A Brief Return

     If anyone regularly reads this blog, I'm sorry that I dropped off the face of the Earth there with no warning. Hadn't planned to at the time, but I was suddenly overcome with a sort of existential crisis that effectively destroyed my desire to continue on. I still love cinema, in fact I've watched more films this year than the last couple years combined, and I still love talking and writing about cinema, but I just feel no drive to keep plugging away on the blog. I mean half the time I was just using this page to vent about self-loathing and depression, and it turns out there's this thing called 'therapy' these days that's much more helpful with that.

    I'm not going to say that this page is totally done, I might toss out some pieces from time to time if I'm feeling nasty, but if you prefer consistent updates in your film blogs then you might consider moving on to greener pastures. Either way, thanks to everyone who bothered to read my rambling nonsense over the years, if I helped anyone find a new favorite film or try a movie out that they otherwise would have never tried, then it was worth it.

        --King Thunderbird

Movie Movie (1978), directed by Stanley Donen

 

The Trailer

and

The Appropriate Tune - "Movies" by Alien Ant Farm

    Work has begun on Marathon ‘23 and I’m actually in a decent mood at the moment, so that means posts that aren’t exclusively in the month of October. Some of these might be from Marathon alums, in order that they get their annual spotlight, while others might be films that I’ve been wanting to watch but kept putting off, or spur of the moment shit as is my style. Our first film of 2023 falls into the second category, almost entirely because it’s certainly one of the most annoying films to try and search on google.

    Released in 1978, Movie Movie was directed by Stanley Donen, written by Larry Gelbart (of M*A*S*H) fame and Michael Keller, and produced by Donen through ITC Entertainment. A satirical sendup of classic Hollywood double features, Movie Movie presents us with, funnily enough, two films. In the first story, ‘Dynamite Hands’, Joey Popchik, an aspiring lawyer who enters the world of boxing in order to pay for his sister’s eye operation, but soon gets in over his head when the promise of fast money and even faster women rears its head. In the latter half, ‘Baxter’s Beauties of ‘33’, Spats Baxter, a famous Broadway producer who has just been given one month to live, and is determined to put out last one hit to support his daughter (who he has never met) before he goes. With the help of rookie dancer Kitty and bookkeeper turned composer Dick (Barry Bostwick), he just might do it. Sandwiched between the two features is the short ‘Zero Hour’, a trailer for a WWI era aviation drama. All three stories feature the same cast playing multiple roles, and includes the likes of George C. Scott, Harry Hamlin, Trish Van Devere, Red Buttons, Eli Wallach and Art Carney.

    Movies parodying movies were not uncommon by this point in time, of course. The Kentucky Fried Movie had been released a year before, with the landmark comedy Airplane! Coming a few years later, but it’s clear that the shadow of Mel Brooks loomed large over this production over anyone else. How could he not? Brooks was the King of Parody in the 70’s, making movies based on classic westerns, silent films, Alfred Hitchcock and most famously Universal’s Frankenstein, if you tried to enter that field half-assed then you weren’t going to make it. Which in hindsight I guess they didn’t, since it’s not like Movie Movie is spoken of in the same breath as Young Frankenstein or Blazing Saddles, but to Donen, Gelbart and the rest of the crew’s credit they do make a try of it. The cinematography, the set design, the music, the use of color (Dynamite Hands and Zero Hour are filmed in black and white, while Baxter’s Beauties is done like Singing in the Rain and those other Golden Age musicals), the little ‘Warren Bros.’ logos before each feature, there is a concentrated effort to replicate the feel of that era of filmmaking. Which is exactly why Brooks’ films were so successful, because it wasn’t just about jokes and musical numbers, it was about encapsulating the essence of the subject that was being parodied. At his best you could feel the passion Brooks had towards his subject, encapsulating the essence of the thing and showcasing why it was popular enough to be parodied to begin with, and I think you can feel that same kind of passion in Movie Movie.

    While Brook’s cinematic success wasn’t just about jokes however the jokes were no doubt an important factor, and that’s where Movie Movie stumbled. Not that there’s no humor to be found, there’s definitely comedy in this comedy movie, but it’s very noncommittal in how it goes about doing it. There are moments when you can tell they want to go full on Brooks’ screwball style, but then they almost immediately fall back into playing things straightforward. Which isn’t necessarily bad, George C. Scott can do silly and serious things with no trouble, but it’s also not necessarily funny. Really where the film excels is in the quips and one-liners, which makes sense if you’re familiar with M*A*S*H, and they’re sprinkled enough throughout the picture that you can’t really tune out, because you’ll be blindsided by one.

