The Crack which was 2010, Part 3: That's a wrap.

Alright. If this Year End doesn't wrap up inside this post, there's a fair chance I begin watching 2011 movies and completely abandon the endeavor. So, in the spirit of this, the season of resolutions, and continuity, I'll submit a few of the final films on my list as links to my original reviews — read at your leisure. And the three links are: The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, Adam Green's Frozen, and Exit through the Gift Shop: A Banksy Film.

2010: Part 1 & Part 2

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One of the movies I intended to see on the big screen was Roman Polanski's The Ghost Writer. On the whole this is a fairly generic political thriller; as rooted in actual US–British war politics as it may be. Polanski might have well made a documentary instead because it may have been more interesting to put eyes on the actual locations and players rather than its uncomfortably cast roster. Pierce Brosnan fades more out than in with his portrayal of "Tony Blair", and Kim Cattrall's entire character felt far too substantial and ill–incorporated for what should be a fairly nondescript role. The focus is all wrong considering the subject. Ewan McGregor was solid as the ghost, and Olivia Williams actually anchors most of the scenes she's in. These two are basically why the film succeeds to any degree, in my humble opinion.

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That gun will do just fine.

Staying on this side of the pond, The Disappearance of Alice Creed was one of those pleasant surprises Netflix tossed my way — in the sense a fiendish and injurious plot line could afford. Gemma Arterton (look out, Asia Argento) portrays an abductee now shackled inside a meticulously arranged apartment for the purposes of drawing a ransom from her wealthy father. While the movie plays fairly straight, as hostage movies go (think of even the most generic ransom movies like, say, Ron Howard's Ransom), eventually the characters thankfully begin to wander away from stuck, lacking depictions. I won't spoil anything here.

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Jennifer Lawrence walking the Ozarks.

The much heralded Winter's Bone (d. Debra Granik) was one I was committed to seeing in the theater. The bizarre, disorienting ping–ponging between modernity and indigence makes a perfect setting for the more rural than rural teen Ree Dolly (Jennifer Lawrence) in her quest to fend off a bail bondsman poised to confiscate her families homestead against her scofflaw father. As the film proceeds, Ree's pursuit of her father turns into an epic of sorts; she scours a feral terrain in order to interrogate a litany of equally feral defendants, and does so with little consideration for any degree of inner resistance. Even though I admit many Twenty–Ten films escaped me, I'm prepared to place Winter's Bone firmly atop my hypothetical Best List.

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Eli and his traveling companion... Mila Kunis!?

Now for a parting five–film blitz: The Book of Eli -- An interesting premise as far as the post-apocalypticism goes, (no, apocalypticism isn't a word), but said premise was stretched to its limits. It's about 45 minutes too long.

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Pea soup island.

Shutter Island -- I mentioned in my Inception paragraph (part one) that DiCaprio as an actor does little for me, yet here he gave a performance to build on. While the movie itself was peppered with greenscreen shenanigans and a wholly nonessential scene with DiCaprio opposite Ted Levine, the story itself was engaging enough and wrapped up on a high note. And all those familiar faces didn't stall this movie! A success in and of itself. As far as I'm concerned, this is Martin Scorsese's finest feature film since Goodfellas.

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The Art of the Steal -- A documentary revolving around a chemist turned visionary art collector whose personal collection of largely dismissed art became highly desirable and insanely valuable later in his life. He wound up self–financing a building to house the now popular works — of which he gave anyone (particularly students) near unlimited access to. Yet, after his death, even a cast-iron trust couldn't keep the jackals and politicians from looting his remaining wealth and eventually the art itself.

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Quite literally.

Trash Humpers -- A must see endeavor featuring a foursome clad in latex Halloween masks who scour the Nashville streets in deliciously eccentric fashion. The film isn't all farce, per se — it could be said it's wildly serious — although one would have to experience the movie themselves to know for sure.


So, Hello 2011.

2010 and the Proverbial Crack, Part 2.

In part two of my quasi Best of list, I'll touch on a few horror movies which had good intentions for audiences — but you know what's said about good intentions...

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Bringing the Kimon Corner to life.

The Last Exorcism – As many have already opined, The Last Exorcism is righteously ridiculous for a majority of the movie's run time; yet surprising so it wonders outside these confines on a couple of occasions — during the brief show-how Reverend Cotton gives the camera crew, and a reasonable shiver (or two) when the team advances on, then becomes embroiled with, the Sweetzer property itself. Afterward, it's perfectly clear the ending, which adheres to the spirit of the movie's mockumentary roots, could have been far more effective.  /theater

Title screen.

