film    print    sound    leisure    forum
company line »

shopping guide »

contact us »

get reviewed »

get published »

expand yourself »


find it »

Teleport City search allows you to search our entire site as well as our favorite sites about cult films, obscure music, literature, and swank living.


film home | a-b | c-d | e-f | g-h | i-l | m-n | o-q | r-s | t-v | w-z

Friday, March 07, 2008

R-Point

Release Year: 2004
Country: South Korea
Starring: Woo-seong Kam, Byung-ho Son, Tae-kyung Oh, Won-sang Park, Seon-gyun Lee, Jin-ho Song, Byeong-cheol Kim, Kyeong-ho Jeong, Yeong-dong Mun, Ju-bong Gi, Nae-sang Ahn.
Writer: Su-chang Kong
Director: Su-chang Kong
Cinematographer: Hyeong-jing Seok
Music: Pa-lan Dal
Producer: Kang-hyeok Choi
Availability: Buy it from Amazon


Among the many things that puzzle me in life is the question of why there aren't more horror films set amidst military conflicts and wars. Not that aren't any, but there aren't nearly as many as one might think, giving how easily wartime settings should lend themselves as backdrops to horror films, to say nothing of the fact that it was the landscape of World War I that informed the art and set design on many of the old Universal and German horror classics. That conflict in particular, with one foot in the horror of modern warfare and the other in...well, the horror of 19th century warfare, seems particularly well suited for horror films. The strange combination of Industrial Revolution weapons and vehicles with ornate imperial uniforms, peasants, kingdoms, horse-drawn artillery, and of course, No Man's Land, trench warfare, bombed out old European buildings and castles -- horror films set amongst this carnage seem to practically write themselves, and yet wartime horror films are all but non-existent.

Certainly, some exist, and perhaps I'm the only one who look sat the battlefields of past wars and sees potential for horror-themed entertainment. Chalk it up to my childhood obsession with Weird War Tales comic books, those oft-mentioned on this website stories about skeletal Nazis drifting across war-ravaged, mist-enshrouded landscapes while a terrified GI crouches in a trench. Or my personal favorite, the one with a cover where a centaur is attacking a Panzer. What the hell was going on with that one? I guess if I had my millions, I'd blow a lot of it on the usual stuff people blow easy millions -- top hats, monocles, stuff like that -- and the rest I'd devote to remastering and releasing on DVD obscure Eurospy films mostly for myself, and to producing a long series of horror films set during the two World Wars and featuring green fog and skeletal specters clad in tattered military uniforms. Heck, it's better than losing it all to some shyster investment banker.


Anyway, like I said, there aren't many horror films set amidst wars. There was one about two guys stuck in a trench in WWI, I think. And I'm not sure I count Manticore, even though I seem to have watched that movie like a dozen times. There are thousands of films in my "to watch" pile, including many incredible classics, and I never get around to viewing them. How is it, I ask myself, I continue to fail to watch these films but have seen Manticore and Zoolander like ten thousand times? But other than a precious few, and discounting movies that feature soldiers but are not set in actual wars, this weird little subgenre with which I'm obsessed remains curiously unpopulated. Maybe it's because most horror films are incredibly low budget affairs, and they simply can't afford the costuming, props, locations, and scenes of battle that would be required to properly set the stage. Maybe horror film screenwriters are just young, and they don't know enough about such conflicts to use them as a backdrop for a film -- not that not knowing much has ever stopped a screenwriter, especially a horror film screenwriter. Their offenses against even the most basic of police procedures are long-running and often astounding.

Perhaps war is simply a horrible subject in itself, and lending a supernatural air to it is seen as tasteless. Ha ha ha! Yeah, I know. The genre that gave us sub-genres like torture porn, slashers, and Rob Zombie is worried about offending the sensibilities of the world's remaining Great War veterans. Perhaps, then the problem is that the people who have ideas for World War horror films (One or Two, either would be effective), like me, are lazy, like me, and the scripts remain as little more than half-finished ideas inside their heads.


I also tend to wonder why there are so few movies about the American Revolution, what with it being kind of a big deal not just in American history, but in shaping the course of the world as a whole. I suppose the rest of the world isn't as excited about watching a cast of thousands in powdered wigs run at each other with matchlock rifles and bayonets. Maybe I'll do an American Revolution horror film.

Among the few battlefield horror films we find the Korean production R-Point, set during the Vietnam War and involving, among other things, spooky ghosts, cemeteries, swamps full of corpses, and a spooky old French Plantation mansion. Unknown to many of my generation and later -- and probably earlier than that -- South Korea had the second largest contingent of non-Vietnamese troops in the conflict, after the United States. For them, the conflict in Vietnam played out much like an extension of the Korean War, with the North Koreans playing a role on the side of the North Vietnamese. Over the course of the war, and starting in 1964, South Korea sent over 300,000 troops into Vietnam, where they developed a reputation for being highly skilled and effective combatants -- so much so that the Americans looked to Korean theaters for guaranteed safety while the North Vietnamese warned their troops to avoid engaging Korean battalions if at all possible.

Sadly, very little of that effectiveness seems to be on display in the troops that make up the special squadron of this film, unless we are measuring their effectiveness at screaming, flailing, falling down, and blubbering like little babies at even the slightest of inconveniences. R-Point centers around a group of soldiers who are assigned the task of traveling to a remote station -- Romeo Point -- to investigate the disappearance of a previous platoon of Korean soldiers. The previous group was presumed dead as a result of some sort of guerrilla attack until a distorted, bizarre distress message was radioed in by an unidentified member of the platoon.


The assembled task force includes pretty much all the war movie stereotypes: the stoic CO, the world weary veteran, the nerdy radio operator, the blowhard, so on and so forth. I don't know the Korean equivalent of a guy from Brooklyn who wears a New York Yankees baseball cap and is probably nicknamed Brooklyn, but I'm sure whatever it is, this movie had one. Stoic Lieutenant Choi (Kam Woo Sung) leads the bunch and is one of the only guys with any sort of stand-out personality -- that personality being "stoic guy." Things start of predictably enough, with the task force traveling up river to R-Point, only to be ambushed by a Vietcong commando. After an intense firefight, they discover the commando is a woman. Badly wounded, Choi orders her shot to finish the job, but no one can bring themselves to do it, instead leaving her to die a slow death -- which seems considerably worse, if you ask me.

Upon arrival at R-Point, they discover it to be a vast lakebed, now largely drained and overgrown, not to mention prone to severe bouts of ominous fog. After holing up in a decaying French mansion, they set about searching for some trace of their comrades. It isn't long, however, before things start to get really weird. Soldiers start catching glimpses of other people disappearing into the shadows or running through the treeline. A group of Americans chopper in one night and deliver further ominous warnings about R-Point, detailing the location's long history of slaughter and mass graves. And then one by one, members of Choi's detachment start vanishing, turning up dead, or going insane.


There is much that R-Point does incredibly well, and several things it does poorly. So as to end on a high note -- because I really did like this movie -- we'll tackle the negative first. And nothing stands out as a bigger negative than the behavior of the soldiers. They quickly degenerate into a state of shrieking and crying and falling over, becoming largely indistinguishable from one another, as well as becoming keenly irritating. I don't expect people not to be scared when they are being hunted by ghosts and staying in a creepy old bombed out mansion, but one expects at least some degree of discipline and training to be on display at some point. But almost from the very beginning, with the exception of Choi and grizzled vet, Sergeant Jin (Byung-ho Son), the entire group is crying, cowardly, and incompetent. A better balance between soldiers trying to get their heads around their increasingly macabre circumstances and soldiers who are overwhelmed by it would have made for a much better movie, and one that deals with the complexity of entering a warzone and coming face to face with literal ghosts in a much more intelligent fashion. Instead, the movie becomes a long succession of crying, scares staged around dudes squatting over the latrine, and guys going, "Wait! Where did Corporeal So-And-So go???"