    Of the three skits, I’d say that Zero Hour is the best one. It’s the shortest and by extension the strongest comedically, and George C. Scott has a good British accent. Then it’s Baxter’s Beauties, which aside from being pretty funny features some impressive choreography and catchy musical numbers. Last and least is Dynamite Hands, which can be funny but feels the most muddled in terms of consistent tone. A shame, because it was the more daring of the two in terms of presentation, the musical having firmly fallen into Brooks territory years ago.

    Movie Movie gets a mild mild recommendation. With the amount of great and inventive comedies in the late 70s-early 80’s it was easy for a niche gimmick film like Movie Movie to fall through the cracks, and unfortunately I don’t think it has that spark that earns it the coveted cult following that other obscure films from the period enjoy. That being said, it's not a bad film, and if you happen to stumble across it while scrolling through your local streaming service, you might have some fun. If nothing else I’d say it’s worth a watch for George C. Scott alone, but that’s a decision you’ll have to make for yourself.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2022: Made in U.S.A. (1966), directed by Jean-Luc Godard

 

The Trailer

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The Appropriate Tune: 'As Tears Go By' by Marianne Faithfull

       This only seemed appropriate, didn’t it? Although Godard isn’t a huge name on this blog, we covered Alphaville a while back and that’s it, he was most certainly a huge name in the world of film at large, easily one of the most influential artists in the medium next to fellow legends like Alfred Hitchcock and Sergei Eisenstein. Generations of filmmakers were inspired by Godard, inspired by those who had been inspired, and so on and on. His death leaves a hole in the fabric of cinema, and we are all the worse for it. So for the very last film of the Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2022, let’s return to the work of Godard and see what the auteur has in store for us.

       Released in 1966, Made in U.S.A. was written and directed by Jean-Luc Godard and produced by Georges de Beauregard through Rome Paris Films, Anouchka Films and S.E.P.I.C., based on the film The Big Sleep directed by Howard Hawks, the novel ‘The Big Sleep’ by Raymond Chandler and ‘The Jugger’ by Donald E. Westlake. Godard muse Anna Karina stars as Paula Nelson, a journalist who has arrived in Paris to investigate the death of her former lover Richard. A heart attack, the official report says, but it becomes clear that Richard wasn’t felled by a coronary. There’s a mystery afoot, one that involves assassinations, political conspiracies, cover ups and Communist Parties, and Paula intends to get to the bottom of it.

       Made In U.S.A. is labeled as a thriller, a mystery, and a comedy, and I guess if you were feeling generous you could call it that. There are certainly absurd things that in other films would be considered comedic, like the reveal of Richard’s corpse, but which never cross the border into actual humor. There are elements which could leave the audience thrilled if the film ever had stakes, and the plot does involve a mystery, although the film is so free-wheeling with time and place that the audience struggles to care whether it’s solved or not, if it even was solved by the end. Really Made In U.S.A. is more a movie about people talking that occasionally has something happening on screen, and whether or not you find that interesting depends on if you find talk of French revisionism, the pointlessness of language and circular conversations about whether someone knows something interesting. I don’t, so this whole experience was akin to pulling teeth.

       Which isn’t to say that Godard is a bad filmmaker. He’s a very bold filmmaker, and there are things he does in film, the overt symbolism, breaking the 4th wall to have the characters tell the audience what they’re doing, which must have been very striking in ‘66. Hell it’s very bold even today, even after the legion of imitators. It’s just as a film, as a story that was meant to engage me on an emotional level as well as an intellectual one, it dropped the ball. It was white noise in the shape of dialogue, and as time wore on I became less and less interested in moving forward. I’ve complained a lot about movies being a bit too long, but I think Made In U.S.A. proves that even a 90 minute film can drag in the right conditions.

