The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Blue Velvet (1986), directed by David Lynch

So that does it for another Marathon. Maybe even the last one, depending on how this net neutrality thing ends up going. Either way, I'd like to thank everyone out there for reading, whether you were a new visitor or a regular fan it means a lot to know that I'm not just screaming into the void. Leave a comment, spread the word, do whatever you'd like, and I'll try and get more content out more regularly. See ya space cowboys.  

The Trailer
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The Appropriate Tune: "Blue Velvet", by Bobby Vinton

     As of this writing, third season of David Lynch’s Twin Peaks (commonly titled as The Return) has come and gone, possibly closing the book on one of the strangest and most wonderful experiments in television history. When it appeared on television screens in the early 90s there was nothing really like it, serialized storytelling, surrealist filmmaking techniques, a level of sexuality and violence that seemed more suited to HBO than ABC, and it completely rewrote the book on what could be done in the medium. Sure it only lasted two seasons, and the season without Lynch at the helm is spotty at best, but it’s influence on TV cannot be overstated. Without Twin Peaks there would be no X-Files, no Lost or American Horror Story or Legion or Fargo (although give the Coens some credit), or likely any of these weird shows that we all love so much. All because Twin Peaks, a series predicated on the fact that David Lynch really wanted to make fun of soap operas, opened the door.

     David Lynch is certainly no stranger to the blog, in fact I believe he’s overtaken David Cronenberg for most films that I’ve covered. The very first Halloween list on this site, before the Marathon even, featured Eraserhead among its ranks, and since then Lost Highway, Mulholland Drive and Dune has joined it. Twin Peaks S3 dropped so I knew I was going to cover another of his films and I had already seen his Twin Peaks film Fire Walk With Me, so which one would work? The Elephant Man, Lynch’s studio debut? Inland Empire, his final feature film? A proper writeup of Eraserhead? No, after having my mind blown in the aftermath of Twin Peaks, there was only one film that felt right. A movie that would become the thematic template for David Lynch’s filmography from that day forward. It’s time for a little bit of that Blue Velvet.

     After his father suffers a medical emergency while watering his idyllic suburban lawn, young Jeffrey Beaumont (Kyle Maclachlan moves back to his idyllic suburban hometown of Lumberton to take over his father’s hardware store. It’s a rough situation, going back to a town that all your friends have left behind, which suddenly takes a turn for the bizarre when he discovers a severed human ear while walking in an abandoned field. He delivers the ear to the police of course, but when he tries to learn more about the circumstances of the case, he is barred by police protocol (this is kind of their wheelhouse after all). So he decides to team up with Sandy Williams (Laura Dern), daughter of the detective working on the case and potential love interest, and start up an investigation of their own. If they were a few years younger, you’d think this was some kind of Stand By Me spinoff.

     Anyway, the clues seem to lead to a woman named Dorothy Vallens, a lounge singer at a local bar called The Slow Club. Jeffrey, riding high on his little detective kick starts taking greater and greater risks to learn more about Dorothy, until eventually he’s resorted to hiding in her closet. Voyeurism has its disadvantages however, as it is in that closet that Jeffrey discovers the terrible truth: The ear belongs to Dorothy’s husband who, along with their son, has been kidnapped by a criminal known as Frank, a violent, drug-addicted psychopath that has been using Dorothy’s family as blackmail to entrap her into horrific sex slavery. Jeff’s a good guy, he wants to help, but as he get involved with Dorothy he finds himself drawn farther away from idyllic Lumberton into a world he doesn’t recognize. A world of corruption and misery, where reason breaks down and the differences between pain and pleasure become indistinguishable. The world of Blue Velvet, and there doesn’t seem to be a way out.

     One of the major themes of Eraserhead was the disconnected, dehumanizing atmosphere that modern post industrial urban society can have on people, and two films later Lynch would revisit that idea and transform that disconnect into a full-blown dichtomy. At first glance Lumberton seems too good to be true, a saccharine-sweet depiction of suburbia straight out of Leave It to Beaver, and yet it is clearly an illusion. A dream that we make up in order to distract us from the real world, which quite often ends up becoming a nightmare. Situations seem unreal, people behave oddly and irrationally, and we as the audience are forced to confront things that we might not want to, much like Jeffrey does as he sinks deeper in Frank’s world. Lynch would double down on this in later works, but Blue Velvet is really the film that defined who David Lynch was as a creator and filmmaker.

     As I’ve said the film is about contrasts, the one between the Lumberton that we believe in and the one that really exists, and the most visceral is that difference between Jeffrey’s relationship with Sandy and the one with Dorothy. With Sandy, Jeffrey is the cooler older man. Their relationship plays out about as sweetly and naively as an old Archie comic, kisses, dates, the whole nine yards. With Dorothy, Jeffrey is the inexperienced one, both in sexuality and worldview. While their relationship is more intimate, it isn’t one of love. Dorothy has been so abused that it is ingrained in her psyche and Jeffrey, while he wants to help her, is completely out of his depth on how, and ends up becoming drawn into the conflict with Frank. When the two worlds eventually collide, as they do in Lynch films, there is chaos. The two worlds, Frank and Jeffrey, Sandy and Dorothy, cannot coexist. They all just fall apart.

     Much like Crash, Blue Velvet is a very sexually-charged film, but unlike Cronenberg Lynch doesn’t really go for eroticism. There is sex in the film, yes, there is nudity, but it always contrasted by this underlying foundation of violence and misery. When Jeffrey and Dorothy are in bed together and she begs him to strike her, it’s not played as some sort of fetish game. This is, in context, real, and rather than possible satisfaction you just feel miserable. This isn’t David Lynch’s only instance of using sex in this manner, one need only look at the history of Laura Palmer, but he really strives to make things as tragic and uncomfortable as they can get in Blue Velvet. If you’re someone who’s been a victim of sexual violence, I’d seriously advise caution before trying this one out.

     If you love Twin Peaks, and it’s one of my favorite TV shows of all time so you know I do, then it’s almost a requirement to try out Blue Velvet. It’s got Kyle Maclachlan as a goody two-shoes crime solver, it’s got Laura Dern, it’s got an Angelo Badalamenti score (his first ever collaboration with Lynch, in fact), all it needs is Bob poking out from behind a counch and you’d think it was a prequel. If you don’t love Twin Peaks but love disturbing psycho-sexual crime thrillers, then this might also be the film for you. Either way if you go for Blue Velvet this Halloween is definitely going to be a wild ride, which hopefully won’t leave you beaten up along the side of the highway. Remember to keep an eye out for robins, and -

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!!!   

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Raising Arizona (1987), directed by Joel Coen

The Trailer
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The Appropriate Tune: "Way Out There", by Carter Burwell

     One of the first movies that really dug itself into my soul as a budding movie fan, beyond that Tim Burton obsession way back, was a Coen Brothers movie. 1998’s The Big Lebowski to be precise, a Raymond Chandler-esque mystery story that traded the Golden Age of Hollywood in all its dirt and grime with the burnt-out, post-modern apathy of the early 90s. I was stuck with Comedy Central’s ‘edited for TV’, which was a hackjob if ever I saw one, with entire subplots and scenes removed, but even through the butchery I was able to catch enough of the magic to make me fall in love with their work from then on. With the Coens, they’re never just telling a story with their films, they’re crafting their own little worlds that slowly reveal themselves to you as intricately crafted webs of actions, consequences and so on. Worlds that are full of losers, assholes, and otherwise terrible people, but people who show a level of emotional depth and complexity that you wouldn’t expect. While maybe not as rabidly popular as Quentin Tarantino, the Coen Brothers have reached that same level of critical and commercial acclaim that some directors can only glimpse at during their careers. Well, except for The Ladykillers.

     Have I blown enough smoke up their asses yet?

     Despite my love for the Coens, they’ve never actually appeared on any of the previous Marathons. In fact I’ve only ever reviewed one film of theirs on the blog, the illustrious Fargo (now an illustrious television series), a couple years back. Since then I’ve had a disturbing lack of Coens in my life, and it’s about damn time that we rectified that situation. Of course the Coens don’t generally deal in the Halloweenish films genres, but that’s never stopped us before, has it?

     H.I. McDunnough is what you might call a ‘recidivist’. He’s not a bad guy per se, he’s never intentionally hurt anyone and he rarely says an unkind word, but he just can’t stop himself from committing crime and getting his ass thrown in jail. Not that it doesn’t have its advantages; It’s during the processing for his various crimes that he meets Edwina (she’s the one that takes his mugshots), and the two fall in love and eventually get married. Life is good, at least until the question of children is brought up, and it is revealed that Edwina is incapable of getting pregnant. Adoption is out as well, because of H.I.’s criminal record, so it seems like they’re out of luck. Well, they could try just...taking a baby. Like that rich guy Nathan Arizona, he’s just had five kids at the same time! There’s no way he and his wife can take care of all of them the way they need. If H.I. and Ed were to, say, take one of the babies, no one would care right? H.I. and Ed get a child of their own, Arizona has one less kid to deal with, everybody wins! Right?

