waking into a dream journal 01.12.08

this morning's reason to be scared (but for entirely different reasons than the filmmakers intend...)
are you scared
director: someone who apparently doesn't know better // 2006
cinema 4 rating: 3

as down as i have been on the saw series thus far (i am not one of those taken with it at all, though the first one was a tad refreshing when i first, ahem, saw it), if this film is any indication of the declination of inspiration, i now wish the series had never gotten off the ground to begin with -- combines two of my least favorite modern things: torture porn and reality shows (which i actually consider to be one and the same), and then spews the result up in a chunder so completely (and expectedly) dull-witted as to make one wish they were actually in the drill-bit scene within the film to make the pain go away -- here's an idea: instead of enlisting generic teenie bimbos and himbos for one of these maniacal displays, how about having the killer put out a call for producers and torture porn movies and reality shows, make them show up in a secluded location, and then give them a dose of the same crap they've been foisting upon us for the past decade or so -- how about when you make a film where one mad genius or stalker or slasher is torturing a whole building of people slowly and methodically, that you give us some sense of the sweat this guy is building up trying to intimidate these people back and forth -- i can multitask with the best of them, but if more than two people walk into my office, i need to have someone take a number -- if six people are all trying to escape a building, the other five don't just stand around and wait for the first one to be killed before the next one gives it a shot -- but, no, this cheeseball has time to slowly talk to each victim and describe the little games he has set up, which aren't really games at all, but assured death scenarios -- at least jigsaw gives his victims a slight chance of survival -- his are puzzles built on moral dilemmas, a point the writer/director of this film (and saw copycat) seems to have missed -- not surprising though, since he also doesn't give the audience a chance at entertainment either... outside of the people who are exactly like him -- avoid at all costs, please -- at least turistas had titties...

These Are My Friends...

"Speak to me, friend
Whisper - I'll listen
I know, I know
You've been locked out of sight all these years..."

Mr. Depp, as Mr. Todd, sings those words, but I may as well have in these past couple of weeks. Not as a tortured soul to a set of shining razors, thirsty and hellbent on blood-soaked revenge, mind you -- certainly, the context and relationship would change, but I could sing them all the same.

The friends to whom I would croon would be the pent-up denizens of a comic book collection that has lain dormant for over three years, and virtually ignored for several more. Some of my oldest friends, dating back to my earliest years in many cases, or representing some of my most formative cultural moments in others, or both. Sitting untouched since their reemergence into my life in October, they sat patient but anxious for my next move: that moment where I could no longer resist box after box of graphic pleasure; that moment where I would dive once more into the generally comforting though often perplexing world and words they offered to me throughout my life.

Somewhere in these boxes lies a much beloved copy of Avengers #159, the cornerstone to my collection; the comic which got me so caught up in the supergroup's battle against the fiend Graviton, who through his power has ripped a section of Manhattan out of the ground to create an island in the sky which hovered threateningly over the rest of New York, that I had no choice but to scour the racks of my small town for the very next issue. I picked a great time to become obsessed with the Avengers. (I had loved Batman and Superman since a small child, but only rarely picked up an issue.) The next Avengers issue introduced me to the incredible rock-detailer George Perez, and soon enough I would be completely enraptured by the stylings of John Byrne. And within a couple of months, the X-Men (whom I had already started reading a year earlier -- I owned issue #100 almost by accident -- and by whom I was justifiably confused, not having much access in those pre-internet days to their convoluted past) became a second obsession. Also in that time, having already read the paperback (with the McQuarrie cover!), I picked up Star Wars #1. I was doomed to Lucas, and I was doomed to comics.

Back to the present, a call from my brother Chris on, appropriately, Christmas broke the silence. He had recently discovered a website called www.comicbookdb.com, as in Comic Book Database, a resource for comic books fans, and a site chiefly maintained by its users. Can't find an issue which you own on the site? Add an issue, filling in all of the pertinent creator information (so important to the comic geek mind) along the way. My brother had discovered it would be a great (and, most importantly, free) way to keep a rein on his collection, threw in about 1200 of his titles, and then recommended that I check it out, as I was actively seeking out a way to handle this dilemma that would be far removed from actually typing in all of the information into an Excel spreadsheet, one comic at a time. It took a couple of days, but on New Year's weekend, I took the plunge.

