I watched two more John Wayne films I had not recorded yet as having seen: The Comancheros (1961) and The Undefeated (1969). 

Let me restate that: I thought that I had not seen either one before, but in watching each one, I am not so sure now. Seeing Stuart Whitman's Southern gentleman in the first film, and the quite similar role played by Rock Hudson in the second, both men sparked recognition in my soul. Entire scenes seemed to trigger a sense of deja vu in my mind whenever they were on screen, and I am now pretty certain I must have encountered both films in my childhood. I have said before that it is unusual for me not to remember a film that I saw in my youth, as I am crazily connected to cinema as my chief means of true escape from the world. However, I did not really come fully into that sense until I was around thirteen or so, and I also did not really start paying attention to the western as a genre of interest for myself until even later. I remember numerous Wayne westerns fondly from those days, but these two were apparently not amongst them. However, since I pretty much enjoyed both films equally and felt that pull of recognition, now I am not so sure. There must be more cinema buried in my head from that time than I first thought.

The Numbers: 

This week's feature-length film count: 21; 14 first-time viewings and 7 repeats.
Highest rated feature-length film: Fort Apache (1948) – 9/9
Lowest rated feature film: Jem and the Holograms (2015) – 4/9
Average films per day in June so far: 3.10
Average films per day in 2017 so far: 3.05
Consecutive days with at least 1 feature-length film seen per day: 198

The Reviews:

Jem and the Holograms (2015) Dir.: John M. Chu – Am I wasting my time even writing about this film? Probably. Most people aren't going to bother trying to watch it, and honestly, except for the fact that I was passing by HBO one day and ran into it just as it started, I most likely would have never even though about it. But I do remember the cartoon show from the '80s, even if I only saw it once or twice, and so I did have a passing interest in wondering how they would adapt it for today. I needn't have bothered. This film is not the cartoon show at all. Sure, there is still a story about an up and coming pop-rock band, but most of the sci-fi trappings from the show, where the lead singer wears a pair of earrings that connect to a robot that creates a holographic persona that disguises her true self from the public, are missing here. There is still a really stupid robot, but all he does is trigger... a scavenger hunt! And there is a mystery in the film, but all it does is lead to... a pair of earrings that her dad left her but which never set off a helpful disguising hologram. If the film is just setting us up for a sequel where the original concept from the toy-selling show is actually used, it pays terrible service to it by, at the very least, ending with those elements fully in play. It's a shame, because the film does have some true style to it in the costuming and the cinematography, and the dramatic parts were actually played fairly well by the mostly young cast. Even Juliette Lewis is kind of fun in the evil manager role of Erica Raymond (the original character was named Eric), but wasted by film's end. I also didn't mind some of the music even most of it was fairly rote. I know the show was pretty much junk but it has some devoted fans, and I am sorry they weren't treated better by this film. – TC4P Rating: 4/9

Eat That Question: Frank Zappa in His Own Words (2016) Dir.: Thorsten Schütte – Sure, I get it... Zappa isn't for everyone. Zappa wouldn't give a shit whether you liked him or not. That's kind of the thing with him. You either got his music or you didn't, and even if you did, he probably didn't really care. He was going to create music whether you were around to hear it or not. For me (and for many people), Zappa fandom for me has been a "warts 'n all" affair; there is a lot about the man's character (and some lyrical elements of his music) that I may (depending on the day) find misogynistic, homophobic, politically suspect (his negative attitudes towards unions), and downright racist on a surface glance. (You should note that I did not say "obscene"; I find nothing in this world obscene except for our current president and his cronies...) But each negative element was usually counter-balanced by often gorgeous melodies, a high level of instrumental aptitude, and satirical jabs that could be devastating in their ability to cut deeply to the core of the issue. It's the satirical element that is Zappa's saving grace in regards to charges of the crimes above, as it can be argued that each outrageous negative portrayal of certain societal groups was meant to provoke the listener into paying attention (though sometimes just to sell a juvenile joke or two). But don't get me wrong: my intense regard for Zappa's craft does not mean I love him without limits; there are moments where he does get to my own personal sense of morality. But rather than cast him aside, it just makes me want to understand him more.

