The Deadly Doll's House of Horror Nonsense

Not the One With Rachel Weisz

2012-03-07T22:28:00.000-05:00

“In a crazy city, if one is to survive, one must be more than crazy.”

Easily one of the best opening quotes I’ve heard!

Quick Plot: We open with the brutal slaying of an apartment security guard in 2007.

We’ll get back to that.

Meet Sheung (Josie Ho, redeeming herself from the horrid Street Fighter: The Legend of Chun Li), a bank telemarketer by day, retail employee by night, and unhappy dreamer during both. Sheung longs to buy her own flat in the spiffy part of town, something she’s wanted ever since her unhappy childhood where she witnessed her own neighbors cruelly driven out of their homes by greedy developers and violent mobs. Now an adult with just enough savings, Sheung is ready to make an offer on a 2-bedroom with a seaside view and nothing--NOTHING--will stop her.

So back to that strangle-stab...

Dream Home is essentially a slasher, but one done with such innovation that it almost elevates the category. Sheung embarks on a brutal murder spree, but the film threads that one massacre throughout its running time, alternating between Sheung’s childhood flashbacks, the buildup towards the sale gone wrong, and Sheung’s determined attacks upon anyone in her way, be they drunk punks, trigger-happy cops, or wealthy pregnant women.

As a result of its structure, Dream Home does something very important: it makes us understand Sheung’s actions. That’s not to say we agree with them or cheer her on--no character can be likable enough to do what she does with a vacuum to a mom-to-be--but we see how and why an everyday woman could take this path. Sheung has dreamt about this chance for her entire life, and just when she gets it, that pesky housing market takes another turn and suddenly, it’s once again out of her reach. It’s NOT fair, but of course, that doesn’t justify mass homicide.

There’s a smart mix of horror, smart satire, and gooey old gore in Dream Home. The marriage isn’t perfect, but for 100 minutes, it’s incredibly fascinating.

High Points

Dream Home isn’t quite a black comedy, but there are some hysterically horrific elements to it, especially once the bloodshed really starts to drip. A fairly lengthy sequence involving sharp bongs, a naked hooker, and Sheung’s determinism is both a great horror scene AND bit of comedy

Low Notes

I didn’t quite have this problem, but I know many a viewer has taken issue with Sheung’s coldness and the idea that our protagonist has little redeeming value. I’m going to draw a strained comparison to Kristen Wiig’s unhappy Annie in Bridesmaids, another female character making the wrong decisions. Like Annie, Sheung dates a man who treats her terribly and feels sorry for herself, even if her life is still easier than many. I don’t know about you, but I know both women because we ARE human. Too often films—particularly horror—delegate female characters to simple Madonna or whore categories. Sheung is by no means cinema’s new treasure, but her flaws are real and fascinating

Lessons Learned

All men care about is the 19th hole

Forcing cocaine upon a passed out drunk will reward you with having your crotch vomited upon

When in doubt, pay for the night. Hourly love motel rates are a secret killer

Rent/Bury/Buy

I had heard plenty of other bloggers recommend Dream Home (beginning with Mattsuzaka with this fine older review) and having finally sat down with it, I couldn’t agree more. This is as funny as it is scary, satirical in its view of class lines but shocking in its violence. Best of all, it’s a slasher with a brain, one that toys with structure in a way I’ve never quite seen. Stream it on Instant Watch if you can or pick it up cheap. Trust me. It’s good.

Monday March Musical Madness: Love Never Dies

2012-03-05T08:00:00.001-05:00

Basketball? Please. Unless those orange orbs are bouncing in rhythm a la High School Musical’s Keep Your Head In the Game or making Anne Ramsay’s face explode in Deadly Friend, there’s simply no room for that kind of game here at the Doll’s House. So while sports fans around the country fill out their brackets, we’re going in a different direction this month with Musical Mondays.

(But just in case you haven't seen it, here's the greatest non-musical basketball scene in cinema history)

Truthfully, I just happened to recently see two slightly-to-very horror-ish musicals, so why not make it a mini theme?

Remember when you were a thirteen year old girl with a locking diary and annoying confidence in your imagination? Maybe you saw a play or movie that awakened your inner romance novelist, inviting the muse in all her Delia’s clad glory to inspire your first draft of Romeo + Juliet 2: Heaven Can't Wait or Titanic Sails On: What If Rose Never Did Let Go? Such ramblings were harmless of course, because while your Twilight-like dreams of extending a fluffy love story were in hindsight fairly silly, they were your own.

Unless you're Andrew Lloyd Webber and your Twilight-like dreams of extending a fluffy love story could be realized with a multi-million dollar musical extravaganza, recently filmed and showing this Wednesday (March 7th) in movie theaters through Fathom Events.

Gaston Leroux's The Phantom of the Opera is a novel that has fascinated filmmakers since the birth of cinema. From Lon Chaney’s skeletal expressionism to Robert Englund’s teleporting patchface who made a crummy deal with Dwarf Satan, the story seems to have endless appeal to filmmakers, even luring Dario Argento to tackle it twice from different angles.

Yet for all the adaptations, it’s Webber’s juggernaut musical hit that has had the most global impact, influencing for better and worse (really more worse) the musical theater scene for decades to come. Having seen the Broadway production ten years ago, I suppose I understand the appeal: pretty sets, big dresses, overwrought love triangles, duet after duet, slow-moving chandeliers. To my more Sondheimian sensibilities, it doesn’t quite warrant its place as the longest running Broadway musical but more importantly, the idea of making a generically titled sequel even tackier than the original just seems…

Well…

Pretty effin’ amazing.

Not, mind you, for the right reasons. Love Never Dies—yes, that’s its title because that’s the kind of title a thirteen year old girl gives to a poem she writes during math class—is entertaining in being quite terrible. Heck, it’s even entertaining in its dullness, if that makes sense. Of course, those of you with an allergic reaction to musical theater are already bored, so for those who aren’t, let’s recap:

Ten years after the ingénue Christine Dae left Paris with her dullard fiancée Raoul, the Phantom disappeared to leave only his mask and a curtain call. Then 15 years earlier, The Phantom of the Opera became extremely profitable and LORD Andrew Lloyd Webber teamed up with some lyricists allergic to thesauruses to continue to story, which now finds The Phantom running a freak and burlesque show of sorts on Coney Island—

Yes, that Coney Island—

But still obsessing over the whiny soprano who screamed at his scars a decade before. He solves this problem by luring Christine and her family (the now alcoholic vertically challenged gambling addict Raoul, because it’s important for the audience to know which side to take in this love triangle) and her TEN YEAR OLD son Gustav, a tragically useless child charged with singing the same lyrics over and over again, then being put in danger, then reprising his repetitive lyrics, then escaping danger, then finally standing firmly in tableau.

Oh, and in case you couldn’t guess it because you didn’t see Superman Returns or lost half your brain in a poker tournament, the Nine Years and Three Month Old Gustav is—SPOILER ALERT IF YOU CAN’T FIGURE OUT REALLY OBVIOUS SECRETS—actually the result of one passionate and dimly lit night between Christine and her former voice instructor.

Wait! You say, if you’re still reading or need me to hold an elevator. Christine and the Phantom…they…you mean…but…

Yes ladies, all those fan fiction entries you stumbled through are true: Christine and The Phantom got it on.