I popped open a taped-up comic box containing a batch of old '70s issues of The Avengers, and started knocking them into place. Soon enough, I had fifty comics in my online collection, and before I proceeded any further, I commenced to checking out the various features on the site. Chief, for me at least, is the ability to export my list. It's nice to rack up one's movie collection on IMDB, but there is no facility to export, unless you rely on the bad ol' drag-and-drop method, which is a pain in the ass with tables. I didn't want to do this with my much more ponderous comic collection. Since Comic Book Database afforded me this feature, I carried on through experimentation with its other features. Trying to add a decrepit issue of Boris Karloff's old Gold Key horror series, which did not appear in the database, simply took more time than I had on hand to give it the attention I normally would. Besides, my scanner is still not hooked back up, so I had to make a note to do so later. Regardless, by adding this issue, I felt that I had officially become one of the stable of people for whom the website was developed: the true geek, willing to tap in the most ridiculous minutiae regarding the most obscure titles... just 'cuz....

And then I went crazy. As of two nights ago, I had over 7200 comics in the system, and I figure with a good solid weekend of determined crashing through the remaining dozen or so long-boxes in my abode, I should have the initial part of the dirty deed completed by Monday morning. I say "initial," as I have already discovered about 300 comics that are nowhere to be found in the Comic Book Database, all of which I shall now have to enter by hand, including that all important and aforementioned creator information. It looks like I might have to find that "time on hand" after all.

So, if you were wondering at all why the new year has been so silent in the Cinema 4 Pylon, the cause has been revealed. Sometimes when old friends pop by, you can't wait to get rid of them; sometimes, you welcome them with open arms and heart. The jury is still out for much of my collection, but Avengers #159? Star Wars #1? X-Men #107?

"These are my friends..."

waking into a dream journal 01.09.08

this morning's 6-furlong surprise (surprise? it feels like 20...)
the return of october
director: joseph h. lewis // 1948
cinema 4 rating: 5

this almost seems like the sort of lost treasure which forms the chief reason i watch turner classic movies in the first place -- almost, but not quite -- i find this is described as a comedy, and it is written by melvin frank and norman panama, two old pros at the form (including one of my personal favorites, the court jester with the grand mr. kaye) -- and yet, it is never actually funny... in any real degree -- a reincarnation plot for those with a lot of time on their hands, and no real impetus to truly be entertained within that number of minutes -- tone is perfectly suited to pose as one of any number of similar disney plots from twenty years later -- just as pleasant, predictable, non-threatening and, ultimately, merely ok -- ingenue terry moore is spunky and committed in lead role as rich girl whose uncle dies and may or may not come back as a racehorse -- prefer her much more, however, in her subsequent role in the original mighty joe young -- glenn ford does what he can with colorless male lead part as psychologist who falls in love with her even while considered her a wacko -- no alarms, no surprises -- really thought i was having another on borrowed time experience (as in "discovering a fun or formative movie completely by accident") until about twenty minutes in -- realized i wasn't having a good time, but merely just filling it with blarney...