       Just so that this isn’t a completely negative post though, I will say that I enjoyed Marianne Faithfull’s cameo. Great singer, and Godard knew enough to just let her sing at one point. Anna Karina was also fairly interesting as a lead actress, and I don’t just say that because of her smoldering sensuality. I believe this was the last of Godard’s film to feature Karina in the lead role, whether she was aging out of the prime movie roles or Godard just wanted a change I don’t know, but it was enough to make me want to check out the rest of her work.

       Made In U.S.A. does not get the recommendation. A shitty send-off to a famous director, but I’m in a shitty mood so this is the best we’re going to get. Those interested in a better example of Godard should perhaps check out Alphaville, or one of his other films that probably won’t get reviewed on this blog since they aren’t genre films. Otherwise I’ll see you next year for another 31 films that you’ve probably already seen or don’t care about. In the meantime ebay some candy, dress like a ghost, have sex with someone dressed as a ghost, whatever. Go nuts, it’s a holiday.

Happy Halloween!!!

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2022: Kamikaze 1989 (1982), directed by Wolf Gremm

 

The Trailer

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The Appropriate Tune: 'White Eagle' by Tangerine Dream

       Originally this spot was going to go to a film by Werner Herzog, but in terms of this blog he’s in much the same predicament as Dario Argento. Arguably even worse, as Argento is known primarily for his horror films, while most of the Herzog films I’ve covered on this blog have a loose connection to genre films, if at all. Still we’ve still got a couple of his films to go before I consider retiring him, I definitely want to see Fitzcarraldo at some point, so in the meantime I’m going to tackle another German film that I’ve had my eye on for a few years now.

       Released in 1982, Kamikaze 1989 was directed by Wolf Gremm, written by Gremm and Robert Katz, and produced by Regina Ziegler, based on the 1964 novel “Murder on the Thirty-First Floor” by Swedish author Per Wahloo. It is the far-flung year of 1989, and West Germany is the richest country in the world. There’s no energy crisis, no pollution, no poverty, and all forms of media and entertainment are concentrated into a single place, known as the combine. A place that’s just received a bomb threat, threatening over 4000 employees. Enter Lieutenant Jansen (Rainer Werner Fassbinder), a loose cannon cop on the edge who never fails to get his man. Only there’s no man to get, the threat was just that. Or was it? As Jansen delves deeper into the mystery of this would-be bomber, the weeds just grow thicker and thicker. Assassination attempts, state secrets, underground comic books, and a secret 31st floor of the combine that may or may not exist. It can never just be a bomb threat, can it?

       A better writer than me could probably write about this film without making comparisons to Blade Runner, so I’ll go ahead and do it. Both films released in ‘82, both science-fiction films taking place in a futuristic dystopia (disguised as a utopia in Kamikaze’s case), both plots involving corporate greed and corruption, both protagonists being police officers, both have synth-heavy soundtracks you can see where I’m coming from right? However, while Blade Runner is a classic, at least the versions after the theatrical cut, Kamikaze 1989 doesn’t elicit the same kind of feelings. Rather its schizophrenic tone prevents me from taking any attempt at serious pathos seriously, and I’m finding it difficult to piece together what exactly the whole mystery and conspiracy was even about in the first place. An endorsement for multiple viewings I suppose, but if I didn’t like the egg salad the first time then I’m not going to order it for lunch the next day just to give the mayo a fair shake.

       I will give props to the world building and visual design, which like many sci-fi films is charming in the way that it covers for its shortcomings. The bizarre outfits like Jansen’s leopard-print suit, disturbing TV shows like a laughter competition that feels like a precursor to Robocop, the symbol of the police being a thumbs-up, it all speaks to a world that that has spread a thin veneer of progressiveness over a facist hellscape. There may be no pollution but no one really seems happy, so much as they are putting on an act of happiness. The opposite of Blade Runner in that regard, which was a world that looked miserable and had the population to match. A loud world filled with quiet desperation is Kamikaze 1989, a world that would make for a great running segment in 2000AD or Heavy Metal.