The film also falls back on the now-tired old Asian horror film chestnut of a spooky girl with long hair, which is a shame after the film goes through so much trouble to set itself up as something wholly different from the usual piles of Ring-inspired spooky girl horror films from Japan and Korea (among others). What really makes this a crime is that she is so blatant and obvious a presence in a film that otherwise relies very heavily on the effective exploitation of half-seen shapes in the shadows and momentary glances of something that was maybe there, maybe not. Shoehorning the female ghost into things not only undercuts the basic mystery, but seems wildly out of place, as if a producer somewhere along the way panicked and insisted that they put a female ghost with long hair into the film at some point. Her scenes are weak not just because she is photographed with such solidity, but also because the film doesn't seem that committed to her presence, as if it is shrugging and saying to us, "Look, I didn't want her in, either, but that producer insisted. Stick with me, and we'll get to more scenes of creepy caves and ghostly soldiers pretty soon."


So those are the negatives -- provided one takes the appearance early in the film of an anachronistic DHL deliveryman in modern, bright yellow uniform to be amusing but ultimately harmless -- and each negative is acutely noticeable and undermines the film in a way that can't really be ignored. Because of these, I can understand people dismissing this film as an interesting failure. But it can be made up for if the movie exhibits strengths in other categories, and in that regard, R-Point succeeds admirably. First and foremost, this movie is creepy. Really creepy. The initial reveal of the French mansion that will become Choi's base of operations is incredibly effective, fading into view as the sun rises on a gray and foggy day, and looming over the soldiers like the embodiment of all the death and decay perpetrated by the war. As far as the "old dark house" trope of ghost films go, this place is one of the best.

But it's not left up to the mansion to shoulder all the creep factor. Drawing perhaps on the influence of Apocalypse Now in making the jungle seem surreal and eerie, R-Point works wonders with its surroundings, bringing out not just the fear of wartime attack in the jungle, but a very palpable sense of supernatural dread lurking behind every banana leaf and twisted root. The endless swaying fields and swamps of R-Point itself are equally as spooky, allowing any number of half-seen bugaboos to come and go in the corner of your eye. Among the most effective of these is a scene in which one of Choi's men becomes separated from his search team, only to catch up with what he thinks is them, silently moving forward through the weeds and ignoring his attempts to catch their attention. Slowly, each soldier crouches down to take cover, fading into the brush around them and disappearing. It's a damn good scene and really plays to this film's strengths far more than the gratuitous female ghost nonsense.


Other effective scenes include the discovery of a downed helicopter, a swamp full of decaying bodies, and Jin's exploration of a cave. In each of these scenes, as with the one above, the film draws its strength from the feeling that something might be there. The juxtaposing of very familiar wartime iconography -- the HUEY helicopter, the fact that the soldiers moving through the weeds look almost exactly like the statues in Washington DC's Korean War Memorial -- with things that are otherworldly and not quite right. It infuses the entire film with a sense of creeping unease, that odd feeling one gets when one realizes that something they thought was familiar has been transformed into something recognizable buy also wholly alien in nature. Had R-Point stuck to that, instead of falling back onto the now unwelcome female ghost cliche, it would have been a great movie. Even with these missteps, though, it manages to be a good movie, if somewhat disappointing because it's obvious how much better it almost was. If nothing else, it proves that the combination of war with supernatural horror makes for some striking, effective imagery.

Director-screenwriter Su-Chang Kong, who also wrote the thriller Tell Me Something, wasn't terribly experienced when he penned this script, and that perhaps goes a long way to explain the failure of the film to avoid the ghostly girl cliche and do something more with the soldiers than make them cry and complain and whine about going home because they are scared. Man, the more I think about that, the more it irks me. Still, when his script is strong, it's really strong, and for the most part, he keeps the horror oblique and never fully explained. At times, it seems like Choi, and then Jin, might know more than they are letting on. At no time is the exact nature of what is haunting, possessing, and killing them fully explained. This makes the horror much scarier. Attempts to lend some explanation through the appearance of the female ghost collapse, and R-Point would have been better off never offering any clear explanation at all.


As a director, Kong fares much better, even though this was his first film. Working with cinematographer Hyeong-jing Seok (Kilimanjaro), Kong creates a thoroughly eerie atmosphere without resorting to lots of CGI. He allows the camera to linger just as often as he employs fast editing to imply ghostly appearances. Kong is also successful at turning everything into something spooky looking, including the jungle, the decrepit mansion, an old cobweb-covered radio unit, and a crumbling temple choked by vines. He also keeps the film well-paced for the most part -- though even solid direction and art design has a hard time interesting me in yet another scene of two guys getting scared while squatting over the latrine. For the most part, though, R-Point moves at a slow pace punctuated by moments of surprising wartime violence or chilling horror film imagery. It's too bad that Kong the screenwriter lets down Kong the director from time to time.

There's little point in analyzing the acting, as most of it is comprised of guys crying, falling down, and begging to go home. I mean, you certainly believe these guys are scared, but it gets annoying. It also makes it hard to tell who is who -- which actually works to the film's advantage when the soldiers have their revelation about the first soldier to die. The non-blubbering, non-hysterical acting is largely left up to Woo-seong Kam as Choi and Byung-ho Son as Jin. I'd never seen Kam in anything before, or since for that matter, and he has few films to his credit despite being quite good in his role here as a man attempting to hold onto his sanity and decipher the weirdness occurring around him. Byung-ho Son I'd seen once before, in 1999's Yuryeong (aka Phantom Submarine). He's also quite good here as the older, more experienced soldier trying to hold the force together while they all go to pieces and Choi becomes obsessed with figuring out what the hell is going on.


R-Point is a decent entry in the war-horror film, creating many incredibly effective scenes but ultimately proving to be a bit of a disappointment because it's almost a great film, which is often worse than just being a bad film. This is one of those movies that just needed one more revision of the script to really make it something special. Still, if you can get over how great the film could have been, you can still enjoy how good it is. Not without noticeably flaws, many of which are large enough to make not liking the film perfectly understandable, R-Point still manages to be creepy as hell in many places and an interesting film to think about. It also seems to know when it's doing something right, and when it's doing something wrong. Less female ghost with long hair, more war-horror would have been a vast improvement. R-Point still succeeds at being scary, and at having a little more going on upstairs than the usual horror film -- especially when it comes to transposing supernatural horror on top of real world war horror, and letting the decay and spookiness of one frequently stand in for the other. It's just too bad that, like the soldiers in the film, it couldn't prevent itself from taking those missteps it so obviously recognizes as such.

Labels: , , ,

posted by Keith at | 8 Comments


Sunday, May 13, 2007

The Dead Don't Talk

DIGG THIS ARTICLE. 1970, Turkey. Starring Aytekin Akkaya, Dogan Tamer, Giray Alpan. Directed by Yavuz Yalinkilic. Buy it from Xploited Cinema.

So when's the last time you heard someone say, "Man, I really want to go to Turkey"? I ask because the only people I know who've been to Turkey were either A) born there, B) have family there, or C) went there for business trips before deciding they liked it. And when I started talking about going there (which I will do some day), people kept warning me against it because it was dangerous and... y'know, Islamic and Arabic and probably terrorist. 'Cuz I guess most Americans think of Turkey as being Arabic (even though the language is more closely related to Central European languages), and of course it's a predominantly Islamic nation (although the secularity of the government has its roots in the 19th century), and, frankly, I think a lot of Americans seem to think of the Middle East as one big desert, full of terrorists and Allah and surly peasants.

