Quit Screwin' Around With BLADE RUNNER!

So yesterday around 3-ish Pacific, 5-ish Texas, I received a voicemail from Doctor Feathermore, and I didn't even need to check it to know what it was about. The big news for us, and the rest of the BLADE RUNNER cult/unit yesterday was the announcement of "reshoots" currently underway for the upcoming "Definitive Edition" DVD. Apparently Joanna Cassidy is reprising her role as replicant snake-burlesque performer Zhora, and re-shooting (jeez, lot of "re-" there) the famous getting-blasted-in-the-back-while-running-through-plate-glass scene that features an infamous continuity gaffe (slight, in my opinion) with a stuntman in bad drag. Um, okay. Whatever. I think it's really stupid to go back and tinker with films, because mistakes happen, it's hard to make films like this without a few wires showing on your flying cars, and ultimately I think it's cheating. I think you shoot, edit, score, and release, and barring any studio interference with the director's final cut, you treat your work like a child being pushed into the world to fend for itself...

BLADE RUNNER has mistakes. We're talking about '82 here - a time when F/X merely consisted of mattes and models. The good ol' days as I like to call it. BLADE RUNNER, for being 25 years old still looks to me as if it came out yesterday. It is flawless, depending on what edition you have. You see, it has already gone through several different versions, and now this upcoming upgrade will be at least the fifth. The version I grew up with was "The Version Too Violent For Theaters" or something like that. I got it in the seventh grade at Wal-Mart of all places (which was the only place to buy anything in Waxahachie, TX ca. 1990), and I watched it every single day that Summer. No joke. Now, you can't even get this on DVD, for that version is Scott's 1992 "Director's Cut" which omits the neo-noir narration (everyone hated that except me - they had seen "noir" films from the 40s and 50s, right?), added some gay-ass stock footage of a unicorn, presumably from LEGEND, for Deckard's dream (I thought they dreamt of electric sheep), and they cut out some Roy Batty eye-gouging (ALL of which is intact on my beloved VHS copy).

BLADE RUNNER is one of my "one-man-show" movies where I can recite it line-for-brilliant-line in savant-like fashion, much to the chagrin of anyone unfortunate enough to be around me . I love it. The script, the cinematography, the performances, the production design - all of it legendary. I think it is one of the top 5 sci-fi movies ever made. I know the Doctor shares this sentiment, as does the lovely Lady Feathermore. Ridley Scott just needs to leave his greatest movie alone. This is his masterpiece. I really wish he would stop meddling with it, and let it go gently into the good night, warts and all. Now give me my version on DVD you pretentious old sod!

And yes Chad, if they add CGI hover-cars, there will be war.

Fucked-Up Shit # 3 THE HONEYMOON KILLERS

The first time I saw this was late one night on Channel 27 way back when I was probably 13, or 14, and it made me physically ill. Well, I was already suffering from a stomach bug, but I'm sure watching it didn't help. I remember I got up during a commercial break, went to the bathroom to puke, and quickly came back because I couldn't take my eyes off of this voyeuristic nightmare that borders on snuff. I had no idea that something so sick even existed. If a movie can indeed be damaging, or hurtful, this is hard evidence. Stanley Kubrick said of his adaptation of THE SHINING, that he wanted to make a movie that "hurt people". Honestly, THE SHINING, as much as I consider it as one of the best horror films ever, is nothing compared to writer-director Leonard Kastle's low-budget cinema-verite true-crime masterpiece about "lonely hearts killers" Ray Fernandez and Martha Beck. Originally intended to be Martin Scorsese's sophomore feature following WHO'S THAT KNOCKING AT MY DOOR?, KILLERS was handed over to screenwriter Kastle (a composer with no filmmaking experience) after Scorsese proved too meticulous for the film's limited shooting schedule and budget, and the rest is history.

For those not familiar with the strange case of Fernandez and Beck, they were two grifters, lovers posing as brother and sister, who duped lovelorn women into marriage through a mail-order lonely hearts club confidence scam, that eventually led to robbing, and in several cases, murdering them. Greasy, Latin lothario Ray (Tony LoBianco) meets the angry, overweight, still-living-with-mom, nurse Martha (Shirley Stoler) after her best friend Bunny (Doris Roberts) signs her up for Aunt Carrie's Friendship Club mail-order dating service, and they begin their courtship. Fernandez tries to break it off after he dupes her out of some cash, sending the overweight, angry Beck into a emotional whirlwind. She eventually wins his affection, is let in on his operation, and leaves her mother behind to follow Ray in his criminal undertakings. Theirs is a symbiotic relationship of manipulation, obsession, and homicidal narcissism that goes from bad to worse very, very, quickly, due largely to Martha’s jealousy.

