January 27, 2009
At long last I hauled my booty down the highway to the nearest theatre that actually shows all of the new 3D movies in 3D to see the remake of My Bloody Valentine. I guess I considered it a moral imperative to get the full 3D experience - just as it was a moral imperative to hit up my local drive-in movie theatre when they decided to show Grindhouse. And in case you’re wondering, you haven’t lived until you’ve watched Planet Terror while five- and six year olds run wild three cars up.
I learned two things from my visit to the theatre today.
First, I learned that of all the film studios currently remaking horror flicks of years past, Lionsgate is the one that has truly earned the right. They stared down a massively violent, controversial film of yesteryear and didn’t blink by trying to turn it into a PG-13 flick. Good for you, Lionsgate. Horror movies shouldn’t be afraid of an R rating. And not only that, but they made My Bloody Valentine 3D not just violent, but ridiculously so.
Second, I learned that if you’re making a horror movie today and you have the budget for it, yet you’re passing up the opportunity to shoot it in 3D, you’re an idiot.
I say this because My Bloody Valentine 3D - as much as I respect it for being true to the violent nature of the original - is a bad, bad movie. Not just bad on the level one is used to seeing from old slasher flicks, but actually featuring some startlingly incomptetent directing.
Even so, I was able to enjoy the movie. Because it was in 3D. It was fun. The pickaxe flew at the camera. Multiple times. And so did the blood. And one jawbone.
January 6, 2009
It’s time to play the newest game that’s sweeping the nation! Or, rather, that would be sweeping the nation if this weren’t the very first installment in it ever published anywhere.
Here are two plot summaries.
One is a highly-lauded art film, well-known for its sumptuous cinematography and its brilliantly understated performances!
The other is a cheaply-produced exploitation flick that is remembered for its beautiful star and its wild, over-the-top abandon.
So, can you spot the film? Can you pick the flick?
Movie A:
A spoiled-rotten younger woman marries an old business tycoon. Frequently neglected by her husband, she falls in love with her stepson - who is closer to her own age - and they conduct a season-long affair all over the countryside!
Movie B:
A young woman trying to succeed in business is used and manipulated by every man around her and manages to get nowhere, while all of the women who willingly surrender rise in the ranks above her!
Which one’s the film and which one’s the flick? The answer is in the extended entry!
(more…)
January 5, 2009
It would be unfair to say that great art is not nearly as memorable as the kind of film we think of as disposable.
It would be unfair because great art in film enriches our lives, uplifts our spirit, or leaves us standing slack-jawed in shock and perhaps a little bit of dismay. Unfair because great art in film has the ability to move us, to stick in our minds and give us memories to hold and to cherish. When art can mean so much to us, to deny that it has any effect - or that it has a lesser effect - simply because it is art would be to deny it the credit it is due.
On the other hand, it would be inaccurate to say that “disposable” media is not as powerful as artistic media. Inaccurate because sometimes it is the pulp film, the film that is thought of as a product of the moment, that sticks in our brains and makes us ponder the moment and why it worked.
Yes, art films can inspire and uplift or shock and appall, but pulp films perform the same function. And the chances are very good that in your life, you will see more of the latter than of the former. And with good reason. They’re movies that draw us into the theatres. Sometimes, it can be hard to get into the mood to watch an art film. But any mood can quickly become a mood for pulp.
It would perhaps be more fair and more accurate to say that it doesn’t matter the size of the budget, the intent of the filmmaker, how permanent or ephemeral the film is intended to be. All that matters is the person behind the camera and the people in front of it - the skill they show, the craft they bring to the table.
It is the artists that determines the impact - and not whether they defined their work as “art” from the start or not.
January 4, 2009
Heigh-ho, an artist's life for me...
I will talk to you of art
For there is nothing else to talk about.
For there is nothing else.
Life is an obscure hobo
Bumming a ride on the omnibus of art.
Next to Little Shop of Horrors, A Bucket of Blood is one of Roger Corman’s best-known and loved works. A mild-mannered little gem that was shot in only five days on a miniscule budget - and the only time that the underappreciated Dick Miller has ever been given a starring role.
