The Perfect Host

The Perfect Host feels a lot like its plot: a party that promised to be crazy but didn't deliver, and no one was actually there at all.

 

The Perfect Host is about career criminal John (Clayne Crawford) who has just pulled off a bank job and is looking for a place to lay low. He manipulates his way into the home of wealthy man-about-town Warwick (David Hyde Pierce--Niles from Frasier) who is planning a dinner party. But the dinner party, and Warwick, turns out to be not quite what it seems, and John is at the mercy of a lonely, imaginative lunatic.

It turns out that all of Warwick's party guests are not real; only figments of his imagination. During the early stages of the "party" Warwick shows John a scrapbook of former guests who suffered the same fate that John is promised to suffer, which appears to be that of a grisly death. These two things really open the flood gates to dozens of questions. Are all of Warwick's party guests, numbering over twenty, his former victims? If all of the other party guests are imagined, is it possible that John himself is also only an illusion of Warwick's mind? What horrible fate awaits John come morning?

Unfortunately, all these exciting and tantalizing questions are either breezed over and unanswered, or the the answer is completely inconsequential and disappointing. The metaphysical questions as to the nature of Warwick's "guests" and why he imagines them, and why these specific people, is never addressed at all. The only answer the audience can deduce from the information in the film is that Warwick is just weird and lonely, and the appearances, names and personalities of his imagined friends are simply arbitrary.

It is also revealed that all of John's injuries were faked; deceptions created by Warwick with make-up and prosthetics to scare John. All that ultimately happens to John is that he gets tied up, drugged and punched once or twice. Any fear the audience felt for Warwick is evaporated once it's realized that he's not really capable of any sort of bodily harm to John or anyone else. The worst he can do to anyone is make them feel uncomfortable, but no more uncomfortable than being at a lame party that no one showed up to.

There's also no hint of a character arc in the film, and the events of the film don't seem likely to leave a lasting impression on any character in the film. John isn't likely to change his criminal ways, and Warwick isn't about to stop torturing people through awkwardness. In fact, the films ends with Warwick inviting his coworker, a fellow cop, by the way, over for another dinner party, the all-too-clichéd ending that screams "set up for a sequel."

The film doesn't have much in the way of a climax either. The moment closest to a climax is when Warwick stops John at the gates of a parking garage when John's trying to escape with the money from the bank job. And Warwick just lets him go very amicably; he even gives him some cash to help him get through customs and into Mexico. Warwick doesn't try to silence John in any way, and John doesn't seek revenge in any way; they just part ways. Later on John tries to expose Warwick for what he is in about the most cowardly way possible, by mailing a photo to the police station from hundreds of miles away.

One of the few things the film does have going for it, though, is Pierce's performance. At first he is genuinely discomforting, especially with his exaggerated gait, and his repartee with John is quite interesting, knowing that each of them has a deep secret to hide. Also the set design is very good, giving the illusion of Warwick as sophisticated and classy.

Unfortunately, the second half of the film does not in any way live up to all the intrigue established in the first half. Warwick is unconvincing as a psychopath capable of causing any damage greater than boringness and awkwardness, and John isn't convincing as his role of a hardened, street-wise career criminal either. The film is ultimately a fancy strip club: that is a nice-looking cock tease filled with one-dimensional characters and no pay off.

Fall Preview

Autumn is definitely the season for movies. The awards shows are just on the other side of the new year, and all the best films of the year, those far better than the big-budget crap of the summer season, are slated for release. And this fall is chock-full of great films to look forward to.

The film I'm looking forward to most is one called Sleeping Beauty, which opens 10/28. The film is from an unknown director in Julia Leigh, but stars the amazing Emily Browning, whom I loved in Sucker Punch, as a university student who enters a strange world of high-end prostitution. The trailer purposefully makes it unclear exactly what takes place at this up-scale brothel, but one shot shows a room full of upper-class men in business suits talking while being served drinks by scantily-clad women, and two fully-nude women sit in the fetal position facing the fireplace, their hands shamefully covering their genitals. Although I don't like to use this description, this shot is evocative to me of Salo if it were done by a Sofia Coppola. Sleeping Beauty promises to be a film so strange and unique that it must be seen.

Two other films one could classify as "strange enough that they must be seen," and that both have apocalyptic tilts to them, are Jeff Nichols's Take Shelter and Lars von Trier's Melancholia, opening 9/30 and 11/9 respectively. Take Shelter stars Michael Shannon of Bug and The Runaways, and is about a man's obsession with rebuilding a tornado shelter in preparation for a storm only he knows is coming. It's unclear based on the trailer as to what type of storm it will be, but some very strange, disparate images evoke a plethora of different ideas as to how this storm will impact the lives of the characters. Melancholia also features a storm of sorts, this one brought about by another planet coming a little too close to Earth. This rogue planet causes many strange things, such as lightning emanating from Kirsten Dunst's hands. Both these films, although I don't expect them to get a lot of mainstream recognition, could be the surprise indie hits of the season.

Other highly-anticipated films of the fall are David Cronenberg's biopic about famous psychologists Carl Jung and Sigmund Freud called A Dangerous Method, which releases 11/25 and stars Michael Fassbender, Viggo Mortensen and Keira Knightley; Tomas Alfredson's, director of Let the Right One In, espionage thriller Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy, which releases 12/9 and stars Gary Oldman, Colin Firth and John Hurt; and Pedro Almodovar's The Skin I Live In, about a scientist's mad desire to create a type of synthetic skin for his wife, which opens 10/14 and stars Antonio Banderas and Elena Anaya. The names and talents featured in these three films alone are worthy of the ticket price.

A few other interesting films coming out this fall that, sadly, are relegated to this fall's second-tier because of the fascinating films I've listed above, include Lucky McKee's adaptation of his and Jack Ketchum's horrific story The Woman (10/14). This is McKee's second film from Ketchum material (Red), and the stir caused at Sundance by this film indicates that this one shall be truly insane. Kevin Smith's controversial Red State (10/21) is already available On-Demand through several providers, and should be interesting despite mixed reviews. Johnny Depp returns to the mind of Hunter S. Thompson in The Rum Diary (10/28), directed by Bruce Robinson (Withnail & I). Clint Eastwood's biopic on the FBI head J. Edgar (11/9) should be well delivered by Eastwood and star Leonardo DiCaprio. Martin Scorsese's adaptation of the peculiar story of Hugo (11/23) stars Chloe Moretz and Jude Law and could be a good, if somewhat off-beat, family film. And there's also The Artist (11/23) which features the incomparable Malcolm McDowell and John Goodman.

However, there are some films I will surely be avoiding, such as useless sequels and spinoffs, namely Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol and Puss in Boots, and useless remakes of classic and foreign films, namely The Thing and The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo. Real Steel looks like it's just Transformers moved into the boxing ring, and therefore is sure to be crap. The Big Year-I mean, how funny can bird watching actually be? No one ever needs to see Adam Sandler in drag, so Jack and Jill is right out. And the last thing the world needs is yet another alien invasion movie, so The Darkest Hour will not be seen by me.

Despite these few annoying and unnecessary pictures, this year's fall releases are a laundry list of award contenders, future cult and indie classics and just wonderful films. It will be very interesting to see which of these films wins favor come award season. It's way too early to pick a favorite, but I can easily say that the field will be strong.

