Brad's Week in Dork! (8/17/14-8/23/14)

It's my birthday week!  You know what that means?  Summer is winding down, all the big blockbusters are done, and we've got another Expendables movie to get frustrated over. The real winners came from the B Movie Bin - Charles Bronson's Mr Majestyk & Roger Corman's Sorceress. You're gonna want to add these batshit beauties to your collection pronto.

The Expendables:  When I first heard this film announced, I was thrilled at the notion of seeing all my favorite 80s action stars (+ a couple of newbies) in one big testosterone orgy.  Stallone had just directed the single most violent experience in the Rambo franchise, and he put a proper emotional caper on the Rocky films.  However, in the wake of subsequent sequels, The Expendables is more than just a hint of a disappointment.  The dialogue is stilted, the violence tame, the fight choreography uninspired, and the thrill of seeing Statham, Arnie, Dolph Lundgren, Jet Li, & Stallone sharing the screen (or runtime as the case turned out to be) is no longer there.  The first Expendables is simply a collection of missed opportunities.  Sure, Terry Crews still packs in the charm and Dolph is a wondrous neanderthal, but Eric Roberts is a bore, the damsel is laughable, and it is just not BADASS enough.  This is not the excessive tribute I want.

The Avengers:  Now here is a film that pays off on its iconography.  As a response to this year's Winter Solider & Guardians of the Galaxy, there has been the inevitable chatter of what film ranks supreme in the MCU.  I really, really, really love the 2014 Marvel offerings, but I seriously doubt there will ever come a film in the franchise to match my enthusiasm for their first battle royale.  I enjoyed the Phase One films just fine, but it's in The Avengers where the characters start to gel.  Through their interactions with each other (Tony & Bruce, Tony & Steve, Tony & Fury...hmmm...we see who makes the big bucks here) the film solidifies the emotional weight of the narrative.  It's not about Cosmic Cubes and Chitauri warriors, it's about "I'm Always Angry," Cap's battle fatigue endurance, and Loki's big brother complex.  Joss Whedon strives to give each player a moment, and manages to reveal to the world the appeal of a star-spangled boy scout and a depressed green rage monster.  This is something comic book geeks have known for decades, and it's a hoot to see the rest of the world invited to the party.

The Expendables 2:  The second outing is where things really get dumb, but also a whole heckuva lot more entertaining.  But in that Laugh At kinda way.  Jean Claude Van Damme is The Goat - ooooooooooooooo - a nefarious Bond villain with a cache of nukes and a thirst for pretty boy blood (Watch Out Liam Hemsworth!).  Stallone gathers the team together to save the world, and demolish Eastern Europe.  Con Air's Simon West brings a little life into the direction, but the endless splatter of CGI blood only highlights the bullshit vibe of the whole Expendables concept.  You just can't go home again.  There is only one Rambo, one Terminator, one Delta Force.  Please stop "I'll Be Back"ing the dialogue, it's just awkward - not cool.

Howard the Duck:  Guardians of the Galaxy simply necessitated another rewatch.  I know this is one of Matt's Favorite Movies, and even though I cannot possibly join him on that particularly crazy point of view, I do think Howard The Duck is not the abomination some might have you believe.  In the same fashion as The Goonies or Wall Street, Howard The Duck expertly captures the weirdness of the 1980s.  From its earnest punk rock revolution to its broad jabs at consumerism, the film strives to capture the biting satire of Steve Gerber's original comic even when the jokes fall flat, and the performance stretch beyond the stratosphere.  It's a boggling movie.  But it's weird.  And it's fun.  Bestiality is hilarious, right?

The Expendables 3:  "I Am The Hague!"  I will not bother to complain about the downgrade from R to PG-13.  Frankly, the first two films were only rated R thanks to waffling computer gore, so that type of bitching is moot.  That being said, it's obvious from the third entry that Stallone has no idea what makes the idea of The Expendables worthwhile.  After a nifty little jailbreak for Wesley Snipes, the crew is disbanded and Sly stretches the runtime with Kesley Grammar recruiting a new batch of young things.  I did not pay $15 to stare into the pink lips of Kellan Lutz.  No, I am here to watch Terry Crews chaingun a swath through a faceless sea of henchmen.  I want to see Jason Statham decapitate some chump with an epic round house kick.  I don't care about the polished teeth of youth.  The icons we came to see are barely present.   The Expendables 3 only succeeds when the old bastards get their screentime.  Antonio Banderas is adorable in his babbling enthusiasm for killing.  Mel Gibson is kinda terrifying when gleefully discussing the application of meat suits.  Wesley Snipes is WTF Crazy, and he's great for all five seconds he's given to shine.  I am your audience here Stallone.  I feed off of nostalgia.  Give me something to chew.  But this horse has been bludgeoned to death.  Also, director Patrick Hughes is set to direct The Raid remake???  God No!  Someone stop him!  The last thing we need is a cheap looking knockoff splattered with cartoon bloodspray and CGI tanks.  Laughable.