Again, the most disturbing aspects of THE HONEYMOON KILLERS is the stripped-down, unglamorous, and painfully realistic approach it takes in telling this weird, horrible, true story. The victims range from sympathetic and pitiful, to downright annoying, to painfully tragic. This movie has no problem in flaunting the cruelty of these two people during their spree, anchored by Tony LoBianco‘s, and (especially) Shirley Stoler‘s outstanding performances. It’s a perfect reminder of how American moviemaking can be, coming in on the cusp of the revolutionary Hollywood movement of the late '60s and '70s.

"Wanna sleeping pill? I got some..."

THE HONEYMOON KILLERS. Some seriously mean, dementedly fucked-up shit.

THE HONEYMOON KILLERS - 1969 - dir. Leonard Kastle - written by Leonard Kastle - starring Shirley Stoler, Tony LoBianco - Available on Criterion DVD

Cinemawreck 101 #1

Beginning er, now, we're going to start shining a light on some of our favorite films, films that go beyond being just merely entertaining, but are, dare I say - life changing, and indispensable in the annals of cinema. We'll try and stay up on this as much as possible, along with keeping up with the "Fucked-Up Shit", and "Ones You May Have Missed" threads. Also, these are in no particular order...

GHOSTBUSTERS

There are two kinds of GHOSTBUSTERS fans: the ones who like it, and the ones who have it memorized line-for-brilliant-line. The doctor and I probably fall into the latter category, as there is nary a real-life scenario that we haven't been able to apply a GHOSTBUSTERS quote to. I remember seeing this - the classic story of three struggling NYC scientists who start hunting and capturing ghosts in order to make a few bucks - in the Summer of '84 at least three or four times, being both freaked-out and awestruck by the awesome special effects, and my guts pummeled by modern comedy legends Dan Ackroyd, Bill Murray, Harold Ramis, Ernie Hudson (What? He's hilarious - especially in THE HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE.), Rick Moranis, and Annie Potts ( in one of the greatest, most overlooked supporting turns ever - "Yeah, it's a sign alright! Going out of business!" - love it...), all playing to straight-woman/love-interest-who-eventually-becomes-a-dog Sigourney Weaver (how's that for a hyphenate?).

On paper, I can imagine GHOSTBUSTERS looked like a sure-fire bomb, and if it were done today there is no way it would work*. One can only imagine it was a fluke - a batshit-crazy blend of horror and comedy with a cast at the top of their game, and a director (Ivan Reitman) that came from the same old-school comedy approach (and produced a couple of early Cronenberg movies as well) who has yet to have a hit since it's dreadful, dreadful sequel. If you haven't seen this since the Reagan administration do yourself a favor and reacquaint yourself. Hell, if you haven't seen it during the W. administration you need to see it again. For me, this one requires at least a viewing a month. It's one of the biggest, most quotable comedies ever made. An unquestionable classic.

*And I swear to GOD, if this gets remade with the likes of Ashton Kutcher, Dane Cook, Jimmy Fallon, and Nick Cannon, all those responsible will pay!!! PAY-Y-Y-Y!!! Hollywood will burn. Believe it.

PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK

On the commentary track for the little-seen, and future "Ones You May Have Missed" selection, SESSION 9, writer-director Brad Anderson and co-writer/co-star Stephen Gevedon talk about the effective contradiction of having horrible events occur in beautiful broad strokes of daylight. They mention specifically the influence that Peter Weir's masterpiece of corseted creepiness PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK had on their film. Although what happens in SESSION 9 is far more grotesque and over-the-top than what occurs in PICNIC, it's easy to see how they felt the juxtaposition of a sunny day with unexplained mayhem becomes an effective device in a horror film.