Sukiyaki Western Django

At first there were American Westerns. Then there were Spaghetti Westerns (Westerns made in Italy). And now, choosing an equally stereotypical genre name, there are Sushi Westerns.

Takashi Miike's Sukiyaki Western Django is the Sushi Western. The plot of the movie is that there are two rival clans, the Red and the White, battling for control of a town and the hidden treasure the town supposedly contains. In enters a stranger, a Man With No Name, if you will, offering his services as a sharp shooter and treasure seeker to which ever side will reward him more handsomely.

This stranger, however, is not really the main story line of the film. The main story line, of which there are a few, and the most interesting one in my opinion, is that of a woman from the White clan who had married and had a child with a Red clan member. For the betrayal to the clan, the leader of the Reds took out the husband, with his wife and son present to witness it, and the wife consequently returns to the White clan in a plot to exact her revenge. When all-out war erupts between the two sides, the wife, her son and the husband's mother try to flee the town but are dragged into the battle at a dire price.

Solid performances are all around in the film, but especially but the main characters of this particular story line. There is such pain and hardship suffered by the mother and son that it's almost impossible not to root for them, and they're probably the only characters in the film worth rooting for. The other characters in the film are pretty cool and badass, but the mother and son are truly sympathetic, and I only wish there had been more of them in the film.

Considering that the film features Quentin Tarantino as a bit player, who is also a friend of Miike's, it's no surprise that the film takes influences from so many diverse places and piles them together. Japanese influences, such as samurai films like those of the great Akira Kurosawa, and Japanese anime, are spliced together with the Western influences, especially the Spaghetti Western stylization of battle scenes and tense gun duels.

Even the language reflects the internationality of the film. It's a film with a Japanese director and writers, and aside from Tarantino the entire cast is Japanese, yet the film is made in English. Miike had directed the Masters of Horror episode "Imprint" in English, so he's familiar with directing in English. But, in that film, there was an American character, so there's a reason for it being spoken in English, and the strange accents added to the uneasiness of "Imprint," it being a horror movie after all. Here, that effect is not achieved; the film isn't really meant to make you uneasy. Instead you just wonder if the actors really knew what their dialogue meant or whether they were just taught how to pronounce the lines, particularly when they used Western jargon like "a day late and a dollar short." That doesn't mean that they're performances suffered--Ron Perlman did the same thing when he spoke French in The City of Lost Children and he was just fine in that film. But the language does add an awkwardness to the film that probably wouldn't have been there if it were made in Japanese.

The film is undeniably exciting and lavish. The art direction is superb; the mixing of the American West and Medieval Japan costumes was done very well, and the sets, from the painting of Mount Fuji in Tarantino's flashbacks to the ending showdown in the falling snow, were simply beautiful. Not to mention how simply cool the dramatized gun slinging and epic battle scenes were. Gatling guns, dynamite, and sword fights. Oh my!

Tarantino's films, that also take influences from everywhere and combine them, always seem to add to a nugget of intelligence, a philosophical idea that grounds the film and explains the characterization. It's why I have a great respect for his films. This one, however, doesn't seem to find that theme quite as well. There are messages toward the end of "shit happens," of living life without fear and dealing with whatever life throws at you. These are cool ideas that wrap up the movie nicely, but I wouldn't say they carry the film or press the action the same way the ideas in Kill Bill (or a similarly strong film) do.

Despite the film's lack of a strong philosophy, the film is still definitely worth seeing. The action sequences are epic, the costume design is really cool, and the film is just inherently watchable. As long as you don't expect a deep, moving film, the spectacle is a lot of fun.

Dead Man

    "You William Blake?"
    "Yes, I am. D'you know my poetry?"

Jim Jarmusch's Dead Man is a wonderful film about an accountant, played by Johnny Depp, who, after traveling cross country only to realize the job promised him is no longer there, embarks on a strange, meandering trek through the Old West with an outcast Native American, along the way murdering several people and discovering his spirit.

The films takes the best parts of the Western genre--the gun fights, the rugged freedom of the open wild--and adds into the mix a gothic, almost impressionistic style somewhat similar to Tim Burton's early films, or David Lynch's Eraserhead. One wouldn't think that a Western film would be well-suited by a gothic temperament, but Jarmusch makes it work impeccably.

The first technique Jarmusch uses to blend these genres is the photography. It's shot in shadowy black and white, and is at times even reminiscent of a 1930s horror flick, e.g. Dracula. But, that aesthetic is kept in balance with the beautiful landscapes of the Old West, and all the classic iconography of that time period--trains, six-shooters, saloons--and this balance allows both genres to shine through.

Also the music is excellent in supplying the mixed feel to the movie. Imagine a theme song reminiscent of Sergio Leone's "Man with No Name" films, but infused with an industrial-rock guitar riff and Native American-style drums. This type of soundtrack is again in keeping with both styles, and, much like Leone's The Good, the Bad and the Ugly, the music crescendos and absolutely captivates as the film reaches its climax.

 

This mixing of these two distinct styles brings a strange mood to the film. The gothic aspects of it bring somewhat of a sarcastic feel to the slow and subdued nature of the Western genre. The more "badass" moments of the film, like the quote given at the opening of this review, which Johnny Depp delivers before shooting two U.S. Marshals, are highlighted and stand out even more when they're delivered in contrast to the gothic palate. Both genres bring a new feel to the other, and they work together in a beautifully symbiotic relationship that's a lot of fun to watch.

Johnny Depp delivers a very good performance in the role of William Blake. Through the first fifteen minutes of the film I was afraid that I would be dealing with another spineless wimp like the one I dissected in my review of Brazil. But William Blake, from the instance of shooting Charlie Dickinson without hesitation, shows hints of an impetuousness, and a willingness to shoot back at his would-be assassins, that makes him a dynamic character. This is shown through the changes in Depp's wardrobe over the course of the film. He starts out in his "goddamn clown suit," as his perspective boss calls it, then he loses his jacket, giving him the look of a more rugged outlaw, then later he dons a majestic fur coat as he begins to come to terms with his spirituality, his connection with nature, and his fate.

The film is called "Dead Man," and Nobody, Blake's Indian side-kick, often speaks to Blake as if he were dead. So the question is: Is William Blake really dead. I'd say the answer is yes, but in the philosophical and spiritual sense. William Blake, to me, represents man's departure from a connection with Mother Earth, to which every other character in the film still doubtlessly clings. Blake is a quiet, unassuming accountant from Cleveland, but once he returns to the wild, he's drawn back into the world of Cowboys and Indians, of hunter and game, of cops and outlaws, of a respect for and a communion with all Nature has to offer. This is shown by everyone's asking of Blake if he has any tobacco, a symbol of Nature's attempt to help man connect with her, to which he constantly replies, "I don't smoke." As Nobody returns Blake to the realm of the spirits, he places an amount of tobacco in the canoe with him as he sends him off to where his spirit belongs.

A wonderful film full of beautiful photography and a wonderful cast, with supporting players from John Hurt to Robert Mitchum to Billy Bob Thornton to Iggy Pop to Lance Henriksen to Crispin Glover, Dead Man is a film not to be missed.

Brazil

Brazil is Terry Gilliam's visually-striking sci-fi classic about a man, Sam Lowry, who rebels against the overbearing bureaucracy for which he works to save the love of his life--and himself--from being black-bagged by the Ministry of Information and forced to be overcharged for his interrogation. The film is chock full of beautiful set design, nice themes and excitement. That being said, the film has its flaws.