Eat That Question is going to allow you to fully understand Zappa far less than owning more than 90 albums of the man's work (as I do) is going to allow for closure, but it will give you a sense of Zappa's place in entertainment and the culture of his time. It consists mainly of news clips, film clips, videos, slices of interviews and live performances, and other various Zappa ephemera, all arranged in mostly chronological order to allow for historical context. It carries right up to his death in 1993 from prostate cancer. The documentary, however unintentional, all ties in perfectly with Zappa's "conceptual continuity," where each element of his music and art, and even outside interviews, were as integral to his overall narrative as the rest. Most of his albums are each connected to the rest by recurring motifs, self-referential in-jokes, and connecting musical phrases or call-outs to previous material. Obscure characters from far older songs may suddenly burst back to life in the middle of an unrelated piece, as if dropping by for tea. Even watching many of these old clips brings his music to life – especially to a long-time fan – which is further proof that as long as the man's legend continues to bring fascination (there are numerous Zappa docs already), his music will never die. (However much his son Ahmet wants to chain it up... sorry, taking Dweezil's
side in that battle...)  – TC4P Rating: 8/9

Morgan (2016) Dir.: Luke Scott – Forgive me if I kept flashing on the superior techno-horror flick Splice from a few years back while watching Morgan. Once again, we have a genetic engineering company operating in a highly creepy fashion in a remote lab with human hybrids that age rapidly, when one of their experiments not only goes well beyond what they had envisioned, but also escapes. Unlike Splice, things are kept mostly at the human level here as far as mutations are concerned... well, human-looking but definitely super-powered. No wings sprouting out of the back here. Kate Mara plays a risk management specialist tasked with keeping things under wraps when things start to get out of hand at the lab (pre-escape) and with tracking down the hybrid girl afterward. The real remoteness of the lab surrounded by forest (filmed in Northern Island) also brings to mind some similar scenes in Ex Machina (Norway, standing in for my home state of Alaska in that one), though the intellectual head games of the latter film are not to be found here in Morgan, which survives mainly on pure action. There is a big twist in the plot here, which I will not reveal, but it somehow came off as being both pretty obvious and weirdly satisfying at the same time. Not sure how it happened, but it ended up being my favorite part of the film. Apart from that though, while Mara is good in her role, the film is just OK. And now all I want to do is watch Splice again. – TC4P Rating: 5/9

If You're Not in the Obit, Eat Breakfast (2017) Dir.: Danny Gold – For the last few years, I have found it quite amusing and fascinating that the great Carl Reiner, now 95 years of age, has taken so well to adopting social media. I am not surprised to hear when someone's older parents (including mine) are always on the computers or their iPhones, or emailing or playing games. I know it used to be a running joke about the elderly not being able to connect a VCR or getting lost trying to get on a computer, but those days really are past. The elderly today were only a short while ago using those VCRs and computers, and thus, we have an advanced age population who are more comfortable with succeeding technologies, especially as the ease of general use of these products opens up further. In the Reiner-hosted If You're Not in the Obit, Eat Breakfast, the filmmakers gather the collective thoughts of numerous celebrities above or around the 90-year mark and have them muse about life. Reiner's longtime friend and sometimes partner Mel Brooks is here, as well as Kirk Douglas, Tony Bennett, Norman Lear, Dick Van Dyke, Stan Lee, Betty White, Dave Grusin, and many more. The chief thing you may notice amongst this group, and they discuss it at length, is that many of the participants are still quite actively creative in their lives. It's a lovely if not light documentary with some terrific performers in it telling us anecdotes about their careers and what keeps them going day to day. A charming show overall. – TC4P Rating: 7/9

Lawman (1971) Dir.: Michael Winner – This is yet another film that I am fairly certain I must have seen at some point in my childhood. It's not that I remember any scenes from it, but I was a big Burt Lancaster fan in my youth, and watched nearly anything he was in when I crossed its path. And the image of Lancaster as the aging bounty hunter who enters a small western town intent on bringing to justice a murderous gang of locals certainly registers with my catalogue of remembered images in my mind. He will not be swayed by his task – not by bribery, threats, gunfire, or the fact that his ex-lover is currently involved with one of the gang – and in the usual manner of these affairs, very few in the town are willing to lend even casual assistance to him, thinking more of themselves than of the common good. Lancaster is as tough as usual here, if not a little more one-note than I would prefer, and he has a terrific supporting cast behind him: Robert Ryan, Robert Duvall, Albert Salmi, Lee J. Cobb, John Hillerman, Sheree North, Joseph Wiseman, John Beck, Ralph Waite, and in his very first big screen role, Richard "Logan's Run" Jordan. Director Michael Winner would make a western the following year with Charles Bronson called Chato's Land, and then Winner and Bronson would move to the present day with the original The Mechanic. Both were three years away from making their biggest splash with the all-time, bona fide revenge classic, Death Wish. While it is easy to use hindsight to make connections that may or may not have been intentional, it is not hard while watching Lawman to squint a little bit – to eliminate the genre trappings of the western – and see the same style of tough guy in those films captured here on the screen with Lancaster. Lawman didn't pay off as much as I had hoped, which might be why it didn't stick with me if indeed I did see it as a kid, but it is still a strong enough '70s western to warrant a second look... if it wasn't my second one already. – TC4P Rating: 6/9