     Raising Arizona is definitely a weird one. It’s got all the parts of a Coen Brothers movie: Loser protagonists, spoonfuls of philosophy, interesting music (ladies love yodeling), Frances McDormand and John Goodman, everything you need for an amazing film. However, I don’t think I’ve seen a movie by the Coens that was so goofy. Gallows humor isn’t a stranger to Coen films, and they’ll even exaggerate things from time to time, but Raising Arizona is downright cartoonish. The design of the Arizona Quints bedroom, which has a crib that feels like it should be housing Popeye’s nephew rather than actual babies, the entire ‘left the baby at the store’ scene, it gets into downright wacky territory. These are the guys who reimagined the Odyssey in the Depression-era American South, and we’re getting material that wouldn’t have seemed out of place in one of the Home Alone movies. If you’ve got certain expectation of what their films should be like, it’s possible this might feel more on the level of My Name Is Earl rather than Fargo, for better or worse. Earl and H.I. are bother Southern gentleman with mustaches and wild hair who have a criminal history and are trying to do right by others.

     Silly though it may be, I find Raising Arizona to be an incredibly endearing film. Maybe it’s because I’ve had a baby/child in my life for a couple years now that H.I.’s growing fear of the pressures of responsibility and the world devolving in greater and greater levels of chaos with the inclusion of a baby seems all too familiar. However Raising Arizona is right in the sense that a baby is a source of joy as well as hardship, and seeing this gaggle of irresponsible fuckups falling under the baby spell is great fun. It’s crazy and surreal because bringing a life into the world and subsequently being everything to that life is a crazy and surreal thing. It really alters your way of thinking about the world.

     Surprising as it may be, Nicholas Cage puts in fantastic work here as H.I. McDunnough. I know the common opinion of Cage, formed from films like The Wicker Man and Ghost Rider, is that he’s a ‘so bad it’s good’ kind of performer, but honestly I think he fits in perfectly alongside Frances McDormand, John Goodman and Holly Hunter (haven’t heard from her since Crash). Softspoken, more literate than you’d expect, Cage embodies the look of a man consistently beyond his depth every single day. Yet another thing that I totally identify with, by the way.

     Recommending a Coen Brothers movie isn’t exactly a hard thing to do, but if you’ve never had a chance to and you’re wanting to try it out, then this is a good way to start. If you’re a fan of weird 80s comedies like Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure or Heathers then you’ll be in a pretty good spot. Your opinions on having kids might not change, but at least you’ll have a good time this Halloween.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988), directed by Terry Gilliam

The Trailer
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The Appropriate Tune: "Vulcan and Venus", by Michael Kamen

     You know, I consume a lot of media in my life. Lots of movies, comic books, TV shows, etc. So much so that I often forget why it is that I do it. It is just something I do out of habit, having done it since I was a kid? Something I do to distract myself from my inevitable death, and with the kind of brain I have that’s a necessity? Or is it that each time I watch or read something new, it’s done with the hope I’ll stumble onto something truly great? A story which envelopes me completely within its world, bringing me into a place where all the hardships and bigotry and misery of life melt away and I am able to see it as it truly should be, full of heroes and villains and monsters and high adventure. A world where the good guys always win, where there’s a smile on every face and death is never the end. Something that makes me feel as free and happy as a child, like I never could when I was that age.

     There’s been a several films over the years that have been able to elicit those emotions, and even fewer directors, but one of the most consistent is Terry Gilliam. A couple Marathons ago I covered his 1981 film Time Bandits, in which a young boy joins a troupe of time traveling dwarves as they used a map of the universe to commit robberies, and Sean Connery is a Roman for some reason. Since then I haven’t touched another Gilliam movie, although I have watched a couple episodes of the surprisingly decent 12 Monkeys TV series (not to mention the Gilliamesque Erik the Viking), so it’s time to dip my toes back into those waters. Back to the 80s, the age of Time Bandits, Monty Python’s The Meaning of Life, Brazil, and The Adventures of Baron Munchausen.

     In the late 18th century, during the Austro-Turkish War (the other late 18th century Turkish War), a small seaside city is being besieged not only by the Turks, but by oppressive and arrogant government officials. Their only source of entertainment in these trying times are an acting troupe known as The Henry Salt and Son (who is actually a daughter known as Sally) Players, who are performing a play known as The Adventures of Baron Munchausen, detailing the fantastical and absurd tales of the titular Baron. At least they are until an elderly man arrives at the theater, waving a sword about and interrupting the performance. The man claims that he, in fact, is Baron Munchausen, that all of these stories did, in fact, happen, and that apparently he isn’t much of a theater fan. The Baron explains that it was he, along with his servants the quick Bertholt, the strong Ulbrecht, the keen-eyed Adolphus and the blustery Gustavus, that embarrassed the Sultan of the Ottoman Empire and thus lead to this war, but he doesn’t get very far. He’s just a old man spouting fairy tales, and there’s no room in this Enlightened world of laws and logic for someone like him.

     Sally isn’t content with either the war or seeing the Baron lay down and die however, and after running off to the battlements to berate the soldiers, an uncanny situation with cannon balls reveals that the old man wasn’t lying after all: He really is Baron Munchausen, capable of derring-do beyond the realms of mortal men. Sally (and some beautiful women) convince the Baron to help end the war, and after constructing an airship out of women’s underwear he (and Sally) escape the city and go off to find the Baron’s servant so they can finally defeat the Sultan and his army, and perhaps even Death. A journey that will take them beyond Austria, beyond Earth, beyond the limits of time and space itself.

     As a film, Munchausen bears a couple similarities to Gilliam’s previous fantasy film, Time Bandits. Both movies feature a child wise beyond their years (Sally is more savvy but gets less focus than Bandits protag, but still) who joins a group of adults who act far more childish than the actual child on a magical and bizarre journey. However, where Time Bandits is almost a satirization of a fairy tale, even throwing in an unhappy ending, Munchausen is the opposite. Munchausen deals in big ideas; Big characters, big locations, big villains, it’s that gloriously wide scope that all the great stories of old dealt in, like the Odyssey and the Voyage of Sinbad. Yet it never loses its warmth or its sense of humor, both visual and otherwise (the benefits of having a Python behind the camera), and it’s what really makes this film. You just feel happy watching it, and I rarely feel good doing anything.

     The cast is great. John Neville is about the best looking Baron you could ask for, possessing a wizened charm and childlike vitality that resembles classic literary character Don Quixote. Eric Idle and Jonathan Pryce put in good work, Robin Williams does some classic Robin Williams antics, Uma Thurman seems incredibly well suited to be a love goddess, and so on. Even the kid who plays Sally ends up coming across as endearing more often than not, and that can be a make or break moment for movies that rely so much on child characters. Not every movie can be Stand By Me.

     The Adventures of Baron Munchausen hits pretty much every mark for me. I love the combination of the modern and the antique, I love the grimy beauty of the sets, it all fills me with the same passion and excitement that filled me when I watched my first Disney movie, or cracked open my first copy of The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen. A time of possibilites. Anyway, strong recommendation from me for this Halloween, if you’re anything like me at all in your movie tastes, this is definitely one to check out.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Even Dwarves Started Small (1970), directed by Werner Herzog

The Trailer
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The Appropriate Tune: "Nobody Spoil My Fun", by Dwarves

     Because of the nature of the Marathon, and my own rather hectic schedule, it’s rare that I get to take in a movie by directors like Werner Herzog. I was familiar with his work prior, the infamous documentary Grizzly Man, My Best Fiend, detailing his tumultuous relationship with actor Klaus Kinski, his little moments on Metalocalypse, and so on. As far as actually covering his films on the blog however, the only one that seemed appropriate at the time was Nosferatu: Phantom der Nacht, his interpretation of Bram Stoker’s Dracula. Operative words being ‘at the time’. It’s a new time now, and since the tide has turned towards nostalgia and sentimentality, it seemed right to pull out another Herzog.

     And no, that’s not sexual innuendo.

     Related to us via a flashback at a police station, Even Dwarves Started Small brings us to a remote institution in the German countryside, populated by little people, or ‘dwarves’ in the context of this film. When the head doctor leaves for the day to get groceries, the dwarves, left to their own devices, decide to take over the joint. They destroy private property, steal the doctor’s things, kill and torture animals and the handicapped (a couple of the patients at the facility are blind) and generally lay waste to the place which has been their home and apparently their prison for so long. A lone instructor (also a dwarf) tries desperately to maintain a shred of order in the chaos, even resorting to taking one of them hostage within the administration building, but his demands fall on deaf ears. The inmates are running the asylum now, and they’re going to have the times of their lives.