In reality, Turkey has a rich cultural history. I'm not just talking about the Ottoman Empire; there are also a plethora of Greek, Roman, Hittite, and other ruins in Turkey. I've repeatedly been told that it's cheap to travel there, that the people are exceedingly friendly (at least outside of the cities), that much of the landscape is beautiful, and that it's touristically like going to Italy for a fraction of the price (though that comment isn't meant to suggest that there's nothing uniquely Turkish about Turkey; I think it was meant as an analogy).

It's no real secret that Turkey has a history of weird cinema. I mean, there was an entire chapter of Mondo Macabro dedicated to Turkish films, and reviews of some of those films are becoming more and more widespread on the 'net. The films themselves are in some cases getting easier to obtain, but in most cases it's still hard to turn up so much as a 5th-generation vhs dub of some of the most compelling of these movies... and for your sake, I hope you're not afraid of going in without subtitles. Weird cinema's niche market is positively thriving these days... but overall, Turkish movies, like Turkish culture, seem to be often-overlooked, and scarcely given any of the attention due to them.

Enter Onar Films. A small group of people located in Greece are hard at work under that moniker, trying to share rare and neglected gems of Turkish weird cinema with the world... and so far, their work has been vastly under-appreciated. I'll be reviewing a few of their releases in the coming weeks in hopes of drumming up a bit more interest (and business) for these DVDs, which each feature lengthy interviews, useful filmographies (which are hard to find for Turkish figures sometimes), and improved (if necessarily not always perfect) audio and video transfers. So there's the plug. I'm sincere about this; I really would love to see these people continue their work, as there's a whole wonderland of crazy Turkishness out there that sorely needs DVD formatting... A Turkish Rambo with Cuneyt Arkin and zombies (!!!); a Turkish freakout often cited as being weirder than Turkish Star Wars, with Cuneyt Arkin, a zombie/mummy, a bush that eats people, ninjas who kill suburban poolgoers, ninjas who kill other ninjas, motorcycle chases, and some guy throwing a pigeon through the window of Cuneyt's house; a plethora of ripoffs and amalgams of Superman, Batman, The Phantom, as well as foreign comic book heroes like Zagor, Fantomas, and Karaoglan; etc. I don't mean to turn this review into a billboard, but I do want to give the very valuable work of Onar Films its due credit... they're helping to share a significant and generally unknown part of weird cinematic history with the rest of the world.

So. The Dead Don't Talk. Let's talk about it.

I should mention that the DVD it's on is a double bill; I'm just dealing with one of the two movies here. The other will come later.

As the very informative interviews explain, this 1970 film is one of the earlier forays into Turkish cinema. After a semi-'horrific' film in the 40s, 1953's Dracula in Istanbul was a considerable success, based on a Turkish novel which in turn sort of Turkishized Stoker's famous novel, changing the Christian themes into Islamic ones. According to Giovanni Scognamillo, and his student Metin Demirhan, this was the first film in which "Dracula showed his canines"... But horror didn't really catch on afterward in Turkey. The interviewees cite a couple instances of fantastic films incorporating Vlad the Impaler (for instance, as an adversary of serial hero Kara Murat), but really, there have been very few horror films up until the present era, when digital filming, DVD technology, and a crop of young directors seem to be responsible for a sort of "boom" in Turkish horror production.

Oluler Konusmazki is one of the few examples of Turkish horror occurring between Dracula Istanbul'da and the films of today. It appears to have been a dismal failure at the box office, so I guess that means that the general demographic of 1970s Turkey didn't experience film like I do. Director Yavuz Yalinkilic is known for minimalistic scripts, low budgets, and action. Since this is meant to sort of be an atmospheric film, the action is somewhat reduced here, but the other two definitely hold up.

In fact, to call the script "minimalistic" is really... well, too minimal a descriptor. The running themes in the film are twofold: "Wait... what?" and "What the fuck? No..." This is not a bad thing, as I'll explain, but definitely, if you're a curmudgeon for logical plots and artful and rich exposition, this film might give you an aneurysm, put you in a coma, and then torment you with incomprehensible dreams until you're finally excused to meet the hereafter. (Yeah, that's morbid, but this is a horror film I'm talking about.)

We begin, very abruptly, with a young couple, Mehli and Oya, in a scene that sets the tone for the whole film. A man in a carriage rides up and accosts them, telling them to get in. Mehli (played by a young Aytekkin Akkaya, famous to many of you for his supporting role in Turkish Star Wars) asks where they're going and why. The man explains that it's an old mansion, and the only place nearby for someone to stay. As they ride through the forest to the mansion, the man repeats ad nauseam that it's the 15th of the month, and he has to get home soon, because it's the 15th of the month, so he has to get home soon. He drops them off and rides off without payment, because it's the 15th of the month, and he has to get home soon. Shrugging, Mehli takes Oya inside.

Yalinkilic has spared us the need to contemplate such trivialities as, say, who Mehli and Oya are, where they're traveling, how they ended up in a town that only boards people in the haunted mansion where people always die, and why they'd let some random and ostensibly unstable guy insist on taking them through the woods in his carriage to anything, whether it be a haunted mansion or, y'know, an abandoned camp. And then there's the matter of what time period this movie takes place in; it could be the 19th century, or maybe it's the 1960s... And we never get the name of the town, either. Not even a silly name like "Nilbog"; nothing at all.

So. The house has a habit of automatically slamming doors shut behind people, as one might expect. Oya is scared, but Mehli insists that he doesn't believe in ghosts in this day and age, and they go upstairs to find a table set for two. They split up to look around, naturally, and Oya admires herself in the mirror before screaming when she sees someone staring through a peephole at her. Then the couple sits down to eat.

Hasan, the... guy who... well, I guess attends to people at this house, comes in and explains that it's the 15th of the month, so there are always only two visitors, though this is never explained and it never comes up again. He also explains that he opened the door for the couple, though they did not see him. Finally, he explains that the food is always delicious because he makes it, though after saying that he walks off with some of the food that I think the couple was supposed to eat. Hm.

Anyway, in between 'conversations,' or if you prefer, 'rapid exchanges of newspeak-efficiency communication,' Mehli digs into the soup, asking, "What's the worst that could happen?" Oya does come up with one scenario, but I'm sure you can come up with a number of them yourself...

Then Hasan brings Oya down to "show her something." Hasan, I might add, looks kind of like a Turkish Vincent Price on a vampiric kind of day. He shows her a very old portrait, explaining that Oya is beautiful like the depicted woman. She died, but he lives only for her... Only for her... But the beautiful women always leave him. On cue, Oya retreats from the room, walking the same route they took to get there, but in literal reverse (i.e. backward).

Of course, backward and forward are played with a bit in this film, as Yalinkilic delights in the use of mirrors. I think every room in the mansion has at least one full-length mirror, and sometimes it's hard to tell if we're watching a mirror or watching the action really unfold.

The soundtrack, I should also add, is... interesting. Often it's sparse: the ticking of a clock, or silence except for the "dialogue." Other times, it's vaguely ominous. Often, though, it's the theme from 2001: A Space Odyssey: as the trumpets build, the suspense is supposed to build, with the "freakout" or "startle" moment predictably coming when the drums come in. I was never sure if someone was about to die, or if it was the filmmakers' subtle way of telling us that somewhere else in the mansion, a monkey was cracking ribs with a femur.

Anyway, then the couple goes to bed. In separate rooms, it seems. If they're not married, I guess that might make sense in Islamic Turkey, but... well, we'll assume that's the case. Mehli is then attacked by a weird-looking guy wearing a hat and a trenchcoat of sorts who is completely impervious to the bullets in Mehli's gun. I'll try to keep plot summary minimal from here on out (what does that even mean in this context anyway?), but... this guy is worth talking about.