You Get Me (2017) Dir.: Brent Bonacorso – Oh, the dangers of trying to keep up – even ever so briefly – with the latest original films on Netflix. Sometimes, the results are just dandy, but more often, as it is with all things, you end having dabbled in the mediocre for 90 minutes. So, bright and early one morning, looking for a relatively short film to fill a gap in time, I went with You Get Me. I will admit that I chose You Get Me solely because the poster had a pretty girl in a blue bikini floating in a swimming pool on it. (Blue, especially in lighter tones, is a trigger color for me.) So, yeah... you can call me a perv. I let my guard down and I paid for it. In the film, a dopey high school senior breaks up with his girlfriend (Halston Sage) at a party, gets really drunk, and then leaves the party with a hottie (Bella Thorne, kind of an "it" girl right now). From there, it is nothing more than Fatal Attraction with millennial teens (and sans boiled bunny, thankfully). The girls are cute but bland, the boys are the usual dopes that boys are, every succeeding plot twinge is ever more unbelievable, and my interest wore off after the swimming pool scene. If things with both the girls and the movie had gone more into the area of Wild Things (a far better if not equally unbelievable film), then I might have forgiven You Get Me. And I learned that just because Netflix has a new original film on there every fourteen minutes, I don't need to pursue watching all of them. – TC4P Rating: 5/9

Visiting and Revisiting: The Island of Dr. Moreau (1977) Pt. 1

This is Part I of a two-part article in which my good friend Aaron Lowe (Working Dead Productions) and I discuss the 1977 film version of H.G. Wells' The Island of Dr. Moreau. To read Part II, click here. 

Rik: The 1977 version of The Island of Dr. Moreau was the first film that I ever saw by myself in a movie theatre. My craving to see the film led to my mother dropping the twelve-year-old me off at the Fireweed Theater in Anchorage, Alaska, while she and my brothers went shopping. At the time, we lived in Eagle River, about fourteen miles outside of Anchorage proper (which is considered to be a "suburb" of the bigger city, but growing up there, we always thought of it as a town unto itself since there is no real physical connection). It was also a very different time, and while I do recall being a little weirded out at being all alone in a movie theatre with random strangers about me, all of that went away when I realized that I was in my element. I had finally found my church. It is a mood that has stuck with me the rest of my life.

What fired me up about seeing the film was a book. Not THE book. Not the novella written by H.G. Wells in 1896, but rather a novelization of his famous story, built around the screenplay for the film. I had picked up a copy of it on a visit to a Mom-and-Pop bookstore in Eagle River (I do not remember the name, but it was same store where I first purchased my Marvel Star Wars comic books that summer). I had seen the trailers for Moreau on television as well, and those had me pretty excited, but the book in my fingers not only had pictures of all the characters on the front and back covers, along with movie credits, but there was also a generous supply of black-and-white plates in the middle of the book mainly featuring photos of the "humanimals" (the trademarked name for the half-human creatures in the film) and some behind the scenes shots as well.

I had not read the original story at that time, though I had read several Wells novels like The Invisible Man and The War of the Worlds. And truthfully, I forged through the book not realizing it was a novelization (by Joseph Silva, which does appear on the lowest part of the back cover and on the title page, but not anywhere on the front cover). It was certainly not in Wells' style I knew at the time, but I loved it all the same, and immediately began demanding that we go see the movie. Of course, while just a PG film, it was definitely not material for the younger set, so I totally understand why I ended up on my own at the theatre without my little brothers. [Just to set a time frame a little more, the film that I got to see at the movies in faraway Anchorage before this one was Star Wars, with the whole family (sans my divorced father), and the next film I would see would be The Spy Who Loved Me, which my mom and I took in, sat in the front row, snuck in Doritos and shaky cheese, and watched all the way through the second feature, Won Ton Ton: The Dog That Saved Hollywood.]

I remember being both scared of and awed by the creatures in the film, and fascinated by the story itself and its lead actor, Burt Lancaster, who plays the mesmerizing Dr. Moreau, a scientist obsessed with creating his own race of beings by fusing man and beast together in various combinations. I knew Lancaster mainly from one film at that age, another of my favorites, The Crimson Pirate. Being that there are exactly 25 years between the films, I don't believe that I caught on to the fact they were the same actor until it was explained to me. I just thought Dr. Moreau was an incredible character, though his methods shocked me as I was fanatical at the time about becoming a veterinarian. That said, I find his portrayal of the doctor to be the most humane version at the outset, where he doesn’t appear immediately insane or outrageously flamboyant as in the other versions. You can believe he is a serious scientist deeply involved in research that he believes will better mankind.