     I’ve read that this film is meant to be an allegory for the dangers of a total liberation of the mind, which sounds Teutonic enough to be Herzog, and I’d say that theory makes sense. The dwarves act more like children and toddlers than the grown adults they are, completely self-centered and with the impulse control to match. No action or thought is considered more than once, moods and whims change at the drop of a hat, and it is done with a glee that borders on the perverse. A never-ending, anarchic quest to feed the id, in any way possible. In practice, it feels less like you’re watching a film and more like you’re suffering through a fever dream: A gaggle of middle-aged little people shouting at each other like 5 year olds, giggling constantly, as they burn trees and look at nudie magazines and tie monkeys to a cross while mariachi and African folk music plays in the background. The exact same thing you expect to see when you take exactly too much acid, or the exact right amount of magic mushrooms.

     Therein lies the major issue with this film though; It’s literally an hour and an half of watching a group of little people breaking shit and other random events. There’s not a coherent plot, little to no characters with a strongly defined character (most of the folks you see on screen don’t even have names, far as I can remember), and the soundtrack consists of two that are constantly repeated throughout the film. I’m a guy who has exposed himself to a lot of weird movies over the years so I had no issue, but I imagine this is one of those motion pictures that would be downright insufferable to those who aren’t used to it. Hell, despite my tolerance even I felt a little bit impatient during the seemingly endless variations on the ‘dwarves break stuff/instructor looks on awkwardly/music plays’ structure Herzog has built his movie on, and I’ve sat through Flesh for Frankenstein AND The Amityville Horror, so you know it takes a certain kind of mood to get into it.

     If you’re the type of person with relatively tame or modern tastes, or if you’ve tried tried watching movies while high, then you might prefer to skip over Even Dwarves Started Small this Halloween. Those fans of the weird, or 80s music videos, will likely have a better time of things. Just remember to not have too much fun though. And be kind to animals too folks, that’s just the right thing to do.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Crash (1996), directed by David Cronenberg

The Trailer
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The Appropriate Tune: "Crash Into Me", by The Dave Matthews Band

     Last time we saw ol’ Davie boy here on the Marathon, I was covering one of his earlier films, Scanners. A film of psychic cabals and head explosions that hinted at the body horror he would experiment with in later films, hampered by some painfully wooden acting and kind of a dumb plot. Before that was the...whatever it was that Videodrome supposed to be, where James Woods gets a gun arm and Debbie Harry stars in a snuff film. It’s the kind of thing that makes you wonder how Cronenberg actually convinced people to give him money to film this stuff, but at the same time makes you wonder just what this guy is going to try next. Maybe a movie where a scientist experimenting with transportation technology accidentally combines his DNA with that of a fly? Well, not this year folks!. Although it is based on a book by a science-fiction writer.

     James Ballard (James Spader) is a man that’s good at two things: Making movies and having sex, and technically he’s only a producer. He has sex with his wife Catherine (Holly Hunter), he has sex with the film staff, he has sex in public places, he has sex on his veranda, the dude is neck deep in the stuff. When he ends up hospitalized after a car accident it appears at first to be a sobering moment, but it’s there he’s introduced to a subculture that he had never heard of before. Car crash fetishists, people who derive sexual pleasure from the act and the aftermath of colliding vehicles, seeing beauty in the mangled, bloody forms of its victims. ‘Reshaping the human body through modern technology’, as Vaughn (Elias Koteas) puts it, the mastermind behind a series of very real reenactments of famous car crashes, James Dean, Jayne Mansfield and so on. A bizarre idea, maybe even reprehensible to some, but to Ballard it’s the biggest turn on he’s ever experienced, and he’s eager to dive into the deep end. Ballard is on the fast track to the depths of lust and perversion and he’s got no intention of slowing down.

      As a filmmaker Cronenberg deals in violence and sex like Grecian traders deal in olive oil and feta cheese, and of all his films, Crash seems to be the culmination of that obsession. If you’re not seeing cars actually crashing, you’re seeing the wreckage and the bloody, twisted victims. Men are having sex with women, women having sex with women, men having sex with men, licking each others scars and what not, and they’re usually doing it in a car. The scenes of violence are explosively visceral, as car crashes often are, and the way it gives context to these sexual removes any sense of eroticism from those acts and replaces it with this cold, uncomfortable feeling of disgust that lingers on your soul. Cronenberg is not a merciful man either, he hangs on every scene like a vulture, making the audience squirm before moving onto the next stop through Dante’s Inferno. I dunno, there’s something about how realistic this movie is, at least in Cronenberg’s terms, that makes it far more unsettling and dehumanizing than his other films in my opinion. I guess because rich weirdos killing people so they can have orgasm sounds like shit that actually happens in this world, depressingly enough.

     Unfortunately, although Crash is a great idea on paper (it was a book after all), the translation to the silver screen ends up kinda dull. That atmosphere of creepiness is there, especially at the beginning and end, but to get there you have to sit through seemingly endless scenes of people talking about car accidents, looking at car accidents and banging each other (and sometimes they drive somewhere). None of the characters are especially engaging, in fact most of them barely talk at all except Vaughn, who sticks to rambling about dying in a car gives you the biggest boner ever. It’s as if Cronenberg saw Eraserhead for the first time and took the exact wrong advice from it, so you’re stuck with characters who emote once per hour and make vague airy statements to one another. If I actually liked James Ballard, if I thought he was an interesting character, then his downward spiral towards debauchery would have a much greater impact. As it is, the only thing I gathered about him was ‘Guy who has sex’. Not exactly revelatory.

     That fucking music, too! I don’t know how money Howard Shore got paid to play the same three notes on a guitar every five minutes or so, but it was far too much. Now sure, movie scores are about enhancing the atmosphere of a film, and what that entails can range from orchestral compositions to straight-up ambient tracks, but it’s the exact same thing every. single. time. It’s not a groundbreaking bit of sound, it doesn’t really enhance the scenes it’s repeatedly thrown into, it just ends becoming a nuisance. Why not change things up? Why not play 4 notes sometimes, or maybe just one really long one? Why does a movie made in 1996 feel like someone just discovered copy-and-pasting?

     Ultimately Crash is a film daring in its subject matter but bogged down in matters of execution, and whether you can overlook those issues will determine your enjoyment. When it comes to recommendations however, I’m on the fence. I like Cronenberg as a filmmaker, Crash is a dark & weird movie, and Halloween is a time for the dark & weird, but at the same it’s not really a fun dark & weird. It’s not a film you break out for your friends, unless your friends are a bunch of movie nerds that are comfortable with their own sexuality, it’s one to put on when you’ve run out of Smiths records but you still want to feel miserable towards the world. As always, the power is in your hands. Just remember to keep them to yourselves when you’re driving to work tomorrow.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Fire & Ice (1983), directed by Ralph Bakshi

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "Fire And Ice", by Pat Benatar

     For the last couple entries on the list this year I’ve decided to revisit some old favorites, directors who I’ve heaped praise on before on this blog, whether on the Marathon or otherwise. Of that group of legends, because a name drop by King Thunderbird is such an honor, it seems appropriate that we should start with Ralph Bakshi, one of the biggest names in American animation and one of its most ardent supporters. After all, my review of his 1975 film Coonskin is far and away the most popular review on this blog (hopefully because it’s well-written and insightful and not because racists needed something to beat off to) and ever since that post 4(!) years ago I haven’t touched another Bakshi film. Not because I don’t like me some Bak’, in fact I watched through his influential reboot of Mighty Mouse during the interim, but that’s the way the cookie crumbles sometimes. I needed that time to wallow in self-pity and watch Star Trek, it’s a huge commitment.

     Fire & Ice sees Bakshi taking on much more traditional fare than the underground comix, surrealistic semi-autobiographies and blaxploitation reimaginings of old folk tales: sword ‘n’ scorcery type fantasy. Teaming up with legendary sci-fi and fantasy artist Frank Franzetta, with a screenplay by comic A-listers Gerry Conway and Roy Thomas, Bakshi and his team of animators present to us a world trapped between two extremes of temperature, civilization and morality. On are side are the humans, in their tropical home of jungles and swamps, ruled by King Jarol in Fire Keep. On the other is the evil sorceror Nekron and his equally evil mother Juliana, who rule over a bestial race of subhumans in the frozen land of Ice Peak. The two peoples have been engaged in a long and brutal war, a war which the Ice side has been slowly winning, thanks to Nekron’s magic. Not content with an inevitable victory however, Nekron and Juliana kidnap Jarol’s daughter Teegra in order to force an unconditional surrender. Teegra manages to escape her kidnappers however, and while starving in the woods due to having no survival skills meets up with Larn, a survivor of one of Nekron’s massacres. As the protagonists of the story, it’s up to them to figure out some way to defeat Nekron and once more restore peace to the land.