At it's core, PICNIC is a horror film, albeit a very, very, subtle one. There are beautiful girls, but no slasher. There is a supernatural element, but no apparitions, or things that bump in the night. There is a mystery, but no clear-cut solution. It is a tour-de-force in atmospheric meditation, and unrequited longing, both sexual, and deeply emotional. It tells the story of a sunny St. Valentine's day excursion into the Australian outback by an all-girls school ca. 1900. A group of them wander off to explore the titular rock formation, and vanish, seemingly into thin air. An investigation ensues, and a handful of subplots are brought to light, ranging from an estranged brother and sister, to a couple of unrequited lesbian affairs (hey, it's an all-girls school, it happens). If you're looking for closure, I'm going to go ahead and be upfront with you and say that you will be disappointed, and should stick to episodes of CSI: Where-The-Fuck-Ever...

Director Weir shoots the landscape, and particularly the rock in a way that transforms it into a living, wizened being, lording monolithically over a still-young human race that has intruded upon an ancient land that they have little understanding of. Along with the transcendentalist approach to cinematography and storytelling, the film is also accented with a beautiful pan flute score by Gheorges Zamfir which adds to the film's lyricism. I love films like this, and Antonioni's L'AVENTURRA, (whose influence is definitely all over this), where the solution to the mystery isn't as important as its effect on those left to ponder, and in turn suffer because they will never know what happened to the ones they loved and inexplicably lost. PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK is a one of a kind movie, and one that continues to haunt well after the end credits.

Bustin My Blogging Cherry

Before I jump into a rundown of my five favorite documentaires, I would like to take a moment to profess my most sincere gratitude to Lord John and C-Feath for giving my quasi-coherent ramblings a home here at cinemawreck. It is much appreciated, and I will do my utmost to conduct myself with the quiet dignity we have all come to associate with you gentlemen. That being said, let's move on to the docs, which I love because I can dupe myself in to believing that I am actually learning something ( a la reading a book) even though I am actually just sitting on my ass watching television. Okay, here we go.

Mule Skinner Blues

This film has everything. Seriously, there isn't a damn thing you could possibly want in a documentary that you won't find in this offering from director Stephen Earnhart. Mule Skinner Blues is the story of Beanie Andrew - an aspiring musician, dancer, actor, director, screenwriter, etc. - discovered in Florida on the set of a Jim White music video shoot. Beanie is an elder gentleman with a long history of alcoholism, extensive delusions of grandeur, and a fierce dedication to the creative arts. The film follows his efforts, along with his merry band of assorted eccentrics, to make a horror movie about rival guitar virtuosos, the supernatural, and a vicious Florida swamp gorilla. (No, you didn't read that wrong.)

While the film is centered around Beanie and his mission, it wouldn't be nearly as interesting with out its supporting cast of characters. Keep a close eye out for scene stealers Miss Jeannie (the music video for her single, DUI Blues, closes the film), on again off again band mates Steve Walker and Ricky Lix (pay extra special close attention to the disturbing revelation of the true meaning behind the song Picture on the Wall), and costume designer, Annabelle Lea Usher (don't you dare miss the tour of her deep freezer...). I'm not exactly sure what trailer park (I'm not being mean, most of the film is shot in a trailer park) Earnhart stumbled upon, but it was filled with pure gold as far as local color and fascinating characters are concerned.

Although some outspoken critics (or pea brains as I like to call them), have been quick to label Mule Skinner Blues as a film that exploits its characters, I have to wholeheartedly disagree. I consider it one of the most inspirational things I have ever seen in my life. Nearly every person depicted has two important things in common. The first is an almost complete and utter lack of any sort of discernible talent (just sayin), and the second is a unbreakable will that refuses to acknowledge failure or give up on a dream whether it be country music, filmmaking, 80's hair metal, sobriety, or yodeling.

The key to Beanie and company's ability to inspire is that they get the same rush out of playing a concert or premiering a film for 20 people as they would for playing a sold out Wembly Stadium. It doesn't matter that the world will never recognize them as great musicians, artists, or filmmakers. They garner their satisfaction from starting a project and, at least in some cases, finishing it. As long as they can expose people to their respective art forms and have a couple of drinks when its all said and done, they go home happy. No matter who you are, you have to respect that rare breed of creative passion that is unflagging despite toiling in anonymity.