And on.

And on, or at least that’s what the 20 minute song featuring lyrics like “And you touched me/And I touched you/And you held me/And I held you” would like us to believe. It doesn’t really make any chronological sense in terms of what we know about these character, but it makes PERFECT SENSE to legions of Rachel Berrrys who probably fantasized about that white mask at crucial times in their sexual development.

(Side note: remember when Glee was good? Side note sigh...)

Love Never Dies was a highly hyped show that never quite ignited th theater world, mostly because theater critics are generally a few brian cells wiser than 7th grade show choir members. The show fizzled in its London run and unlike the Phantom himself, never crossed over to New York. The production filmed for the DVD and film release was done at the Regent Theatre in Melbourne and in truth, it’s pretty grand. Set and costume designer Gabriela Tylesova either had an unlimited budget or unlimited access to Tim Burton’s warehouse and uses it to give us arias in giant peacock style,

glittering costume jewelry that never lets the mezzanine ticket holders feel left out,

and a wardrobe for the ringmaster...

that calls to mind Community’s Dean Pelton...

Which just reminds me how much I wish Community would return.

But hey, if I plopped down $100 or euros or kangaroo eggs or whatever Aussies use for currency, that’s exactly what I’d want! Throw in a little person being thrown--

(It happens a lot)

--And I can’t possibly complain!

Except I can, because the show’s terrible. Webber’s score is lavishly large, but when paired with lyrics a contestant on America’s Next Top Model could write for a viral video challenge (yes, that happened last season) the whole shebang just feels silly. So silly that a good half my packed movie theater treated the production as a comedy, openly guffawing because how could you not? The entire experience made me think that cinemas catering to this kind of film should segregate seating, positioning those who came for the humor in the front and letting those that want to get caught up in the overwrought and scarily chauvinistic love story sit back to absorb the emotion.

I say chauvinistic because my goodness is this an abusive relationship on every end. Upon being reunited with her long-lost (giggle giggle) lover, Christine immediately faints, then is served an ultimatum that she either sing the Phantom’s song or he will kidnap her child. And yet she’s now actively considering leaving her tiny husband for this man. Then again, said tiny husband gambles his own wife away when he makes a deal with The Phantom that Christine’s decision to take the stage will ultimately decide the fate of her life. Not that Christine needs to be consulted about this or anything. In case the Titanic-like costumes didn’t clue you in, this is the early 20th century and women--even the heroines of musical theater--apparently have very few decisions to make. Sure, they get to choose which chandelier-ish earrings to wear for big nights, but we can’t go about giving them any REAL responsibility now, can we?

If you're still reading and have nothing to do this Wednesday, sneak in a six-pack, grab a secluded seat, and enjoy the ridiculousness of a show that if standards shakily remain where they are, will never see the light of Broadway. Maybe I'm being a gloriously curled hair mean, but that's because I'm not a thirteen year old who goes to the theater expecting to see my fantasies (or PHANTasies, seewhatIdidthere?) laid out in the precise manner I would have written for extra credit in junior high English class. Love Never Dies can't be accused of laziness, but a hard-working musical does not a classic make.

But a hilarious time at the movies? I'll buy that for fifteen dollars.

WELCOME...to Medieval TIMES!

2012-03-03T12:31:00.000-05:00

The name Roger Corman calls to mind a lot of things--MST3K episodes, 2-day film shoots, high profit margins, Lance Henrikson in Scream 3--but 'a quality film' is rarely one of them. The presence of Vincent Price, on the other hand, generally implies that SOMETHING good will happen onscreen, making 1964's The Masque of Red Death irresistible to a curious cinemaniac like myself.

Quick Plot: A mysterious man in red hands a rose to a crone passing by in the woods. You know what that means.

Well, if it was the year 1100, you would TOTALLY have known what that meant. The devil/death is sending a message to a European village that their deliverance is at hand. For most of the lowly townsfolk, this means they'll die of the plague. The wealthy or imprisoned, on the other hand, get to party/get tortured inside the castle of one Prospero, played with juicy evil by a devil-worshipping, gold lace-trimmed puffy shirt wearing Vincent Price.

Prospero isn't all black masses and pentagrams though. The man is quite the party animal, actively encouraging his guests to play dress-up, act like farm beasts, and get wasted while he observes such entertainment as tiny dancers with womanly voices performing what I guess is simply little person ballet, but what somehow feels more akin to Toddlers and Tiaras.

When that gets boring, Prospero passes the time trying to corrupt Christians, particularly when they're good-looking. His favorite good girl, Francesca, stays as a well-dressed prisoner actively trying to free her doomed-to-die lover and father. For the most part, this involves whining about Christianity and turning her head as Propsero orders lashings on others, though slowly but surely, an interesting form of mutual respect begins to grow.

As I explained in my intro, I expected very little from The Masque of Red Death. The only things prompting me to press play were the presence of Price, convenience of a 90 minute Instant Watch, and the mere words "12th century" and "plague" in the film's description.

I am sometimes easy to seduce.

So imagine my surprise to learn that The Masque of Red Death is an ACTUAL GOOD MOVIE. If you’ve seen Uwe Boll’s Rampage, you probably know what that feeling is. It begins with doubt, as you double check IMDB to confirm that you are indeed watching the movie you planned on. Once that happens, you fall into hesitation. There’s no WAY the quality can be maintained coming from the hands of a filmmaker who keeps one eye on the clock while directing...right?

But for the most part, it does. The Masque of Red Death isn’t the greatest genre film of the ‘60s, but it’s a fun ride that toes a gleeful balance between the cheeky and macabre. Poor villagers die, wealthy lords and ladies dress up like fools and die even worse, Vincent Price mugs like a champ and Corman’s colors pop like paintball. There’s little not to like.

High Points

Holy Crayola box batman! The rich brightness of virtually every costume, haircut and furniture piece makes The Masque of Red Death an absolutely stunning visual work. Observe one of its most famous scenes, as Prospero flees Death through a series of rooms that change color, Wizard of Oz/The Cook The Thief His Wife & Her Lover style

Low Points

For all the hubub and worshipping, I expect Satan to have a far more badass mustache than one composed of lampshade fringe

Lessons Learned (About Medieval Times)

Not too surprisingly, gorilla suits were highly flammable

The parties of the upper class made the Playboy Mansion look like Sesame Street

Bangs were totally bangin'

Rent/Bury/Buy

I’ll readily admit my weakness for any film involving plagues, dances of death, medieval torture, Vincent Price in period garb, or noblemen dressed like gorillas. The Masque of Red Death includes all these things, and it includes them extremely well. It’s not a masterpiece, but the film is bursting with life in its depiction of Death. It’s a fun, dark, and unique little watch and if nothing else, it beats just about anything else in the Corman catalog.

Did I Kill Davy Jones? Also, Thus End'th The Shortening

2012-03-01T07:25:00.002-05:00

As we say goodbye to 2012's 2nd Annual Attack of the Vertically Challenged Villains: The Shortening, it brings me incredible sadness to mourn the passing of my very first crush and perennial petite powerhouse, Monkees lead singer Davy Jones.

Growing up in the late '80s, I fell in love with basic cable's reruns of their comedy show, so much so that I used my very first tin of push pins to hang posters of Davy's sparkling eyes on my bedroom walls. Two years ago, I blushed my way through meeting him at New Jersey's Chiller Theater convention where I was excited to discover he was still good-looking AND a good inch and a half taller than me.