The most persistent flaw in the film would be the main character. Sam Lowry is a pitiful, pathetic man, his life ruled by his rich, domineering mother and shitty job. When his mother pulls some strings and gets him a promotion, he (at first) turns it down; even when given the chance to be somebody, he chooses to remain nobody. When he begins to rebel against the system, he's doing so out of some misplaced love for a woman he barely knows from his dreams (and even her character doesn't have a whole lot of meat on her bones). He doesn't initiate the rebellion; it's thrust upon him. And even then, he's not really changed by it. He still remains quite wimpish and soft, never truly growing a spine or becoming the hero the film needs. He just goes along with the rebellion that the terrorists and Harry Tuttle have already set into motion. He's a passenger on the train, and not a conductor.

Sam Lowry ends up as another one of those characters who are so sheepish and unimportant to their world that you can't really feel any connection, let alone sympathy, for him. Others include Wikus Van De Merwe from District 9, Scott Pilgrim, and Alvy from Annie Hall. These films are very good visually and very clever, but if the only real sentiment that can be felt for the protagonist is "When is this douchebag gonna grow some balls and take control of his life?" then the film suffers. The stellar technical qualities of the film are therefore brought down, as they are used in narrative film making to enhance the storyline and the emotions felt for the characters, and they can't enhance emotions that aren't there in the first place.

For this type of character to actually be worth caring about, he or she has to show a willingness to take control of a situation. Lionel Cosgrove from Dead Alive is an example. A silly film, yes, but when Lionel kicks open the front door holding the lawnmower and declares "Party's Over!" he has grown from an indecisive dork into someone with cojones. He has become a man. But the other characters I listed, who don't experience this transformation, remain one-dimensional wimps not worthy of my sympathy.

Another problem I had with the film was its goof-ball comedy bits. This was Gilliam's first film after his Monty Python days, and a lot of that humor lingers over into Brazil. This is shown with the casting of Gilliam's M.P. writing partner Michael Palin. Sam's new manager at Information Retrieval and the bumbling repairmen who ruin Sam's apartment are perfect examples of the quirky, oddball kind of humor that pops up in the film here and there. These scenes don't really serve as comic relief, as the film isn't paced fast enough to require relief. And there isn't enough humor to really place the film in the realm of a satire. Instead these scenes hinder the film, making it feel too silly and not poignant enough at times. Because of the comedy, the film ends up lacking strength and a solid raison d'etre that its sci-fi peers, like Blade Runner and The Terminator, truly possess.

The film, however, does have its redeeming qualities that make the film worth watching at least once. Lowry's dream sequences are beautifully-photographed sublime metaphors, and the art direction, both in and out of the dream world, are beautiful and evocative. I especially like the nod to 30s noir, with the employees' suits and the playing of Casablanca on the malfunctioning computers. The commentary on bureaucracy is also nice, even though it's been said before. The ending torture sequence (and just to be clear this is a review of the Gilliam-approved Criterion director's cut; not the heavily-reworked "love conquers all" version) is wonderfully done, with plenty of style and bravery, and is incredibly evocative.

But as I alluded to earlier, if there isn't an emotional connection made with the protagonist of the film, the stunning visuals and exciting climax are more or less for naught. If I don't care what happens to him, I won't feel excited when he's running from the Ministry, down when he's tortured, et cetera. I can admire the photography for its superficial beauty, but I can't really feel the emotions the photography are meant to enhance because I don't care about the main character. Brazil is a film with truckloads of potential to be great that is squandered on a pencil-pushing dork.

Toy Story 3

Many reviewers have described Toy Story 3 and being a strong example of an anti-socialist, or anti-communist, or anti-anything-un-American propagandistic allegory. Many reviewers have done so sarcastically, though. I proceed without sarcasm, without jest, with total seriousness. Toy Story 3 is clearly all those things.

Barbie explains the message quite clearly: "Authority should derive from the consent of the governed, not from the threat of force." Woody, Buzz and the rest of our heroic crusaders are the flag-bearers of democracy, trying desperately to escape the throws of the oppressive, communistic dictator Lotso.

To explain the full depth and extent of the allegory I must take you through each representation one by one:

As I stated, our gang of heroes represent democracy, specifically American democracy, with their house with the white picket fence and the apple pie cooling in the window sill. The attic, to which the toys are slated to be moved once Andy (much more on him later) moves away, represents peaceful retirement, a heavenly condo in sunny Florida, the much preferred resolution to the trash or donation, a form of exile or abandonment from Andy.

Sunnyside Daycare represents a communist nation, a modern China, with Lotso as its outwardly loveable monarch. It appears pleasant at first, with all the toys living together in harmony. They don't have owners, but are very happy nonetheless. But once the toys are put in the Caterpillar room, and see the horror of their new environment, they wish for the safety and security of Andy and the house, and Lotso seems less like a Princess Diana, the "princess of the people," and something a little closer to a Mao or Stalin. The crates used to imprison our heroes, the Box, and the ever-vigilant, 1984-esque monkey who sees everything complete the metaphor. We're not at a daycare, we're in North Korea.

Along with the communism-versus-democracy symbolism necessarily comes the religious symbolism, which is perhaps the most pervasive metaphor in the film. Andy is God. It's indisputable. And any other owner is the God to his or her toys. Any toy without an owner--any toy at Sunnyside--is the godless communist that Joseph McCarthy taught us to fear and loathe over 60 years ago. As Woody puts it, "Daycare is a sad, lonely place for washed-up old toys who have no owners." Translated away from the metaphor, Woody is saying that "Communism is sad, lonely system for washed-up old people who have no God."

The toys, excluding Woody, only like the idea of daycare because they think they've thrown away and abandoned by Andy (God). Even Lotso was once a happy, carefree, upstanding democrat and believer. But, being abandoned and replace by his owner (God) was too much for him to bear, and so he comes to Sunnyside, takes it over, and rules it with an iron fist. Just watch the film again, specifically the scene above the dumpster, and replace and the words "kid," "owner," and any names of a kid, with "God" and see for yourself how nicely the metaphor fits.

If Andy and other tow owners are God, then their total abandonment, the dump, must represent Hell, a metaphor not too hard to decipher given the demonic, fiery glow of the garbage truck and incinerator. Even the hardened "atheist" Lotso appears to have a change of heart in the face of the hellfire, but his bitterness from the abandonment of his owner is still too much for him to bear, and allows the Christian toys to burn, asking "Where's your Kid (God) now?" At the last moment, of course, before our heroes are thrust through the gates of Hell, with our heroes holding hands for a would-be prayer, the deus ex machina of The Claw--for all intents and purposes the Hand of God--comes to rescue them.

Hints are all around the film, both subtle--"Andy" written on the shoes of all his toys like a Creator signing his work--and obvious--Woody landing in the college box next to Andy's New International Version bible. But, now that the curtain has been pulled back and the metaphor revealed, the question must now be asked what to make of it.