       Ultimately though I’m not giving Kamikaze 1989 the recommendation. I’ll concede that this could be a movie that gets better on repeated viewings, but it took me a while just to get through the one. Watch at your own discretion, but if you do be sure to take some notes. There’s definitely some kick-ass Halloween costumes sprinkled throughout.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2022: Suspiria (1977), directed by Dario Argento

 

The Trailer

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The Appropriate Tune: 'Suspiria (Main Theme)' by Goblin

       There’s probably a hard limit for how many times Dario Argento will keep showing up on this list. Not that we’re almost out of his films to cover, but despite giallo not being the most diverse subgenre in the world it still feels like a disservice to devote 90 percent of the attention towards only one artist. I’d feel the same way if the only westerns I covered were Sergio Leone or the only animated films I watched were Hayao Miyazaki, a man cannot survive on bread alone you understand. Fate willing we will eventually get through the entirety of his ‘classic’ period, but to use the vernacular of this blog Argento is not a Lynch or a Carpenter level director. And that’s fine, the opinion of this blog means jack shit anyway.

       Released in 1977, Suspiria was directed by Dario Argento, written by Argento and Daria Nicolodi and produced by Claudio Argento through Seda Spettacoli, based on the novel “Suspiria de Profundis” by Thomas De Quincey. Jessica Harper stars as Suzy Bannion, an American girl invited to join the prestigious Tam Academy in German, a ballet dancer’s paradise. Unfortunately she arrived at the peak of plot convenience season, as the night Suzy arrives is also the night when a former student of the school is horrifically murdered. She tries to go about her day in peace, only more and more strange things start to happen. Maggots falling from the ceiling, bizarre noises at night, a slight bleeding from every orifice in the face. What is going on at the Tam Academy and what happened to the murdered girl that passed by Suzy in the night when she arrived? Are the faculty oblivious, or do they know more than they seem? Against her better judgment, Suzy decides to investigate.

       Mysterious though it may seem don’t be fooled, as with the other Argento films we’ve covered on this blog the mystery is simply a smokescreen used to hide the juicy giallo core within. Gruesome, overwrought deaths, malicious, psychotic villains, virginal maidens, the works. Burgeoning cinephiles might be led into thinking that because these are foreign language films that they are more refined or thought-provoking, but that’s not really the case. Giallo scratches the same itch as a Texas Chainsaw Massacre or a Friday the 13th: pretty girls screaming while being murdered or trying to avoid being murdered. In the case of Suspiria it might even scratch harder; Argento sees a scene of a girl being stabbed to death and says ‘what if we had a part where the audience sees her heart beating in her mutilated chest cavity and then we see the killer stabbing the heart?’ It is the penny dreadful and the pulp novel set to motion, base entertainment that was later supplanted by the Jerry Springer Show and twitter drama wrapped up in a blanket of cinematography. Sometimes we want a steak, sometimes we want a burger, and in that case Suspiria is like one of those A-1 steak burgers.

       Suspiria is also the film that firmly established Argento’s reputation as a visual storytelling. The first comparison that came to mind was Corman’s Masque of the Red Death with it’s technicolor rooms (Suspiria was also filmed in technicolor), but if you ran that film through a Stanley Kubrick filter. Good lord does this film look good, the lighting, the use of color and location, it’s rare to find a movie where almost every scene looks like it could be its own painting. Argento has given the Zack Snyder’s Watchmen treatment to a comic book that doesn’t actually exist, and all without blue CGI penises.

       Music for Suspiria is provided by the band Goblin, which to me is a double-edged sword. I like Goblin, and I think at the right time their music combined with Argento’s visuals is a sensory overload akin to a bad acid trip, in a good way. Trouble is there are a lot of moments in this film where it’s not the right time. The soundtrack will make it sound like we’re in the middle of a chase scene, our protagonist only inches away from the killer, and yet on the screen it’s just a character walking slowly down a hallway. Which isn’t the band’s fault, fault lies with the filmmakers, and the filmmakers are very lucky they didn’t completely kill off the atmosphere they were trying to build by having Goblin full bore every five minutes or so.