Mr. Majestyk:  Want a glimpse of real manliness?  Look no further.  Kino Lorber just released a new blu ray of what I consider to be Charles Bronson's finest hour, and it is a gorgeous burst of raw 70s manliness.  Yes, as much as I love the Death Wish films, Mr Majestyk is where it's at.  Screenplay by Elmore Leonard (who later wrote the novelization that can still be purchased at your local bookshop), is a simple watermelon farmer desperate to clear his crop when he runs afoul of Al Lettieri's mob enforcer.  It's one of those films where principle matters over common sense, and thankfully Bronson's Majestyk has the special forces training to back up his righteousness.  Great, simple gun battles punctuated by Bronson's well worn intensity.  This is the ultimate (Mid)Western, the type of film John Cougar Mellencamp dreams he could replicate in song.  Once upon a time, I would watch this flick on loop, and despite having an Elmore Leonard autographed poster in our bedroom, I recently discovered that The Wife has never had the pleasure.  So, it looks like I'll be watching Mr. Majestyk again real soon.

The Congress:  High Concept movies are a bitch to pull off.  Robin Wright plays herself, an aging actor with a sick kid and a limited time left in front of the camera.  After some plot demanded internal struggle, she sells not just her image but her whole being to Danny Huston's Hollywood mogul so that he can use her in whatever cinematic tripe he deems worthy of profit.  It's one of those films that enjoys potshots at our current pop culture landscape while trying to mine deeper concepts like The Human Soul.  I appreciate the attempt, and the first half (where actual actors populate the screen) is certainly engaging.  However, when the real world morphs into Cool World, the scenery gets wackier, the reality less defined, and my interest dims.  Neat to look at, but ultimately an obvious declaration.

Batman - Assault on Arkham:  DC Animation is loosing it, and it's hard not to attribute their artistic slump as a direct result of Bruce Timm's departure.  Justice League War, Superman Unbound, The Flashpoint Paradox, Son of Batman, and Assault on Arkham all seem more interested in acquiring their gritty PG-13 rating and reveling in moronic bloodshed & creepy sexual references then actually telling a good story.  Which is a serious bummer, as DC used to own the animated arena.  Heck, just last year they completed the extraordinary feat of adapting Frank Miller's The Dark Knight Returns & it was PHENOMENAL!  Assault on Arkham is directed by the same guy (Jay Oliva), but it's only victory is that it crams in as many references to the hit video game as it can while promoting the uber-lame Suicide Squad.  Owning the DC Animated films used to be a requirement, but now it's looking like even renting them is dangerous.  Such a letdown.

The Fade-Out #1:  I'm still processing the conclusion of Ed Brubaker & Sean Phillips' Fatale, and already they've launched into a brand new series.  It appears like they're taking a break from the supernatural to tell a straight up Noir centered in the golden age of Hollywood.  I, of course, am totally A-OK with that.  It's a typical set-up: black-out drunk screenwriter wakes up in a hotel room with a dead starlet sprawled on the carpet.  Who killed the diva?  Plenty of suspects.  It may seem premature to praise The Fade-Out, but given their track record, you would be an absolute fool not to want to jump into this hardboiled pool.  October will see the release of the final Fatale tradepaperback, and as stoked as I am to reread it, I am even more excited that such quality comics are on their way.

Duck Soup:  Half the year is over, and I still have plenty of Cinematic Resolutions to check off the list. For whatever reason, I've never been much of a comedy guy, and I certainly have never been one to consume the supposed comedy classics.  Only recently have I discovered Charlie Chaplin & Harold Lloyd, and I was kinda hoping that The Marx Brothers would fall into that similar realm of "Damn That's Classic For A Reason."  Unfortunately, I can't say that I was won over.  I enjoyed what delightful dicks Groucho & Chico could be, but their jokey joke comedy felt too much like Dad humor for me to fully embrace.  Duck Soup got me some chuckles, but I left the theater appreciating its place in cinema history more than as an actual entertainment.

Sorceress:  Now here is a film of cinematic legend...or at least it should be.  Produced by Roger Corman during that wondrous Conan The Barbarian knock-off phase, and directed by Foxy Brown's Jack Hill (until a post-production dispute kicked him off), Sorceress has pretty much anything a 13 year-old boy or stunted adult could possibly want.  We're talking twin Kung Fu Playmates, a horny Satyr, a fatherly viking, a vengeful ape-man, a marauding zombie horde, and an actual appearance by that winged lion on the box art.  In short, B-Movie gold.  Never before available on DVD, Scorpion Releasing makes a name for itself by finally gifting us this gonzo exploitation onto blu ray.  A MUST OWN.