On a side note, I used to show this film to my freshman composition courses. Unfortunately, most of them failed to grasp the method behind my madness. Sure, they got their yucks watching these "weirdos" try to hit it big, but they never understood why I felt it was important to show people this film. While I do believe it is okay to laugh at films like this, it is important not to lose sight of how remarkable it can be to watch the creative spirit refuse to be snuffed out by this shitbox of a world we've had the misfortune of being born into. Should you ever find yourself beaten and battered by the world you're trudging through, always remember the immortal words of Mr. Beanie Andrew. "If you fall in the mud, you might come back as a gorilla".

(I promise that will at least make a little more sense if you see the damn movie.)

Stay tuned till next time when we discuss the classic film Speedo: A Demolition Derby Love Story.


Mule Skinner Blues
Director: Stephen Earnhart
Sundance Channel Home Entertainment, 2003

America is retarded

There is an article I read this morning about the failure that is Grindhouse and how it leaves Tarantino’s and Rodriguez’ careers in question. [hahah RIGHT!] It does make me wonder if the film revolution redux, a’la the 1970’s, I have been waiting to happen ever will. I’ve long felt that the state of Hollywood and its obvious deterioration was a good thing and sooner or later we will have another film revolution and there will be this happy explosion of original artful cinema. I thought this time was fast approaching, but I think we have quite a ways to go, sadly.

The article references the success of “dumb” movies such as 300 and Ghost Rider. I saw 300, it is style over substance all the way. I do believe, however its style is genuinely artful, not that the masses give a shit. None of this seems like “news” to me. Dumb regurgitated tripe has always been by and large the most successful thing in U.S. box offices. Only recently has America started to get wise to the retarded formula [or have they?]. But just when you think Hollywood is starting to get the message, Wild Hogs makes 5 billion dollars. I’m just as confused as they are. What the hell do people want? I thought the success of 300 was due to an original and interesting visual style combined with a relatively simple comic book plot and tons of action, similar to what made 80’s theatrical movies so great. With that assumption, one would deduce that Grindhouse had a fairly good shot at tapping into this market. Obviously, 3 hours scares a lot of people, or this market doesn’t actually exist. Not to mention there are people reportedly leaving halfway through, unaware it’s a double feature?! Wow, do the world a favor and slap a padded helmet on these people and throw them in a cell. I think my morning commute would be a lot less stressful if we thinned the herd a little.

The most disturbing part in all of this and Grindhouse’s obvious failure in the box office, is the message Hollywood is getting. They won’t be taking any artistic risks any time soon. This was a test and we failed big time. Get ready for things to get a LOT worse before they get better. Good job America, you have great taste!

Cormac McCarthy Wins The Pulitzer Prize

It's a damn shame that some motherless fuck, some poorly wired piece of human garbage felt it necessary to snuff out the lives of 33 innocent people on the Virginia Tech campus today. It's even worse when a tragedy so vile and unnecessary has to overshadow one of the greatest living novelists receiving the medium's highest honor. Cormac McCarthy, or The Scribe of God as I like to call him, was honored with the Pulitzer Prize in fiction for his latest, THE ROAD. For those of you not familiar with his work, do yourself a favor and pick up this book. Yes, I know, Oprah of all people chose it as her latest "book club" selection, but don't let that deter you. This is a very, very dark tale of a father and his young son making their way across a post-apocalyptic wasteland, evading hordes of cannibalistic vagabonds, staving off hunger, and simply trying to survive en route to the coast. It's a great, great read. Brutal and heartfelt if you need some quick blurb-age. With the Coen Brothers taking their adaptation of McCarthy's NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN to competition at Cannes this May, and future film adaptations of THE ROAD and BLOOD MERIDIAN (probably my favorite book of all time) in the works, it's safe to say Sir Cormac will be getting a larger fan base in the near future, and not just relegated to English Lit nerds (like me).

Nice poster!

Dig the tagline! [click it for a bigger version] I haven't read much on this and I quit paying attention to Fangoria YEARS ago. Anchor Bay seems to have good taste in terms of the DVD's they put out, so this could be interesting. Harry Knowles seems to really like it*. I am a little put off by horror films recently, which is shocking to hear myself say...type...whatever. But the Hostile and Saw piece of shit film-model annoys the hell out of me. Asian horror is all the fucking same. There are some gems in there, don't get me wrong, but if I have to see one more pasty little girl with long black hair I will kill someone. The trailer for Hatchet shows VERY little, but it does look interesting. I'm always down with seeing a new slasher character. I thought the imaginary one in High Tension was WAY better than the "real" killer in that movie. I do need to see the original French cut of it though, now that my rage has subsided. Gonna' keep my eye on Hatchet though.