In any other film, specifically a live-action film made for an older audience, this kind of metaphor would have really bothered me. It would have been pandering to this country's patriotic audience, preaching to the choir of conservative Christian America, something not too hard or daring to do. But the fact that this occurs in a children's film is utterly intriguing. Most if not all of the symbolism will be missed by the film's target audience, and their parents will brush it aside, saying that it's just a kid's movie, as if a kid's movie is a place where propaganda cannot exist. So I'm left with an ambivalence; I still shake my fist at Pixar and the film's creators for taking the easy, pandering way out, but I credit them for taking advantage of a social loophole and putting their propaganda in a kid's movie, the one place no one would think to look. How dare you, Pixar! But Kudos.

Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

I have to preface my review by admitting that I've never read any of the books of the series, and do not intend to. I don't think they would be awful; I just do not have the spare time. So, that means that this review is written having only experienced the film Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, and nothing else other than marketing and people's opinions about the series.

The first step in writing a successful children's story always seems to be to take a bag or two of Scrabble tiles, throw them against a wall, collect whatever nonsensical words happen to tumble down, and create your story around them. Oompa Loompas and Vermicious Knids; Heffalumps and Woozles. J.K. Rowling must have used eight or ten bags of tiles in penning the opening to the beloved Harry Potter series.

Hogwarts. Hufflepuff. Quidditch. Muggles. Diagon Alley. Just about everyone's name excluding Harry's and Ron's. "Hermione" sounds like it should be part of the female reproductive system. Only Dr. Seuss and Anthony Burgess can really rival Mrs. Rowling in this regard. Most of these made-up words are well-used and in keeping with a children's novel of this type, expect perhaps for "Dumbledore." The name doesn't sound as commanding as it should, given it's the name of the headmaster of the most prestigious school for witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Perhaps he and Hagrid should swap names.

I must say that thematically the film did not give me anything new about which to ponder. It contains more or less the same characters, holds aloft the same values, follows the same structure, and reaches the same conclusion with the same triumphs, as all of its peers. Our hero, whom we are almost incapable of disliking, and his quirky sidekicks help him down the path to self-realization and defeat the villain. None of the adults (except one, of course) believe him. But he defies them and is later exalted for showing bravery by doing so.

I will admit that while working within this formula, the film does a fair job of executing it. The art direction is very good - particularly the look of the various dungeon scenes and hidden rooms towards the end of the film - the kids are decent actors ("decent" for ten- to eleven-year-old actors is excellent), and the themes related to the Mirror of Erised (yet another one of spell check's favorite words) are poignant and very relatable. However, considering that he's the alleged villain for much of the film, I would've liked to see more of Alan Rickman, and more of Dumbledore as well. A larger presence for both of them would've provided more balance to the work, and shown more of the world of Hogwarts than just Harry, Ron and Hermione.

The ending seemed a little video-gamey to me, with Harry and the gang making their way through sequential rooms of obstacles. Given the knowledge this is the first in the series, and consequently knowing that the main characters will not die, it was still decently suspenseful, even if it felt a bit packaged for the later-to-be-released video game.

What you ultimately have here is a nice children's film that doesn't really transcend that plane of existence. If I had seen the film when I was twelve, perhaps I would have fallen in love with it, and been impassioned to watch and read on as Harry and his friends grew up with me, as so many of the die-hard Harry Potter fans did. But, seeing it for the first time at the age of twenty-three, there's not much in it for me at this point in my life. Harry Potter is kind of like the tobacco industry; you gotta hook 'em while they're young.

Herein lies my conundrum with the series, though: I'm pretty interested in seeing the two Deathly Hallows films. Harry and the gang are close to adulthood now, and dealing with more grown-up struggles and themes. Also, based on what I've seen in trailers and posters, I really like the cinematography and overall look of the films. But, the question is whether I want to wade through five more children's movies to see one two-part movie for adults. And this doesn't really feel like a series where I can jump films and still follow what's going on; it's not The Land Before Time. I'd be missing important character changes and developments. I'd be missing pretty much their entire adolescence. Can I get by with reading synopses and jump straight to the action, or do I first have to sit through eleven or so hours of teenage drama laced with wands, potions and quidditch? It's a real catch-22.

 

Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon

Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon is a unique and quite enjoyable little horror parody. Up-and-coming serial killer Leslie Vernon is looking to join the ranks of the greats like Freddy, Jason and Michael. He agrees to allow Taylor Gentry and her documentary film crew to tag along as he preps for his next big killing spree, to provide the world with some exclusive insights into the secret tricks of the trade of serial killing.

The film parodies the classic slasher flicks of the '80s simply by breaking down the films scene by scene, shot by shot, and dissecting the psychology and meaning behind each scene. For example, many of those '80s films have some sort of scene early in the film in which the lead female is startled by some stranger in the shadows that sets a tone of fear for the rest of the film. This such scene in Behind the Mask involves the lead female, Kelly, taking out the garbage at work. Leslie describes how he will scare her by hiding behind a dumpster and pulling away the brick she uses to hold the door open by using thin fishing wire.

So many more tricks the secrets of which Leslie reveals to Taylor and her crew bring such a light-heartedly funny light to those old movies. Industry terms such as "survivor girl" and "Ahab" for certain characters, the set up steps, like leaving an old newspaper clipping hoping that the survivor girl might happen to stumble on it, the face paint laced with cut-stopping medicine and flame retardants, the cardio and physical training required to make it seem like you're walking when everyone else is sprinting. All these revealed trickeries provide a smart satire of the '80s slasher films that, once you intellectualize, is really quite funny.

Through such simple methods this breakdown of slasher films really calls into question the methods and pathology of the killers of the '80s. Why does the killer show up only to startle and make paranoid their victims, and not out-right kill them? The excitement and effervescence Nathan Baesel (who plays Leslie) shows in the film adds to the wonderful mockery of those older movies and makes you question why these killers go about all these tricks to scare their victims.

Leslie Vernon has a psychology to him that is completely singular within slasher films. Michael Myers and Jason Voorhees are (for the most part) emotionless and without any clear motivation. They exist mostly as mindless embodiments of evil, as is suggested by their expressionless masks. Freddy Krueger has a little more personality, with his cynical humor and more-developed back story. But Leslie is unique. Leslie is clearly in control of his faculties; he is utterly sane. He is self-aware, he's ambitious, determined and enthusiastic. He thinks of serial killing as his life's calling, a volition Freddy, Jason and Michael don't even come close to expressing.

There are further points of interest of Leslie's pathology that aren't as clearly explained. Doc Halloran, played by the one and only Robert Englund, tells Taylor that Leslie's real name is Leslie Mancuso, and is a former patient of Halloran's. This clearly makes Leslie a human and not an outright monster, making us question even further his motivations. Is he perhaps just a crazed fan who's misplaced his adorations in these cinematic depictions of evil?

It is clear that Leslie chooses to do what he does. The reasoning behind his choice is revealed later, and is quite similar to the Joker's nihilism in The Dark Knight: "I made a choice to provide a counterbalance to all those things we hold good and pure," which to me is far more intellectually disturbing than the cold emptiness of Jason and Michael, or Freddy's bitter sarcasm.

Taylor and Leslie's interaction is also quite fascinating. Throughout Taylor's crash-course in Serial Killing 101, she questions the ethics of what Leslie does, which is to be expected. Their interaction become far more intriguing when it comes out that Taylor is the intended survivor girl to Leslie's plot, and not Kelly. Throughout the film Leslie expresses to Taylor how he intends to empower the survivor girl in to doing battle with him, and possibly killing him. This means that Leslie is basically telling Taylor in pain-staking detail how he wants her to empower herself and kill him, which brings in retrospect a weirdly suicidal tilt to Leslie, making his pathology even more confused and dangerous.