waking into a dream journal 12.30.07

the graveyard
director: michael feifer // 2006
cinema 4 rating: 3

not that i was really looking forward to watching the ed gein video starring kane hodder, but nothing is better at lessening that apparent lack of optimism even more than having to endure this earlier attempt by that film's director -- since he was the producer on this thing too, perhaps michael feifer spent most of his time rounding up funds to make it, and didn't worry about spending one second on making the damn thing make sense -- the reason he didn't worry was because he had the writer of mansquito scripting it -- whew! what a relief, knowing your project is in the right hands -- there are an infinite amount of ways that a plot could come back around to make some small amount of sense, and this film misses them all -- there has to be some sort of award for that... or a guinness book entry -- despite the obvious deathgrip on the standard cliches of this sort of slasher nonsense, it seems there has been a small attempt on shaking that formula up a tad, even if it doesn't come off one bit -- it's one thing to have ambition (however lowbrow), it's another thing to back it up with actual talent or skill -- of course, i could be accused of that same crime... if i had ambition -- don't have to worry about the talent or skill columns -- there are five main female characters in this film: a blonde, a slutty ho-bird with a somewhat pointy beak who gets naked (thankfully and nicely) quite a bit before getting blanked... and three other girls so alike in basic appearance, even hearing their character's names now and then didn't ease up the confusion -- who just got killed? don't know, all these white brunettes look alike -- if i were fiefer, i would have had the same actress play all of the women, just to save money -- would have been funnier too -- same guy produced many of those nearly-softcore, truly abhorrent witchcraft films from the '90s -- clearly, we are in the hands of someone who is merely out to corral every dollar he can from those who like to rent crappy movies and then spend endless days on the internet whining about how crappy these films were, knowing full well what they were probably getting into when they rented the films in the first place -- here, i will come to the defense of those shabby folks, and state that, for me at least, even tuning into a film you are pretty sure is going to be crappy, holds a certain small anticipation that you might discover a hidden gem -- if we didn't do this, how would we have found our way to things like re-animator or the evil dead -- yes, the payoff quotient is rather minute, but... every once in a while -- scoff if you wish, but i hold a certain admiration for guys like feifer who have figured out the game in this way -- corman, arkoff, even the dude who throws shark hunter after shark attack after shark whatever after us -- it's not about the quality, it's about the quantity... and it's america, damn it! it's all about making money, not art -- as abbott and costello said: if you find a niche, you scratch it...

waking into a dream journal 12.27.07

Haïti: la fin des chimères?... [Haiti: The Last of the Chimeres]
Director: Charles Najman // French-Haitian, 2004
Cinema 4 Rating: 7

honestly, i hardly ever think about haiti except in terms of zombies... or anytime i run across news items pertaining to its history and tragedy -- then i perk up, almost as if its history were a pocket (you know that second little pocket inside the right-hand pocket of men's pants that i assume is for change, but have never understood why it would be on the right side, since i am a leftie?) hobby of mine, and i listen intently in the manner in which i should have listened in school -- let's not mince words, this film is definitely, despite the occasional "no, no, no, you've got it all wrong" voice from his side of the government, not a pro-aristide piece -- and it shouldn't, given that all who emerge with that sort of power, even a priest... especially a priest... are doomed to do great evil -- "power tends to corrupt; absolute power corrupts absolutely" may be the truest words ever written or spoken -- this film was apparently made just before aristide's second ousting in 2004, and is largely composed of interviews with those scholars and historians discussing haiti's inherent lockstep into the kind of political quicksand that has left the bulk of its population in a state of perpetual poverty since 1804 -- some point out proudly how it was the first and only country with a successful slave rebellion (which it was); others point out, that despite that initial success, haiti is still composed of a slave population, but that they just aren't considered to be slaves -- much is said of the richer class that supposedly props up creeps like aristide, but as near as i can tell, none really get interviewed (not counting former government yes-men) -- most moving part is the trip to one of haiti's numerous slum areas, with homes that seem somewhat reminiscent of having gone through an atom bombing -- a sharp young man describes his displeasure with the current regime, but there is the sense that he is teetering on the edge of violence that could possibly doom him to become one of those that he despises -- as he listens and speaks in a round-robin discussion with others of his set, another young man squats in the doorway of a ramshackle cottage, like a dog nervously protecting his bone, and cleans a pistol -- the film cuts off just before aristide's departure, but we are given glimpses of the man at various rallies, especially a strange christmas party where he comes off distant but very controlling in his behavior; his eyes seem like a man who is scheming through his pain even as he hands out soccer balls to the children -- it's hard to understand his charisma, but then, i never seems to understand that aspect of politicians -- if you take them all immediately as being something other than they portray, and discount their charisma from the beginning, then you can start to determine their true worth as leaders...

Cinema 4 Cel Bloc: Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer

Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer
Director: Max Fleischer // Jam Handy Organization, 1948
Cinema 4 Rating: 5

It's not Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer's fault that he isn't Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.