Sin City - A Dame To Kill For:  Some things are better left unadapted.  Frank Miller's Sin City comics are an ultra-masculinized reworking of Film Noir tropes, a genre that already reveled in hedonism and bravado.  The plots were never stunning, it was all about the ridiculous hardboiled dialogue and Miller's mastery over negative space.  Replicating that onto the big screen, Robert Rodriguez barely manages to capture the bizarre visuals and it's a rare actor who can pull-off the lingo.  Josh Brolin gives the good ol' college try.  Mickey Rourke is practically a Dick Tracy face pre-latex, so his Marv is a top-notch brute.  And there probably has never been an actor more suited to be a Frank Miller puppet than Eva Green.  I admire her game.  But ultimately, the Sin City films leave me cold and unimpressed.  Jessica Alba is wrong, wrong, wrong as stripper Goddess Nancy, and her "original" story of revenge that concludes the film is dull, awkward, and out-of-sync with the timeline.  Joseph Gordon Levitt might have made for a good addition if his story had any weight whatsoever.  So, this might sound crazy given the current climate, but not every comic needs to be a movie.

See No Evil, Hear No Evil:  Saw this on netflix, randomly watched it late one night.  It's a film I saw a lot as a kid, and I don't think you're going to find too many people who agree with me on this one, but it is my favorite Richard Pryor/Gene Wilder pairing.  It's an ultra silly crime caper in which a blind guy & a deaf guy are on the from the law as well as a couple of killers.  Hijinks ensue.  Nothing innovative here, but the film wins me over because of the warmth each actor displays for the other.  They're a couple of losers wallowing in their disability, but through each other they learn to enjoy life once again.  Misanthrope gimmick comedy.  Apparently, I'm a sucker for it.

Beasts of Burden - Animal Rites by Evan Dorkin & Jill Thompson:  Saturday night was our 3rd Meeting of our 3rd Year of Graphic Novel Book Club.  I know I say this every month, but I can't believe it's still going, and I can't believe how much I love it so.  Beasts of Burden marks one of those rare occasions where we all pretty much loved the book (ok, so William was a little lukewarm on it, but I'll take that as a victory).  Imagine the X-Files but cast with Cats & Dogs and you pretty much get the gist.  A series of one-and-done comics that slowly builds to an overarching story involving a malevolent force calling out from the small town sewers.  Creepy, ghoulish, even heartwarming.  The only trouble is that the comics have been going since 2003 and it seems like we've only scratched the surface of this world.  We're greedy, and we want more, more, more from the gang.

--Brad

Brad's Week in Dork! (11/17/13-11/23/13)

This was simply one of the best weeks I've experienced this year.  Matt & I spent a good chunk of it staring up at The Big Screen, and I would rather be nowhere else than in a darkened theater.   Sure, we missed a good bit of the Fantastic Fest Tour last week, but Matt & I managed to spend an entire day with The Alamo Drafthouse on Sunday.  I am happy to report that two of the films we watched there will land on my Top 10 List by year's end - Journey to the West & Why Don't You Play In Hell? are a couple of mindbendingly entertaining films from the East.  Hopefully the Fest will return next year, and I'll make damn sure to get the whole weekend off.  Midweek we took a peak at Matthew McConaughey's Oscar grabber Dallas Buyers Club, and we finished it all off with an AFI Silver screening of Kiss Me Deadly.  Ralph Meeker...monster...just an unbelievably good movie.

I spent the rest of the week diving into Noirvember.  A bit of too little, too late.  Next year I'll try to knock one out a day cuz it's a blast witnessing dumb dudes fall for diabolical dames.  I saw The Prowler for the first time on Sunday morning.  It's a demented little flick (see below).  And Netflix currently has Raw Deal streaming - I'll join novelist Eddie Muller in calling it one of the genre's best.  Matt's been raving about Gene Tierney's Leave Her To Heaven horror show, and I gotta heap on more praise.  Just a damn fine bit of melodrama.  Plus, Jean Rollin, Black Power, Robert Ryan, Charles Bronson, and Charlie Chaplin filled in the gaps.  A ton of fun.