While there, I bought a fan club worthy autographed 8x10 glamor shot that still proudly hangs over my toilet, meaning Mr. Jones will forever watch over those who do their bodily business in my apartment.

Davy Jones passed away on Leap Day. As far as I'm concerned, that implies we only have to acknowledge the fact that he died every four years and therefore can go back to daydream believing him back into existence for the other three. That's how the system works and I'm sticking to it.

It's a fitting, solemn end to 2012's Shortening, though personally, I'm a tad disturbed. See, just two weeks ago, I also had to mourn the passing of a celebrity I harbored serious romantic feelings for throughout my elementary school years: former Mets catcher and baseball Hall of Famer Gary Carter, who succumbed to brain cancer on February 16th. If I could have been an underage polygamist in a highly experimental tribe, you can bet a few leprechauns that I would have been Mrs. Emily Intravia-Carter-Jones. It worries me to see the highlights of my youth taken before their time. Now let us lend kind thoughts and extra bodyguards to other notable entries in my imaginary lovebook, including fellow vertically challenged superstars Rick Moranis and Martin Short.

On the sunnier side, we have one last round of Shortening sharing! Thanks and cuddles to the following bloggers who tackled some vertically challenged villains and lived to write about it:

Over at Cinema Gonzo, sir Thomas Duke headed back to the swinging '60s for the oddball little person horror, Curse of the Doll People. Find it in its glory this way

Also on a Mexican trek was Ms. Mermaid Heather, who opened up the toy chest for a review of Dolly Dearest and thusly conquered both The Shortening and Women In Horror Month:

The cool as an air conditioned space Elwood Jones headed up north for one of my personal favorites, David Cronenberg's extra gooey The Brood. Go have a taste.

Dare you forget T.L. Bugg's swap duty covering 2008's killer kids in a winter wonderland classic, The Children. It might not be a fair fight for poor Darby O'Gill's leprechaun army, but the Bugg still does it right.

Finally, though I failed to find a proper doll flick for this month's festivities, the Direct to Video Connoisseur came to the rescue with pristine coverage of Puppet Master 2 and the quick cut-and-paste job (of the movie; not the review) for Dollman vs. Demonic Toys.

As we march on through March, there are glimmers of hope: HorrorHound Weekend's biannual snugglefest, a hopeful Leprechaun marathon on the SyFy Channel, the return of Community, the quest to snag a green milkshake in the Bronx that's supposed to be that way. Will anything top little people conning men out of their souls, shrunken men fighting tarantulas, Mickey Rooney encouraging child labor, or Harry Potter trying to out-act creepy monkey dolls? It's hard to say but I take comfort in knowing we will always have 2012's Shortening, and more importantly, Davy Jones will always watch my houseguests pee.

Darby O'Gill Babysits The Children

2012-02-28T22:39:00.000-05:00

It’s time for that monthly switcheroo with T.L. Bugg! I love these swaps for two reasons:

1-It gives me a chance to read one of my very favorite blogger’s takes on movies I either love or just REALLY want other people to watch (giggle giggle Nutcracker In 3D)

2-It’s my monthly reminder to mail in my rent check.

For this Very Special Shortening Swap, I assigned Zach 2008’s The Children, one of my favorite recent horror films from a certain subgenre I dig more than grilled cheese. He went in a very different, more child-friendly (and less child-killing) direction with 1959’s Darby O’Gill & the Little People.

not the right little people

Quick Plot: After an awesome credits sequence wherein Walt Disney writes a note thanking leprechauns, we meet the titular Darby, an eccentric Irish caretaker well known at his local tavern for telling tales involving little people.

Nostalgia alert! Before the days of trivia night, there was the crazy old man obsessed with leprechauns to keep your beer tasting better.

One day, the owner of the estate Darby works on with his daughter Katie rides into town to force him into retirement. The time has come to replace the aging leprechaun lover with Michael McBride, a strapping young man from Dublin played with strange bland gentleness by Sean Connery. Darby isn't ready to tell Katie about the change and instead spends an evening hanging out with King Brian and a whole kingdom of very small, very energetic little people who live inside a magical mountain.

Let's get this out of the way: partying with leprechauns ROCKS. Literally and figuratively, since a) they dance like mad b) they're not shy about the beverages and c) little dudes really like rhyming games. If such a colony invited me to live out my last days on their wine and tunes, I wouldn't have to eat a bowl of Lucky Charms before signing the lease.

But Darby, bless his drunken heart, is a tad reluctant when King David tells him to stay forever, using his wiles to instead trick his old pal and return home to big people alcohol. The King follows him for AN ENTIRE NIGHT OF DRINKING, rendering him useless as a magician come the morning sun.

As I try to work through the plot threads of Darby O'Gill & the Little People, I'm struck by how much goes on. Perhaps I've had a few too many Guinnesses myself because I'm several paragraphs into a synopsis and haven't even detailed Katie's inevitable relationship with James Bond, the token bad guy angling for Darby's job, the tavern filled with villagers thirsty for more leprechaun tales, King David's mildly sinister plan to further eff with Darby and his wishes, and the death-bringing banshee who figures prominently in the final act.

Got all that? No? Here, have some more stout.

Or whiskey.

Or wine.

Or Jim Bean, J&B, Zima, Tequiza, or whatever poison you prefer. Because I say this in true: Darby O'Gill is the most joyfully alcoholic kids film I've ever seen. I wouldn't be surprised if an entire generation of Baby Boomers can look back to that sunny afternoon at the cinema as the turning point in their lives and livers.

It's absolutely amazing.

Also, a super fun and charming fantasy! I'm a huge fan of children's entertainment that appeals--without pandering to--adult sensibilities (thus explaining my unadulterated adoration of all things Muppet), and Darby O'Gill is one of those remnants from a time past. Though the heavy Irish accents may confuse a few kids (self included), the film is colorful and cute enough to entertain the little ones while offering plenty of smart dialogue and likable relationships for their parents. It's almost the perfect family film, so long as your family isn't Mormon or dealing with alcoholism.

And by the way, if I found a leprechaun right now, I'd use my first wish to get "It's almost the perfect film, so long as your family isn't Mormon or dealing with alcoholism" as a DVD box cover quote. A girl can dream...

High Points

I'm all for equal opportunity acting jobs for little people (Tiptoes, how you disgust/fascinate/thrill me) but as more recently seen in Elf, the forced perspective style to make the leprechauns, well, leprechaunish is genuinely charming

Apparently the film’s big singing number, “My Darling Irish Girl” was quite a hit, and not just because it maybe included the vocals of a future Highlander. As with most of the instrumental jigs, it’s a pretty darn catchy tune

Low Points

I know, I know: it was a different era in the world, but that doesn't make the threat “I'll throw you in a river and drown you like a kitten" any less disturbing

Lessons Learned

When you sup with the devil, you need a long spoon

Leprechauns have plenty of stamina, but drinking games are still an effective means of manipulating their gifts for your cause

Alcohol is great no matter how tall or short you are

The Winning Line

“Your heart’s as cold as a wet Christmas!”

Is it Albert Sharpe's delivery that makes this sound like the world's most felt insult? The unified gasp from the leprechauns when they hear it? Or really, is this just the greatest thing to ever say to anyone ever?