He's a stocky Turk with thick, though maybe not bushy, eyebrows, and he laughs like a motherfucker. I mean, seriously. He laughs when he's angry, he laughs when he's excited, he laughs in triumph, he laughs in defeat, he laughs maybe as some form of propulsion (he's a pretty slow walker)... If he's not talking, and usually he's not, he's just laughing. Laughing and attacking people. Laughing one of those "evil villain laughs," mind you, but laughing it with the reckless abandon of those novelty Halloween decorations they sell at drugstores that go off every time someone walks past them.

This guy is really the only main character of the film, because he's the only character whose presence persists throughout; everyone else is relatively ephemeral. We're later introduced to some apparent graverobbers who give the film its title (one says to the other that it's all right to dig up graves because "The dead don't talk"). Then the "new teacher" comes to live at Hasan's mansion, where she also gets the soup-and-"I-live-only-for-her"-soliloquy treatment. She lasts a little longer, though, making friends with some guy with a mustache who seems normal--except for the time that she asks about the village, and he screams at her that he doesn't understand his existence.

But hell, I have friends who'd probably do that, too, if they weren't too stoned most of the time to scream at all.

Eventually, the four characters who close out the movie decide to take on the hat guy using spiritual, and not doggedly scientific, means. Their adversary is apparently some form of the living dead, and he melts in a puddle of blood or chocolate syrup when caught in the sunrise, after talking about the voices of his people, the dead, who are screaming out or calling to him or something.

So. The movie is actually negative on the "how much sense does this make?" scale... and I give it props for that. The Dead Don't Talk exists in a weird vortex of logic that undercuts conventional apprehension of film much as its "the power of the spirit" theme undercuts, in its own way, scientific knowledge production as being the end-all be-all of existence. Did the director intend that effect? Hell, I don't know, but does that matter? The disorienting editing, the black-and-white photography, the abrupt start-and-stop use of the soundtrack, the constant, constant, constant laughing, the liminality produced by the lack of a definite (or approximate) setting, the sometimes-effective and sometimes-amateurish use of mirrors... these all have a synergistic effect. The flashes of competence in the film actually join hands with the amateurish failures to make the film feel more oneiric and more surreal. The repetition of some scenes is almost incantatory, and in light of the absolute incomprehensibility of The Dead Don't Talk, I found the film's attempt at horror to occasionally be paradoxically effective.

I'm not exactly saying of the film that it's so bad it's literally frightening, but... well, on a certain level, in a certain way, to a certain degree, I think it is. Believe it or not. Even if the horror element doesn't work for you, the film can provoke its share of laughter, and the surrealism of the cinematography and its editing is genuinely artistic at times in a "best-of-Jess-Franco" kind of way... In fact, in some ways this film reminds me of some of Franco's work, except for the lack of nudity and random sex toys with obscure theological significance just laying about on the floor. Of course, I like this film better than I personally like most of Franco's work, but the ideal of Ligottian oneiricism isn't really limited to Franco anyway... The only reason I don't say "Lucio Fulci" is because there's nowhere near enough (or any) gore here to make that comparison. The film doesn't suffer for the lack of overt physical violence, though. Frankly, if you ask me which film is better at evoking the disordered fibre of a nightmare, City of the Living Dead or The Dead Don't Talk... I think my vote is with the latter.

Watching The Dead Don't Talk, whether it will leave you laughing or contemplative, requires a sort of zen of movie watching. Don't question things; such behavior will ultimately hurt you. Just roll with it. I concur with Jared at World Weird Cinema on this point (http://www.worldweirdcinema.blogspot.com/): you've just got to sit back and open up your mind, the same way you have to let a shot of liquor just kind of slide down your throat if you want to do it right. And then, when it's all said and done, your head will be spinning in what seems to me to be a uniquely Turkish sort of way.

Labels: , , ,

posted by Ryan at | 0 Comments


Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Goth

2003, United States. Starring Phoebe Dollar, Laura Reilly, Dave Stann, Larry Sprock, Todd Livingston, Jed Rowen, Ashley White, Matt Nespoli, Krista Stilley, Joe Di Angelo, Monika Wild, Snakelady Rose, Joe Myles, Gary Levinson, Zenova Braeden. Written and directed by Brad Sykes.

I have a lot of good goth jokes, but unfortunately I've used most of them up over the years. Which is a shame, because this movie presents a perfect opportunity to trot them all out in one conveniently concentrated package. But no luck. I'm trying to repeat myself less these days. Plus, this is an off-the-cuff micro-review, so you're just going to have to roll with it.

I didn't realize how good I had it with Bloody Tease. Having said that movie wasn't very good, I immediately dashed out and rented another Brad Sykes shot-on-video micro-budget horror film, specifically because I'd been told, "Whatever you do, don't watch Goth. It's really awful." I couldn't write a better endorsement myself.

Of course, there are rare occasions when I should have taken such advice at face value. Bloody Tease was bad, but I could laugh my way through it without much trouble, and eventually you do get some boobs and a couple of those love-making scenes where the chick is willing to show her breasts but nothing else, so the couple makes love while she has a quilt or a sheet wrapped around her waist. Goth drains the fun out of a movie faster than a vampire stripper can drain a drunken frat boy but doesn't replace it with anything interesting, resulting in a painfully tedious and laughably pompous affair that would be perfectly acceptable as a sullen teenager's gothy vampire fanfic posted to an online forum, but is really unforgivable as even a micro-budget professional movie.

Chrissy is a pseudo-goth who goes out with her boyfriend one night and meets Goth, the goth who is so goth that she actually calls herself Goth. Goth talks about how many goth poseurs there are, which is funny, because after all my years as a punk rocker with plenty of goth friends, I'd say one of the biggest indicators that someone is a goth poseur would be if they did something like actually insist that their name was Goth. I'm surprised she didn't hang out with characters named Punk, Rockabilly, and Smooth Jazz McGhee.

Actually, put a hold on Smooth Jazz McGhee. He's going to be a character in my own vampire stripper epic.

Goth rambles on about the Three Laws of Goth, the rules written by Isaac Asimov that define the basic behaviors of a goth. These rules, and the whole ridiculously over-the-top character of Goth, must have been written by someone whose sole exposure to Goths was catching a couple Marilyn Manson videos. Now I'm an old man, and I know a lot of old goths from back in the day when we just called it death rock. Back then, being goth meant that you owned a Bauhaus t-shirt and listened to all the bands everyone pretends they liked in the 1980s when, in fact, they were all listening to Phil Collins, and listening to Siouxsie or Joy Division or The Cure got you beat up. That was about it. The whole white face paint nonsense started later, and it wasn't until much later that people started wearing those gigantic platform boots and leather trenchcoats with the cinched-in waist. I guess some bands, especially ones with industrial leanings (Thrill Kill Cult, etc) wore that stuff on stage from time to time, but it wasn't like today where every teenager in the city is perched awkwardly atop a pair of Klingon boots with foot-thick soles.

So this whole goth shtick as presented in Goth seems pretty goofy to me, but if that's what the kids these days have turned it into, I wouldn't really know or care. What I do care about is that all this self-important, "Lo, the darkness" dialogue is painfully corny and, even more importantly, dull beyond comprehension. The shock factor as Goth takes Chrissy and her useless boyfriend on a "tour of the darkness that is the true goth lifestyle" is utterly goofy, and the fact that this duo sticks with this nutjob no matter how boring her rants become pushes the film into the realm of supreme irritation. OK, we get a reason, however absurd it may be, for Chrissy sticking with this whole ridiculous scheme, but honestly, Goth weighs maybe a hundred pounds and is armed with a silly Renaissance Festival letter opener. How exactly does she manage to strike fear in the hearts of entire rooms, including rooms full of gun-toting hookers (don't worry -- the gun-toting hookers aren't nearly as exciting as they sounds, so you're not missing out). Does no one think to just punch this girl in the face? Or, you know, anything? It's just a curvy-blade dagger wielded by a giggling teenage girl, people! It's not like she's a trained expert with a knife or anything. How she manages to slaughter entire rooms full of people still send sme into fits of head-shaking.