The Prowler:  "You're a real cop now, aren't you?  You want everything free."  During the special features, author James Ellroy nails it on the head when he labels this whackjob flick as a "Perv Noir."  Van Heflyn's beat cop responds to Evelyn Keyes' distress call, and immediately slithers his way into her life.  This woman just can't say no; ten minutes inside her home, Heflyn's smoking the husband's cigarettes, drinking his booze, and plotting his murder.  Keyes is nearly unbearable in her ignorance, but Van Heflyn's badged monster owns this unlawful entry.  When you compare the bulging glares of his sleazoid cop with the dopey sadsack hero of 3:10 To Yuma, you'll finish the credits a Van Heflyn fan for life.  The Prowler's third act goes off the rails a bit with a ghost town pregnancy, but the surreal law & order showdown certainly delivers on the weirdo vibe.  It's certainly a must for fans of the genre.

Confession of Murder:  Unlike Van Heflyn's deputized pervert, Jae-yeong Jeong's Detective Choi is the type of badass Dirty Harry you love to root for as he bashes, gouges, and spits against the absolute worst of humanity.  Unfortunately, Confession of Murder's structure wanders on too long as it manufactures its inevitable twists.  There are certainly moments in this movie that I enjoyed.  When fists or bullets start to fly, I really appreciated the sloppiness of the action.  Whatever happens to be lying around the set is tossed into the violence; no bucket or frozen fish is safe.  Again, Jae-yeong Jeong is great.  He simmers rage and hate, but the film never really delivers on those emotions, opting for obvious narrative trickery instead.  May I recommend I Saw The Devil, if you are looking for some real-deal Korean serial killer cinema to fuel your nightmares.

Journey to the West - Conquering the Demons: This one surprised me.  I don't know why since I'm a tremendous fan of Stephen Chow's Kung Fu Hustle, and I should frickin' know better, but the early trailers for this yet-another-adaptation of the classic Chinese fable never captured my interest.  Dumb ass.  Journey to the West is the best fantasy adventure of 2013 - F YOU UPCOMING HOBBIT!  The story of a young demon hunter struggling to obtain enlightenment as he struggles equally to sack catfish and pig monsters.  And if fumbling about with cg folklore wasn't tough enough, the fool is constantly being shown up by Shu Qi's warrior princess.  The film is incredibly silly and weird, but as one demon hunter fends off the affections of another, and the epic quest marches towards the mischievous Monkey King, I found myself being incredibly moved by the climactic spiritual awakening.  As he had already proven with Shaolin Soccer & Kung Fu Hustle, Stephen Chow drags genuine warmth out of cartoon hijinks.  Journey to the West does all the cliche things you want from the movies - you'll laugh, you'll cry, etc.  High praise.

Why Don't You Play In Hell?:  "It's bullshit, but it's holy."  For me, nearly the second they were uttered, those five unimpressive words struck like a hammer.  Which is impressive considering how distracted I was with splatstick laughter at the time.  A group of teenagers, unable to shake their child-born attraction to the movies, are dragged into a gang war when Boss attempts to satisfy his imprisoned wife by transforming their daughter into a full-fledged starlet.  What does an obsession with Bruce Lee have to offer real life let alone a Yakuza crusade?  Movies are my own great Holy Bullshit, and filmmaker Sion Sono certainly understands this fictional infection.  Why Don't You Play In Hell? builds slowly as it connects film nerds to mob killers, but by the time Samurai Boss Shinichi Tsutsumi cracks his Carey Grant smile and ascends to Mifune Godhood, I was painfully smitten.  I loved Journey to the West, but Why Don't You Play In Hell? feels like an instant personal classic.  Will it speak to everybody?  Absolutely not.  But if you spend as much time as I do fretting over the merits of Crank 2 - High Voltage or the under appreciated kick-assery of Domino Harvey then boy, do I have the movie for you!

Red 2:  I dug the first flick.  I kinda hated this one.  John Malkovich & Helen Mirren are fun enough, but Bruce Willis is painfully checked out from this old foggie spy adventure.  I've seen Moonrise Kingdom.  I've seen Looper.  I know the guy can still deliver a solid performance when he bothers to give a damn.  But if he keeps cranking out the Red 2s, the Good Day To Die Hards, and the GI Joe Retaliations then I am going to leave him smirking across an empty theater.  Of course, I could just be bitter that Red 2 left Karl Urban standing at the alter.  If he had been there instead of Byung-hun Lee, then maybe I could have focused on the shockingly entertaining character work being done by Anthony Hopkins, and not the slackjawed yawn belching from its lead performer.