Rent/Bury/Buy

Darby O'Gill & the Little People is the kind of sunny and strange film I wish I knew of as a kid. It has catchy musical numbers, copious amounts of alcohol, James Bond, and leprechauns. Drunk leprechauns. Drunk leprechauns that don't want to kill you, they just want to dance! And drink. Did I mention drink? The DVD includes a few cute extras worth a gander though sadly, no alcohol. That's kind of shocking since just about every slide in the reel is soaked in stout. Did I mention there's some drinking in this movie? Sorry, I tend to repeat myself when I've had a few Guinnesses (Guinni?). What was I saying?

Right. Okay, so get wasted with Darby, then sober up with T.L. Bugg's review of a truly terrifying horror film.

Then wash away the fear with more drinking. If you’re lucky, the leprechauns will bring the booze.

And the Golden Lifts Go To:

2012-02-27T20:12:00.000-05:00

Zelda Rubinstein

1933-2010

It's hard not to love this woman. Standing at just 4'3, the late actress is best known--to horror fans and the general public--as Tangina, the ethereal medium who helped save Carol Anne from not one, not two, but three Poltergeists between 1982 and 1988. Before her passing in 2010, Ms. Rubinstein had amassed a bevy of key roles on the big and small screen, with credits that were mainstream (Picket Fences, Sixteen Candles), indie (Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon, Anguish) and belovedly cult (Teen Witch).

With a voice that somehow called to mind strawberry marshmallow fluff, Zelda Rubinstein was one of a kind when it came to performing. Like many genre fans who saw a sleepover party turn to screams once the PG-Rated Poltergeist showed up, I personally always had a soft spot for her unique presence whether it was on an episode of Tales From the Crypt or as the well-known voice that cooed "Taste the Rainbow" for Skittles ads. As I sat back to wonder which supporter of the vertically challenged qualified for a pair of Golden Lifts (the now yearly award bestowed upon someone awesome with a connection to shortness), Ms. Rubinstein seemed a natural Cinderella fit.

Upon poking a little more into the other side known as the Internet, I was thrilled to discover that not only was Ms. Rubinstein a wonderful actress, but more importantly, a truly wonderful person.  

Having left a successful position as a lab technician to pursue the Hollywood dream (which found her late into her 40s) Ms. Rubinstein wasted little time in pairing her successful acting career with admirable work for better causes. Her first film role in the Razzie Award winner Under the Rainbow made her question how little people were seen by the film industry, leading her to establish the Michael Dunn Memorial Repertory Theater Company. Named after an Oscar nominated little person, the (now defunct) theater was composed of 16 fellow little people with the glorious mission statement "Become an actor and your world will get much bigger."

After stealing her scenes in Poltergeist, things certainly did for Zelda. She worked steadily from that point on and bravely used her growing fame to help bring awareness about the life-or-death importance of safe sex during the early days of the AIDS epidemic. Playing a kindly mother encouraging her gay son to use protection, Rubinstein appeared in print and television ads for L.A. Cares at the risk of putting her career in jeopardy. Looking at this from a 2012 perspective, it's hard to believe that just 30 years ago, actors could be unofficially blacklisted for speaking about the kind of issue that can now be recognized through simple red ribbons, but in 1984, becoming a spokesperson for such a then-controversial (and sadly still so, in different ignorant ways) issue could have been a career killer.

Zelda Rubinstein knew that. And it didn't matter. This woman who had faced the odds since birth with what some would've called a handicap was willing to risk her newly prominent reputation to illuminate an issue that she cared deeply about, and one that the whole world should've addressed sooner.

Despite what our cultural atmosphere wants us to believe, movie stars are not superheroes. They (sometimes) have a specific skill set paired with great luck and with those tools, they can give great performances or mumble through a script and sometimes, take everything that comes with it to make a difference. Zelda Rubinstein didn’t necessarily change the world, but she piped up in a time when others didn’t while also establishing herself as a formidable screen presence. These posthumous Golden Lifts won’t do much, but personally, I for one am glad to have learned a little more about a woman who was far more special than I ever realized.

Also, that dame could ROCK a sassy hat!

The Devil Wears Petite Prada

2012-02-25T14:09:00.000-05:00

Today’s entry into The Shortening is a bit of a surprise. Emily! You cry. There are no short things in The Phantom of the Opera. Some productions are keen to include Parisian rats or the occasional little person chorus member, but that’s not really enough to justify a room at the Doll’s House in this busy February season.

But break open the party room with a low ceiling! A birthday gift from my fella, this adaptation is probably best known as a Robert Englund vehicle but its very being and body count are actually inspired by Satan who--didntcha know, is a dwarf?

Quick Plot: In modern day--okay, 1989--New York City, a young opera student named Christine (Popcorn and more importantly, Babes In Toyland’s Jill Schoelen) finds a mysterious charred libretto to use at an audition for the Met (which apparently did open calls in the 80s?). As she begins the disharmonic chords of Don Juan Triumphant, Christine passes out and awakens as Christine Day, an American ingenue working for the Paris Opera House in 19th century France as the understudy to the diva soprano Carlotta.

Yup, you know the story by now. Christine is engaged to a boring but wealthy slab of handsome, but her heart and voice belong to an unseen vocal coach, that same unseen force who ‘haunts’ Box 5 and causes minor mayhem when his demands aren’t met by the theatre owner (BILL EFFIN' NIGHY!). Nothing new so far, except that the Phantom is played by Robert Englund somewhere between Dreammastering and Dreamchilding.

As Eric Destler, Englund’s face is a pointy quilt of human skin carefully sewn together. It’s a groovy look, one that works because it makes the Phantom actively unsettling. Even before Andrew Lloyd Webber, the Phantom always seemed to me far too romanticized a figure. Yes, he’s a cruel murderer, but he does it in the name of music and love (or to a more sidestepped degree, obsession). The audience generally forgives his crimes because a) he was a wronged man to begin with (either through nature or seedy bosses, depending on the details) and b) he makes really good work.

Easily the most interesting aspect of director Dwight H. (as in Halloween 4) Little’s adaptation is its portrayal of the Phantom, aka Eric. Unlike other tales that have Eric the victim of birth defects or burns and plagiarism, Englund’s Eric is not a nice man and really has only himself to blame.

Okay, himself and Dwarf Satan.

As a young composer in the making, Eric made a deal with Dwarf Satan to craft the perfect opera. The price? Sacrificing his face and body in such a way that no fan will ever throw her pantaloons at him. The upshot? Eric apparently develops superpowers that let him fight a gaggle of backalley bandits through knife throwing, whipping, head tearing, and teleportation.

That’s the main issue with The Phantom of the Opera: it doesn’t quite know what sort of mood it wants to maintain. The score and setting take us deep into classy old Par-ree, but Eric’s pretty ridiculous killing techniques and, sigh, Freddy Krueger-ish puns (“Consider yourself SUSPENDED!” which is, as you expect, snidely shouted at an ill-fated stagehand about to get SUSPENDED from the rafters) square us uncomfortably in a film that wants to stand firmly in the 1980s horror comfort zone.