     Although mostly they’re just going to give us up-close views of their groins.

     I guess the most surprising thing about Fire & Ice is how god damn dull it is. You’d think that a script by Roy Thomas, a guy who not only wrote over 100 issues of Marvel’s Conan the Barbarian series but his own 50 issue fantasy comic (Arak, Son of Thunder) would be able to craft a heart-racing tale of high adventure, but in 90 minutes it feels like nothing happens and our protagonists accomplish nothing of value. Larn and Teegra run a lot, a couple subhumans get stabbed, Teegra gets kidnapped, in fact Teegra gets kidnapped so often in this movie it goes beyond the outdated ‘damsel in distress’ narrative and into outrageous stupidity, rinse and repeat right up until the end. Hell, Larn, our protagonist and the guy who is featured in about 90% percent of the movie, DOES NOT KILL NEKRON AT THE END OF THE MOVIE (30+ year old spoilers). No, that honor goes to a side-character who has maybe 10 lines and isn’t actually mentioned by name throughout the entirety of the movie. Why? Who thought it would be a good idea to take a movie about sword-fighting wizards in a fantasy setting and make the main characters, in fact make every character beside Nekron and Blackwolf (that side character I mentioned) consistently incompetent? If Roy Thomas had tried to write Conan that way, I bet Marvel would have kicked his ass out onto the street after two issues. This seems to be a recurring theme with Bakshi films, but animation is not a substitute for an actual story.

     Also, watching Fire & Ice now, there seems to be some very, very, unfortunate implications. The humans of Fire Keep, who we are told are good and noble, are white, while the spear-wielding, animalistic brutes of Ice Peak, who are explicitly labeled as ‘subhumans’, are all darker complexions (and ruled by Juliana and Nekron, both white). The few non-white characters we see on the human side are 1) a scantily clad servant girl to Teegra, 2) A crude boat captain who appears for about three seconds, 3) An evil red-headed witch who dies almost immediately and 4) Blackwolf, who basically exists to keep the protagonists from having to actually work for anything. Larn even has blond hair and blue eyes for fuck’s sake! I know this was the early 80s, and fantasy has always had issues with these kinds of things, but it’s hard to believe that folks were that tone-deaf. Of course Bakshi is the man behind Coonskin, so maybe this is him being more understanding.

     The art is fantastic, as expected of Frank Frazetta, although the sheer amount of cheesecake packed in here does test the patience quite a bit. Not that I don’t mind looking at attractive women every so often, when I was starting puberty it was basically my hobby, but there are so many closeup shots of Teegra’s ass and chest in this movie that eventually you just become bored by it. Just like actual cheesecake, it’s best enjoyed in moderation. Also, although the art itself is good, the actual animation suffers from that same slowness that afflicted Rock & Rule way back when. I assume it’s like that because they’re basing the animation on footage of actual people performing these actions (it would explain the stuntmen listed in the credits), sort of a primitive motion-capture, but just because it makes things feel a bit more realistic doesn’t mean it’s good. It still feels, as I said, slow and cumbersome, and when you have a movie where the same woman gets kidnapped five times, I don’t think you can really afford to slow down the action even more than it already is.

     I didn’t have a problem recommending Coonskin, because in spite of some very questionable design decisions, I felt that there was enough there, what it revealed about the time it which it was made, its historical context in regards to animation, its context in regards to African-Americans and African-American culture, that it was still a relevant film worthy of further discussion. Fire & Ice though? Meh, I’m just not feeling it. There are other fantasy movies out there (Bakshi even made two before this you could try instead) and other animated movies (might I suggest Kubo), so unfortunately I’m not feeling much pressure not recommending this one. Unless you’re a Frazetta junkie, which is totally understandable, this is one movie you don’t have to worry about on Halloween.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Forbidden Planet (1956), directed by Fred M. Wilcox

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "Fear of a Black Planet", by Public Enemy

     I might have made this point before, but I’d say the main barrier of entry that keeps modern movie fans (especially those who enjoy speculative fiction) away from those films of yesteryear is the special effects. After all, even a painfully shitty movie like the Bayformers has giant monsters, rocket ships blasting through space, exotic locations, and enough CGI to give your average computer a hernia, and your average movie back in the day...didn’t. Sure you had giant monsters, but most of them tended to be footage of lizards and grasshoppers spliced into the scene. There were rocket ships in space, but these tended to be models hung in front of black backgrounds. As for exotic locations, well let’s just say if you’ve seen one episode of M*A*S*H you’re familiar with large chunk of movie history. Even some stone cold classics like The Day the Earth Stood Still and the ‘53 War of the Worlds, with their alien death rays and giant robots, took place in mundane towns and countrysides. You never really got to see truly alien landscapes in those days, places that originally only existed in the pages of dime store sci-fi stories.

     Enter Forbidden Planet, presented in Cinemascope, that burst onto the silver screen in 1956. The year is 2200 and humanity, having discovered the properties of warp drive, has spread across the galaxy in the form of a massive unified government, dedicated to the betterment and advancement of all mankind. One such ship, captained by Commander John J. Adams, has been sent to a planet known as Altair IV to investigate the disappearance of s ship known as the Bellerophon, which was meant to settle Altair IV almost two decades ago. When Adams and crew arrive, they found out that the planet has been settled after all, by the brilliant Dr. Morbius (one of the original settlers), his beautiful but naive daughter Alta, and Morbius’ creation, the astounding mechanical servant known as Robbie the Robot. However, ol’ Doc Morbius seems incredibly resistant to the idea of other people on ‘his’ planet, as well as discussing what happened to the Bellerophon and the rest of her crew, only revealing that they had come down with a sickness that ‘ripped them apart’ in the very literal sense. Because that’s something that diseases do, right? Adams knows what’s up, but because they have to dismantle the ship in order to build the messaging equipment to contact home (humanity is capable of warping across space in the 2200s but we forgot how to make cell phones I guess), the crew is stuck there for 10 days. Just long enough to start up some romance, get stalked by a killer, and figure out just what makes this planet so forbidden anyway, give or take a heaping helping of 50’s era sexism.

     If the idea of a spacefaring human civilization from the 23rd century engaged in exploration and colonization that treat starships like naval vessels and explore technicolor alien planets that somehow still have an attractive blond woman living on them, then you’ve probably seen at least one episode of Star Trek in the 50+ years it has existed. Yes, if you’re a fan of the stories of Kirk, Spock and the USS Enterprise, then you might be surprised and maybe even a little disheartened at just how much of Forbidden Planet Gene Roddenberry lifted a decade later for his show. Of course the outfits are a bit different, and Adam’s ship and crew is much more of a military outfit than Starfleet’s flagship, but switch out Leslie Nielsen and company for Shatner and the rest and there’s no difference. Aside from Adams not getting into a shirt-ripping fight scene that is, but he does make out with the movie’s only woman and gets to make at least two dramatic speeches, so he’s Kirk enough.

     As I implied back in the opening and in the comparisons to Trek, design-wise Forbidden Planet is unlike any of the other sci-fi films of the time. Whether it's the barren wastes that are watched over by a endless green sky, the future chic of the Morbius compound, the labyrinthine machinery deep within the bowels of the planet, it all looks like images pulled from the covers of science-fiction magazines. Combined with the soundtrack (the most appropriate name for it, like the mating calls of the wild Moog), it gives the movie this surreal, distant, menacing, and yes, alien feel that’s unlike any other sci-fi of the time that I’ve seen. When I think of the ‘Golden Age’ of science-fiction, engineers in space, Foundation, Forbidden Planet is the aesthetic that comes to mind. You can definitely see the issues, this was 1956 after all, but they put some much work into it that you can’t help but salute them for taking that step.

     Unfortunately, although Forbidden Planet captures the visual imagery, it also picked up its knack (or lack thereof) for characterization. Morbius is the antagonist so he gets to chew the scenery a bit, but everyone else is just so damn dull. I actually had to look up Leslie Nielsen’s character name post-watch and HE’S THE DAMN PROTAGONIST OF THE MOVIE. This being the 50s I expected Alta to be the nubile receptacle for the various crewman’s lusts, there to look pretty and stand in the corner while the menfolk do all the work, they even throw in a ‘it’s your fault men push themselves on you’ for extra grease factor, but she’s basically a living prop that is moved from scene to scene as needed. Although that’s not to say that the male cast are that much better, aside from the cook (whose main character trait is being a bumbling alcoholic), pretty much all of them get beat out by Robbie in the charisma department. Really undercuts the drama of seeing these folks killed off when they’re all cut from the same loaf of white bread.