       Suspiria gets an easy recommendation. While it doesn’t do much to stretch the borders of giallo, it is a master class on shot composition that is worth it to watch for the technique of it as much as for the entertainment aspect. If the endless reboots of Halloween and Hellraiser looked like this then their franchises might have never gone on life support. Burn a witch, toast some marshmallows, and sit down with Suspiria this Halloween.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2022: Solaris (1972), directed by Andrei Tarkovsky

 

The Trailer

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The Appropriate Tune: 'Do You Love Me?' by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

       We saw Svankmajer, so how about another blast from the past? The last time we saw Andrei Tarkovsky on this list was with his 1979 film Stalker, way back in Marathon ‘16. Stalker was not only one of the best movies I watched that year, it was one of the best movies I’ve seen period, so much so that I think subconsciously avoided doing another of his films for fear that it was a one-time burst of genius and that I would be disappointed. A potent combination of paranoia and pretension, not fit for an unpaid amaetur film review blogger of my station. So let’s return to Tarkovsky, and a film so acclaimed that Hollywood tried to adapt it into a George Clooney vehicle, truly the highest honor one can bestow upon a film. Besides making it a background cameo for Space Jam 2 that is.

       Released in 1972, Solaris was directed by Andrei Tarkovsky, written by Tarkovsky and Fridikh Gorenshtein, and produced by Vyacheslav Tarasov through Mosfilm, based on the novel of the same name by Stanislaw Lem. Donatas Banionis stars as Dr. Kris Kelvin, a psychologist who agrees to undertake a visit to the space station orbiting the planet Solaris, a world of vast oceans and dense fog. Solaris has been something of a black eye for the scientific community over the years; Some have claimed that Solaris is an intelligent, thinking being, but no one has managed to prove it and the project is on its last legs, the station now housing only three scientists from the dozens that once resided in it before, with reports bordering on nonsense. Kelvin’s word could be the make or break moment.

       When Kelvin arrives at the satellite however, he finds a station in disrepair and one of the scientists dead, suicide. The cause? Solaris, in a fashion. It seems that after an experiment using x-rays Solaris suddenly began to react, and the results were ‘the guests’ -- thoughts and memories pulled from the dreams of the scientists and given form. Not hallucinations, but beings with a tangible, physical form. A revelation that throws Kelvin through a loop, especially after he comes face to face with Hari (Natalya Bondarchuk), his wife that had been dead for the past 10 years. Is this a happy reunion, or another tragedy waiting to happen?

       Before watching Solaris I saw a comment that said something to the effect of ‘Tarkovsky looks up at the stars and sees humanity longing for connection’, and there's definitely something to that. Or rather a longing in the face of failure. Mankind tries to connect with Solaris, which leads to the experiments which spawn ‘the guests’. Kelvin longs to reconnect with his wife which leads to Solaris spawning ‘Hari’, a simulacrum based on his memories of her. And what happens when Hari learns of her nature? Is she still Hari or has she become someone else entirely? Is this love, or just a memory of love? Is there a difference? It seems that Kelvin, and by extension the audience, are doomed to stumble around in the dark in regards to that question. 

       You could also pair this up with Stalker, although they’re not quite the same. Stalker dealt in the loss of faith, while Solaris is more the desire for it. Kelvin wants to give himself over to belief, he wants to be absorbed into the fantasy where his life hasn’t taken a downward turn. Whether or not this is a good thing I suppose is debatable; The final scene gives the impression of a sinister turn, but Tarkovsky spent a better part of two hours questioning what being ‘real’ or ‘human’ actually means, so I suppose it’s up to the viewer’s interpretation. More so than Stalker I’d say, with its definitely uplifting ending.

       Visually Solaris shares the most similarities with 2001: A Space Odyssey, although perhaps unsurprisingly Tarkovsky doesn’t really hit the special effects as hard as Kubrick. Then again Solaris doesn’t really need the flash, as the science fiction is more philosophical than theoretical, and it conveys the feeling of a run down space station just fine as it is. I especially like the way Tarkovsky portrays the planet of Solaris. It’s incredibly simple, a color filter and some fog effects, but it captures the feel of an alien world.

       Solaris gets an easy recommendation. Where other science fiction films of the period could be gleefully esoteric and obscurantist in its messaging, Tarkovsky is clear without being blunt and meditative without being pondering. While it didn’t affect me as strongly as Stalker, I’d read Lem’s Solaris back in college so I knew what to expect to some degree and also Stalker was just that powerful of a movie, Solaris is a fantastic film and a must-have for any aspiring cinephile's watch queue. The acting, the atmosphere, the writing, it’s about as good as you can get. Cuddle up with the alien recreation of your dead loved ones this Halloween and enjoy.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2022: Faust (1994), directed by Jan Svankmajer

 