Ultimately, The Phantom of the Opera saves itself by its final twenty or so minutes. The big showdown in Eric’s lair is genuinely dangerous, something a lot of other film versions have a hard time doing. I won’t spoil the coda, but as we get brought back to present day (oh yeah, cause remember that?) there’s an added sequence that while kind of silly if you actually think about any of it, isn’t to be found elsewhere.

High Points

Bill Nighy is in this movie. Granted, his role as the new owner of the opera house isn’t huge, but it does mean that we get to see Bill Nighy dressed to kill at a masquerade and more importantly, that BILL NIGHY IS IN THIS MOVIE

Considering the setting and subject matter, it’s important for any Phantom adaptation to put some effort into its music. Thankfully, Misha Segal’s score is grandiose enough to help boost the atmosphere that the visuals...

Low Points

...don’t quite nail. Perhaps I’m just comparing this version to Dario Argento’s dreadful but beautiful retread that came a decade later, but Little’s world just doesn’t look nearly as grand as I generally like to think of Paris opera houses

Lessons Learned

Ghosts do not skin their victims

How to film a flashback within a flashback? Make it foggier

Even in 19th century France, thugs attacked one at a time

In order to nab the lead soprano at the Metropolitan Opera, one need only sing a few bars and almost get killed by faulty stage decorations. (In other words, put yourself in a situation where you could sue for millions if you REALLY want that role)

Look! It’s...

A young and nerdy Molly Shannon as Christine’s modern day accompanist (see her all fogged out in the Blossom hat?)

Rent/Bury/Buy

I'm a sucker for Phantom adaptations, be they gaudy musicals or haunting monster tales. This Phantom, though far from perfect or even--let's face it--very good, has a lot of fun interpreting Gaston Lerox's novel for a late '80s audience. Englund is clearly enjoying himself by stretching outside of Elm Street, while Gerry O'Hara's screenplay hits all the expected beats while adding plenty of fresh Faustian touches. You know, like Dwarf Satan. They're just not making 'em like this these days...

Let Us ALL Welcome Our Insect Overlords

2012-02-24T07:42:00.003-05:00

What’s shorter than an ant? A flea I suppose, but fleas are dog-eating jerks without any redeeming factors (other than inspiring long ago plagues that can occasionally breed good film material).

But let’s get back to ants, those ubiquitous, hard-working, architecture-loving, slave-holding monarchists. When I put out the call for recommendations that suited The Shortening, I got some peachy picks. Today’s entry comes courtesy of Trever over at the fine film blog Kentucky Fried Popcorn, who pointed me towards 1974’s sci-fi oddball Phase IV.

Quick Plot: Something strange is happening in the cosmos, and though experts predicted everything from climate change to earthquakes, the only real effects seem to be felt in ant colonies. Our narrator explains how those six-legged soldiers of different species have been holding international conferences to communicate, something "ordinary ants" just don't do.

This might sound dry and scientific, and while much of Phase IV is, I shouldn't go any further before explaining how we actually see this unfold. Director Saul Bass (better known as a famed graphic designer who created title sequences for Psycho, The Man With the Golden Arm, and much more) works with actual nature footage to detail the development of the ants, with extreme closeups on a rainbow of little guys sitting in a circle and nodding their antennae at one another. It's kind of adorable.

Also, pretty darn impressive. It's impossible to watch Phase IV without wondering how some of the footage was gathered and when you see the massive ant army funeral complete with perfectly placed lines of tiny corpses surrounded by their mourners, you'll see what I mean. The biggest shame of Phase IV is that the film doesn't get a single DVD extra. Considering both the plot science and behind-the-scenes mystery, it's one of the most frustrating DVD releases I've seen in recent years.

But back to The empire of the ants! (but not, you know, The Empire of the Ants). Their behavior sparks the interest of one Dr. Ernest Hubbs (Nigel Davenport), an entomologist, and his mathematician assistant James (our narrator, played by Michael Murphy). The pair head to the Arizona desert to investigate from a big scary Epcot Center-like facility while southwestern ants build 2001-ish monoliths and eventually, drive a family out of their home.

The fleeing farmers find Hubbs' digs just as the scientists release a deadly pesticide into the air with the hopes of wiping out the approaching ants. All the humans--save for a pretty and bland young woman named Kendra--crumble to their death covered in a yellow dust.

Oddly enough, this doesn’t upset Kendra nearly as much as seeing her horse attacked by ants. Remember that ‘this’ refers to her family dying painfully from contaminated air released by the scientists she’s now bunking with, but you know...we’re all individuals.

Except the ants, who now seem to be operating under a hive mind. James is tasked with uncracking their code of communication while Hubbs becomes dangerously obsessed with their case, refusing to leave their not-so-secure bunker even after he’s bitten in a way that swells his fist into the size of volleyball. Kendra, meanwhile, walks around looking spooked until she has a mysterious conversation with a spunky escapee.

Said fugitive ant is, well, as awesome as an ant could be. We’re talking Honey I Shrunk the Kids awesome, only in a less “I’m Going To Help Children” way and more “Let’s Eff These Humans UP!” kind of style. The little ant that could--let’s call her Cindy, just cause--has some great adventures in the lab. While the menfolk are out doing scientific things like send a painful sound pitch over the desert, Cindy watches her big sister attempt to chew through the power cord only to be thwarted by a guard praying mantis.

Cindy, however, is a smart cookie (eater). The little lass succeeds in pulling the praying mantis onto a live wire, setting the security guardette on fire and silencing the signal.

Isn’t that cute?

Phase IV is a strange film, and I mean that in the best of ways. Although its premise and time should put it squarely in the Nature Fights Back subgenre, it’s far headier and more ambitious than something like the goofy (but amazing) Frogs or Day of the Animals. In fact, it’s far more appropriate to put it on a double bill with the similarly smarter-than-its-peers The Incredible Shrinking Man. Both films explore the relationship of man to his world, more specifically, how that relationship is altered when one of the two finds some sort of new awareness. Phase IV is actually more subtle about this, leaving most of the philosophical conclusions up to us. It’s pretty amazing how far some advanced micro-camerawork of the natural world coupled with an ethereal score can take the audience.

High Points

Though this might turn off some viewers, the lack of human melodrama helps to keep Phase IV’s tone pointedly clinical. Trust me, this is a good thing.

Low Points

Phase IV is such a strange experiment that apparently would have been even stranger if Bass had his stamp on the final cut. Word on the Internet Super Highway has it that Bass had originally planned a surreal montage to close things out, something that might have been gnarly but tragically, the lazy DVD release is bare bones of that or ANYTHING discussing this weird little gem

Lessons Learned

People get killed sometimes

The best kinds of games are serious

Ants are amazing creatures and we should do whatever they tell us. WHATEVER THEY TELL US!!!

Inevitable ‘I Am Seven’ Realization

“What does it mean? A circle...with a dot?” our hero wonders with full earnestness. Please excuse my second grade medical diagnosis that duh, dude's got a cootie shot

Rent/Bury/Buy

Phase IV is a different kind of film, a smart sci-fi with an ambitious script (by Mayo Simon) and genuinely unique approach. Some viewers might be put off by the film’s cold style, but I found it refreshingly different. The DVD nudity makes it more a rental than a buy, but raise six glasses with tiny arms to the hopes that it might eventually get its due treatment. Like a hard-working colonist eating poison for her queen, it deserves better.