And even though Chrissy is given a back story that explains why she is exploring the mystical and dark underworld of the goths, it still doesn't make much sense. It turns out Chrissy's sister was killed by a goth, though she soon discovers that her sister's dying word ("Goth") didn't mean she was killed by a goth, but by a person stupid enough to call themselves Goth. So Chrissy is secretly on a path of revenge, and yet rather than take that revenge on Goth any of the thousand times she has a chance to, rather than telling her boyfriend that, "well, it's about time we kicked this scrawny little psycho's ass," she just listlessly plays along with the murder and boring soliloquies until the finale where everyone gets Hunt's tomato paste smeared on them.

I don't mind complete illogic in a micro-budget film, though I certainly admire the lack of illogic on the rare instances it presents itself, but what I can't tolerate is movies that are illogical in the most boring ways, and furthermore, characters who don't act like or do things real people would do, solely because the script demands that they do something dumb in order to move the plot forward.

Goth is all the worse for its pretension of having some sort of deeper meaning than just being a really boring slasher/thrill kill film. Anyone over the age of 16 who still uses the word "poseur" or pulls out the "I shall show you the true meaning of my world" nonsense should just be kicked in the shin. Look, when I was a 16-year-old punk, I had a crush on this "normal" chick, and I pulled the whole mysterious, "I shall show you my world, but prepare yourself, for it is unlike anything you could have possibly imagined!" Of course, her world consisted of laughing and parties and having fun. My dark, dangerous, non-conformist world consisted of standing in a parking lot with a couple other people, looking sullen and talking about graveyards. It didn't take long for me to realize that, wow, my dark mysterious word was really lame. But even in my adolescent rebel stupor, I would have been smart enough to meet a chick like Goth and think to myself, "This girl is irritating."

On top of an intolerably boring script full of inane, high-school quality "embrace the darkness and see the truth" exposition, the acting is uniformly bad. This is nothing surprising in a mciro-budget film, but someday, people are going to figure out how to fix this. Phoebe Dollar as Goth turns int he best performance, simply because her character lends itself to scenery-chewing over-the-top excess. Laura Reilly as Chrissy is quite a beautiful young lady, but her character is horribly dull and, for being the heroine, spend smost of the time standing there doing nothing. The rest of the cast range from bump-on-a-log boring (Dave Stann as Chrissy's useless boyfriend, Boone) to hammy but not hammy enough to be truly entertaining. They're all inexperienced, working mostly in similar micro-productions, so they could use some coaching that they don't get fromt he director, to say nothing of a better script.

Even the effects look cheap and poorly executed. Usually, if nothing else, people are making micro-budget horror films purely because they want to show off their effects work. But here, even that is a major misfire.

Once again, I admire Brad and his crew for mounting and successfully making a feature film despite the obvious hurdles all micro-budget film makers face, but admiring the dedication and gumption is a world away from actually enjoying the end product. Like almost all micro-budget directors, Sykes relies on an incredibly weak script. The script is the cheapest thing to work on -- all you need is time and some paper, so I wish these directors and producers would put a lot more work into this stage of their film project, rather than rushing ahead with a script so weak that it makes the admirable quality of finishing a film seem unimportant since the film you finished is so uninteresting.

The only people I can imagine getting anything out of Goth would be either fellow micro-budget filmmakers who simply need to study the game (in which case, there's plenty of lessons to be learned here, though perhaps not as many as in a Todd Sheets movie) and goths who want a good laugh about the film's sundry, "this is what it means to be a true goth" lessons, which are about as accurate and valid as a big budget studio film's lessons on what true punks are really like.

For the time being I'm just going to reflect on the fact that Bloody Tease wasn't nearly as bad as I thought. That, and I should probably ponder the fact that at this point I'm still giddy about the next bad Brad Sykes film in my queue, if only because it features someone I actually know. I'm rooting for you, Brad. Don't let me down. Become a better filmmaker. Don't be Todd Sheets.

And of course, Goth completely fails to answer the one burning questions all viewers will come away from the movie with: who was driving the van?

Labels: , , ,

posted by Keith at | 4 Comments


Saturday, October 09, 2004

Horror Express

1973, Spain/UK. Starring Christopher Lee, Peter Cushing, Alberto de Mendoza, Silvia Tortosa, Julio Peña, Georges Rigaud, Ángel del Pozo, Víctor Israel, Helga Liné, Alice Reinheart, Juan Olaguivel. Directed by Eugenio Martín. Available on DVD from Amazon

It didn't take long for the genres of horror and science fiction to start mingling. It's a natural marriage, after all, and the two often blend seamlessly, the best and among the earliest example likely being the first two Universal "Frankenstein" movies. Throughout the 1950s, horror and science fiction were frequent bedfellows as atomic terrors ran amok across assorted landscapes. Increasingly, however, it was the science fiction element of the films that was in the forefront, with the horror placed in the background unless one was genuinely terrified of superimposed grasshoppers. By the middle of the 1950s, science fiction was still enjoying the occasional big budget celebration a la This Island Earth (1955) and Forbidden Planet (1956) while horror films were becoming increasingly cheap, b-movie quickie affairs. Not that that means there weren't plenty of gems in the mix, but compared to science fiction, horror was lagging.

It was in this setting, however, that England's Hammer Studio decided to mix the two together once again in what they hoped to be a high-class concoction, first as a television series and then as the film The Quatermass Experiment. Although horror was often regarded as a dying genre, Hammer proved that handled properly and with respect, fans were still ready to turn out for a good horror-scifi half-breed. Two more Quatermass films were made, the latest being 1967's superb Quatermass and the Pit, which sees the good doctor and investigator of all things extraterrestrial and paranormal grappling with an alien carcass discovered beneath London and possessed, seemingly, of a Satanic nature as well.

Which brings us nicely, if rather half-assedly, to Horror Express, a film that seems to draw from both the feel of a Hammer film as well as that of a ripping HG Wells story without actually being from either source. The idea of gods, angels, and devils as space aliens is no longer especially new and novel, though few serious (or even comical) studies of the notion exist in film. It's a favorite of conspiracy theorists and UFOlogists, however, with the best-known proponents of the idea being those who believe that "ancient astronauts" visited Earth thousands of years ago and helped with everything from the erection of the Egyptian pyramids to the construction of Incan, Mayan, and Aztec pyramids to the carving and raising of the ominous heads on Easter Island. Apart from the notion that aliens were jetting through the cosmos showing off their masonry and stone-carving skills is the theory that so-called holy beings, your Jesus and your various angels and maybe even a Greek god or two, were beings from another planet whose miraculous powers were rather run-of-the-mill back home but really something here on Earth where we didn't have the ability to turn water into wine. Thus these creatures would be perceived as gods and angels, and the naughty ones as demons and devils, by us backward shepherds here on planet Earth.

It's not a completely daft idea, as far as such theories go, at least no more so than Jesus being the son of a supreme being who created everything out of nothing and, with the entire universe at his disposal, whiled away the centuries picking on Job and pulling stunts like, "Abraham, sacrifice your son! No just joking! Dude, I can't believe you were really going to sacrifice your son." The idea that these angels, that perhaps even Jesus himself were aliens isn't entirely insane, especially when you take into consideration the power of Jesus to appear as a blond-haired, glowing white guy despite his Jewish-Arabic origins.