     That being said, the mystery and eventual ideological conflict between Morbius and Adams is classic science fiction fare, and the faux-Starfleet’s actual fight against the killer is quite the spectacle (also has a sort of proto-Predator vibe to it). Combined with the beauty of the setting and the inventiveness of the special effects, and Forbidden Planet easily earns a place amongst the stars. Those interested in exploring the history of science-fiction in film would be remiss in not throwing this into their queues, but the film does a good enough job of keeping things entertaining that even non-nerds can get a kick out of it. This Halloween, consider putting on Forbidden Planet. You won’t regret it, at least I hope not. You never know just how destructive those kinds of feelings can be.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Get Out (2017), directed by Jordan Peele

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "White Girl", by X

     The sudden, explosive rise of Keegan Michael Key and Jordan Peele has always been something of a surprise tome. Not that I didn’t think they had talent, they were definitely some of the standout performers on MADtv back in the day, but MADtv was quite a few years ago. Suddenly they have their own show, Key & Peele, that explodes in popularity. Then they’re appearing in commercials and movies, although starring in Keanu might not be the best line on your resume, and now Jordan Peele has stepped into the world of directing with this film (he’s also got a TV series coming out in the near future). Which was again a huge success, by all accounts! I don’t what it was that clicked and get everyone into that K&P life, but it’s great to see talented guy like them get the respect that they deserve.

     On the other hand, films about the conflict between white and black Americans have existed almost as long as the American film industry. Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, In the Heat of Night, John Cassavetes’ Shadows, all the way up to Dear White People and that one episode of Atlanta (you know the one), the culture shock of black encountering with white culture has been the subject of many a good movie over the years. Movies that are just as relevant today as they were when they were released, by the way, but I’ll try to keep it at that. I could be here all day writing about how the rabid infestation of racists, bigots and fascists in this country make me embarrassed to be an American citizen, and I’ve got 6 more movies to watch.

     Taking that setup and reinterpreting it for the horror genre is relatively unique though (the only film that feels similar is Meet the Blacks), and maybe that’s why Get Out’s melding of Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner, The Stepford Wives hits so hard. Like all horror it takes fears and anxieties that we’re familiar with and gives it a physical form. The Ted Bundys and Zodiac Killers of the world fueled Halloween and Black Christmas, the fear of nuclear war brought us Planet of the Apes, the fear of open sexuality gave us Dracula and Hellraiser, and so on and on. In the case of Get Out, it’s Chris Washington’s fears of dehumanization and persecution based on who he is eventually lead to him being dehumanized and persecuted based on who he is. It’s the same kind of fear that drove the protagonist of Kafka’s The Trial or at least one iteration of Invasion of the Bodysnatchers, becoming aware that you the centerpiece of a large play, and that the people you thought you knew are actors playing a role that you aren’t allowed to know. Classic paranoia, and as someone who does have anxiety issues, Get Out is right in my wheelhouse.

     One of the common criticisms I’ve heard is that Get Out isn’t special, that it’s just a generic movie. That’s true to an extent; Jordan Peele hasn’t reinvented the wheel here, and despite the hype a director’s debut film isn’t always indicative of how they are as an artist. No one talks about Spielberg’s The Sugarland Express after all, despite being one of the biggest directors of all time, and you’re not likely to see many Coen Bros. fans name drop Blood Simple. What Peele has done, however, is to give a good solid horror movie in an era where horror is at its most humdrum. Occasionally you’ll find a gem, but most of the genre seems to be going through the motions. Get Out is creepy, it’s surreal, it’s violent, sometimes shocking and yes, even potentially scary, although it’s been a long time since I was actually afraid during a movie. I was actually engaged with the film, which more than I can say about Babadook and A Girl Walks Home Alone At Night and many other movies that have gotten lip service in the modren era.

     For those who liked The Trial, the Stepford Wives and other such movies of things not being what they seem, then Get Out might be the kind of film for you this Halloween. Trust me, you won’t want to drink tea for a week.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Kubo and the Two Strings (2016), directed by Travis Knight

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "Tsugaru Jongara Bushi", by Ki & Ki

     As much as I tend to lean on the sides of directors when it comes to film making, they are supposed to be the ones calling the shots after all, occasionally I will give credit where credit is due to the studios and production companies through which these films are built, financed and eventually sent off into the world. Would the genre of horror be quite the same without the influence of Hammer Films? Would James Gunn be heading Guardians of the Galaxy or Matt Stone and Trey Parker be pushing two decades worth of South Park if Troma hadn’t lent a helping hand? Introducing money into the equation is the leading cause of fucked up movies, and studio execs love that money, but money is also the only way you make movies at all, so it’s a complicated relationship. When that money is given with an open mind and willingness to explore, that’s when the magic happens.

     When it comes to animation however, a style of film making that is even more collaborative than the standard, it is the studios and production companies where the true power lies. Pixar, Studio Ghibli, Nelvana (responsible for former Marathoner Rock & Rule) Tokyo Movie Shinsa (Castle of Cagliostro and Akira) and now Laika, based out of Oregon. A relative newcomer to the film stage, they’re only about 12 years old, Laika has been slowly building up an impressive body of work since then. Kicking things off with Coraline in 2009, which was likely their biggest hit, Laika defined themselves by their incredibly detailed, masterfully shot, downright beautiful claymation work, crafting films that were fun for the whole family, but didn’t shy away from the darker subjects. In 2012 they came out with ParaNorman (another great one), and two years later The Boxtrolls, the lowest rated and yet ironically the second highest-grossing of their filmography. That may have been for the best, because it was that increased revenue that helped to give us Kubo and the Two Strings.

     In a village by the sea in what is most likely Japan, a one-eyed boy named Kubo lives in a cave overlooking those vast waters. Every morning when he wakes he takes of his mother, who is trapped in a catatonic state, and then travels down to the village in order to make money. Kubo is a master at the art of origami you see, as well as a musician, and when he plays the shamisen these creatures of folded paper literally come to life and move about. He uses these skills to tell stories, tales of the heroic samurai Hanzo and his quest for the Golden Armor, and his war against the evil Moon King. Every time he comes close to finishing this story however, the town bell rings for sundown, and Kubo runs home. Kubo can never be outside once night falls, you see, no matter what.

     What the folks in the village don’t know is that all of Kubo’s stories were true, Hanzo, the Moon King, etc., because Hanzo is Kubo’s father, and his mother one of the daughters of the Moon King. A long time ago Kubo and his mother had washed up on the village, sacrificing Hanzo’s life and one of Kubo’s eyes in order to escape the wrath of the Moon King. That escape was only temporary though, and when those divine forces finally catch up to the broken family, Kubo must go on a journey to recover the Golden Armor in order to vanquish the Moon King once and for all. Kubo, along with a talking monkey and a stag beetle samurai, isn’t just telling stories anymore: He’s living one.

     To say that this film beautiful veers on redundant, because this is a Laika movie and Laika movies always look great. Kubo is a classic Hero’s Quest type story, and the set pieces are suitably epic for the occasion. Windswept tundras, endless lakes, sweeping vistas of mountains and valleys, Kubo’s world is lush and vibrant in a way that very few animated films are able to match. The characters are animated so finely that they seem to breath and move, and it is astounding to consider just how much work Travis Knight and his team had to put in to make it look this good. Even I have to admit that one my favorite films of my childhood, the Nightmare Before Christmas, looks a bit slow in comparison. Of course claymation is like the prog rock of animation; A treat to experience but a chore to record, and the progression of technology smooths that process. ‘Smooths’ being the operative word, it’s a still a lot of work.

     I think what I like most about about Kubo though is that it’s a movie that tells a story about the importance of stories (I believe that would be considered a meta-narrative, but then I’m dumb). Kubo’s mother tells him stories which he tells the villagers, Kubo’s adventure is a story, and our memories of our loved ones who have left us are a story as well. As someone with relatives who suffer from dementia, who have lost a lot of what made them them, I guess it all hit a bit close to home for me.

     It’s a damn shame that Kubo and the Two Strings seemed to slip under the radar like it did, but you’d be doing yourself a disservice if you didn’t check it out. Whether you’re an animation fan, a parent looking for a film for their kid, or you just like shit that doesn’t seem like all the other shit you’ve seen, Kubo is the movie for you. When you’re not busy making your own stories this Halloween, give this one a try. You just might find something you really like.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Nightcrawler (2014), directed by Dan Gilroy

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "Photographs of Naked Ladies", by Toy Love

     Nightcrawler another film that, like Trollhunter, I sat on for a long time before throwing it on the list. Not for any particular reason I guess, by all accounts the film was very highly rated, very well liked, but for whatever reason my mind turned elsewhere. Specifically films like Flesh for Frankenstein and Rock & Rule, so clearly my issue is that I consistently avoid good movies in favor of shitty ones. Msn, those first world problems, eh?