Let Me In –  As a well shot and produced horror/thriller, "Let Me In" delivers in spades — yet as those of us who already watched the original, Let the Right One In (Låt den rätte komma in) — the entire exercise came off as somewhat of an exercise in futility. Save for one sequence later in the second act, the shot–by–shot systematics didn't do much for me, or for most, except for them crazy vampire aficionados. I don't have to be the one to tell anyone; rare is the time when this endeavor succeeds. Funny Games reshoot: no. Insomnia reshoot: yes. This movie: not so much.  /theater

This is pretty much indicative of what to expect here.

Night of the Demons (2009/2010) – First off, admitting that I only watched this because I had read the original was great doesn't make a whole lot of sense, but since Netflix listed that particular 1988 movie in the "very long wait" column from the moment it released to DVD, I figured why the hell not. My oh my. In the realm of remakes (having now seen its model), this selection, while faithful to a point, has little character and zero of the amusing piquancy that made the original a minor cult hit. What's worse, this one eschews the quintessential suburban stereotypes in favor of bitter, cartoon–like females and boring, invisible male characters — including a overstuffed and sleepwalking Eddy Furlong. Please do not waste your time. See Kevin Tenney's wacko-horror effort instead.  /netflix

Which side is this crazy bastard on? I'll never tell.

The Crazies – While the 1973 George Romero film of the same name still escapes me, it's not difficult to ascribe what's on the big screen directly to him. Who doesn't think of Romero when they see zombies? This effort strives to be far more serious in nature than its model despite a laughable (and dare I say, unrealistic) ending; this one actually ventures into territory not usually associated with the standard zom–com. It borrows the sharp, inky production values that made the Jeepers Creepers and Final Destinations of the world palatable, the screen is never not nice to look at, and the violence is distributed well enough to maintain that horror tone rather than default into zany tomfoolery.  /theater


Part 3 is on the way...

2010 in film: or, How twenty-ten fell through the proverbial crack, Part 1.

2010 was one of the laziest film years for me; so much so that I hesitated to even publish any sort of list revolving around the scant number of movies I did see. In essence my personal debate centers on if and when a list was put together, I would be haunted and embarrassed by what ended up on the page. A sad prospect for someone claiming to enjoy the moving picture. That being said, I'm throwing personal pride into the waste basket to publish some notes on a smattering of films, good and exhausting alike.

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Melodrama in physical form.

Inception – Here's a movie that owns a phenomenal premise, and in large part it's executed extremely well. Many recount the final act as some of the finest and profound in all of cinema — I agree to the extent that Christopher Nolan's dimension–shifting, time–lapsing third is like Momento on magic mushrooms — it was spectacular in nature, yet it was not as confusing to follow when one hears someone attempting to enumerate the sequence. On a negative note, the "icon" device was o.k., but its factor was exposed in the film's opening sequence. I liked the movie, and if I were doing a true toplist it would find itself near the top of 2010. And that's as ringing an endorsement as I could give, seeing as Leonardo DiCaprio (the Martin Scorsese of actors) does little for me on the screen; What's eating Gilbert Grape aside.  /theater

One of sisters three; snakes for hair — hated of mortal man.

Clash of the Titans (2010) – An overblown CGI–fest which, like many remakes/reboots, utterly disgraces the model. Wonks of Greek mythology found it well, but it contains little else to stir even steadfast action–fantasy devoteés. Worst abuse: The caravan's visit to the Stygian Witches and their subsequent showdown with The Gorgon Medusa.  /theater

The Renaissance Man himself:  Jesse Ventura!

Predators – Speaking of abuses, this reboot of the 1987 sci–fi classic Predator steers clear of the mindless man/beast battle of the original in favor of tepid, focus–grouped human interest. And obvious sequel baiting. Never mind that the Laurence Fishburne character was entirely superfluous, Adrien Brody is a powerfully weak stand–in for an Arnold Schwarzenegger who was still near the peak of his power playing the original, albeit stylized, proto–human hero.  /netflix

Eastern European dentistry?