Dallas Buyers Club:  I am so glad that the rest of the world has finally caught up to my Matthew McConaughey love...or has the Surfer, Dude simply given up the aspirations of Tom Cruisehood and plunged into the splendid world of character actor?  Dallas Buyers Club is just what you think it is, a message movie circling themes of intolerance on both the personal and societal level (resulting in countless unnecessary deaths) and an opportunity for its star to horrifyingly transform himself.  The cynical might dismiss it as Oscar bait, but I appreciated the narrow focus of the Buyers Club money grab.  This is not just the story of a man inflicted with HIV only to magically discover that Life Is Beautiful.  Sure, he gets there.  But McConaughey's sex fiend dope head recognizes an opportunity to make a buck, and through his own greed witnesses the even more catastrophic avarice of Big Pharma.  If you really want to get your dander up then I recommend How To Survive A Plague for further viewing.

The Set-Up:  "Everybody makes book on something."  Here it is.  The granddaddy of all boxing stories.  Pulp Fiction, Snake Eyes, Raging Bull - they all wanna piece of The Set-Up.  Robert Ryan is Stoker, a mid 30s wannabe champion without a chance in hell of scoring the belt.  When his manager & coach make arrangements with his opponent they forget to tell Stoker to throw in the towel.  They've seriously under estimated the dying dog's determination.  The Set-Up is one of the most painful of noirs thanks to the impenetrable cloud of doom circling the hero. Ryan is the very definition of "poor bastard," from nearly the first frame you know he's screwed.    

The Necessary Death of Charlie Countryman:  Who doesn't want to see Mads Mikkelsen and Til Schweiger beat the stuffing out of Shia Labeouf?  That's what I call a good time out at the movies.  And the kid really does get the snot kicked out of him, but these poundings stem from a series of predictable setups.  Labeouf travels to Romania after his mother's ghost instructs him to strike out on an adventure, a man dies next to him on the plane, and he feels it necessary to deliver a spectral message to his daughter.  It's all very cute.  It's Eastern Europe so of course there are strippers and the mobsters.  Meh.  Not the worst thing I've seen this year, but I certainly won't remember a thing about it come Top Ten time.

The Black Power Mixtape:  From 1967 to 1975, a Swedish television crew shot hours upon hours of footage surrounding the Black Power movement in the United States.   Decades later it's assembled by director Goran Olsson into this masterful documentary.  The film touches upon the battling philosophies of Martin Luthor King, Stokely Carmichael, Malcom X, and Louis Farrakhan.  You've probably encountered much of this content in the past, but the Swedish perspective offers a fascinating angle that's not as condemning of us dumb Americans as you might think...although, it's appropriately harsh on the assholes of history.

Raw Deal:  "What do I care if you're dead?"  Edmund O'Keefe escapes from prison and plunges himself and two love struck dames into a vengeance quest against gangster Raymond Burr.  Like the best noirs, Raw Deal concerns itself with white hot hate, and revels in the resulting emotional torture.  I love how helpless O'Keefe is under the affections of both Claire Trevor & Marsha Hunt.  He just wants his dough, but these girls keep getting in the way!  Raymond Burr also gets an exceptional moment to showcase his villainy as he dumps scalding hot flambe upon a hapless dancing couple.  I can see where Lee Marvin gets his temper from in The Big Heat.

Leave Her To Heaven:  "Sometimes the truth is wicked."  Cornel Wilde stumbles into a diabolical Elektra complex when he locks eyes with Gene Tierney's gorgeous socialite.  The film chronicles a deeply disturbing love affair in which Wilde appears helpless against Tierney's fatherly obsession.  Once again...dames.  No one is safe from Tierney's perverted lust.  Not Wilde, his crippled kid brother, the family ranch hand, or any beast that dare grow in her belly can escape this monster.  Is Leave Her To Heaven the first color Film Noir as some have claimed?  Not sure that such a thing exists, but you can't doubt Gene Tierney's talent as a Femme Fatale.  She's stunningly gorgeous and filled with hate; to look upon her is to look upon the medusa.  Yer done son.

Fascination:  If you've been reading Matt's Week In Dorks then you've seen him slip into Jean Rollin madness.  He's been pestering me to jump on board this train for some time, and I finally broke down with this whackjob flick.  What's it all about?  I really don't know.  Some thief flees into a castle where two mysterious women keep dropping their clothes and ravaging his body.  Lots & lots of surreal imagery - a bloody butcher barn exchange opens the film, and it only gets more nonsensical from there.  Of course I enjoyed it.  Am I ready to go all in like Matt?  Hmmmmm...not yet.  I'll give another Rollin flick a try, but apparently, I need more in my films than dreamscape boobs.