Mickey Rooney Sends Your Kids To Cambodia

2012-02-22T07:51:00.000-05:00

Friends. Aren't they the best?

Especially when they come is such fantastical packages as Christine Makepeace, the cofounder and keeper of Paracinema Magazine. I know I've praised this publication before and will do so until I get dragged away to a resting home, but if you're new here, trust me when I say there is no cinema magazine out there quite as passionate, unique, and intelligent as this little shiner here.

But I digress. The reason I adore Ms. Makepeace today has nothing to do with her body of work and everything to do with the fact that for my karaoke spectacular birthday extravaganza, she not only rapped, but also gave me the Blu Ray for what might be my new co-favorite February film of all time (if Devil Times Five is willing to share, and I worry it's not).

Treasure Train or The Odyssey of the Pacific or The Emperor of Peru or The Craziest Kid's Film Ever is, to be frank, a feat of creativity, bravery, drugs, irresponsibility, imagination, insanity, and a whole lot of Mickey Rooney encouraging children to labor in abandoned mines and run away to Cambodia. Now while Rooney plays the innocently wacky old hermit in the film, his actions are actually fairly harmful to the well-being of the three rugrats he befriends. Hence, he's kind of---what's this!--a Vertically Challenged Villain.

I mean, not one who kidnaps women and blushes his cheeks a la The Manipulator, but still...

Quick Plot: Toby and Liz are a charming(?) pair of siblings living in Victorian Canada with their wealthy aunt and uncle who respectively spend the day playing with toy trains or drinking martinis. One day, they bring home Hoang, a Cambodian refugee orphan (you know...like on television?) who will be summering with them until his adoption. Hoang would rather be planning his marriage to his far away (probably dead) mother.

No, you didn't misread that. When asked who he would like to marry, the 9 or so year old Hoang answers, without missing a beat, "My mom." He justifies it easily enough: “She is really pretty. Her mouth is soft and so red you know.” In a flashback, we hear him telling her how he dreams of crawling back inside her tummy so she could “pretend I’m your pet dog or cat.” I know you'd like to think I'm joking but come on guys, I'm not that funny. The movie ends (spoiler, not really) which Hoang heading back to Cambodia (by train) to find her. And marry her. And make me all sorts of uncomfortable.

But wait, you don't even know if Hoang befriended his foster siblings! Well he does, mostly because while their adult guardians feast on delectable meat and expressive red wine, the kids are skirted off to a table filled with bowls of dry white rice. Because dry white rice is generally not an exciting lunch, the three proceed to have a violent but giggle-filled rice fight, charming their wealthy drunk overlords.

Now that they've bonded, Liz, Toby and Hoang embark on daily adventures into the woods. This gives Toby plenty of time to fantasize about all the famous jobs he will eventually have, from being a race car champion to world famous surgeon. In all these pretty amazing dream sequences, Toby completes amazing feats such as saving Miss Superwoman (lamer than she sounds) while riding a futuristic hot cycle, an adventure that should make him more famous than Bert & Ernie, Joan of Arc, Tarzan, Caesar, Mickey Mouse, and Popeye (the comparisons are really important to Toby).

Every time, director Fernando Arrabal cuts to stock stadium footage of roaring crowds. The really fantastic thing about these roaring crowds--aside from the fact that it might be the same stock footage often used in The Muppet Babies--is that if you look closely, you'll notice a good 33.333 repeating decimal point % of the extras are either not cheering, looking elsewhere, or clumsily trying to climb out of bleachers to presumably take a bathroom break.

Wait! I know I said that was the fantastic part, but I forgot something! Frederico!

Frederico is Toby's pet duck. Toby walks Frederico (who is his pet duck) on a leash and incorporates him in all his fantasies, which means we get to see a duck on a sports car sidecar. It's sort of like Ziggy on the second season of The Wire, but with less union corruption.

As great as Frederico is, he's not really the star of Treasure Train. That above-the-credits honor goes to Mickey Rooney, that 5'1 bundle of positive energy who can never be accused of not going for it. Rooney plays the (depending on your edition) titular Emperor of Peru, a retired train conductor (I think) now paralyzed below the legs (although those thighs do move when dancing) and living alone in the backwoods near an abandoned (and titular, depending on your edition) locomotive. The Emperor is about as crazy as The Manipulator, but with less kidnapping. He teaches the kids how trains work, mugs for the camera, and resists the local authorities attempts to move him to an old age home. Instead, The Emperor and his new subjects (aka children) move deeper into the woods where they meet three wandering clowns.

No, seriously.

The clowns don't do much for the story, although they do serve an important expository role of telling young Toby where to find coal for the train. Where does one find coal for a train? Why, an abandoned mine of course!

There are two things we need to address here:

1. The idea that screenwriters Arrabel and Roger Lemelin needed to find an economical solution to the kids finding the mine. So they decided to have another character tell them about it. But then found a storage chest filled with soiled clown clothes and figured, hey, why not have it be a trio of hobo clowns? So it is.

2. There's a line in the astoundingly awful Nutcracker: The Untold Story where a young girl confidently tells the animated doll that she cannot fly. To which the nutcracker replies "How can you know if you've never tried?" As my responsible boyfriend so often points out, THIS IS A TERRIBLE THING TO SAY IN A CHILDREN'S MOVIE. Because no children not related to the director actually saw The Nutcracker: The Untold Story, we never had to read about lawsuits involving young fans leaping out windows in the hopes of landing with the Sugar Plum Fairies.

Now Treasure Train--which is certainly worthy of being watched by elementary schoolers--doesn't commit quite a verbal crime, but having Mickey Rooney encourage 7-10-year-olds to crawl into an ABANDONED MINE in order to carry up coal is, I imagine, not the kind of example one would set for young ones.

There’s also a conversation between The Emperor and young Liz that goes as such:

Liz: I don’t smoke. It gives you cancer.

Emperor: That’s not true!

Bad enough, right? But it gets worse. The Emperor then convinces the children that it’s not smoking, but washing with soap and water that causes cancer.

Seriously.

But not to be too hard on Treasure Train, because it does make a valiant effort to detail the atrocities experienced by Cambodia in the early twentieth century. The fairly well-adjusted Hoang experiences the occasional flashback to his homeland, like when playing with the Tarot card for The Hanged Man, he recalls pirates jumping on his refugee ship, grabbing a fellow child by the feet, and dangling him in front of the other kids with the threat of “Give me your gold or I’ll kill him!” Better is my favorite understatement of all time, as Hoang asks his fiancee/mother about his father and she answers as such:

“He’s in a concentration camp. He’ll be fiiiiiiiiiiiine.”

There’s also the weird sexually charged speech The Emperor makes about trains. “You’ll get all of your smoke all over my instruments. And you’d put soot all over me.” Okay, in writing that out, I realize it doesn’t SOUND sexual, but when coupled with the come hither look in Mickey ROoney’s sparkling eyes...I’m just saying, I felt uncomfortable.

I cannot bother breaking this movie into high and low points, because from beginning to end, it is simply an assortment of weird and weirder (all of which I find wonderful but you know, that’s me). This is a movie that has Mickey Rooney lording over a court of little people and llamas. There’s almost nothing left to say after that.

About That Ending...