Horror Express is not a Hammer film, it could easily pass for one thanks to its quick pace, period setting, and the presence of Hammer's two biggest stars, Peter Cushing and Christopher Lee, and while it doesn't present us with the scenario of our deities being space travelers, it does rely heavily on the notion that beings from other worlds have visited this planet long before the presence of mankind in our current form, and that if said beings were perhaps trapped in the body of a monkey for two million years only to find themselves awakened on a train going through Siberia, they'd be annoyed. Lee stars as Professor Saxton, an intrepid scientist-adventurer the likes of which we simply do not see enough of these days. On an expedition to the far north of china, his team uncovers the remarkably well-preserved mummy of an humanlike ape Saxton assumes to be the missing link, not to mention being one of the greatest anthropological or archaeological discoveries of all time. Hey, consider that some people think of a particularly nice chunk of pot shard to be one of the greatest discoveries of all time, and you can understand why Saxton is so excited about his Peking Man.

Sexton immediately returns to the city with his find and books passage to Europe on board the Trans-Siberian Express, only to discover that much to his chagrin his number one scientific and one-liner rival, Dr. Wells (Peter Cushing), is also along for the trip and keeps bugging Saxton about seeing what's in that padlocked box. A Chinese thief at the station doesn't see fit to badger Saxton and, assuming the crate is full of jewels or fine women's lingerie, goes about taking a peek. When the police find him, he's dropped dead with blood pouring from his sockets and his eyes turned completely white. Saxton, being a fine, condescending British scientist, doesn't think much of the incident. The guy was a thief, after all. A mad Russian monk with wild unkempt hair and beard (is there any other kind of Russian monk), however, sees the entire affair as a sign that whatever is contained within the crate must surely be the work of Satan. To prove his point, he attempts to draw a cross on the box, only to discover that being the wooden container of all things Luicferian, the cross will not show up. Whether or not something less holy, like perhaps, "Springsteen 4 Ever!" would have showed up is one of the mysteries that shall remain forever unanswered.

Although the cross incident impresses the locals, Saxton dismisses it as a simple parlor trick, and points out that the guy is bugging his eyes out and ranting and raving about Satan. So all aboard the horror express, including Saxton, Wells, the crazy monk Pujardov (Alberto de Mendoza, who acted in Fulci's Lizard in a Woman's Skin and One on Top of the Other, among many European cult films), a suspicious Russian police inspector named Mirov (Euro-cult veteran Julio Pena, who also starred in films like Horror Rises from the Tomb, Werewolf Versus the Vampire Women, A Pistol for a Hundred Coffins and Sergio Corbucci's The Mercenary), a mysterious female spy, two Russian nobles, and a whole host of other people whose only job is to fill up the dining cart. In other words, it's a regular Agatha Christie gathering, the kind you always get on these old trains but rarely, if ever, on modern trains. See, therein lies the problem with modern rail travel: not nearly enough intrigue. Used to be that for the price of a ticket, you'd get spies menacing one another with stilettos, upper-class society types embroiled in murder mysteries, and alien-possessed monkey-men throwing things at Peter Cushing. No more. Maybe instead of offering the usual "first class, second class, et cetera" nonsense they should offer something like, "first class, second class, and turn-of-the-century intrigue class."

Needless to say, it isn't long before the ape-man claims another victim, this time a porter whom Wells had bribed to take a peek into the box and report back to him. Then the ape-man picks the lock and disappears, much to Saxton's annoyance. Faced with no other reasonable possibility, Inspector Mirov and the two British scientists are forced to assume that a two-million year old ape man has somehow been revived, learned to pick modern locks, and is currently at large and turning people's eyes white. An autopsy on the baggage handler also reveals that the brain is as smooth as a baby's bottom, disregarding then the obvious statistically rare and dismissible occurrence of an ugly, pockmarked baby bottom. It's clear that this is no ordinary two-million year-old missing link. As the list of victims grows, Wells, Saxton, and Mirov join forces to uncover the mystery at the heart of the creature's rampage. Things only get harder when they realize that the creature itself is not the ape-man, but an entity inside the ape-man which is able to leap from one body to another when the need arises. This revelation prompts the best line in the entire movie, in which Mirov turns accusingly to Saxton and Wells and proclaims, "Even one of you could be the monster!" to which Cushing's Wells replies indignantly, "Impossible! We're British, man!"

Eventually, it is discovered that the entity is a space alien, marooned on the planet millions of years ago and really keen on getting the hell out of here. The creature's trump card in attempting to get Wells and Saxton not to kill it is that it's seen millions of years of earthly history prior to being frozen and can provide them with knowledge immeasurable. It's a tempting Faustian deal, but one the stolid British researchers resist, though the crazed monk, fearing that this beast is Satan himself, decides to cast his lot with the side whose physical manifestation is running amok on the train. AN impromptu stop at a remote Siberian outpost allows Cossack soldier Telly Savalas to board the train with his troops and either get to the bottom of things in a quick and efficient manner or provide more corpse fodder for the creature, who also reveals an ability to revive the bodies of its victims and send them, zombie-like, shambling through the claustrophobic train cars in a final horrific onslaught against the living. You guess which eventuality comes to pass.

Horror Express is a ripping good yarn with a fast pace and a snappy wit. Cushing and Lee are superb in one of their countless pairings, and each horror veteran crackles with energy as they dig deep into their characters and revel in the story around them. Though there are a couple tongue-in-cheek touches to the film, the film itself is never completely tongue-in-cheek. Rather, it simply relies on clever twists and a wicked sense of humor to carry the admittedly zany plot. There is plenty of ammunition on hand for those who wish to pick apart the logic of a film about an ancient alien consciousness riding the rails with Telly Savalas, but the spirit of the film is so high and the performances so winning that one scarcely has time or cause to pause and think about the absurdity of the blood from the eye of the creature acting as sort a microscopic slideshow. That the creature's memory is contained in the fluid of the eye is in itself not a bad idea, but the fact that Lee and Cushing can extract a drop of blood and look at it under a microscope to enjoy various pictures of dinosaurs and the earth from outer space is, well, you know, as outlandish as the fact that people are only mildly surprised when a two-million year-old monkey mummy springs back to life and starts killing.

There are also a series of coincidences that the alien must have been eternally thankful for - such as the fact that it needs to figure out how to get out of the locked box, only to be able to absorb the skills of a Chinese thief. And it needs to learn some way of building a rocket capable of escaping earth's atmosphere only to be put on a train alongside a female spy stealing a sample of an indestructible metal to be used in the construction of, perhaps, rockets. And that the creator of the metal, the formula of which is so secret that only he himself knows it, is also on board.

But honestly, none of this matters, because what Horror Express wants to be is a faced-paced, fun horror-scifi thriller, and that's exactly what it is. Cushing's Wells is hilariously pompous yet thoroughly likable, and Christopher Lee gets to play yet another stern but heroic man of reason, something he proved considerably adroit at in The Devil Rides Out. The supporting cast is comprised of Eurocult veterans, largely from Spain, all of whom have extensive experience in horror, historical adventures, and spaghetti westerns, among others. And then there's Telly. Although a big enough name thanks to turns as Kojak on television and as Blofeld in On Her Majesty's Secret Service so that he's never been identified as a horror film icon, there's no denying that when Savalas made a rare appearance in such a film, it was usually going to be pretty good, not to mention pretty weird. In the same year as Horror Express, Savalas appeared in Mario Bava's superb mindwarp of a horror film, Lisa and the Devil. He goes pretty far over the top here as a sadistic Cossack soldier, but his performance, while bordering on camp, works within the context of such a playful film. I only wish he'd shown up earlier, but I guess too big a dose of his character would have ruined the performance.