*who fucking cares

Fucked-up Shit #2: CUTTHROATS NINE

Before I start…I WILL be posting a review of Grindhouse soon. Here’s my 2-word review to serve as a placeholder until I post it, “Fuck yes!”. Good, that’s covered for now.

Recently, the little lady and I went on a dork pilgrimage of sorts. We flew clear across the country and then rented a car and drove a couple hours into the middle of nowhere to stand alongside T.A.P.S., the stars of the show Ghosthunters to “hunt ghosts” in a supposed haunted Masonic lodge in North Adams, MA. Before you ask, we didn’t find any ghosts. It was a fucking blast though! Those guys are cool as shit.

On my loooong torturous flight I watched Cutthroats Nine, a Spanish western from 1972. It has a reputation of being one of the most violent westerns ever filmed, so I had to check it out. I’m a big fan of these older exploitation style westerns that go for shock value over substance, Fulci’s Four Of The Apocalypse comes to mind. Cutthroats had to really punch me in the gut if I was going to feel it. Cannibalizing a dead pregnant woman is some tough competetition [Four Of The Apocalypse]. The film follows a man of the law escorting a group of rapists and murderers across the country to a gold mine, to put them to work on a chain-gang. On the way there they get ambushed by bandits and wreck. The law-man decides to take all them to the mine himself and chains them all together. Oh, forgot to mention his young attractive daughter he decided to bring along for the ride. Smart. So they set off across the countryside and mayhem ensues. We then find out that the chains that bind these unsavory fellows are actually made of solid gold! –gasp!- Throughout this movie we are treated to flashbacks of why all these guys are in prison in the first place and they really set a tone and style for this flick. They are presented as life flashing before the characters eyes, sometimes right as they are dying. Very cool. I won’t go into too much detail on the plot and who lives and who dies, that’s half the fun of this movie. It throws some curveballs in there. As far as violence goes. I didn’t think it was THAT bad. There was really only a couple shock scenes that really stand out. Sidenote: what’s the deal with Euroshock films and the fact that anyone who is stabbed in the stomach, their guts immediately fall out?

I’m not at all familiar with any of Joaquín Luis Romero Marchent’s other work, but I think I am going to have to do some homework and look into it as this film was extremely well shot. It manages to take the spaghetti western mold, break it into pieces and rearrange them as it sees fit adding a beautiful and unique style in to glue it all together.


Cut-Throats Nine (1972)
Spain
aka Condenados a vivir, Bronson's Revenge
Director: Joaquín Luis Romero Marchent

Fucked-up Shit #1: DON'T LOOK NOW

Man, have I got a love jones for Julie Christie. She's not my typical fare as women go, a little malnourished, a bit Paris-Hilton-esque in the body department (I'm more of a Jane Russell-Jayne Mansfield guy), but those eyes, those lips, those legs, and my Achilles' heel - that accent. Jesus, I can hear her right now, and I'm sweating. Christie, besides being one of God's most beautiful creations, is also one of the best actresses ever. She came up with Brit New-Wave director John Schlesinger in films like DARLING, BILLY LIAR, and FAR FROM THE MADDENING CROWD before becoming a worldwide star and moving on to larger fare like DR. ZHVAGO, and her collaborations with Warren Beatty (not the boinking they did together, but the movies) MCCABE AND MRS. MILLER (one of my essentials), HEAVEN CAN WAIT, and SHAMPOO. She's the type of actress that upon first glance appears fragile in her willowy beauty, but once she opens her mouth, you know who's in charge...

DON'T LOOK NOW begins with a horrible tragedy: Sutherland and Christie live in an idyllic manor on the English countryside with their young son and daughter. The little girl drowns, and the parents abandon the manor for the canals of Venice in order to try and forget this horrible event, with Sutherland's character taking a job restoring the interior of an old Cathedral. While there, they meet a pair of old British spinster sisters, one a blind seer who claims that she knows of the little girl and her terrible fate, and that her spirit is amongst them. This both upsets and intrigues Christie's character, eventually leading to a rather unsettling séance, perhaps detailing the little girl's anguish at the time of her death, or something more sinister and foreboding. Along the way, there is a serial killer loose along the canals, and Sutherland's character keeps having glimpses of what appears to be his dead daughter scurrying along the walkways, and ducking into the corridors. All of this culminates into an ending that, as mentioned above, pulls the entire ground from underneath your feet, sending your sanity tumbling down into a pit of nightmares. I'm not kidding. You will have nightmares, that is if you can muster up the will to sleep.