Spoilers, obviously, but WHAT JUST HAPPENED? So the kids get the train to run--and no, it's not a fantasy as I assumed it would be--and they RIDE AWAY. The Emperor decides to stay behind--we have no real idea why, but I suspect because he actually dies in the last shot.

Lessons Learned

In a multiple child house, it’s grades in piano lessons that determine who gets what bedroom

Never treat a model train the same way you would a flute

Just to reiterate, smoking does not give you cancer and it’s okay to gather coal from a long abandoned mine

Rent/Bury/Buy

Now restored by Odyssey Moving Images, Treasure Train--and yes, I've had to constantly edit myself to not write Terror Train--is a must-see for those who dig weird and obscure children's films. It was clearly modeled along the lines of Pippie Longstocking, but watching it today makes it feel almost akin to the infamous Mexican film Santa Claus, where Santa keeps children slaves who watch the world’s population via a 1984-esque computer spy network and Satan tries to lure poor kids into petty theft. This one will instead lure them down dangerous mines and lung cancer wards, but it’s done with a smile and really, isn’t that the best way to go?

Mill Creek Must See: Devil Times Five, aka Peopletoys (Seriously! PEOPLETOYS!)

2012-02-20T07:35:00.000-05:00

I have something to say, and it might not make you happy but here goes:

I’m mad at you.

All of you.

Specifically, any one of you readers who knew about Devil Times Five--also known by the far superior title Peopletoys--and didn’t tell me about it. (For the record, the one and only Wayne Kotke of Dead 2 Rights and Thomas D of Cinema Gonzo are excused from my vitriol.) This is a movie that features homicidal children, snow, the maid from Troop Beverly Hills, bear traps, kids in drag, farmer tanned naked buttocks, catfights, Boss Hog, and death by piranha.

People: I’m 30 years old. Do you know how many times I could’ve watched this movie by now had I known about it earlier?

I hate you all.

Quick Plot: While transferring five violently insane children, a schoolbus crashes on a snowy mountain road, releasing the preteen terrors upon a gaggle of very ‘70s adults doing some sort of work/vacation/drunk/surly/thing.

No seriously, I don’t really get it.

There’s the best named character of all time, Papa Doc, a wealthy but miserly grump with a sexy girlfriend named--not kidding--Lovely, who would rather be seducing the slow-witted caretaker Ralph.

And really, who wouldn't?

Lovely’s ex Rick is now dating Papa Doc’s daughter Julie, keeping the group closely connected in a rather weird way. Last is Dr. Harvey Beckman (Sorrell Brooke) and his hilariously alcoholic wife Ruth (Shelley Morrison).

I love movies with funny drunks. Well, to be clear, I love ‘70s movies with funny drunks. Especially when the other characters do nothing but roll their eyes at said lush’s antics or shout lines like “Listen you boozed up old broad!” It just makes life better.

Playing on the other team is a quintet of demons with various ticks. There’s Brian, the boy obsessed with military speak. Sister Hannah, a wannabe nun who would terrify my mother. Like any wacky sociopath, Susan loves fire and her little sister Moe, well, Moe is just odd. Leading the group is David (Leif Garrett), a competitive little jerk who doesn’t take kindly to losing, especially not to HARVEY BECKMAN!

After the kids fake a sob story to the adults about their accident, it doesn’t take too long for the killing to start. I should rephrase since the first murder goes on for about as long as Birth of a Nation. Perhaps that’s an exaggeration since Devil Times Five is only a 90 minute movie, but when everything happppppeeeeeennnnnnnnnns iiiiiiiiiinnnnnnnn slooooooowwwww moooooooosssssssshhhhhhhhhonnnnnnnnnnn, even a pitchfork stabbing, hammering, and beating over the head scored to the sounds of an angry giraffe getting a massage feels like eternity.

But hey, I can’t complain when we’ve still got a woman getting eaten by piranhas to enjoy! Not to mention the fact that even BEFORE the 9000 year killing, we got a random catfight complete with spy music and messy slapping. AFTERWARDS, we get axings, people set on fire, military booby traps, constant utterances of the words “Papa Doc,” and crazy stock 1950s UFO whistling to establish the fact that something is amiss.

It’s all so much more wonderful than these words here are possibly describing.

High Points

Everything. No really, everything

Low Points

Nothing. Nothing at all. This is perfection on your screen

Lessons Learned

Lousy maniac drivers don’t deserve medals

Continually telling a sour child that he chops wood like a little girl might not be the best way to not make him want to chop your head off

In tennis there is a term called ‘following through’

Bath Alert

“No, YOU sit here and relax! I’m going to go take a bath cause if I don’t, I’m never going to make it to morning.”

Ahh, the adorable naivety of a woman in a genre film who would dare to believe sitting in a tub wouldn’t kill her

The Winning Line

“Have you laid her?”

Yeah. She asked in that way.

Rent/Bury/Buy

Available on Mill Creek’s 50 Chilling Classics pack or streaming on youtube like many a fine public domain title, Devil Times Five is crammed from beginning to end with things designed to make me happy. The kids are genuine little monsters who take sadistic pleasure in torturing entertainingly unlikable grownups. It’s occasionally unnerving (I don’t want to die as a human snowman) but more often than not, cheesily wonderful. Whether credit goes to listed director Sean MacGregor or the mysteriously uncredited (except on IMDB) David Sheldon I don’t know, but everyone involved in Peopletoys deserves a cake. Or a medal. Or a loaded gun irresponsibly hung on a wall in a roomful of damaged children. Whatever your candy is, take it. You deserve it.

Addendum

On the night that I watched Devil Times Five, I woke up at 4:46 AM from a fairly awesome nightmare. It starred a young, skinny, and BLOND Delta Burke (although it looked more like Joan Collins circa I Don't Want To Be Born but everyone kept referring to her as Delta Burke, so the details of dreamland are hazy) as she ran through the woods to flee a horde of nasty little children. Like Devil Times Five, the kids were groovy. The details are foggy, but one key detail involved a bratty little blond picking up a chainsaw but resorting to using sticks when he realized how heavy that machinery was. See, even the DREAMS that happened after this movie were super.

Sour Lemons Have Sour Kids

2012-02-18T09:40:00.000-05:00

Remember how I justified my recommending The Crush for its one scene featuring Cary Elwes punching a 14-year-old Alicia Silverstone with all the might of Thor? I'm giong to spoil my review of the very mediocre Case 39 with the one reason worth watching it:

The little girl calls Renee Zellwegger Pumpkinhead.

True, it would have been more appropriate if sour lemons were also involved, but it was still enough to make me spit out my pumpkinhead latte.

Quick Plot: Emily (not me) is a dedicated social worker who becomes especially obsessed with her latest case, a 10 year old girl named Lily whose family seems...off. Not sexually abusive or alcoholic, just creepy and foreboding and oh yeah, the kind of people who decide to end parenting woes by stuffing their weird kid inside a lit oven.

CPS doesn’t generally let that one slip through the cracks.

As Lily’s folks head to the nuthouse, Emily decides to do what any responsible social worker would do and foster the little burn victim herself. All is peachy until another one of Emily’s cases--and a fellow member of Lily’s group therapy sessions--commits a horrendous crime after receiving a phone call...from Emily’s landline!

Case 39 was filmed way back in 2006. For the young ones in the audience, 2006 was apparently a time when every working professional relied on a home phone and answering machine, the latter of which is super useful for establishing character and plot exposition.