Part of the reason Horror Express got made was that the producer purchased the model train that was used in the bigger budget historical epic Nicholas and Alexandra and figured, heck, if he owned this really keen train set, he might as well make a crazed scifi-horror film around it. Exteriors are appropriately bleak and hopeless looking, bringing to mind when combined with the mind-stealing alien life form the sci-fi classic Thing from Another Planet, remade in the 1980s by John Carpenter simply as The Thing. Horror Express shares quite a bit with Thing from Another Planet, in fact. From the icy setting to the alien to the claustrophobic interiors and growing sense of paranoia that infects the passengers. Much of the film is beautifully shot, with exquisite sets and decoration, and some of the scenes are genuinely eerie, the most prominent being the horde of white-eyed ghouls shambling through the darkened train cars as the remaining passengers scramble for safety. Cinematographer Alejandro Ulloa has a ton of horror, science fiction, and spaghetti westerns to his credits, and he works wonders within the confined spaces of the train. Coupled with a superb score, the film has a nearly overwhelming sense of dread that is tempered only by the spriteful performances of Lee and Cushing.

The monkey man make-up is neither dazzling nor awful, and though we probably get too clear a look at it too often for its own good, it's hardly of a quality that would destroy a film, especially one so heavy with wit and stand-out performances. There are some fairly gory special effects, but nothing out of the ordinary for what other studios, including Hammer, were doing at the time. Some bleeding eye violence, some gratuitous brain surgery, that sort of thing.

If you miss the days when horror and science fiction, while not exactly being intelligent, were at least willing to play with lofty ideas and theories and mix them together with charm and drollness, then by all means hop on board the Horror Express and please forgive me for statements like that. I hadn't sent he film until I sat down to watch it for this review, and the only reason I don't regret having missed out for so long is that it gave me the chance to have such a wonderful, rollicking good time at the horror films to discover.

Labels: , , ,

posted by Keith at | 0 Comments


Sunday, June 22, 2003

Creature of Destruction


1967, United States. Starring Les Tremayne, Pat Delaney, Aron Kincaid, Neil Fletcher, Annabelle Weenic, Roger Ready. Directed by Larry Buchanan.

"There is no monster in the world so treacherous as man."

So we are reminded at the beginning of Larry Buchanan's Creature of Destruction and, just in case we forgot, at the end of the film as well. I like a film with a message, but the message is considerably less interesting if the film has to print it out for you. But hey - at least the guy was trying, which is more than can be said for most films. And in the end, this film is made in the tradition of sci-fi and horror films of days gone by, when such films had messages and delivered them with all the subtleties of a stoic military general surveying some scene of mass carnage and reflecting on the follies of man. Creature of Destruction is Buchanan's homage by way of remake. In this case, it's a remake of 1956's The She-Creature, a movie that never exactly called with deafening thunder to be remade.

Larry Buchanan is a name both well-known and much-feared among fans of the lower echelons of cinema. On the cinematic food chain of respectability, Golan and Globus make Dino De Laurentuus seem respectable. They in turn are made to look respectable by Roger Corman. And Corman is made to look respectable by Larry Buchanan. Below Buchanan is the No Man's Land where dwell filmmakers like Bruno Mattei. Buchanan was best known for taking minute budgets and turning them into films that looked like they had minute budgets. Some directors known how to stretch a low budget and make the film look extravagant. Others get a huge budget and churn out cheap looking garbage. With Buchanan, he had very little money, and that's what it looks like.

Feeling particularly frisky one day, American International, the company whose triumphant logo brands many of the world's worst and most entertaining films, decided to commission a series of made-for-television features based on previously released theatrical films. They needed filler, and since they had very little time or money for the project, they figured it'd be easier to dust off an old film rather than come up with a new one, sort of the mirror opposite of what Hollywood has been doing in recent years by remaking any and every television show from the 60s and 70s with bloated blockbuster budgets.

Buchanan was given the film industry equivalent of milk money and sent on his way to remake such pseudo-classics as It Conquered the World (his version was Zontar, The Thing From Venus), Invasion of the Saucer Men (The Eye Creatures in Buchanan's filmography), In the Year 2889 (his version of The Day the World Ended) and The She-Creature. Buchanan was chosen presumably for his ability to make movies that were shockingly boring, but not quite so boring that you'd feel the undeniable urge to turn them off. They had a sort of grimy appeal I liken to the guy I once saw at a Shoney's All You Can Eat breakfast bar who had a cereal bowl full of glistening link sausages. You know you'd be better off if you turned away, and yet you can't help but glance over and watch as he crams spoonfuls of greasy sausage into his salivating, gaping maw. And when you realize with horror and awe that he's actually crumbled up strips of bacon onto the sausages as a topping.

While I've seen all of the films Buchanan based his remakes upon, I can't claim to be especially familiar with the work of the man himself, having seen only Naked Witch and Mars Needs Women before sitting down to watch Creature of Destruction. I never really considered this a particularly glaring deficiency in my schooling, and after finishing my third Buchanan bonanza, I still maintain that opinion. The biggest detriment to Buchanan's work is that he's almost competent. His films are by no means stellar, but he knows how to make them, even if they're made on the cheap. He can focus a camera, and most of the time he even knows how to light a scene. Not creatively, mind you, but at least you can see what's going on. This isn't a Doris Wishman movie. But because his films lack the mad disregard for anything and everything that becomes the benchmark of a Doris Wishman or Ed Wood Jr. film, he also fails to capture their outrageous appeal. At the family reunion, Ed's movies are the fun-loving gay Southern Queen cousin in a velvet jacket while Doris' movies are drunk and telling you some lurid burlesque tale about a fling in 1947. Buchanan's films, on the other hand, are the slightly grumpy uncle on the front porch who only talks about financial issues. You don't particularly dislike the guy, but when it comes to family dysfunction, his is not nearly as interesting as most of the others. And yep, those are examples right out of my own family.

There are moments, however, when Buchanan almost approaches a Ray Dennis Steckler-esque sense of surrealism, though Buchanan lacks Steckler's eye for a good shot. Say what you will about Steckler's limitations, he was able to capture some really interesting images for his films and made his budgetary constraints and lack of experience work for him. Once again, Buchanan is undermined by the fact that he's not as crazy as he should be to come up with something really sublime.

Such is the case with Creature of Destruction. It's not good, but it's not one of those "so bad it's good" movies all the kids speak of these days. At it's best, it's maybe marginally bad to the point that it becomes mildly amusing. Although the whole hook of old films was to hold off on revealing what the monster looked like so as to drum up anticipation or mask budgetary constraints on the make-up department, Buchanan hits us face first with a wet fish and gives us the monster in the opening shot. In fact, he gives us a goodly portion of his entire finale in the pre-credit sequence. Just as he repeats the quote at the beginning and end of the movie, so too does he, well, repeat the ending for the beginning. Take that for what you will. If you like to cut a man some slack, you can call it a subversion of the traditions and expectations of the classic structure of a sci-fi monster movie. Larry knows how the game is played, and he's turning the rules inside out from the get-go as a clever way to comment on the genre as a whole. Or you can simply look at it as filler.

If there is any subversion going on (the case for which is strongest when one takes into account the abandoning of the original's run of the mill happy ending in favor of a far more downbeat finale), credit for that probably goes more to frequent Buchanan scriptwriter Tony Huston, who also penned The Eye Creatures, Zontar, Curse of the Swamp Creature, and Mars Needs Women. His work here is, like Buchanan's largely competent. Too competent, perhaps, for its own good since a movie of this nature generally benefits from a few howlers when it comes to bad dialogue. Nothing here really fits the bill. No one says anything particularly insightful or idiotic, and no one in the audience is going to go home quoting their favorite lines -- good or bad. Most of what's said, like most of what's done, is simply there, with nothing to distinguish it as memorable on any side of the bell curve.

The plot revolves around a celebrated hypnotist, if such a thing exists. In the movies, these guys often perform before a captivated audience of dapper men in tuxedos and women in fancy cocktail dresses. In reality, they work primarily at Six Flags. I can't say for certain whether or not there was a time when the elites of American society sat in rapt awe as they watched a hypnotist make some woman repeat facts in a monotonal voice, but based on my knowledge of contemporary culture and the fact that unless you have an annoying amateur magician for a friend, you never hear about any famous hypnotists, my money is on the belief that perhaps these guys were not as popular with the jet set as movies sometimes make them out to be.