Saw 3D (a.k.a. Saw VII 3D, Saw 7, Saw: The Final Chapter) – By the time Saw V rolled into theaters I had given up that the series would realize a certain potential that many others were also attempting to will upon the writers/producers. That being a far more specific and serious tone to the nature of the film's morality murders. Even as the violence was somewhat comical in the beginning, there existed a grimmer tinge to them than simply borrowing from mid–80s slasher conventions; whatever the solution was to be to this wanting, it never materialized. And for myself, I continued anyhow in my opening weekend viewings. All in all, this movie was as laughable, if not more, as the previous three installments.  /theater


Part 2 forthcoming...

Merry Christmas from Third Man Records (via newsletter)

"Somewhere" Letter Floating Around

I was living in Paris after Marie Antoinette and thinking about what I wanted to write about, when I started the script for Somewhere. The idea of this L.A. actor guy came to mind, and when a friend would visit from the U.S. and bring an American tabloid, it made me think about doing something about L.A. today. I loved movies like Shampoo and American Gigolo that captured Los Angeles, and wanted to try to do that for this time.

There were also a few stories of actors in personal crisis they seemed to have girls throwing themselves at them and to be partying a lot and I tried to imagine what that would really be like all the time. After Marie Antoinette was so girly, I wanted to try to write something from a guy's point of view. My friend's 12-year-old daughter was the inspiration for the character of Cleo, played by Elle Fanning. I had just had a baby and was thinking about how that affects you, and wanted to put that in the story.

I started writing after doing a commercial with the cinematographer, Harris Savides, and we were talking about what we liked and didn't like about making movies, and how simply you could make a movie, and it got me excited with the idea of making a minimal portrait of this guy. I wanted to show just a moment in his life where he has to decide what kind of a person he's going to be, and I put in what I thought was funny, and touching.

We shot the summer of 2009 in room 59 at the Chateau Marmont and around L.A., with a week in Milan.

Writer/Director

Sophia Coppola

Frozen (2010)

So it took a while but I finally saw Adam Green's chilling endurance horror film, Frozen. See what I did there? In any case, the movie is actually much closer to a slasher film that straight horror — a number of innocents, a predator (who I suspected to involve the man from the "MISSING" poster at the chalet), and a final...well... person. That's not to imply the film is devoid of horror. On the contrary. Green's style of writing/directing lends to real terror, yet it's a distinct and almost frustrating sort in this instance. I thought 2006's Hatchet was a phenomenal mixture of new wave lore, comedy, and fear which seriously involved his audience — Frozen, while excluding the comedic aspects entirely, recaptures much of that terror but in a more empathetic manner.

It seems the main point of contention with Frozen has been, besides what has been described as a simplistic plot, is the caliber of acting. Plot–wise, the film spans the better part of two days involving friends Joe (Shawn Ashmore) and Dan (tween-screen veteran Kevin Zegers) on an annual skiing trip, now accompanied by Dan's better half, Parker (the fresh–faced Emma Bell). The trio casually attacks the slopes, but due to Parker's Green Circle skill level, the serious skiing the two normally engage in is all but abandoned. This sits less well with Joe than with Dan and Parker, as they are seem content to be the quintessentially cutesy couple slipping and fumbling down the bunny hills. Yeah there's a bit of tension developing, but the three clear the air and decide to attempt a final, more serious, run down the hill. They convince the chair operator to send them up the slope before closing. They have zero idea of how serious a run this will turn out to be.

When the lights go down it's time to start worrying.

Sure the screenplay isn't perfect, at a few points frustratingly so, but the human element is on full display while the three slowly come to grips with the the situations they find themselves in. I mentioned earlier that the script was empathetical insomuch as these people are, or could be, any one of us. A relatively innocuous event portrayed in a sublimely human way — the terror of Frozen is a function of natural association and although it smacks of something beyond reason, it really isn't. The coup de gras, as horror fans will no doubt appreciate, is the nod to previous final [person] films and the raw, stoic ending which might be far more frightening than all of what came before.  

The House of the Devil (2009)

Suffice it to say, there's little mystery to the formulas surrounding modern horror films. Production companies seemingly find instruction from similar over-sized novelty dice laden with glib pointers like REBOOT EARLY 80s SLASHER, DUST OFF 60s GAILLO SCREAMER, or GREEN LIGHT 70s FINAL GIRL RESHOOT, COMPLETELY STEAL 90s J-HORROR FILM (K- HK- Thai- would obviously have their own facets), etc., etc., ... Yet despite the sour nature of this construct, there manages to be a film or two which tantalizes auds and critics alike. Let's be straight here though — the subject of this entry doesn't fall into said categories. Call it homage, a declaration, or expressionism, but for crying out loud do not call it a sacrifice of artistic integrity.