     Anyway Nightcrawler centers around Louis Bloom, a man living in a one room Los Angeles apartment, with one television and one plant. Louis Bloom is not a very nice person, in fact it would be fair to say he is a lying thieving piece of shit, but he’s a lying, thieving piece of shit who’s dedicated to moving up in the world. One night, Louis passes by a car accident on the highway and it is there that he meets a nightcrawler, a journalist of sorts who films the scenes of accidents or crimes and sells that footage to news stations. Louis is immediately taken by the idea, and the fact that it requires no experience, and immediately starts up his own nightcrawling business. However, despite some initial success, the demand starts to exceed the ability to supply. Audiences are eating up this footage, but they aren’t satisfied with just an appetizer, they want a full-course Thanksgiving Day feast. Just how far is Louis Bloom willing to go to get on top on the nightcrawling game? Pretty damn far, as it turns out.

     There is a message here, of course. News stations, like every other channel on TV, are selling a product to us, the consumers. In order to draw the audience's attention, and to a greater extent their money, these stations arrange the news in such a way as to prey upon our fears, our prejudices, and other base emotions. Nightcrawler focuses specifically on reports of crime, but sensationalism is a very real issue across the entirety of news media. It’s not even a particularly recent phenomenon, although the mediums by which it is transmitted has changed. The ‘fake news’ of today is not far removed from the yellow journalism and muckraking of the days of William Randolph Hearst, and while it’s underhanded, the fact is that they do it because it works. People don’t watch the news for the truth, or at least not in a larger sense, they watch so that their view of the world is validated and so they can believe that the way they think is correct. Of course that’s not universal, there are plenty of news organizations that adhere more strictly to journalistic ethics than others, but it is that cynical view that Nightcrawler dwells in. People want blood, we give them blood.

     Nightcrawler is a movie that is built entirely upon the character of Lou Bloom and the performance of Jake Gyllenhaal, and that dude nails it. Prior to this I always had the impression that Gyllenhaal wasn’t taken all that seriously, in particular an unfavorable comparison to Tobey MaGuire (at least back when people knew who Tobey MaGuire was), but honestly that only enhances things. From all appearances he seems like a handsome, approachable guy, but the things he says and does are disturbingly sociopathic. It’s a great dichotomy, and Gyllenhaal imbues Lou with just enough goofy little quirks that he almost comes off as endearing. He’s almost normalized, just as the news station normalizes fear-mongering and gore footage, and it is damn disturbing. More than Norman Bates or any other movie serial killer in some ways.

     I do think the music (which is quite good) is a little too upbeat for a movie about filming death and violence, but otherwise Nightcrawler is a great, amazingly tense film, uncomfortable in its implications and subject matter. Heartily recommended, especially if you’re the type who thought Lost Highway didn’t have enough driving at night scenes. This year, why not be assured that man is still the greatest monster of them all?

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - The City of Lost Children (1995), directed by Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunet

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "Who Will Take My Dreams Away", by Angelo Badalamenti and Marianne Faithfull

     Last year around this same time, the Marathon dipped into the Franc bank to give you two films from the magical land of France: animated bird boob movie Gandahar and one third of the Poe tribute Spirits of the Dead. Pretty okay films all things considered, but the most important thing they did was to get me interested in covering more French films, as long as they were in the appropriates genres. I’d already seen the horror classic Eyes Without A Face, so that was out. La Jetee was also a possibility, having been the inspiration for the amazing 12 Monkeys, but that was another one I’d seen before (plus it’s only 28 minutes long). The work of Luc Besson was probably the strongest contender for the majority of the time, with Nikita, Leon the Professional and The Fifth Element all being on my watch queue at some point or another, however the poor reception to Valerian ended up souring my mood on Besson. Maybe next year.

     Which leads us to The City of Lost Children, directed by Marc Caro and Jean-Pierre Jeunut. OG Hellboy Ron Perlman stars as One, a simple-minded yet strong-hearted carnival strongman living in an incredibly 19th century French port city. Live is shit, as you’d expect in a time before labor laws, but it is tolerable as long as he has his ‘little brother’ Denree by his side. Of course Denree is almost immediately kidnapped by bizarre thugs with steampunk technology strapped to their faces, an issue faced by French port cities to this very day. Completely lost as to how to begin his search, One is suddenly joined by Miette, a young street smart orphan girl forced into a life of crime. Together, the odd due go off on a fantastical adventure to rescue Denree, a journey of steampunk cults, evil circus performers, a gaggle of clones and a mad scientist and his devilish dream machine. Not to mention lots and lots of Santa Claus cosplay.

     It makes more sense in context.

     According to the general info, City of Lost Children, along with Delicatessen (which I actually saw years ago) and Amelie (which I constantly see around but never watch) was intended by Caro & Jeunet as a tribute to the works of Thunderbird favorite Terry Gilliam. If you’ve ever seen one of Gilliam’s film, in particular Time Bandits or Brazil, then the comparisons start to flow. Grungy yet colorful and almost expressionistic settings contrasted with fairy tale stylings and magic realism with copious amounts of black and visual humor, occasionally with a Monty Python actor thrown in somewhere. That’s Gilliam, and that’s what Caro & Jeunet manage to accomplish damn well here. The comedy kinda falls flat on occasion, which I’ll chalk up to cultural differences, but it nails that sense of dark fantasy that few directors are able to perfect. Gilliam, Tim Burton, Guillermo del Toro, and now Caro and Jeunet.

     More than anything else though, what really sells the movie is the friendship between One and Miette (played by Judith Villett). The gentle giant and child isn’t a new concept in storytelling (bringing it back to fairy tales), but the two have such a great chemistry that you don’t really mind. Villett as the stoic, wiseass but ultimately vulnerable girl, Perlman saying everything with just an expression, it’s endearing to see them bond over the course of the movie. Way more than any scene with Denree, if we’re being honest. Kid’s a MacGuffin with an eating disorder.

     By the way, the music here is done by Angelo Badalamenti, who you might know from all your favorite David Lynch movies. I actually didn’t know this going into the movie and it ended up being a real treat.

     The hour and 52 minute runtime does drag a bit unfortunately, but overall The City of Lost Children was a lot sillier and lot more enjoyable than I was expecting. More than little bit disturbed, plenty depressing, but at its heart it’s simple moral: If you give love, then you’ll receive love, and no matter how hopeless things seem, love always wins. You don’t often find movies on Halloween that have a happy ending, but this is one that I can heartily recommend. You might even want to throw this on and watch with the kids if the repeats of Nightmare Before Christmas and Monster House has gotten a bit stale. Just remember: Cultural. Differences.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Brain Candy (1996), directed by Kelly Makin

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "Having An Average Weekend", by Shadowy Men On A Shadowy Planet

     Since the advent of television way back in dinosaur times, we’ve had sketch comedy shows. From the Colgate Comedy Hour to Key & Peele, these shows have not only entertained generations of people across the world, they’ve also been the jumping off point for some pop culture’s most beloved figures. Bill Murray, John Candy, at least three of the Wayans, the list goes on and on. However, even though there have been plenty of sketch comedies I have seen, and plenty I haven’t (why the hell can I never find The State anywhere), for my money the greatest of them all, the one that had me glued to the screen for every episode, was The Kids In The Hall. 

     Founded in 1984, The Kids In The Hall comedy troupe, composed of Dave Foley, Mark Mckinney, Bruce McCulloch, Scott Thompson and Kevin Macdonald, made its way onto the TV screens of the world (or at least those who had HBO) in 1989, thanks to the helping hand of Saturday Night Live mastermind Lorne Michaels. To say that The KITH was anything like SNL would have been a mistake however. Rather they were far more closely related to the work of Monty Python, taking the then-modern day Canada of the 80s and 90s and injecting it with a healthy dose of absurdity, and artfully combining relatable crass humor with high-concept ideas. Unlike Python however, whose greatest material centered around poking fun at the stuffy old remains of the British Empire, The Kids In The Hall were far more universal, riffing on yuppie business culture, angsty teens and everything in between. Not only that, but a lot of the appeal of The Kids In The Hall, at least in my opinion was The Kids themselves. Not only did they exude this combination of youth, wit and intellectualism (the alt-rock to The Young Ones’ punk, you might say), every member of the cast had several characters that they would continuously return to, like Scott Thompson’s Buddy Cole character or the secretaries, as well as frequent appearances on the show as themselves. It’s hard not to know the men of Monty Python, sure, but the focus of the FLying Circus is entirely on the atmosphere and the sketchcraft, not on the performers. When you watched Kids In The Hall on the other hand, you had a very clear idea of who Dave Foley was, what he was like as a person, what his characters tended to be like, and so on, along with the rest of the cast. You can’t help but become attached, I guess.