Writer and director Scott Glosserman has truly earned my respect because of this movie. The sheer amount of research and analysis that went into writing this film is mind-blowing. Glosserman must have watched and studied every major slasher film dating back to the late '60s in preparation for this film, and his knowledge of the subject matter truly comes across in the film. From the study of the killers and their philosophies to the analysis of the imagery of slasher films, Glosserman has covered every thematic inch of these films and spun them into a gleefully sarcastic slasher parody and, at the same time, a poignant and respectable slasher film.

Agora

I usually don't care for period pieces. I often get caught up with making sure the costume and look of the environments are historically accurate, which is really not that important. What is truly important with the costume and set design are their artistic qualities; not whether the costumes are accurate to the time period. Hell, 99 times out of 100 the language isn't even accurate to the time period. But, certain things done in Agora make these details truly unimportant.

The main thing the film does are the shots of Earth from space. These give the film an anthro-pological feel, as if the filmmakers are arguing that the way the characters behave in the movie reflects the true nature of our species--the violent hatred between differing groups, the heated debates about whose God is true and just, the inability to put aside differences and coexist. This anthropology removes the film from its singular place in ancient Alexandria and makes it transferable to any culture, at any epoch in history.

Twice during the film, and again at the very end, written text appears on the screen describing the lives of certain characters as time within the film jumps forward a number of years. This is done each time during a shot from high up in the sky, if not outer space. This gives the viewer a sort-of "God's-eye-view" of Alexandria as time goes by, as if God or some celestial being is telling us what is taking place. These bits of text add to the anthropology of the film, as if the entire film were a chapter in a textbook, and God himself is reading it to us.

Aside from allowing the viewer to put aside the complaints of historical accuracies, the anthro-pology of the film is quite startling and frankly depressing. Several characters in the film articulate an mathematical principle (several math and science principles are used as metaphors for human interaction) indicating how we humans have more in common than we do different. Disappointingly, these articulations fall on deaf ears, as the Christians and Romans continue their hatred and waring throughout the film.

The first character to proffer this metaphor is Hypatia, a scientist and philosopher played exquisitely by Rachel Weisz. Ironically, in a film centered around religion so much, it is an admitted atheist philosopher who comes to embody what is often called the "face of God" character. She attempts to act as the arbiter between the feuding religions, be the level-headed diplomat for both sides, and represent hope with her beautiful smile as she gazes at the stars and works out thought experiments in her study. How is she rewarded for attempting this noble feat? She is accused of witchcraft and godlessness, and sentenced to be stoned to death.

She is brought to a local church and stripped naked, so that "God can behold [her] in all [her] filth," according to a member of her execution squad. While the death squad is gathering stones, she is murdered by Davus, her former slave and former lover, a leader of the Christian uprising. After the murder, the camera once again ascends to the heavens as text reports what is to happen to Hypatia's body in gruesome detail, and what is to happen to Alexandria as a whole, in one of the most mesmerizing and devastating film climaxes I've seen in quite a while.

Agora stands as a truly depressing film, reminds us that is not love that conquers all. Nor diplomacy. Nor reason. Nor beauty. It is the fervent defending of one's beliefs that drive the action in the entire film, from the opening religious riot, jaw-dropping because of its surprising violence and chaos, to the defiling of the famous Library at Alexandria by the revolutionary Christians, to the persecution of a brilliant scientist because of her lack of religion.

I am first reminded of Shakespeare's infamous quote from As You Like It: "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." I am then reminded of John Doe's meditation from Se7en: "What sick, ridiculous puppets we are, and what gross little stage we dance on. What fun we have dancing and fucking, not a care in the world, not knowing that we are nothing. We are not what was intended." These ideas ring even more truly after watching Agora.

The Horde

In an era full of dozens of the same standard zombie flick, it's hard for one film to stand out from all the rest. However, The Horde is a film that manages to do so without being too revolutionary or ground-breaking.

 

The Horde is a fairly unheard of, at least not here in the States, French zombie film centered around a group of cops that raid a run-down apartment building looking for the group of thugs that took out one of their own, only to be descended upon by the undead masses. Now both groups must work together to escape the horde.

At the end of the day, the film brings nothing new thematically to the table. The idea of two warring factions having to "put aside their differences" in order to survive has been done countless times, and the rest of the film follows a straight-forward zombie apocalypse movie. Even the technical aspects of the film are in keeping with typical horror and action films. However, the simple timing, execution and sheer violence of the film makes it one not to miss.

Step aside, Tom Savini; this is perhaps the most violent zombie film ever! A man bashing a zombie's skull into a cement pillar over 20 times shot with a sped-up camera, a man atop a car swinging wildly at a congregation of zombies with a machete, and an old geezer mowing down zombies with a machine gun. Not to mention more hand-to-hand combat between humans and zombies than this reviewer has ever seen in a film, which is quite strange to see. They establish fairly early on that only head shots will kill the zombies, yet we continually see them fighting zombies with their fists and feet. It's still violent, but a different type of violence than zombie films are used to producing.

 

The timing of all the jump scares is simply impeccable; not a single second or edit in the film is wasted, keeping the viewer tense and on-edge throughout the entire film. When a shotgun blast destroys a door and kills one of the cops, it's preceded by a slow section of silence while the cops try to sneak up to the door, and timed perfectly to deliver an exhilarating jolt; not to mention the jagged hole left in the door, about three-feet in diameter, later serves for a nice bit of menacing imagery.

Where other films have failed at making a zombie action flick, namely Zach Snyder's Dawn of the Dead, this film succeeds by keeping the style of action flicks. Every main character is such an unlikeable asshole, the lighting is extremely dark and high contrast, the tempo and editing approach the speed of the Crank movies at times, and all the violence is of the style of an action, or even martial arts, film. Rather than trying to blend some action film elements into a zombie horror film, The Horde keeps all the elements of action films, and so the audience isn't left in limbo as to what genre of film it is; it's an action film!

The fact that every character is an asshole is both fun and predictable. It's fun because it keeps the tension high throughout the film, and predictable because the audience knows the characters will get pettily angry over the most trivial of things. Day of the Dead, Romero's third in his series, manages to pull off this trick masterfully without becoming predictable at all. Yannick Dahan and Benjamin Rocher, The Horde's directors, would have been well-suited to take some notes on how Romero managed the feat.

I also liked the ending of the film. Throughout the film there had been small little reminders as to why the cops had invaded the building in the first place. Without giving away too much of what the ending entails, the film manages to wrap up its basic story line between the cops and thugs in a simple, subtle and gripping way, while still leaving the matter of the zombie mob to be reckoned with; a very smart and astute way to conclude the film.

This film has a little in it for everyone. For the movie critic, there is skill and intelligence used in crafting this film (whether the horde of zombies is a metaphor for the proletariat can certainly be debated). But, for the balls-out action and horror fan, there's still plenty of violence and badassery to go around.

Die Hard

Action films are always difficult for me to critique. Save a few exceptions, namely action films that fall a bit closer to the heist, crime or revenge genre labels, such as Oldboy, Kill Bill or Bonnie & Clyde, I really don't care too much for the genre. At all. They are almost always lacking in artistry and social commentary. I understand that fans of these movies find the gunfights and explosions "awesome" and "epic." I just find them boring.