It doesn't help that their supposedly astounding stage shows are so often studies in tedium beyond comprehension. I mean, how many times would you really want to go watch the guy from Devil Doll make his ventriloquist dummy fetch a ham sandwich? It's a constant problem in film, that we're presented with a character who is supposed to be incredible at what he does despite all on-screen evidence to the contrary. Think about how many movies have been made about great fictional directors and, when you see samples of their work presented to you as a film within a film, it's junk? Same goes for movies that tell us a character is a brilliant writer then assaults us with samples of his writing that would hardly qualify for publication by Harlequin Romance.

Such is the case with Creature of Destruction amazing Dr. Brasso, played with goatee-sporting "mysteriousness" by Les Tremayne. Tremayne's performance is suitably hammy in that "I have mental powers beyond your comprehension" sort of snobbery all world-class mesmerists and mind readers seem to have. Tremayne's no rookie when it comes to film. Before assuming the role of the brilliant but slightly mad Dr. Brasso, he'd appeared in Angry Red Planet, Slime People, and Monster of Piedres Blancas among many others. But he's far more famous as a disembodied voice, having served as a narrator or voice on the radio for movies such as Goldfinger, Forbidden Planet, and King Kong Versus Godzilla before going on to a long and steady career as a voice actor for cartoons. Like everything else in this film, his performance is suitable to the point of being not worth talking about.

His brilliant and shocking stage show consists of making his assistant sit there for a spell while he rambles on, wrapping things up with a dire prediction that a murder will occur, which is sort of like predicting that a traffic accident will occur or that terrorists may strike somewhere in the world within the next two years. When that very night sees a couple murdered, all fingers point to the one guy in down who minces about dressed like a circus ringleader while making bold predictions about murder. We, of course, know that the murders are being perpetrated by a googly-eyed sea monster that vaguely resembles Mer-Man from Masters of the Universe, only in a regular black wetsuit. The thing that sets this monster apart from most other monsters is that it can haul ass when it needs to. Where as most monsters are content to lumber or lurch, our Creature of Destruction is more likely to break out into a jaunty jog. It can even creep stealthily like a ninja, which at least gives it a real-world basis for being able to pop up and surprise people. Most monsters just depend on the sudden inexplicable deafness and blindness of their prospective prey.

It's the kind of monster suit that makes you appreciate how realistic the monsters were in the old Ultraman shows.

Hot on the monsters heels is your standard issue ineffectual cop who blames everything on Brasso without any real evidence, even when it seems murders are being committed while Brasso is in the company of the police. The cop is played with acceptable bone-headed stiffness by Roger Ready, another Larry Buchanan regular who also appeared in Mars Needs Woman and Curse of the Swamp Creature. Helping the cop out is a brilliant - or so they say - military parapsychologist named Dell and played by Aron Kincaid. Kincaid wasn't a Buchanan staple, but he is another actor that went from sundry bit-parts to fairly steady work as a voice actor for cartoons, having worked on such series as Transformers, Batman: The Animated Series, Smurfs, and the life-affirming Hulk Hogan's Rock 'n' Wrestling. Before that, he had parts in a number of teenie bopper movies, possibly in hopes of grooming him to be the next Frankie Avalon, or at least the next Tommy Kirk. He wound up being closer to something like the next Arch Hall Jr., and he looks really out of place a military officer with a floppy pompadour. I know standards change over time, but I'm pretty sure there was never an era where "floppy pompadour" was a regulation military haircut.

It turns out, just as in the original film, that the monster doing the killing is a psychic projection of Brasso's assistant, a manifestation of her primeval ancient soul that appears when she is under deep hypnosis. Brasso apparently knows this but doesn't much care. He's too busy dreaming of the day he'll be taken seriously as a scientist and can finally join the ranks of all those other rich and powerful hypnotists. So he's evil, but in a really uninteresting way.

Buchanan employs a variety of cost-cutting techniques in order to bring his modest tale in under budget. The entire opening sequence - which is also most of the closing sequence - is shot with no sound. Generic "menacing" music was dubbed in later. Shooting without sound was one of Buchanan's favorite tricks. Naked Witch, like this movie, relies heavily on post-production narration, looped music, and even a cheap intro (Naked Witch's intro is a series of shots of a book). Not having to shoot synch sound means, for starters, Larry doesn't need soundmen on location. He also doesn't need to shell out for sound film. He uses the no-sound trick frequently.

He also finds a way to shoot a number of scenes with dialogue in a way that allows him to simply dub it in after the fact. People are filmed from far away, or with their backs to the camera, especially in outdoor scenes. There are a couple musical interludes as young teens shimmy to the beat on the beach that manage to eat up several minutes of time without needing to synch up the sound to the action.

Shooting without synch sound is an especially popular way even today of keeping costs low. Up until very recently, almost no films in Hong Kong were shot with synch sound. Jackie Chan was one of the first to make synch sound the norm, and while it's more common today than it was before (an attempt to revive the HK film industry by making the films look more Hollywood), it's still not the norm. Shooting synch sound, of course, means using the sound that's recorded while a scene is being shot so that you get a perfect synchronization of lip movement, background sounds, and dialogue. Films that don't use it often skip the process in order to save money or because they expect the film to be dubbed into lots of different languages anyway, so what's the point? In the case of Hong Kong, both were true. With Larry Buchanan, it's simply a way to save some cash.

Aside from a couple lengthy songs, we get a lot of scintillating scenes of hypnotism. The original film was a plodding 77 minutes of excruciating tedium, and Buchanan faithfully recreates every minute and then some. Filler is another good way of padding a film without impacting the budget, and what better way to pad a film than with long scenes of a guy in a top hat muttering, "Your eyelids are growing heavier. You want to sleep." I'll spare you the obvious joke about how effective his cooing was on me. Hypnotism, beach party musical interludes, and repeating the same scene at the beginning and end of the movie - not bad.

And of course, there's our theme, the one about the dark heart of man. "Man is the most dangerous creature of all," or "Man is the true monster" is not what you might call a ground-breaking or unique theme, and the film delivers it with a clumsy and obvious thud. But in this day and age of plotless, meaningless reality television, I'll take any theme and be happy with it regardless of how heavily it's hammered down my throat. Actually, no. I take that back. From what I've seen, reality television also teaches us that man is the true monster. Alas, the folly of man! When will we learn? How many she creatures, creatures of destruction, and From Justin to Kelly's must we create before we learn not to tamper in god's domain?

The end result of watching a film like Creature of Destruction is sort of like letting out a complacent sigh. It's better than a sigh of frustration, but it sure isn't a sigh of pleasure. It's the cinematic equivalent of the age-old "What do you want to eat?" "I don't know. What do you want to eat?" conversation. It gets the job done eventually, and the results aren't entirely awful. They're not awful in that way that leaves you with very little to say about the matter except, "Eh." Should you watch Creature of Destruction? Eh. Is it a bad film? Eh. Is there anything in it worth seeing? Eh. Is the monster goofy looking? Yep, it sure is, but even a goofy monster suit can't make a dull film that much more interesting. After all, there are plenty of entertaining monster movies with equally appalling or even worse monster suits.

It's a curious middle of the road, existing neither in the realm that is entertaining nor in the realm that is horrible. It's boring, but not in a way that had me clambering to stop the movie. It is, ultimately, a perfect summary of my attitude toward any of the Larry Buchanan films I've seen. "Eh" and an indifferent shrug of the shoulders. I can't bring myself to skewer it any more so than I could bring myself to praise any aspect of it.

And in case you forgot, "There is no monster in the world so treacherous as man."

Labels: , , ,

posted by Keith at | 0 Comments