Aaron, this is your first time with the movie. What is your history with the film? Did you remember hearing or knowing about growing up, and is there a specific reason why you waited so long to see it?

Aaron: I don’t really have a history with this film, and I can’t think of any specific reason I never saw it, other than the fact that I just wasn’t ever around it. I don’t recall seeing it on the shelves of the nearby Video City that became my second home for many years, though it’s likely that I just kept passing over it on my regular perusals. The first time I really remember seeing the movie on a shelf was when I worked at Suncoast in the early-to-mid 2000s. The DVD featured a menacing Burt Lancaster holding a hypodermic needle, a screaming Michael York, looking rather ridiculous in both facial expression and in the mid-metamorphosis makeup he’s wearing, and a few of the humanimals looking concerned in the lower corner. It was not the most interesting cover, and made the film look like any number of hokey, brightly colored ‘60s/’70s fantasy films.

But then I’ve never had much of a history with H.G. Wells, either. I’ve read a couple of his novels, and of course have a longstanding love of all things War of the Worlds (even the bizarre musical version from Jeff Wayne, featuring members of Thin Lizzy, The Moody Blues, and Manfred Mann), and yet as a writer he’s never been a favorite. I like his plots, and I think he has great striking ideas, but I find his writing at times to be too clinical and detached. Although The Invisible Man has some great moments of dry humor in it.

Or possibly it was my memories of another H.G. Wells adaptation from the same period, and actually part of the same cycle produced by AIP: The Food of the Gods. [Editor’s note: The third film of that cycle is Empire of the Ants.] Now, The Food of the Gods is a film I actually do enjoy, though I think that owes more to the age at which I first saw it, back when I was young enough to not recognize the trickery that went into creating those giant rats and bees. I didn’t think of miniatures or rear projection; I thought they had actually found a giant chicken to menace those people..

There’s also something about a bad movie from the ‘60s or ‘70s that affects me unlike a bad movie from any other decade. While I can find some genuine enjoyment, and even some form of comfort, in a schlocky “B” movie from the ‘40s and ‘50s, or even the ‘80s and ‘90’s, a bad film from the ‘60s and ‘70s will often strike me as unpleasantly cheap and seedy, with an ever-present air of anger and violence. It’s no secret why that is; that period’s rage and frustration made its way into every genre of film, and probably most explicitly in horror films. But while I admire and enjoy that subtext in films like The Texas Chainsaw Massacre or The Hills Have Eyes, I see those as standouts in the field. The period is often called a great turning point in American cinema, and rightly so, but it’s probably my least favorite period for horror. That being said, the movie truly started to win me over only once some of that seediness and anger began to push its way to the forefront, or perhaps I’m just grasping at straws there.

Rik: Aaron, I believe that not that long ago, if I remember correctly, you first saw the far superior 1933 version called Island of Lost Souls when Criterion Collection released it on Blu-Ray. I saw Souls after this one when I was in my teens, and it blew my mind. I had read the real novel by that point, and even though there were naturally some changes, I felt it stuck closer to the true spirit of what Wells intended (though Wells apparently hated the more horrific sequences). How do you feel the two versions stack up? And feel free to riff on the 1996 Brando/Frankenheimer abomination if you wish.

Aaron: That is correct, the first experience I had directly with this story was through my purchase of Island of Lost Souls on the absolutely essential Criterion disc. Just by virtue of my addiction to pop culture I was pretty familiar with the underlying Moreau story, and yet Souls really surprised me. Not only was the violence disturbing, but the sexual content was absolutely shocking. Laughton’s portrayal of Dr. Moreau is less a scientist, and more a vile, leering hedonist, even before he begins pushing Edward Parker (Richard Arlen) into having sex with his animal women. Laughton’s Moreau doesn’t seem to be interested in any real scientific advancement, only in casting himself as a Greek god in reverse, coming down in human form to mate with the animals.

Obviously my heart lies with Island of Lost Souls. I find it has an eerie, slightly unwholesome power, almost immediately from the first frame. That’s not something I would say about the 1977 version, which I found to be a bit dull for the first half. Maybe it was overfamiliarity with the plot (at this point I’ve seen both of the other versions, and, in the case of Souls, multiple times), but this version seemed to have the least personality at the outset. Burt Lancaster is indeed the most humane, and believable, Dr. Moreau in all the films, and while I love him as an actor and enjoyed him onscreen, I think the character needs more of a touch of madness, certainly more than Lancaster brings to the role for most of his screen time. And then you can look at the infamous 1996 version, where Marlon Brando went way too far with the character’s madness, to the point where it just doesn’t seem believable that this guy would have the presence of mind to figure out, and implement, a method for turning animals into humans. I don’t have a lot to say about the 1996 version, because I’ve only seen it the once and better writers than I have already dissected (or should it be vivisected?) that film completely. I will just say it’s the worst of the three versions. I usually love crazy, extravagant fiascos that get batshit insane, and the ’96 Moreau surely fits that bill, but it’s also too meandering and lazy to be entertaining.