 

Die Hard is a film that has an occasional, and I stress that word, hint of intelligent, artistic film making in it. For example, on two specifically memorable occasions, John McClane and Hans compare John to the action hero screen legends of the past, e.g. John Wayne, Roy Rogers (the codename John uses when talking to Sergeant Al), which leads to the larger comment on the "all Americans are cowboys" stereotype. This is interesting, but it's only sparingly mentioned, and mentioned in such an goofy and cheesy way that I didn't feel that any true, significant statement was being made about the stereotype.

One aspect I did like is that the film began with exposition. Most action films will begin with a scene of action to establish the excited mood and feeling that accompanies an action film, then slow down later to get to the characterization. This film opens with the characterization, allowing the audience a chance to get to know and sympathize with John even before stuff starts going down, which I thought was a nice and appropriate change of pace from what I expected. John is such an "every man" that the film needs to open with getting to know him and establishing him as such, rather that an over-the-top action scene to establish that you're watching an action film; the rest of the movie makes that crystal clear.

I also liked the pacing and editing of the first thirty to forty minutes or so of the film. I liked the transition between the slow, tender moments with John and Holly, to the quick, chaotic moments with Hans and his team. I like how this shows, especially after the terrorists make their presence known, that John shows his duality between being the every man dealing with the stresses of family life, and the badass cop "playing by his own rules," as the cliche goes.

But, sadly, these are really the only few moments in the film I enjoyed. Once the action begins, it does not let up. In fact it becomes so overbearing that no artistry whatsoever can peek its head into the production. All the bits of story, plot and character development, and suspense are so obvious and cliche that they were of no interest to me. John McClane's bravado and cocksureness, with his clever one-liners and imperviousness in gunfights, make it impossible for the viewer to doubt that he will triumph before credits roll.

For a film like this to work, I would say there are two options. One option is to make your lead character more vulnerable. Inception, for one, does a marvelous job of this. Cobb is such a vulnerable, conflicted character that the audience genuinely doubts whether he will succeed in his mission; even after the film ends, and the totem continues to spin, that doubt still lingers. The other route is to break the fourth wall, or even break what I call the "third-and-a-half" wall. Kill Bill does very well in doing the latter. Watching the film (I consider both volumes as one film), I get the sense that Tarantino knows his film is predictable, but by referencing past films, some of which had also been predictable, and by making the experience remarkably beautifully photographed and set-up, not to mention much better performances from Uma Thurman and David Carradine that Bruce Willis and Alan Rickman manage to bring to the table, Kill Bill is also able to succeed where Die Hard failed.

If your thing is action films with little artistry and social importance, a fun exciting ride without a real raison d'etre, then Die Hard will most definitely be found in your section of the video store. And God bless you for that. However, you probably won't find me in that section. You can probably find me in the foreign, classics, or horror sections instead.

Sucker Punch

Amazingly beautiful cinematography and visuals. Kick-ass music that interweaves perfectly with the story. Very lovable, sympathetic protagonists and an overbearing, despicable antagonist. A strong and uplifting central theme. Stir all these in a pot, cook at 450 degrees for 110 minutes, and you get the wicked ride that is Sucker Punch.

The film opens with a silent, slow-motion sequence of Emily Browning's character and her sister losing their mother and then being assaulted by their stepfather, set to a slowed-down version of "Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)" (think Marilyn Manson's version, but less creepy). Browning and her sister's innocence and vulnerability, and her father's menacing stare, makes the scene incredibly affective. Not to mention the terrific camerawork--closeups of a button torn from Browning's shirt as it spins on the ground, a light bulb as it explodes from a gunshot, and a winding shot through a keyhole and into the reflection in Browning's eye of her stepfather approaching her sister with bad intent. A harrowing and devastating start to the film, to say the least.

From there we're taken to the Lennox House for the Mentally Insane, where the evil stepfather plans to commit Browning. As Browning is about to be lobotomized, the scene suddenly turns from a grungy hospital room to the glitz and glamour of a stage where a similar scene is being rehearsed. We have now entered the first layer, if you will, of escape. Similar to Inception, Sucker Punch jumps back and forth between layers, but instead of jumping between layers of dreaming, here we're jumping between Browning's consciously-created reveries used to escape from her awful incarceration. But unlike Inception, each layer of reverie serves as a microcosmic metaphor for the layer just above it.

The first layer of escape consists of an exotic dance hall where the girls, that is Baby Doll (Browning), Sweet Pea, Rocker, Blondie and Amber, are forced to dance for their scumbag boss's sleazy clients. The girls ban together to form an escape plan, for which they must first collect four items: a map, a source of fire, a knife and a key. To collect each item, Baby Doll does a dance in order to distract a certain person so that another girl may stealthily pick their pocket. For each of these dances, for the first three items at least, Baby Doll takes us to the second layer of reverie, and each of these sequences is a fantastic over-the-top battle scene in which the girls, lead by Scott Glenn of all people, must collect the appropriate item from layer one.

Each battle scene contains amazingly choreographed fight scenes, gorgeous landscapes, and little snip-its that advance the overall theme unique to each battle (one scene is even set to a cover of The Stooges' "Search and Destroy!") In just about any other context these battle scenes would have seemed self-indulgent and gratuitous. But, in the context of a fantasy world within a fantasy world, where almost no sense of reality is maintained, these scenes work completely. In fact, just how over-the-top these scenes are actually furthers the idea of escapism from the horrors of reality.

Throughout the film the editing is top-notch. But especially in these battle sequences is the editing perfectly timed. In the third of these scenes, in which the girls are looking to steal the cook's knife, a snag occurs and Baby Doll is forced out of her reverie of removing a bomb from a train, and back into the cook's kitchen. Without good editing, the viewer could easily get confused as to what's going on in each location, and even which layer of reverie the movie is in at a given moment. Thankfully, the superb editing in the film allows the viewer to always understand which reverie they're watching and what is happening in that location.

Next up we learn that the boss, Blue, has learned about the escape plan after one of the girls snitched to him out of fear. While lecturing the entire dance squad about his power over them, he unflinchingly executes two of the main girls in a surprising fit of egotistical rage. Up until this point, all the violence had been very stylized and action-driven. These two murders occur at point-blank range with a simple handgun; no thrills or dramatic camerawork to distract from the gun blasts and screams of the dance crew.

Later on, as Baby Doll and Sweet Pea are set to escape, Baby Doll is forced to sacrifice herself by distracting the guards, so that Sweet Pea can flee. Once Baby Doll is killed in the reverie, we jump back to reality, and the previously cut-off lobotomy is completed. We're devastated to see Baby Doll have to die, but we're comforted by the idea that Sweet Pea safely escaped and can tell the world about the horrors that went on in that wretched place.

This conclusion, and the film altogether, forces us to ask the question, as the film does itself in several places, who the story is really about, and who are all stories really and truly about? I think the film would say that every story is ultimately about you. Even if you're not a post-feminist teenage girl stuck in an insane asylum, you can relate to the struggle in the film to escape a poor reality and create a better one for yourself. The film reminds us that we all have the weapons at our disposal to make our lives ones worth living, to escape any horrid existence we find ourselves in and shape it into whatever we want. We just have to fight for it.