Allow me to vent. By the time Ti West's The House of the Devil released this past October, in the most limited of fashions no less, eight direct horror remakes are in theaters: The Stepfather, Sorority Row, Halloween II, The Last House on the Left, Friday the 13th, The Uninvited, My Bloody Valentine 3D, and The Unborn [linked to originals].  In addition, Saw VI and The Final Destination are obviously parts of their respective franchises and not remakes (as such..., but one could argue). Furthermore, Jaume Collet-Serra's Orphan is basically an Omen (1976) clone, and The Collector is a one of the worst and most unnecessary amalgamations ever put to film. And yet, superior and original fare like Carriers and Drag Me To Hell go largely or completely unheralded.

♪ "She said, Babe you know, I miss Jill and Joe and all my funky friends" ♪

Existing in the midst of this, or possibly despite of, is House of the Devil. A somewhat basic tale of trust gone awry in the form of cash-strapped Samantha, a college student stumbling into a lucrative one-night babysitting job to afford a desirable apartment becoming available off-campus. After an awkward cat and mouse game with the employer, Samantha's friend drives her to a rural estate for a face-to-face not with the man who contacts her but with a quaint older couple now admitting the job requires nothing to do with children at all.

Ti's tightly focused throwback harkens back to a static age where innocence was a state of being, although not a way of life, the 1980s. In small(er) town America, coeds like Devil's Sam Hughes (Jocelin Donahue) and roomie Megan are essentially throwbacks themselves of the 1970s, a mix of sweetness and recklessness to an end, yet it's this devil-may-care maxim which causes them great pain as the film hits its stride. Like creatures of the forest, their concern whiffs of superficiality and true alarm consumes them only when a situation becomes irretrievable, or nearly so. The nature of the Ti's film is quite alarming because it speaks to the somewhat precarious nature of human existence itself. Like slashers/final girls of yore, danger pops up and encircles our protagonist(s) as independent thought and actions are had. All "meta" aside, while not a new concept in film, I'll admit to it being a favorite on mine.

Bunny Lake Is Missing (1965)

Bunny Lake Is Missing is one of those films you stumble upon browsing the ubiquitous 'Unseen/Underrated Gems' lists, then you say to yourself upon consuming the recaps: "Hey, how the hell did this little gem slip by me?" — however after viewing "Bunny Lake" you fully understand the whys and hows. 

Now it isn't all that repulsive of a sit, actually. Although the gemological rumblings and periodical references to how it is being remade (with a wildly miscast, imo, Reese Witherspoon stepping in as Bunny) do the film's allure no justice. Cast-wise, Bunny is functionally well-rostered:  Among others, none other than heavy-hitting thespian and bon vivant Laurence Olivier stars as Scotland Yard's go-to investigator on the child's disappearance, fellow barnstormer Martita Hunt is positively diversionary as a keen and buttery retired headmistress who seems more willing to wax philosophical than offer substantive information, and Carol Lynley's Ann (Miss) Lake, is believably both fancy free and frayed.

Carol Lynley searches for a familiar face.

The plot, in a nutshell, is Lake's daughter "Bunny" has apparently gone missing at some point during her first day of primary school. I say apparently because no one, from the teachers and classmates to the unintelligible cook, seems to have laid eyes on the little girl. The premise continues as the staff is questioned at great length and finally the police are summoned. The remainder of the movie has Miss Lake defending herself to the fact that little Bunny actually exists! Clues arise and leads are followed, yet, despite a few red herrings, mommy Lake remains suspect numero uno.


The crescendo, as I alluded to, comes not as a surprise but as a yeah, so?. The full value probably felt flat because I don't live in the mid-60s and I've seen a lot of movies. Still, full credit goes to director Otto Preminger's adaptation of Merriam Modell's book as it holds steadfast on the antagonistic relationship Ann Lake has with her protector, and brother, Stephen — which comes up for air in the movie's final set piece. For its time, it's a whopper. Interestingly enough, Modell penned her late-50s thriller under the pseudonym Evelyn Piper as, again, such themes were almost entirely avoided, ignored, and/or shunned. As far as the rumblings of a remake go, and in truly ironic fashion, I hesitate to believe Hollywood has the stones to be as subtle or as bold.