Someone Behind The Door:  Two weeks ago I had never heard of this film, but then I encountered a random Best Of List online (which I currently can't track down) that put Someone Behind The Door at the very top of Charles Bronson's canon.  Better than Death Wish?  Mr. Majestyk?  Once Upon A Time In The West? Certainly not better than Death Wish 3!?!?!?!?  This random troll thought so, and I had to find out.  Well, I wouldn't rank it at the top of my list, but Someone Behind The Door is pretty damn good.  Bronson plays a drifter who stumbles into Anthony Perkins's hospital with some scratches on his arm and absolutely no recollection of who he is.  Amnesia...yeah, it's one of those.  Bronson is solid as this broken man hunting for identity, but it's really Anthony Perkins's show.  The kindly doctor is not so kind; he uses Bronson's blank slate as a means of punishing his adulterous wife, but how far will this revenge go - murder?  The man is Psycho after all.  Someone Behind The Door is certainly worth a look, and you might as well snag the DVD for a couple bucks online.

Just Like Being There:  A simple talking heads documentary detailing the resurgence of illustration in regards to concert and movie posters.  The stuff of internet dreams & nightmares.  I was definitely bit by the Mondo bug a few years back, and I had a streak there in which I desperately haunted ebay and other back channels for the must-have screenprints (Tyler Stout's Wrath of Khan & Assault on Precinct 13 being my favorite gets).  Now it's nearly impossible to score a Mondo on the release date, and I've lost the thrill of the hunt.  Of course, there are other companies out there doing work of equal value, even if it doesn't make Entertainment Weekly's radar.  Anyway, there isn't much to this doc.  It's cool to get some interviews from folks like Daniel Danger, Justin Ishmael, and Drew Struzan, but there is nothing new to be gained here unless you have only the slimmest of surface knowledge.

Kiss Me Deadly:  "You don't taste like anyone I know."  I've seen this flick a half dozen times now (twice this year now), and it has quickly risen to the top of my all time favorites.  Ralph Meeker's private dick picks up a crazy dame on the side of the road, and his life is propelled down a Kafkan spiral to Armageddon.  Full on Film Noir Horror, and Meeker is the blunt instrument of our ultimate doom.  Men don't get much tougher or downright stupid evil than Meeker's Mike Hammer.  Not sure if this is what Mickey Spillane had in mind, but it's the final statement on a genre of deadly stubborn, thick-headed misogynists.  And it's totally badass.  I have no idea why every random lady falls into Meeker's arms, or why he can't seem to give a damn about them in his quest for the Great Whatsit, but it is painfully funny to watch him bounce off these ladies until that final Fatale strikes.  What's in the box?  Something much worse than Gwyneth Paltrow's pretty little head.  Kiss Me Deadly is the strangest chunk of noir, and it climaxes in what is probably cinema's greatest grim climax.

Detour:  "For that kind of dough, I'd cut my leg off."  Film Noir is a genre of sadsacks, but the saddest sack of all is Tom Neal's lovelorn hitch-hiker.  While on the road to reclaim his starstruck lover, Neal thumbs his way into the wrong car.  As they often do, a corpse materializes.  Neal thinks the easiest option is to snatch it's identity and glide into the Golden State.  Naturally a woman appears to ruin his life.  Claudia Drake might not be the finest of actresses, but she nails the shrill vocal venom and that accompanying hateful stare.  Two pieces of scum made for each other, and the entertainment is watching them bring about their own ruin.  Not my favorite Noir, but whenever someone mentions the genre Detour is the first film that pops into mind.

City Lights:  The Wife & I watched this Saturday afternoon, and we had a blast laughing at The Tramp's romantic plight.  Chaplin falls hard for a blind flower girl, and when he becomes chummy with a drunk millionaire, he finds the monetary means to win her heart.  Unfortunately, the millionaire has no recollection of our man when he's sober.  Miscommunication and slapstick hijinks ensue.  As usual, Criterion does a bang-up job with this Chaplin release, and City Lights stands out even amongst other silent classics like Modern Times & The Gold Rush.  Those thinking that the silent era is best left to the historians are missing out on some serious comic gold.  I'd pit Chaplin against any number of generic Vince Vaughn duds.  Do yourself a favor and give The Tramp a try.

--Brad

Matt’s Week in Dork! (9/8/13-9/14/13)

    Sunday took Chris, Dan, and myself back to Baltimore for the second, more mellow day of the Baltimore Comic-Con.  I got more chances to see things, and there was a lot more variety of cosplay.  A good day, all round.   Otherwise, the week was mostly filled with work and not fun/not Dork behavior.

Doctor Who: Ghost Light:  One of the better Sylvester McCoy stories, this is OK.  It’s a play on a lot of those old BBC costume dramas and adventure yarns, with dashes of ghost stories and Holmesian mystery.  Again, I can’t really sing its praises, but for McCoy’s run, it’s not bad.  Worth watching.  The end is pretty crazy.