Walter Paisley is a wannabe - sweeping the floors and bussing the tables in the coffeeshops where beatniks go to read poetry and talk about art and sex. In his heart, Paisley yearns to be a great artist. But he soon learns that the only way he can bring his art to life is if something else dies to feed it.
All over the world, critics have been quick to pounce on this theme and proclaim the film to be a reflection of how Roger Corman saw himself. And many of them want to talk about how it clearly shows Corman wanted to be an artist, but he felt he was stuck in the film ghetto of exploitation and horror.
But maybe it’s not simply a cry in the night - a scream of “Dear merciful God in Heaven, how did I wind up here?” Perhaps it, like Corman’s own Little Shop and H.G. Lewis’ Color Me Blood Red (both of which have similar themes), is not about the artist decrying his own work.
Perhaps it’s about the artist understanding his work.
We idealize the classics as though they were flawless. They succeed, we say, because they worked on a higher plane. They didn’t stoop to the lowest common denominator.
And yet, the Greek tragedians wrote in comic relief.
And yet, Shakespeare played to the groundlings.
And yet, Rebel Without a Cause features car races and knife fights, while Howard Hughes’ The Outlaw would never have drawn crowds if not for Jane Russell’s… bouyancy.
And yet, and so on, and so forth…
Art must have an audience before it can express to them - and something about the struggle of wannabe artist Walter Paisley has made him iconic even generations after he was first committed to film.
In all art, there is a dash of blood, a whiff of sex.
Because we like our films with a little drop of poison.
January 3, 2009
(title with apologies to Tom Russell)
"The family! The horror! The family horror!"
Above is a popular frame from Dementia 13. The Roger Corman-produced horror flick centers around the story of a woman who tries to cover up her husband’s death in order to protect her inheritance, only to discover the family has some deep, dark secrets.
Critics love the film, and it remains a mainstay of B-movie fanatics. In fact, it’s tentatively slated to be episode 5 of the horror hostess project. The director shot Dementia 13 as a side project while assisting Roger Corman on a film shoot in Ireland. Corman granted him the use of the sets and actors from his own film provided that Dementia 13 would schedule its shooting around that of the main film.
"I will do this film that you ask of me..."
Above is a popular frame from The Godfather - although the chances are pretty good that I didn’t even have to tell you that. A film that, in addition to being pretty much essential viewing on everybody’s list, also defines the term “awards out the yin-yang.” It was directed by Francis Ford Coppola - who also directed Dementia 13.
One of the things that becomes clear when you watch The Godfather is the fact that Francis Ford Coppola knows how to make a pulp film. For all the epic scope and beauty of The Godfather with its operatic score and its detailed sets and costuming, the movie would drag if not for the fact that Coppola knows how to move a story along. A skill that was learned through practice in Roger Corman’s cheap film factory.
Want more?
"Objects in mirror may be ruggeder than they appear..."
The frame above is one of the most popular - in fact, maybe the most popular - frame from a little movie called Duel. David Mann - a common, everyday man on a sales trip - passes a slow-moving tanker truck. The truck driver is insulted by this, and proceeds to chase Mann down and attempt to murder him. It’s usually remembered as “that truck vs. Plymouth movie.”
The made-for-TV action flick was directed by a young scrapper who had been hanging around the television studios for a few years, directing an episode of “Night Gallery,” and even an entry in “Columbo.” While European critics hailed the film for its abstract concepts, the director continues to refer to it as “High Noon on wheels.”
"Don't be silly - I'm much too charming to be a Jedi."
And that would be a popular frame from Schindler’s List - Steven Spielberg’s World War II historical epic that cemented Spielberg as not just a science fiction and adventure director, but as an artist.
But I can’t help but see pulp moments in Schindler’s List. Moments that tug on the heart strings, that slug you in the gut, and that get you sitting on the edge of your seat as surely as any pulp movie Spielberg has ever directed.
Great directors understand pulp. Even when they do great art, they understand pulp.
January 2, 2009
"Chee, Seymour! Dey's singin' about'cha!"
It is said (by certain hackneyed folks) that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. And in the world of the theatre, that’s always been the case.