     Like Monty Python, The Kids In the Hall eventually graduated from television to film with Brain Candy, directed by Kelly Makin, who directed several episodes of the show as well as the shows Flashpoint and Queer as Folk. Kevin Mcdonald stars as Chris Cooper (and only one other role, in contrast to the rest of the fellows), a chemist working for a major pharmaceutical company who has developed a drug that chemically fixates a person’s mind on their happiest memory. With the antidote for depression in their hands Chris’ superiors are eager to push it out to the masses and the depressed masses are eager for a cure to their ills, as Chris gets swept away in the wave of success. Of course it’s hard to tell what a pill like Gleemonex could do to our society in the moment, the changes it would have on human nature, especially if it were, say, rushed out the door without being completely tested. I guess we’ll just have to wait and see how things play out. I’m guessing comedically.

     Coming a year after the series had ended, Brain Candy collects some of The Kids’ favorite subjects into one convenient package. Corporations, rebellious youths, suburbia, gay culture, and a whole bunch of guys dressing up like ladies. Aside from a bit of colorful language and some ass shots, better special effects, and a kickass soundtrack, this is exactly what you got from the TV series stretched out to 140 minutes. Which is just about enough for me, considering I’m a huge fan of the show and these guys in general, and to see them together in something (relatively) new is a treat.

     Ironically, the largest criticism I have about Brain Candy is that The Kids In The Hall don’t go far enough. To return the Monty Python comparison, Monty Python’s Flying Circus was a fantastic series, but when Monty Python made the transition to film they didn’t stick to familiar territory (aside from that first one I guess). They explored! Transforming the Arthurian legend into a utter farce, Retelling the life and crucifixion of Christ with a guy who’s not Christ (complete with space battles), a musical comedy about EXISTENCE ITSELF, Monty Python took advantage of the medium of film few other comedians have, and it was a complete success on all fronts. What The Kids In The Hall have here is familiar, good for the fans who just want to see one last rodeo, but what I loved about the show is seeing how bizarre they’d go and confidence with which they did it. Brain Candy sees them playing it a bit too safe, a bit too close to the vest for the guys who devoted several sketches to Dave Foley pretending he had really heavy feet, and ultimately you’re left thinking to yourself ‘was that it?’. Also the lack of appearances from those iconic characters I mentioned before, while understandable from a narrative perspective, is still disappointing. If you’re going to go in new directions then go, if you’re going to play it safe then play, but don’t tease us with a few faces and then just leave us hanging. I didn’t even really like The Chicken Lady man, but I’ll take what I can get.

     If you didn’t like The Kids In The Hall when they were on TV, then Brain Candy isn’t likely to change your mind. If however you’ve never seen the show before, this might actually be a good way to test the waters. Gives you a taste of their style of comedy, their range of characters, with enough time to decide whether to make the commitment. Opinions of current fans will, as has been shown, vary. And if you’re asking yourself why this movie is on a Halloween list, try looking under the bed tonight. You just might find a Canadian staring back at you.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Witchfinder General (1968), directed by Michael Reeves

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "Witchfinder General", by Witchfinder General

     Grab any newspaper, or more recently a webpage from a news site, and you’ll find stories that are far worse than any horror movie you’ve seen before. Ghosts and vampires and space aliens are certainly spooky, but the fact of the matter is that they’re fictional, i.e. not real. Our fellow human beings are real, depending on your level of solipsism, and the things that they do have a tangible effect on the world. Murder, torture, rape, bigotry, all the ills of society that we so despise we bring upon ourselves. Sometimes it is used an fuel for reform, sometimes it is ignored or even encouraged by those with their own agenda, but no matter what it seems determined to stick around.

     Oh, and it makes for some great movie material.

     Witchfinder General, otherwise known by the awesome but otherwise inaccurate title The Conqueror Worm, takes place during a particularly violent and hate-filled time in the world: 1645,in the midst of the English Civil War. Ol’ Albion is split roughly in half not only on political lines, Oliver Cromwell and his supporters on one side and the monarchy on the other, but on religious ones as well, with Catholics and non-Catholics squaring off against each other as well. Law and order has fallen to the wayside leaving chaos and misery in its wake, and from that chaos comes a popular new form of paranoia and prejudice. The villages of East Anglia are apparently infested with witches and witchcraft, driving its people to ruin with their satanic practices, and it is up to the Witchfinders, those paragons of divine virtue to root them out and take care of them. Through torture and executions, of course.

     Yeah, there’s a story here, an army captain wanting revenge against a corrupt witchfinder, but presumably that’s not what movie audiences were into in the late 60s. They want the violence, and Michael Reeves piles it on like a fat man putting cream cheese on a bagel. Frequent, brutal torture scenes, agonizing drawn-out hangings, even a rape thrown in there for good measure, and you start to see where the term ‘video nasty’ got its start. Hell, if they didn’t use really obvious red paint for blood you might be forgiven for mistaking this as some kind of weird prequel to the Saw franchise. Both films play to the ‘brutality of man’ idea while ironically desensitizing you to violence by smothering you with violence, both feel overly pretentious (although WG at least masks it in a period piece), and both just kind of suck. They’re basically cousins!

     I originally picked this film for the Marathon because it featured Vincent Price (here playing the devious Witchfinder Matthew Hopkins), and I wanted to make sure I didn’t skimp out on the horror legends. While it is good to see Price getting work, I don’t think he changes expression even once throughout this entire damn movie. He’s menacing sure, Vincent Price can do that in his sleep, but it's such a bland, unremarkable form of menacing. Compare it to his work in Masque of the Red Death or The Abominable Dr. Phibes and you wonder if Vincent had swallowed a couple Valium before each take. Hopkins doesn’t have to be super melodramatic and theatrical to be a good villain, but at least make it so I’m just sitting around waiting for him to be killed off. I should be relieved that good has triumphed over evil, not that I can finally get on with the rest of my life.

     Witchfinder General, aka The Conqueror Worm is a mentally exhausting, ultimately miserable experience. What could have been a poignant warning on the dangers of mob mentality and bigotry is pushed aside for 70 or minutes of torture porn, which is uncomfortable to watch and that ends up feeling frustratingly pointless and nihilistic for the sake of nihilism. Unless you’re really into that torture porn stuff I’d say don’t waste your time, and even then there are probably more recent and more gory films to satiate your appetite. Or you’re throwing a Renaissance fair themed Halloween party/movie marathon and you’re desperate for material, but that sounds really dumb. Don’t do that dumb thing please.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - The Hateful Eight (2015), directed by Quentin Tarantino

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "Spegetti Western", by Primus

     I feel like the highlight of any film director’s career, aspiring or otherwise, is when you try something new and different and completely out of left field and it totally works. That’s how I imagine George Lucas felt when he took his love of old film serials and transformed it into Star Wars, or how David Lynch took a stress dream about his life and parenthood in Philadelphia and ended up with Eraserhead. Or John Carpenter taking Halloween back to its haunted roots with an unkillable, silent murderer It’s just so satisfying that in an industry, and to a greater extent a society which obsesses over marketability and profitability that sometimes a little bit of creativity manages to sneak in and change things up a bit. As far as directors go though, I don’t know many who have managed the balancing act of creative freedom, critical acclaim and commercial appeal quite like Mr. Quentin Tarantino. Not Lucas, who ended up trying and failing to live up to his own enormous legacy. Not Lynch, whose unique vision has often found itself at odds with the box office. Not Carpenter, whose constant struggles with The Man ended in a bitter separation. Tarantino grabbed the tiger by the tail and now he’s got a tiger-skin rug in his den.

     For those wondering why I haven’t covered a Tarantino film before now after I just blew smoke, there are two main reasons. One, I had already seen what was the ‘major’ Tarantino films (Reservoir Dogs, Kill Bill and Pulp Fiction) prior, and none of his other films really seemed to fit the Marathon motif. Yes, occasionally I try to focus this list on horror movies. Secondly, technically I had already watched a Tarantino movie for the Marathon years back, which ultimately never coalesced into a review. That movie was From Dusk Till Dawn, the vampire action-horror movie that saw Mr. Brown split directing duties right down the middle with Robert Rodriguez, the guy who made a bunch of B-movies and also Spy Kids. The film is, as you’d expect, of two minds, a legitimately tense thriller that devolves into a sleazy wannabe Army of Darkness schlockfest with vampire strippers and guns popping out of dude’s dicks. Could it have worked? Yeah. Does it work? Not in my opinion, no. The sudden shift in tone, although likely intentional by the directors, is jarring and only highlights the fact that these are two stories that really would have been better off explored in their own films. Also the attempt at making the audience sympathize for the death of an unapologetic rapist and murder, even if it does give George Clooney a chance to actually act, just rings hollow. Perhaps someone could drum up the enthusiasm to write up a couple thousand words for From Dusk Till Dawn, but that someone wasn’t your ol’ pal Thunderbird.