The Violent Men:  Glenn Ford is a tough hombre.  He plays it cool until he can’t play anymore.  Then he devastates everyone who gets in his way.  This isn’t any kind of groundbreaking or special Western, but it’s quite good, and worth watching.

The Dark Knight Returns:  This animated adaptation of Frank Miller’s industry changing Batman comic is pretty good, but weighted down by source problems.  First off, Miller seems to have a real problem with women, and all the women in this movie are kind of awful (with the possible exception of the new Robin).  But it feels more consistent than the original.  It’s a pretty good story with some cool plays on classic DC universe ideas.  I’m just not in love with the whole thing.  This one is very, very much not for kids.

House:  Oh, Japan.  Less boring than a lot of Japanese horror films (especially of the 60s and 70s), House is about as jumbled and random as they come.  I found it hard to pay attention or care about what was happening, because little logic or reason can be applied to the plot or characters.  There are some good moments, and enough crazy that fans of weird cinema should enjoy seeing it once.  But this isn’t my cup of tea, that’s for sure.

    On Saturday, Brad and I headed up to Bethesda for SPX (the Small Press Expo).  This show has grown dramatically since I first attended five years ago.  Even with increasing the size of the actual venue, it was still quite crowded by so many comic fans.  And the diversity has increased, as well.  I noticed it wasn’t all just 20 to 40 year old, bearded white guys in flannel, with their tattooed girlfriends in boots.  There were more young people, more (a bit more) ethnic diversity, and more variety in the artists attending.  I felt a lot better about what I saw on the tables.  It just makes being poor that much rougher, as I couldn’t buy from half the people I wanted to.  Still, managed to get a few cool prints and mini-comics.  SPX is evolving, but feels like it’s keeping true to its more do-it-yourself vibe.  (Brad has a cool story, which I'll let him tell in his Week in Dork).

    Otherwise, I’ve started reading The Great and Secret Show from Clive Barker, which I’m really enjoying.  And I’ve been trying really, really hard to get some meaty writing done.  Sadly, most nights when I return home, I find myself staring at the wall, or zoning out with some music.  Writing has been tough.

-Matt

A Fistful of Westerns! (Brad's Picks)

A couple days ago America celebrated another birthday with the release of the much maligned, and certainly under appreciated Bruckheimer/Verbinski Western extravaganza, The Lone Ranger.  It's been a long hard road to the silver screen, taking five years and over $250 million dollars, but the world has finally been assaulted by Johnny Depp's bird-hat wearing Tonto.  It is this year's John Carter, more attention has been given to its budget and the ballooning behind-the-scenes than the final product, but those that bothered to see it this holiday mostly seem to fall on the "Hated It" half.  I was pretty much ready to go in guns blazing, but I quickly found myself intoxicated by its oddity.  The Lone Ranger is weird, gross, violent, ugly, bloated, and perverted.  I thought it was amazing, and possibly my favorite Blockbuster of the Summer so far.  I am deeply perplexed by this reaction, and will certainly have to sit down for a second viewing to check my sanity, but as of right now The Lone Ranger is my favorite Bruckheimer production since the first Pirates of the Caribbean.

That being said, this ain't your granddaddy's Saturday Morning Serial.  Those looking forward to a cartoony reinvention of their beloved characters should look elsewhere.  This is not Sam Peckinpah's West.  It's not John Ford's Monument Valley.  This is not tribute filmmaking.  It's a straight up Gore Verbinski weirdo picture, and there might be hints of the familiar, but the closest it gets to homage is the bonkers Spaghetti Western tone.  Not Leone or Corbucci, but The Lone Ranger has moments that dip into the painfully unfunny absurdity of Mario Bava's Roy Colt & Winchester Jack.  I am happy to report that there are a handful of whacko critics out there defending the film, and if you're curious to see other chipper reviews, click on over to IndieWire to experience the minority opinion.

At the very least, The Lone Ranger has reawakened the Westerns conversation.  People bemoan its demise, but even if we're not getting a dozen new Westerns a year, the genre is far from dead and I can think of at least a handful of films that made my Top Ten lists during the 21st Century (Django Unchained, True Grit, Appaloosa, 3:10 To Yuma, and The Proposition).  I am a dork for many things. I love Star Trek.  I love Planet of the Apes.  I love Hellboy & Batman.  But my all time love has to be the Western with its frontiers and outlaws, it's open ranges and the men determined to fence them in.  Picking my Top Five Westerns is a nearly debilitating challenge.  I can tell you that my Top Three have been set in stone for at last ten years, but the back two switched in and out a half dozen times before I just settled with the final result.  It really does pain me not to include Johnny Guitar, but I finally let it slide due to a lack of viewings.  However, give me a few years and 5 more rewatches, and I'm betting Johnny Guitar will fall into the number 3 or even 2 slot.  As it stands today, these are my true loves.