Insidious

Even if you haven't seen Insidious yet, chances are you've at least seen the first half of the movie, which regurgitates over a dozen of the most famous and obvious cliches of haunted house and possession movies. From the child with the unexplainable disease, to the child that no one believes. From the hysterical and illogical mother to the logical and overly-skeptical father. The rocking horse rocking by itself, the seance, the kid's creepy drawings, the geeks with the EMF meters, the baby monitors, the creepy old lady (Zelda Rubinstein anyone?), and many more.

The first half of the movie is so overloaded with cliches that the viewer cannot really associate with the characters in a meaningful way; they seem too fake, too archetypal. Any potential ideas or message behind the film gets lost in the storm of cliches.

The film starts to come around somewhat when Lin Shaye begins to describe "The Further" (which is an admittedly corny name to call it). The ideas of out-of-body experiences aren't completely unused in film, but are used rarely enough and in a unique enough way in the film that a hint of originality begins to emerge. And once we enter The Further, the vast darkness lit only by Patrick Wilson's lantern is executed splendidly, creating actual tension and suspense for the first time in the film.

Unfortunately the work done inside The Further is spoiled by the demon inside it, which bares a far-too-striking resemblance to Darth Maul from The Phantom Menace. Although not a cliche, it's still distracting when a character's costume looks too much like another popular character's (like how Nicolas Cage's costume in Kick-Ass looks a bit too close to several designs of Batman), and takes away from how otherwise creepy the demon would have been.

At several points during the film the concept of fear, and how we allow ourselves to deal with the emotion, is put forth. It's said that Dalton wanders too far into The Further because he has no real fear of what lurks there to keep him grounded in reality. This idea is touched upon other places in the film also, but it doesn't really become a clear and solid theme behind the film. What it ends up being is some vague advertisement for watching horror movies and allowing yourself to feel fear.

The ending is interesting as well. It's an ending that, again, we've all seen before, where the supposedly defeated spirit manages to still possess the hero's human body, but it's done well enough to still be exciting. However, the film cuts off too soon by ending on a scream without showing the result of the scream. This ending feels cheap; it doesn't allow the film to come full circle and complete its narrative, and instead ends on yet another poorly-timed jump scare.

Ultimately the movie feels phoned-in to me. Given what James Wan and Leigh Whannell were able to accomplish with Saw, and the performances Patrick Wilson mustered in Hard Candy and Watchmen, this film falls far short in comparison to the talent these three men possess. These three could've done much better than a Poltergeist without the fun and exciting jumps, than a The Ring without the suspense, intrigue and beautiful art-direction, than a Paranormal Activity without a paralyzing ending.

The Strangers

The more movies one sees, the easier it becomes to spot the clichés and formulas used in those movies. Unfortunately for most movies today, the clichés are painfully obvious and only a blind man would miss them. But, like finding Waldo within a landscape of insanity, it's always refreshing when a film comes along and turns a cliché on its head.

The Strangers is such a film. The basic storyline of The Strangers is a couple (Liv Tyler, Scott Speedman) is harassed, stalked and eventually tortured by a group of masked killers. I know, nothing about that storyline sounds original in the least. But the presentation of the film and the ways in which these events unfold, particularly concerning the pacing of the film and the motives of the killers, make the film truly unique and terrifying.

If we exclude the opening of the film--a flash forward past the end of the film--we start with the couple on the way home from a wedding reception. She is crying, he is visually depressed. After they finish their quite drive back to the house, they have a quiet discussion about the events of the night and where their relationship is. It feels very much like a mumble-core romantic melodrama. It turns out she had turned down his marriage proposal; they've already been through a rough night, and it's only gonna get worse.

Once we get a knock on the door from a stranger and the terror and suspense begin, the film still keeps with its mumble-core sensibility. The killers are never running, never angered, always calm. But their never emotionless malevolences, like a Michael Myers; they always remain within a humanistic plane. Also the sound, editing and camera angles of the film remain subdued and slow, not at all like your standard slasher (with the exception of a couple brilliantly timed jump scares).

When Speedman leaves the house to run to the store, one of the scariest scenes of the movie takes place. Tyler is standing in the living room smoking a cigarette, and in the hallway in the background walks one of the killers in a mask. The hallway is completely dark except for his mask, which seems to hauntingly float there in the dark. Tyler does not notice, as she finishes her cigarette and pours herself a glass of water. As she walks toward the sink the camera follows her, leaving the man in the mask just in the corner of the frame. The man in the mask does nothing, and is gone once the camera turns away and turns back. How chilling a thought, that lunatics in masks could be lurking in the shadows of your home, completely unbeknownst to you. Nothing really happens in this scene, yet it's unbelievably creepy.

The sound throughout the film is simply superb. The juxtaposition between the quiet mumble-core dialogue and loud knockings and scratchings on the doors and windows really makes for excellent jump scares that truly puts the viewer on edge. Add in the simple but unsettling images of the killers' masks, a sewn-together twine bag reminiscent of the Scarecrow in Batman Begins and two dolled-up female clown masks, and you have the basic ingredients of an effective, suspenseful slasher.

The one line of dialogue from the film that really makes this film stand out as special among all its peers, comes at the end of the film. Speedman and Tyler are tied to chairs, awaiting the torture from the three masked assailants. Tyler, crying and hysterical, asks "Why are you doing this to us?" The blond girl in the clown mask answers, "Because you were home." These three teenagers in cheap masks are not out for revenge, to make a statement or some other realistic motive. They kill strictly out of apathy and boredom, choosing as victims whoever happens to answer the door on whatever random night. After her retort, the blond girl and her friends take turns plunging a kitchen knife into their victims' stomachs very lackadaisically, without any passion or enthusiasm, just for something to do.

Throughout the film at certain points there are montages of second-team style random shots of suburbia: houses, picket fences, basketball hoops. These shots suggest a statement about the young American suburbanite, suffering from ennui and apathy, who has probably played a few too many violent video games, as the adage goes, who, in search of a thrill bigger than raiding their inattentive parents' liquor cabinets, go around killing strangers.

So if you think slasher pics have run themselves into the ground, producing the same old crap over and over again, give this film a try, and see if your opinion doesn't change.

On Genre Theory

My last film review was a partnering with a friend to cover [Rec] and [Rec] 2, two in-your-face, over-the-top zombie films with tons of scares, gore and excitement. Now, feeling that I have to balance my geek side who wets himself over crazy fright-fests with my intelligent, sophisticated film connoisseur and aficionado side, here's a brief treatise on film genre theory.

Back when I was a student at NIU, I founded the NIU Horror Club, a campus group meant for watching and discussing horror films. Stuck within the paradigm of "horror" club, our members would often debate whether a given film that we showed fell within the horror genre. Each member had their own idea, usually based on their tastes and preferences, about what the horror genre was about. In this essay I will attempt to describe what horror, and all the other popular film genres, are "about."

It should come as no surprise that all the films grouped into one genre must have something in common, specifically something at their core that is absolutely vital to the nature of those films. Given the most commonly referred-to genres, and the ways in which they are discussed, I have concluded that there are two major principles that make up a genre: what is seen in the film, and what is felt by the viewer.