Based on a short story by the legendary Daphne DuMaurier, DON'T LOOK NOW is a minor-classic amongst horror fans, and cineastes for two reasons: Horror fans will cite it's ending as one of the greatest shocks ever , and cineastes will point out the supposedly unsimulated sex romp between Christie and co-star Donald Sutherland, that has become an oft-debated cinematic "urban legend" on par with that ghost in the background of THREE MEN AND A BABY. DON'T LOOK NOW may come off as a bit dated, but it is rich in atmosphere, and an ever-present feeling of dread, propelling it to a conclusion that borders on a criminal act of psychological torture. It's a reminder that the best, most effective horror is conveyed through character, story, and atmospherics, rather than cheap jolts, torture, and buckets of blood. Director Nicolas Roeg is a filmmaker who uses a lot of intrusive zooms, close-ups, and handheld, coupled with a very disorienting editing style. Me personally, I love the guy, and would recommend other works such as THE MAN WHO FELL TO EARTH, PERFORMANCE (co-directed with Donald Cammell),BAD TIMING, and TRACK 29 (featuring the second-greatest Gary Oldman performance ever - next to SID AND NANCY).

DON’T LOOK NOW: some seriously mean, dementedly fucked-up shit.


DON’T LOOK NOW - dir. Nicholas Roeg - screenplay by Allan Scott and Chris Bryant, based on a story by Daphne DuMaurier - starring - Julie Christie and Donald Sutherland - 1973 - Paramount Pictures

Lord John Goes to The GRINDHOUSE

SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!

As I write this review of the spectacular double-feature of postmodern shock-schlock that is GRINDHOUSE it has all but been pronounced DOA at the box-office - a bomb, a disaster, a grave miscalculation that may spell the end for the already struggling, former indie kings Harvey and Bob Weinstein. All of that is a bit disheartening, giving fans a bit of uncertainty as to where the talent may end up, and the subsequent limitations that their new home(s) could enforce upon them. As much shit as the brothers Weinstein have given other filmmakers through the years, the indie mavericks Quentin Tarantino, and Robert Rodriguez have had carte blanche to do whatever they want. Now, with GRINDHOUSE, they get to indulge their sickest whims, all the while paying homage to the kind of films they loved in their younger days.

But who gives a damn about the biz, let's get down to the films...

The three hours I spent this past Friday watching this expensive experiment were three of the greatest hours I have ever spent in a theater. The two films, the fake trailers, all of it was outstanding. Now, I didn't grow up in the era of the real grindhouses, but I was exposed to the types of films that played there through cable TV, home video, and the crap that got dumped at the UA South 8 in Duncanville (NIGHT OF THE COMET, the Lou Ferrigno HERCULES movies, anything produced by Golan-Globus). Hell, the video store I worked at through high school was as close as you got to a grindhouse due to the low-rent, off-the-wall selections we had. Kung-fu, horror, exploitation, Euro-sexploitation - we had it all, and the Doctor and myself went through quite a few of them (the Doctor went through considerably more than I did though).

I'm not going to spend time on the trailers, except to say that they are pretty damn good (with the exception of Eli Roth's THANKSGIVING - who is this guy and what's the big deal about him?).