     Which brings us to The Hateful Eight, the eighth and possibly final film by Tarantino (can’t remember if he’s still retiring). This was also his second foray in the western genre following the immensely popular Django Unchained, and if this was going to be his last film, he certainly pulled out all the stops. An all-star cast, including Kurt Russell, Channing Tatum and Samuel Jackson, a score by composing legend Ennio Morricone, sweeping vistas taken straight from a nature documentary, Tarantino has practically lifted a spaghetti western from the 1970s wholesale and modified it for the modern age. Which is about the same thing he did with Jackie Brown and Kill Bill, so you know he’s got a great track record for this kind of thing.

     Of course things aren’t quite what you might expect from a typical Sergio Leone type film. There are sweepings vistas yes, but almost the entire movie takes place in a single room, which imbues it with a claustrophobic atmosphere. Instead of the sweltering heat we usually associate with the wild (wild) west, we’re in a the middle of a blizzard. Rather than an adventure film, a lone gunman wandering into a blighted town and enacting justice, it’s something quite different. More of a whodunit murder mystery crossed with a character study of eight different people forced to interact with each other. However it does take place in the American West (Wyoming specifically) circa the late 19th century (a few years after the Civil War, specifically), which at the end of the day is all you really need to be a western movie, in a technical sense.

     The Hateful Eight may have subverted those common features of westerns, but I think it’s mainly so that Tarantino can highlight the major theme of the genre, and specifically the late-era westerns of Leone and others: nihilism and violence. There are no heroes in The Hateful Eight, no gallant John Waynes or Lone Rangers here to save the damsel and shoot a couple dozen Apaches along the way. There are only people all too eager to throw any semblance of morality to the wind in order to achieve their own interests. John Ruth is perfectly willing to murder everyone in the store/house (Minnie’s Haberdashery)in order to protect his bounty, Mannix is a craven opportunist despite his ‘Southern pride’ and his supposed position of sheriff, and so on. Even Sam Jackson’s character, Major Marcus, who you’d assume would be the go-to character to root for, has a history of torture and murder, and in fact might have the highest body count by the end of the film. ‘Good or bad’, ‘hero or villain’? In the world of The Hateful Eight, and by extension spaghetti westerns as a whole, it’s more ‘the one holding the gun is right, the one not holding a gun is wrong’. Why else would folks like Clint Eastwood get to just walk into some town, murder those they decided deserved to die, and then just leave without any repercussions? In the actual American West things were much more controlled and subject to the rule of law, but in the American West of cinema, the only rule is might makes right.

     The Hateful Eight is also a violent film as I mentioned, and in that way it is textbook western. These are movies about people with guns shooting at each other after all, even if you tried to fairy tale it up with folks just falling over with no blood it’s a genre built on death. However, The Hateful Eight isn’t just a violent movie, just as it wasn’t just dealing with the harsh realities of frontier life. It’s hyper-violent in that tried-and true Tarantino fashion, with folks vomiting blood, heads exploding, and other such horrific acts upon the human body. Honestly it reaches a point where it ends up becoming comical, and you end up wondering if Robert Rodriguez somehow got into the editing booth, but it makes sense. These are absurdly awful people after all, it makes sense that the violence they inflict on each other are similarly excessive. Go big or go home has been the motto of Quentin Tarantino’s entire film career upto this point, that it would be the basis for his final film is pretty much a given.

     The music is amazing, as is expected from Ennio Morricone returning to the work that made him a legend. Tarantino’s writing and characterization is on par with the rest of his work, again as expected, although there are moments where I think he might have passed ‘witty’ and dipped into ‘pretentiousness’ around the time folks start dying. Overall I had a very fun time with The Hateful Eight, and I have no problem tossing my recommendation into the pile. It’s funny, it’s violent, it’s crazy, and when Halloween rolls around that’s what you want in a movie. If this is truly the last film Quentin Tarantino ever makes, I’d say he left on a high note.

The Long Dark Marathon of the Soul 2017 - Child's Play (1988), directed by Tom Holland

The Trailer
and
The Appropriate Tune: "Under My Voodoo", by Sublime

     So far on the Marathon we’ve covered such spooky topics as alien parasites, vampires, Frankenstein monsters, some haunted things and at least a couple plain old killers, because the greatest monster of all is man or some such thing. A pretty good spread of classic and modern fare if I do say so myself, but if you really wanted to get down to brass tacks, really find out what monster the kids are talking about while browsing the memeosphere, then look no future than the animate inanimate humanoid object. AKA the killer mannequin. AKA the demon doll. AKA the monster puppet. AKA you get the drift.

     Nowadays you can’t search for a video on youtube without finding some shrill-voiced gamer making funny faces and screaming into a camera as animatronic animals try to play peek-a-boo with them, but puppets and their ilk have a long history in the horror genre. In television puppets have popped up every now and then since the days of the Twilight Zone, comics have been menaced by such criminals as Rag Doll, the Dummy and The Ventriloquist, and films like Puppet Master and The Demonic Toys have managed to become multi-film franchises in spite of the fact that they really aren’t all that good (although I love the original Puppet Master). Oh, and there was also Small Soldiers that one time. However, when you’re talking about horror movies with killer puppets, there’s really one that managed to not only make a successful transition to a franchise but snag a place amongst the annals of horror icons. I’m talking about Chucky, and the movie I’m going to talk about is Child’s Play.

     For as famous a horror icon as Chucky eventually became, Child’s Play is kind of...weird. It opens with Charles Lee Ray, a murderer known as The Strangler, running away from a single cop (Mark Norris, played by Chris Sarandon) down a empty city street at night. Why a police officer would be chasing an infamous criminal on his own and the streets in the middle of a city would be completely empty I can’t say. After being abandoned by his partner (why a guy known as ‘The Strangler’ has a wheelman I also don’t know), Ray sneaks into a toy store, engaging into a gunfight with Norris. Ray is shot through the chest, and after laying down a heavy deathbed curse on his partner and on Norris, he pulls out some fucking VOODOO MAGIC out of nowhere to transfer his soul into the form of a popular children’s toy known as Good Guys. Which causes the store to explode, I guess because of all the magic. Which begs the question of why Voodoo isn’t this world’s major religion considering magic is fucking real and reproducible. You’d think colonization of the Caribbean would have gone way differently, at the very least.

     Eventually the doll containing Ray’s soul comes into the possession of young Andy Barkley as a birthday present (his mom bought it for him off of a hobo), and the newly christened ‘Chucky’ begins his quest for bloody revenge. After the babysitter takes a tumble into a station wagon, Andy himself is under suspicion of being a psycho murderer himself. Will the Barkley family be able to clear Andy’s name, and end Chuck’s reign of terror once and for all, or do the fates have something far more sinister in mind for this terrorized single-parent household?

     Unfortunately, I don’t know if Child’s Play ever breaks out of that weirdness to become a good movie. Aside from the major plot contrivances, like why any sane adult would just let a elementary age kid leave school or get onto a bus to the projects completely unattended, the standard slasher movie ‘no one believes anyone about anything ever’ trope or why a kid would hear the sounds of gunshots in a nearby house and RUN TOWARDS IT, the entire voodoo thing is ridiculous and is ultimately unnecessary. In a better crafted film, you would have had just die near the dolls so that when the murders start to happen you could actually introduce some doubt over whether Andy is actually crazy or if he’s being influenced by the doll, and the fact that the murderer is in fact Chucky becomes a pretty entertaining twist. You don’t even need the ‘transfer his soul into Andy’ plot really, which is where the voodoo thing actually comes into relevance, or the ‘Chucky is becoming human’ crap, which doesn’t even make sense. Chucky would be going after Andy because he’s a murderous psychopath, and you’d keep killing him until he’s dead just like you do with Christine and Michael Myers and all those other movie monsters. Nothing important would change, and with the time originally spent setting up the dumb conclusion it might be spent on the actual characters, maybe build the relationship between Norris and Karen (the mom) up a little, since they spend most of the second half together and barely beyond bickering and advancing the plot. The way it is now, Chucky being alive is telepgraphed from the first five minutes, and then you’re stuck waiting the entire movie for the cast to play catchup and figure out what the audience has known for ages. It’s annoying.

     That being said, the kills themselves are entertaining and take advantage of Chucky’s attributes, and by the time Chucky really gets into monster mode (conveniently at the end of the film) he’s quite fun. Not to mention the great voice work from Brad Dourif, who brings the character to life even more than the special effects crew in some ways. He’s not as charismatic as then-horror veteran Freddy Krueger, but there’s a strong foundation laid here for the rest of the Child’s Play series to build upon. For all of Child’s Play’s faults, Chucky himself is not one of them.

     When it comes to mascot horror movies, Child’s Play gets just about average. Not as demented as Texas Chainsaw Massacre, not as inventive as Nightmare on Elm Street, not as violent as Hellraiser, but does just enough to satiate your appetite. If you’re a horror newbie I think that Child’s Play will probably be just the right thing for you this Halloween, it’s just the right mix of scary and stupid to keep you and your friends from getting freaked out. As long as you’re not deathly afraid of dolls and/or redheads, it’ll be a fun night.