Well, what I mean is it's not this innocent Max Fleischer-directed animated short from 1948's fault that it isn't the stop-motion television special created by Rankin-Bass in 1964. Barring the occasional heckling from someone who is just sooo post-post-post-post-everything they have to take such universally beloved things to the wall, that special is justifiably considered to be a Christmas classic. I include myself amongst that group, and I would be lying if I said that simple and ridiculous special wasn't one of the most formative ingredients in the way that I have approached all art and entertainment since I first laid eyes upon it.

And yet, fun as the stop-motion version is, it's really a dramatic expansion (and often outright reconfiguration) of the original story written by Robert May for Montgomery Ward in 1939. For a closer look at the real story, look no further than the 1948 version, where Rudolph is just some punk kid reindeer abused by the neighbor kids who gets accidentally discovered by Santa one exceedingly foggy Christmas Eve night. Since headlights aren't in Santa's magical bag of tricks (and yet, he and his elven slaves can create electric train sets, racing cars and robotic toys), it's lucky he wanders into Rudolph's home to fill the little whippersnapper's stocking and gets blinded by the glow from Rudolph's abnormal -- nay! -- mutated schnozz.

Since Jam Handy released oodles of promotional films for Chevrolet and other big companies (click here and here for my reviews of their pair of Cinderella car commercials), I half expected Santa's sleigh to actually start shifting about and have panels slide out and wheels manuever into place, and then suddenly the right jolly old elf would be riding about in some sort of coach car. Instead, the film is merely there to entertain... and to promote the newly written -- but not famous yet -- song version of Rudolph by Johnny Marks, May's brother-in-law. The next year, Gene Autry would reluctantly record it, and as these things go, the rest is history: one of the biggest-selling singles of all time. (The Autry version would later be edited into the credits of this already released cartoon; the version I am reviewing does not include Autry's voice, but rather a choral arrangement of the tune.)

The animation is decent enough -- comparable to what was passing for quality at Famous Studios or Terrytoons at that time -- but the sound quality for the voices is abysmal, with the taunting reindeer sounding like they were recorded down the hall from Rudolph, their voices echoing harsher than their empty threats. I doubt the effect is stylistic, because such things just were not done. I should state here and now that the sight of reindeer walking about on their hind legs is just a tad creepy in my mind, and furthermore, even the male deer seems feminine within this aspect. In fact, they almost seem nude, like they lost their pants. Rudolph's mother, on the other hand, seems to be the only deer that dresses in actual human clothes, greeting her downtrodden son at the door in a smart housedress. Unlike the cave in the Rankin-Bass version, Rudolph actually lives in a home with furniture, and he hangs a stocking on the end of his bed, imaging a boatload of toys and goodies that will be left overnight by Santa, the way in which all human children dream too. But then his conflict over the teasing he receives from his constantly shining nose gets the better of him, and he cries himself to sleep.

The next section introduces Santa, and he is a magnificent rotund figure indeed (if not a bit flouncy in his gestures). Sadly, whoever is doing the voice for the great man seems to not be aware of just how jolly Santa is supposed to be, and comes off sounding completely blasé about the whole project. Any exclamation points in his lines seem to have been replaced by stifled yawns. (He does a much better job with his speech at the end, but it's no excuse for an overall lackluster performance, especially for someone who should as loud and boisterous as Santa.) Claus encounters endless interruptions of his route -- crashing into trees and roofs, and almost getting done away with by a plane, which he and his reindeer negotiate by prancing across the wings. Santa finds Rudolph just in time, and the little schnozzed one leaves a note behind, beginning it "Deer Mommy and Daddy..."

Rudolph, naturally, saves the day, taking Santa all the way to Bunnyville (who knew they all lived in one town?) and then the film concludes with Rudolph being honored before the entire population of his reindeer hometown with an elaborate ceremony in the town's stadium. His former taunters have been turned to admirers (though I like to believe that most of them are actually evil deer bullies who are jealous of his newfound fame and are plotting to bespoil his reputation). Rudolph is named "Commander-in-Chief" of all the reindeer, and he blushes, causing his fur to equal his nose in intensity. He wishes us "Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night", as the final lines of the song run out, and the film closes.