5.  The Proposition:  A revisionist Western (gah, it seems like all Westerns are revisionist Westerns!) set in the Australian Outback, The Proposition begins when one brother (Guy Pearce) is captured by the British government, and charged with the assassination of his eldest brother (Danny Huston).  If he refuses, the youngest Burns Brother (Richard Wilson) will be executed for the crimes he perpetrated under their demonic tutelage.  The Proposition has to be one of the angriest and meanest movies I've ever experienced.  It is absolutely unrelenting in its pessimism and critique of westward expansion (or in this case, Global expansion).  Danny Huston might as well be Satan himself, a murderous rapist so uncompromisingly vile that the audience forgives Pearce's obvious scumbag mantle.  The Duke does not ride to the rescue of the damsel.  There is only misery here.  But it's a hell of a heart-thumper, a real deal horror film minus the spooks and goblins.

4.  The Professionals:  Here is your classic adventure film.  A Texas millionaire (Ralph Bellamy) hires four tough men to venture down into Mexico to retrieve his young bride from a villainous bandit king (Jack Palance).  As is the case with most Westerns, the rich = bad men and the poor = brave revolutionaries.  Our heroes are the Man's Mans of yesteryear, real tough dudes that just don't appear in Hollywood these days.  Lee Marvin is the military might, a born leader of men aching to fight the good fight.  Burt Lancaster is his scalawag buddy, he cares less about the cause and more about the reward.  Woody Strode is the halfbreed Apache scout, a mean hombre with a bow & arrow.  Robert Ryan is the horse wrangler, and the man who struggles the most with the morality of their mission.  Directed by Richard Brooks, The Professionals very much has that Dirty Dozen vibe, but its smaller cast allows for Lancaster & Marvin to charm their way into your heart as they dismiss gold for glory.  Honor over wealth, the stuff of Legend.

3.  Once Upon A Time In The West:  Clint Eastwood's Dollars Trilogy was simply Sergio Leone practicing for this film.  As epic as anything seen in The Lord of the Rings or Lawrence of Arabia, Once Upon A Time In The West is an attempt to cram in every genre convention from railroad expansion to mysterious strangers, from saloon brawls to sunset sayonaras.  This is kitchen sink cinema at its finest.  Henry Fonda is a profit killer - men, women, children, whatever - but he's too cocky to be unstoppable.  Charles Bronson is Harmonica, the drifter who stumbles into town with an obvious agenda for death.  Claudio Cardinale is the hooker with the heart of gold, a woman who falls into the gunsights of American Rail.  And Jason Robards is the bandit with delusions of domesticity.  Over the course of three hours these four characters butt heads and get their Spaghetti Western extreme closeups.  Ultra melodrama done right.  

2:  Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid:  It's impossible to watch this film and not also witness the breaking of Sam Peckinpah's heart.  This is the end for the director.  He would have a couple of films after this one (even one great one), but Pat Garrett & Billy The Kid is his last hurrah in the genre he reinvented.  Couple that with the already emotionally devastating plot, and you have one of the most sombre films ever produced.  Kris Kristofferson is The Kid, the last of a dying breed.  The railroad has connected America, the Wild West is forever gone.  James Coburn is Sheriff Garrett, a former outlaw who knows when the show's over and takes the Government's money in exchange for his best friends capture.  Both men are trapped by destiny, or at least their perceptions of it.  During the last moments of the film you can sense Peckinpah's unwillingness to adhere to history (his tiny undertaker cameo is the silent scream), and I sometimes fantasize for his Inglourious Basterds revision.  Alas, death is there.

1.  Unforgiven:  For me, and a lot of people, Clint Eastwood is the Western.  The Good The Bad and The Ugly, The Outlaw Josey Wales, High Plains Drifter.  How can you pick one above the other?  Well, personal nostalgia gets part of the credit for this film's placement at numero uno; Unforgiven was the first Western I ever saw in the theater.  At the time, I remember thinking the film was a little boring and my Dad was verbally abusive towards it upon exiting the theater.  However, when I rediscovered the picture in college, after having consumed everything by Sergio Leone and John Ford, I deeply responded to the climactic switcheroo.  For nearly all it's runtime, you are on Clint Eastwood's side.  He's an old widowed gunfighter who picks up a bounty to put supper on his children's table.  But the killings he commits along the way reawaken the bad man inside.  He's not the noble High Noon white hat of the 1950s.  He's William Munny, the killer of women and children.  He's damned.  And he knows it.

--Brad