Rik: I am so with you on the Island of Lost Souls, sir. For me, it is not just one of the best horror films of the 1930s, but one of the greatest and most perverse of all time. It is truly twisted in a way that is impossible to believe could be achieved in those days. The John Frankenheimer version in ’96 is also a mind-melt, mostly due to Brando’s machinations, but it is also regrettably an unpleasant, sweaty, and uncomfortable experience. It is not the film the already immensely successful Frankenheimer signed on for after the dismissal of original director/screenwriter Richard Stanley (battles recounted in the rich documentary from 2014, Lost Soul: The Doomed Journey of Richard Stanley's Island of Dr. Moreau). It really got out of his hands.

Getting back to the 1977 version now, Michael York plays the lone human protagonist, Andrew Braddock (Edward Prendick in the true novel), who ends up on Moreau's island after being lost at sea. Watching the film again, I am shocked at how thin (though still muscular) York appears, and this may be purposeful since he is supposed to have been at sea with no food or water for a considerable period. I knew York from The Three Musketeers and The Four Musketeers, where he played D'Artagnan, and York was somewhat of a hero of mine at that age. I suppose my swashbuckling fanaticism at that time was another reason I was able to convince my mother to let me see the film, but I am fairly unsure of that point.

Aaron: I believe this is the only version of the story where the Prendick/Braddock character falls victim to Moreau’s experimentation, and it’s through that subplot that my true enjoyment in this film originates. For a while it seems like Braddock might be coming around to Moreau’s way of thinking. If he doesn’t seem entirely comfortable with the experiments being carried out in the compound, he’s at least decided to not rock the boat. That changes when Moreau and Braddock hunt down a humanimal who has shed blood, which is strictly against Moreau’s law. This is punishable by a trip to the House of Pain, where Moreau’s hideous and painful experiments take place. The humanimal is injured in the chase, and pleads with Braddock to kill him instead of hand him over to Dr. Moreau, and Braddock complies. This is in violation of the Law, and Dr. Moreau must punish Braddock for his transgression, or ignite distrust and anger in the population of humanimals. That’s open to debate, of course, because Moreau is such a godlike figure to these creatures that he likely could have avoided punishing Braddock. It actually seemed to me like Moreau was simply curious as to whether he could turn a man into an animal, instead of the other way around. And why wouldn’t he be? It’s something I’d always asked myself while watching the other versions of this story, and I’m surprised it hasn’t been repeated in any of the other iterations of this concept. 

This section of the film was the most compelling to me, and the most chilling, as Moreau calmly describes to Braddock the changes his body and mind will be going through. His thoughts begin to break down and words are replaced by images and instinct. His screams of pain seem to inspire even the sympathy of the humanimals, who certainly know better than anyone what he’s going through. It also inspires the sympathy of Moreau’s right hand man, Montgomery, who opposes Moreau’s decision only to get shot for it. This angers the humanimals, who witness Moreau breaking his own law, and sets the stage for the final confrontation when the beasts storm Moreau’s compound. There’s a nice touch in this section, after the humanimals have killed Moreau, where Braddock and Maria string Moreau’s body up over the compound’s gates and try to convince the humanimals that Moreau is still alive. This actually works, for a few seconds, and I thought that was a nice detail that shows how animalistic the thinking of the humanimals was, and how high Moreau’s stature was in their eyes. He wasn’t another animal, he wasn’t even mortal, he was a god to them, and even seeing their lifeless god hanging from a rope was intimidating.

Rik: This version really downplays the fact that in the original novel, Moreau is a vivisectionist who experiments quite messily to achieve his results in creating the Beast-Men. Once again, I didn't know this at the time, and did not even know the term "vivisectionist," so I suppose if they stuck to the original intent, I would have been even more shocked than I was by Moreau's domineering behavior. Here, the doctor mainly sticks his subjects with a syringe; using some sort of serum he has developed using human genes that can somehow transform the animals into human beings. What a rotten turn for the animals. They were certainly better off before.

Part II of this discussion can be found on The Working Dead Productions blog by following this link: http://bit.ly/1PDclpe.