Alright, let's cut to the chase. Er, wait, the chase happens in the second movie. In this case, let's cut to the exploding pus:

Robert Rodriguez's PLANET TERROR

This is the great, nasty, oozing, diseased-people run amok mini-epic the gore fans have been waiting for. If Umberto Lenzi (NIGHTMARE CITY), and John Carpenter (if you don't know who he is, stop reading now) blended their DNA with BAD TASTE/DEAD ALIVE-era Peter Jackson, and added a pinch of Stuart Gordon's genetic makeup (RE-ANIMATOR, FROM BEYOND) in order to come up with the perfect action-horror film, you'd have PLANET TERROR. It's unfortunate that people feel it necessary to split into camps over "which one is better", this or DEATH PROOF, dismissing one or the other and drawing a line in the sand in order to make hipper-than-thou pontification camps, but those people are stuck-up prigs who like to be seen at the scene and love to hear themselves talk. PLANET TERROR is disgusting, hilarious, and probably the best thing Rodriguez has done on his own. The script is near-flawless, and contains the punchier one-liners of the two movies. The cast is perfect, employing some of cultdom's best (Jeff Fahey and Michael Biehn! Tom Savini! Carlos Gallardo! Fuck yeah!), and it throws so many ridiculous plot twists and contrivances at the audience that it only helps the case for it being nothing more than a dark, nasty, shithouse-rat-crazy comedy. The intentional continuity gaps in this movie are hilarious - from the aftermath of the missing reel, to the amazing transforming facial hair of Bruce Willis...

Other kudos:

Rose McGowan and Marley Shelton are positively iconic sitting on that bike together. Loved both of them. They are hot, and pretty damn fine at physical comedy as well. Dig Rose hobbling around on her table-leg before she gets the machine gun. Dig Marley trying to operate the car with anesthetized hands. And when she gives her son that gun - priceless.

Freddy Rodriguez should have no problems finding work after "Six Feet Under". His El Wray character is classic. The butterfly-knife-fu in the hospital was greatness. RR should explore prequel ideas about his exploits in the military.

Michael Biehn and Jeff Fahey's final moments: Fahey giving him his barbeque recipe, their fates sealed like Vasquez and Gorman's in ALIENS - awesome.

The Crazy Babysitter Twins: My god it's true, I am a dirty old man now. Sweet lord. The two of them beating the Hell out of Marley's Cadillac - again - awesome.

Now for the chase:

Quentin Tarantino's DEATH PROOF

If PLANET TERROR is a fastball, then this is the change-up. DEATH PROOF, quite simply, is flawed, but brilliant. In fact, it could stand as the most original thing Tarantino has done since, well, maybe ever. The whole conceit of a homicidal former stuntman (Kurt Russell) marauding about in a fortified car that protects him while spelling doom for the poor girls unfortunate enough to hitch a ride, or to have a head-on collision with him is genius. The main complaints heard during the screening I went to Friday were directed towards the overlong exchanges of dialogue between the female characters. I agree, to a point. After nearly hyperventilating from the charge of the first film the pacing in this one lags, and people around me were audibly complaining. It's not that I think the dialogue was bad, it's just that the tone of this one should have warranted it opening the double feature, rather than closing. Like any good slasher movie, you need to know your victims, and these characters are fleshed out in accordance to the material. Banal? Yeah, a little. Boring? Compared to PT, a tad. Unnecessary? Given the context, no. It's kind of like having an all-acoustic set by Bruce Springsteen following a balls-out set by The Stooges - no matter the brilliance of the material, the overall presentation throws the audience off a bit because of the change in energy. The two acts of DEATH PROOF take their time, but the payoffs are well worth the wait. The end of the first half alone is without a doubt, one of the most gruesome, horrifying things ever committed to film. It's Tarantino's version of those VW crash-commercials. The second half climax is white-knuckle overload and not for the faint of heart...

Other kudos:

SIR Kurt Russell: What more can you say about the guy? He's a legend, and one of my all-time favorites. His Stuntman Mike is classic, and in the years to follow will go down as one of his best roles ever - right next to Snake Plissken, Jack Burton, and RP MacCready - whether you liked the movie or not. The scene in the car after he gets shot almost made me piss myself laughing..

The climactic car chase: While it's not as great as I've heard some people proclaim (and I'm a car chase junkie - I've seen them all), it's still very, very good. Zoe Bell is a madwoman for getting on that hood. Those retards on "Jackass" ain't shit compared to this badass. Give that woman a raise.

Sydney Portier's legs. Man that chick has some mega-gams. Damn shame one of them ends up in the road. That crash. Sweet Jesus, I can't get it out of my head. Thanks Quentin, you sick fuck.


Go see this! And see it soon, because rumor has it that the brothers Weinstein are considering splitting them in two for re-release in order to recoup. It's doubtful that anything like this will ever be attempted again.

Happy Good Friday!

fuck yes