We’re inspired by what captures our imagination - driven to create at least in part by the creations that have fascinated us. Once upon a time, musical theatre drew from the classics. Kiss Me, Kate and West Side Story brought Shakespeare back to the stage with song and dance. My Fair Lady added catchy songs and a happier (if less realistic) ending to George Bernard Shaw’s Pygmalion.
And then there’s Little Shop of Horrors.
In the 1980’s, Alan Menken hit Broadway with the show. His only previous work had been music for a stage adaptation of Kurt Vonnegut’s God Bless You, Ms. Rosewater. The musical, laced with a 1950’s pop sound, captured hearts and minds almost immediately and ensured a long career for its songwriter, who went on to compose songs for both Sylvester Stallone and Disney flicks. Today, Little Shop remains one of the most popular musicals for community and college theatres.
Not bad for a play based on the quintessential midnight movie - a Jewish comedy-laced horror/romantic comedy shot by Roger Corman because, hey, he had the set from his last film for two more days before it had to be torn down.
These movies with their low-rent charm and crazy, over-the-top stories continue to inspire modern artists, with even the next generation of midnight movie getting in on the act. Night of the Living Dead:The Musical, Evil Dead: The Musical, and - although a little more Hollywood - Carrie: The Musical fill up the fringe theatres to capacity with appreciative audiences while Broadway looks to Abba and Hollywood romantic comedies (themselves based on earlier musicals and plays) for their inspiration.
January 1, 2009
"Don't make me use this!"
Somewhere along the way, movies stopped being fun.
Oh, we still had fun going to the movies. We still had fun sitting on the couch and popping in a VHS or DVD, eating homemade popcorn with real butter. But somewhere along the way, the movies stopped being fun.
Flashback to the end of the 80’s. Thanks to cable, we famously have 57 channels and nothing’s on. But I’m sitting glued to my television, tuned in not to Nickelodeon or any of the countless cable channels - not even tuned in to the Disney Channel for their free preview weekend. (Disney Channel on basic cable? What name so?) No, I’m watching the local low-powered UHF station. They’re showing Godzilla vs. The Smog Monster, and it’s my first encounter with Godzilla aside from the Raymond Burr-ized King of the Monsters.
I’m not even a pre-teen, so the movie might actually lose me - if not for the hosts who pop up between every commercial break. A mad scientist has invented an exploding kneecap replacement that he’s trying to get his assistant to try out. Every time his assistant comes close to catching on, the scientist distracts him by going back to the movie.
Music hath charms to soothe the savage beast, but I prefer dynamite.
At one time, every market had one. A mad scientist, a vampire (or, oo la la! a vampiress), or some other figure from the old days of horror movies whose job it was to entertain and ease the transition from low-budget creature feature to commercial and back again. It was local programming, and it was cheap to produce.
A handful still exist, and a handful even managed to go national. I can remember getting VHS copies of Mystery Science Theatre from my brother, who lived in a market that actually had Comedy Central. And in my teen years I eagerly collected Elvira videos (thanks to her genius combination of two of my passions at the time - cheesy movies and boobs).
Somewhere along the way, however, the creatures began to disappear from the landscape. The labs closed down. The vampires opened their shutters too early and caught a faceful of the sun. And the vampiresses tossed out their low-cut Morticia Addams classics and replaced them with turtlenecks.
"The cable channels! They're right behind me!"
Somewhere along the way, movies have to be fun again. Elvira stays afloat on the Fox Reality Channel. Joel traded the Sattelite of Love for the Cinematic Titanic, and Mike swapped his bots out for the Film Crew and an audio-only format. But the local hosts - while not extinct - have swiftly become endangered.
We want movies to be fun again. We want crowds to go to the movie theatres at midnight - not just in college towns, but everywhere. We want people to head to drive-ins while they still exist.
And we want the old movies - the weird, the wonderful, and the “My God, What Were They Thinking” - to have a life beyond the dollar DVD bin at Wal-Mart. We want them out where people can see them again.
Support your local host.
Encourage everybody you know to help bring back midnight movies.
And, if you’re so inclined, you can help us out in our own humble attempt by investing some pocket change.
Let’s make movies fun again.
"Come on, girls! Let's get this horrorshow started!"