The Trailer

and

The Appropriate Tune: 'Faust 72' by Dynastie Crisis

       One of the more common tropes in literature is the ‘deal with the devil’, wherein a character gives up something precious to them to a malevolent being in exchange for their heart’s desire. American blues legend Robert Johnson supposedly sold his soul to the Devil in exchange for his talent at the guitar, and there have been numerous other tales of artists and musicians doing the same over the years. Hell you could even classify the Ancient Greek myth of Orpheus as a ‘deal with the devil’ story, although Hades and Satan weren’t actually equivalent. However the archetypal example of this well-worn trope is the German legend of Faust, who made a deal with a demon in order to gain all of the world’s knowledge, which didn’t turn out so well for him. So famous is this story that the term ‘faustian’ has entered the popular vernacular, or at least the nerd vernacular.

       The tale of Faust has been adapted many times over the years; A famous play by Goethe, and of course several films. There was one by the great F.W. Murnau in 1926, and another by Peter Gorski in 1960, but the one we’re going to be looking at is 1994’s Faust, by Czech director Jan Svankmajer. Svankmajer, if you’ll recall, is the mind behind that stop-motion adaptation of Alice in Wonderland, which is by far the creepiest version of the story I’ve ever seen. I was interested in seeing how he would tackle things that are meant to be scary, like demons, so here we are.

       Released in 1994, Faust was written and directed by Jan Svankmajer and produced by Jaromir Kallista through Athanor, BBC, CNC and Pandora Filmproduction, based on the play by Goethe. Petr Cepek stars as our protagonist, a man thoroughly unenthused about his life and the world at large. On a whim he decides to visit the location on a flier handed out by two men, which turns out to be a theater putting on a production of ‘Faust’, and it turns out our protagonist is playing the lead role. Not being a theater person our protagonist tries to leave, but it seems that the show must go on, whether he wants it to or not. And furthermore, what is the difference between the play and reality anyway?

       As a story, Goethe’s Faust is pretty straight-forward. Faust, feeling the limitations of human knowledge and ability, rejects god and sells his soul to the devil in exchange for knowledge and power, only to realize that this attachment to the world is what keeps him from true knowledge, i.e. knowledge of god. Svankmajer’s Faust follows a similar path. Our protagonist is unsatisfied with his life, and so assumes the role of Faust in order to gain a sense of power and purpose, not realizing that once committed that you can’t just go back on it. Our protagonist works with puppets and eventually becomes a puppet himself, struggling against the inevitability of his fate. A counterpoint to Goethe, who emphasized unquestioning devotion to god, a willing ‘puppet’ if you will, or a compliment, as our protagonist cavorts with the devil and pays the price? The film is presented in an intensely surreal manner, with the nature of time and space heavily distorted, so I suppose it could be both and neither at once.

       Of course the main reason I picked this version was for the visuals, and Svankmajer doesn’t disappoint. The man has an eye for decay, every other scene this film finds itself in new forms of squalor, from deteriorating apartments to stuffy backstage areas and rotting church basements. The stop motion animation is incredibly dynamic, a little herky-jerky but just seeing the myriad ways that Svankmajer twists and morphs Mephistopheles is a fascinating bit of filmmaking. Then of course there are the puppets, or perhaps marionettes is the better word, life-size marionettes that look like they were pulled out of Toulon’s basement. The marionettes are really what made this movie, not only because they perform the play the film is centered around and perform most of the dialogue but they are also creepy as hell. Seeing them interact with real people, the unnatural way they engage with the real world, helps to develop the absurdism of the whole thing. If you’ve got even a slight phobia of dolls however you might want to steer clear.

       Potential issues with Faust are much the same as with any surreal or absurdist film, those who prefer their stories straight-forward will likely find this incomprehensible and thus insufferable. There’s also some depictions of gore and sexuality that some viewers might find uncomfortable, in spite of them being performed by marionettes. Not a lot, but certainly enough to enhance the sense of the bizarre.

       Faust gets the recommendation. Much like his adaptation of Lewis Carroll, Svankmajer manages to twist and turn it in such a way that it feels almost wholly unique and thoroughly unsettling. I was also, much like with his previous film, captivated the whole way through. He certainly doesn’t make family films, but if you’re looking for something particularly out there this Halloween then Faust is the film for you.