It's so hard to imagine a time when this wasn't an already established part of the culture. We accept holiday folklore as having always been around, and it is surprising to learn that these traditions, in the form we know them, aren't really all that ancient. We just assume Santa's antiquity as an unspoken thing as a child, and as far as we can surmise, Rudolph has always been there with him. I saw this film long after the Rankin-Bass, and I was offended by how boring it seemed against a film filled with misfit toys, a flying lion king and an abominable snowman. Even though it was first aired just after my birth, I accepted the '64 film as gospel. That was, and still is, tradition to me (in fact, I am watching it right after I conclude writing this).

But I then think of those that preceded the arrival of both myself and that film, and how perhaps they looked to this simple animation as its own sort of tradition, and even perhaps as new and hip as the later one must have seemed at first glance. It bore a popular song of that day (by the same songwriter as the later film), and animated to the standard of its time. If I had grown up seeing this one instead every year of my childhood, perhaps I would hold far more nostalgia for it.

But, I don't. This Rudolph simply doesn't shine bright enough for me...

The Shark Film Office: The Adventures of Ford Fairlane (1990)

The Adventures of Ford Fairlane
Director: Renny Harlin
Cinema 4 Rating: 4
Appearance: Dialogue & cameo (deceased and BBQed)

What smells worse than the scent of overly charred shark meat, roasted to disgusting effect on a spit? Possibly only the script to this flop attempt to launch Andrew Dice Clay as a major motion picture leading man. Truthfully, I kind of like Clay on film, even if I have never been even the slightest fan of his stand-up act. I thought he was the funniest thing in the Lea Thompson-Victoria Jackson misfire Casual Sex?, which isn't the boldest statement given its general shoddiness, but it's the truth. Looking back on the supposed shock of his Saturday Night Live appearance the year this film came out, it's hard to see what all the hubbub was about, Bub.

Given a legitimately R-rated platform to sell his largely misogynistic and sophomoric material, Clay ends up slapping out a truer approximation of his cartoonish, buffoonish character (which, being a guy, does have its charms, admittedly), but ultimately soft-pedals that image in the interest of making himself acceptable to a wider audience. It's almost Pee Wee"s Playhouse for the beer-swilling crowd; full of fratboy-type humor, but basically defanged and harmless. Clay is even given a koala bear as a sidekick. If the film actually had the balls its leading figure is assumed to possess via his self-proclaimed attitude, it might have proven to be at least a far more interesting enterprise, if not also verging over into NC-17 territory, which wouldn't serve producer Joel Silver's money-making purposes at all. In the end, numerous quickly flung, filthy jokes pay off here and there, the stunt casting is fun for awhile, and there is also Kari Wuhrer, who always makes things easy on the eyes for me. However, the leaden direction of Renny Harlin absolutely sinks this thing almost before it begins. It's a Michael Bay comedy years before the word knew who Michael Bay was, and at least most of the humor here is intentional, something Michael Bay is completely unable to pull off.

And then there's that surprise shark scene at a party for the film's ultra-slick villain (Oops! Did I give anything away? Shucks...), played quite well actually by Wayne "Danke Shoen" Newton. As he tries to mislead Ford (yes, Clay's P.I. character is named after his signature vehicle) with a tidbit of erroneous information, Newton's record mogul picks up on an announcement from the party's chef: "Shark is served!" We are given a close-up of the toothy grimace of a shark, roasted on a spit to such a greasy black pallor as to be unappetizing to even the most ravenous carnivore, the sharp pole jutting out through the creature's nose to hold it in place above the fire. The chef cuts into the flesh near the dorsal fin as Newton uses the call to dinner as an excuse to get away from the false small talk, finally declaring "I'm such a fan of shark meat!" Cigar in mouth, Newton holds out a plate as the chef pulls out a generous slice of flesh and slides it off his skewer. "Your shark steak, sir!"

Ugh... I think I am off food altogether now. No, it's not the shark. It's the sappiness of the film's ending. At least the shark, in death, still has his teeth. Clay lost his before this film even got made.