Horror is a very diverse genre that has taken many different forms. Films described as horror can portray serial killers; demons and monsters, both terrestrial and otherwise; viruses; murderers; haunted houses; and many other scary things. The scary thing can be clear and obvious, like Jason Voorhees, or more subtle or even unseen, like in The Blair Witch Project. These film are so diverse that they have little in common as far as what is actually seen on the screen. What they do have in common is the feeling of fear that is evoked in the viewer.

Comedy is another film genre along these same lines. Comedy can come from so many distinct places that iconography cannot be used to classify this genre. Instead the experience of laughter and the overall lightheartedness that comes from laughter is what defines a comedy.

Other modern genres of film that are of this type include romance, thriller, and drama films. The feelings of true love are what define a romance film. The excitement and suspense felt by the audience make a thriller. Drama sometimes acts as a left-over bin, meaning a film that doesn't clearly fit into the other groups falls here, but dramas are characterized by strong emotional attachments to a character that may not be specifically related to fear, humor, love or excitement.

All the genres that are defined by what is felt are defined as so because the iconography in those films are so varied. On the other side of the coin, there are film genres that have very similar iconography but varied moods and tones that accompany them.

Science fiction is a genre defined by its iconography of aliens, outer space, spacecrafts, computers, robots, and other things related to modern-day technological advances. These films can take very different tones and evoke very different emotions. 2001: A Space Odyssey is a sci-fi film that's very artistically crafted and awe-inspiring, with subtle themes of humans being replaced by something more intelligent. Alien is a sci-fi film that's very suspenseful, frightening and claustrophobic. This year's Paul has the images of sci-fi but is very much a comedy. This films listed have disparate emotions that they create in viewers, but are similar in the images shown on the screen, which is why they can be grouped into the same genre.

Western is another genre categorized by imagery: The Wild West, revolvers, cowboy hats, horses, tumbleweeds. The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly; True Grit and Blazing Saddles are disparate in the reactions to them, but are similar in the imagery depicted.

Other film genres of this type are action, fantasy, war, crime and musicals. All these genres have lists of imagery and events depicted that allow movie theorists to group them together, whether it be explosions and gunfights, fanciful creatures, battle scenes, bank heists or song and dance numbers. Each film can use its genres imagery to tell different stories with different themes, but they're still part of the same genre.

One thing to keep in mind about genres is that they're almost always approximations. The Matrix, for example, has imagery from sci-fi, action and neo-noir films, making it a difficult film to place into a visual genre. Most DVD stores divide their selection by genre, and store owners and employees have to use their best judgment when placing films like The Matrix and other genre-bending films.

Which brings me to my next reminder that film genres are never mutually exclusive. In fact, to really get an accurate description of what to expect with a film, it really should come with at least one visual and one emotional genre: a "sci-fi/horror" or an "action/thriller." The Matrix does not have to be permanently lumped into one genre when it can so easily be described as several others.

Hopefully this little blurb has provided some of you with a new way of looking at film genres. Possibly I've supplied an interesting rambling about movie stuff. At the very least I feel I've done something intellectual with this little blog of mine. So there.

[Rec] 2, as reviewed by Jason Ours

“…I will not fear the night terrors, nor the arrow that flies by day, nor the plague that stalks the darkness…”

-- Rec 2

Ah, the moan and groan-inducing world of the sequel. It’s the only world where such complimentary masterpieces such as Evil Dead 2, Aliens, and Terminator 2: Judgment Day co-exist with the absurdly horrible S. Darko and Exorcist 2: The Heretic. It’s a world where a light is shown on true intentions – is the studio making a quick buck (and making the SAME movie again) or is the potential for EXPANDING the world and characters being creatively utilized? Is anything gained by this sequel or is it interchangeable with its predecessor(s)?  Perhaps most importantly…why should I care about this sequel?

Jaume Balaguero’s [Rec 2] is, without a doubt, a complimentary sequel to the already intense [Rec].  One can tell passion went into both the writing and execution of this gonzo-type tale. 

The film starts with a SWAT team approaching the quarantined building of the first [Rec]. The team is outfitted with cameras on all their helmets – a la Aliens (“Wierzbowski!?”) and seem ready to tackle whatever lies in that building. Upon arrival at the scene, they are met outside by a doctor from the Ministry of Health, who also assumes command as they enter through the gates of Hell…

What sets [Rec] 2 apart from just another sequel is that EVERYTHING is improved, from the sound (discussed soon) to the ability to successfully – and believably – tie up loose ends from the first movie. Most of the time the film does not feel like a straight-up sequel, but rather a biological extension of the monster that is the world of [Rec].

One of the greatest attributing factors to ANY horror movie is the sound – without it, there is no scare. That said, if you never have, I URGE you to invest in a high quality pair of headphones. Viewing (horror) movies via headphones with built in 5.1 (or higher) is an entirely new (and terrifying) world.  In the case of [Rec] 2, the sounds – from whispers in the backgrounds not heard without the headphones, to the rapid, scared breathing of the camera-man, create a perfect atmosphere of fear. This reviewer admits to not having a 5.1 + sound system, however, the headphones added intimacy – which is CRUCIAL for (well-made) horror. When watching [Rec] 2 a third time for this review – and the first time with headphones – I can honestly say that I was genuinely scared, all because of the horrible sounds I never heard before.

Another aspect of appreciation for not only [Rec] 2, but the entire world of [Rec] is the long-shot. Given the medium – the gonzo “found footage”-esque approach, the cast is required to fulfill their scenes in long takes. A keen eye for cinematography can spot these scenes in other movies – whether it’s the 2 minutes and 43 seconds of action in the hospital in John Woo’s Hard Boiled, or the 3-days-in-the-making infamous hallway scene from Chan-Wook Park’s Oldboy – it’s always a beautiful (underappreciated) aspect to film. [Rec] 2 is comprised mostly of these awe-inspiring shots, where one wonders how many times they were done to be “just right…” One extends an extra kudos to the cast for excelling at this.

Almost ALWAYS, the use of CGI detracts from the movie experience – not every movie is as fluid as District 9. While the approach of filming this type of movie adds to the suspense and tension, it also limits it in terms of visual effects – namely action scenes. What is beautiful about the world of [Rec] is that the action is usually very fast paced anyways – the camera frantically moving around and reacting to the environment – so the CGI blends in very well as one does not get a strong, long glance at whatever it may be. Usually one is too immersed in the action to stop and say “wait a minute, that’s fake!” – a good thing, as immersion is KEY in films of this nature. One needs to feel that they are with the characters to fully feel the fear. Remember the first time you saw Aliens and the marines were entering the colony of LV-426? That shit was terrifying because you were there with them every step.

The world of horror movies is filled with (sometimes) creative homages to past films within the genre. This is usually done tongue-in-cheek as the writers know that horror fans stick to their genre – it's fun too. [Rec] 2 is no exception: take for instance a scene which a crucifix is held up to a person and the shadow is all you see projected onto that person’s face – quick, what movie is that? See- fun! Now take a scene in which blood is being tested and bursts into flames– which Arctic-expedition-gone-wrong film from the 80s instantly comes to mind? Good, you know your movies.

So, if you enjoyed the first [Rec] …or…Quarantine – the bastardized Hollywood remake that is 99.3% identical EXCEPT for a MAJOR plot change and ONE scene– then I wholeheartedly recommend [Rec] 2.

“(A)bandon all hope – ye who enter here”

-Inferno, cto. 3, 1. 9,