Sort of like how having your lead pick up an alarm clock is really useful for the director to then throw in the jump scare of having the alarm clock RING!

Or having Ian McShane (playing Emily’s detective pal) lean against a window at a crime scene while describing the grisly deed, only for a vicious doberman to leap at said window and snarl, just because...um...he heard Ian McShane tell a grisly tale and wanted to add an effective punch?

See, Case 39 is THAT kind of film, one where a slipping A-list actress is charged with looking worried while computer generated effects pixelate around her. Despite what many a horror fan may have said, it’s not really awful...just kind of dull. Zellwegger commits to looking confused and helpless with decent skill, while Bradley Cooper and the infinitely more interesting Ian McShane are good enough in supporting roles with (SPOILER ALERT) hilarious death scenes. But the film on a whole iszzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Underwhelming. Not bad enough to sit on a shelf for three years, but ultimately the kind of forgettable material that might better suit late night cable surfing.

High Points

For the first half hour or so, Case 39 is fairly promising as Lily’s creepy homelife and its effects unravel in front of us. Had the film sustained that strangeness, it may have actually been decent rather than relying on deep-voiced demon talk from a child actor with none of the grand intensity as Orphan’s Isabelle Furhman

Low Points

Let’s face it: Case 39 doesn’t really care about the actual mythology located within itself. We have no real idea why Lily is what she is, how she came to exist in this particular time or place, why she targets who she does, or you know, anything. I don’t need an overly complicated backstory or flashback or extraneous character narrating the tale, but you know, give your own villain something of worth

Lessons Learned

Best way to know that your child is evil? She cuts peas in half with a knife. Even Jerry Seinfeld would find that offensive

In case countless genre films haven’t taught you well enough, let me remind you that when a suspicious character asks you what your biggest fear is, answering truthfully will most likely lead to hornets buzzing out of your orifices

Deep demon voice: Does. Not. Work. Ever.

Rent/Bury/Buy

Eh, Case 39 isn’t the worst thing to come out of a movie theater but there’s little reason to tell you to watch it. As an instant watch, it’s an okay enough time killer that you’ll probably forget ever happened soon after viewing. In terms of its vertically challenged caliber, you’re far better off checking out that OTHER adoption-gone-wrong mainstream hit Orphan, which has far more zest than the tepid and timid Case 39. But hey, somewhere out there, I’m sure there’s someone with a thing for sour-faced blondes, contrived jump scares, and synthesized demon voices just waiting to love this movie. I am no one to judge.

They're Small AND Icky

2012-02-16T22:59:00.000-05:00

After the mind-blowing awesome that was the mind-blowingly terrible Pieces, there was no way in the underworld I would pass up the Instant Watch convenience of director J.P. Simon’s Slugs.

Considering all the wonderful things Pieces director J.P. Simon was able to do with a gory slasher (among them: chainsaws and kung fu) you can imagine my excitement when I learned that master of cinema had made something for The Shortening, a legendary creature feature about…

Say it with me: SLUGS!

Quick Plot: A small American town is experiencing some oddities, from a pair of teens dying on a lake to an old man being discovered with his face eaten off and most entertainingly, a yuppie closing a business deal in a posh restaurant exploding from the inside out as li’l mealy worms cover what used to be his head. Thanks to the heroism of local health inspector Mike Brady (seriously) and his teacher/gardener wife, the culprits are found:

SLUGS! Big black SLUGS! They crawl…

Slowly.

They bite…

When you put your finger right up to their mouths.

They eat…

Lettuce.

When you slap at them gently with a kitchen pan…

They die.

But you know, round up a ton of them, lay them on your parents’ bedroom floor and you can bet your boyfriend’s letterman jacket that your naked body is going to be their supper.

Like Pieces, Slugs is not a good film. Like Pieces, it IS a good time.

First of all, it’s about slugs (you probably figured that out from the title). Now I’m not innocent of coming home late to discover a brown glob on the stoop and say “Ew, a slug.” As bugs or mollusks or whatever they are go, there’s something innately disgusting about slugs. I’d probably make a pained face if I could one crawling on my leg and would certainly write to the health department if I found one in my salad. But you know, as monsters go, slugs are, well, let’s brainstorm words we associate with slug:

Slow.

Small.

Gooey.

Slow.

Sluggish.

Slow.

You get my point. The slugs of Slugs are mutant slugs, so that makes them more fierce but still: open a canister of Morton salt and I’m pretty sure you’ll be safe.

We can forgive Slugs such follies when the film hosts brilliant dialogue as such:

(upon discovering a couple has been killed) “Ah geez. They were nice people! I liked them a lot!”

The token resistant authority figure in dismissing the heroic health department supervisor: “You ain’t got the authority to declare happy birthday!”

And an alcoholic character admitting her problem to her husband in the most casual of ways:

“I’m sorry for being a bitch so much of the time.”

“The real problem is—“

“My drinking. I know. Maybe I should see someone about it?”

Subplot solved! Until her husband’s innards are eaten inside out due to the slug-spiked salad he had earlier consumed. If that doesn’t drive you back to the sauce, you are a superhero.

High Points

As with Pieces, there’s no fault in Simon’s skill and spare-nothing attitude when it comes to gore. Between slug explosions and eye socket tetherball that would put Eli Roth to shame, Slugs brings the gore in full force

Low Points

Unless Pieces, Slugs just didn’t quite hold me with the same giddy fervor. Perhaps the final act has too much administrative conflict when really, we just want to see people get slugged

Fashion Show!

Between Mrs. Brady’s out of this world purple hologram striped thingy (with PEARLS!) and a teen character’s curled mullet, Slugs is oozing with ‘80s style

Odd Homage

Okay, I doubt Simon was trying to reference Roman Polanski, but I SWEAR that angry jazz score that played as the film’s ill-fated gardener chopped off his own hands due to sluggings was used in Repulsion

Lessons Learned

What would old men say about their daughters sleeping with burnouts? They probably have cows, that’s what!

If your husband embarks on a dangerous mission and leaves you with the words “when I get back, how about we get naked and crazy?” you can bet your mumu that you will never see him alive again

When fleeing your would-be rapist, always consider the alternative to being a victim of sexual assault. In this case, said alternative is getting eaten alive by mutant slugs. No man can take that choice away from you

Rent/Bury/Buy

Slugs isn’t quite on par with the silly wonder of Pieces, but it remains a cheerily bad good time from the ‘80s. If you have 90 minutes and Netflix Instant, I can’t think of TOO many better ways to spend your time. I suppose options could include eating Cheetos, playing laser pointer with your cat, or doing your taxes but really, all these things and more could be accomplished while watching Slugs. So don’t be SLUGGISH about it.

Sometimes my inner Crypt Keeper just can’t be silenced.

I Wish the Goblin Things Would Take You Away

2012-02-15T07:52:00.000-05:00

Before I even dare to discuss Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark, allow me to describe the episode of Law & Order: SVU that the lead child actress Bailee Madison guest starred on. Madison plays a girl named McKenzie who runs away from her adoptive mother Joan Cusack to catch a train at Grand Central with someone the cops initially assume to be a child molester (played by the sexy Scott Henry Ian Cusick, who SPOILER ALERT two episodes later turns out indeed to be a child molester) only to discover McKenzie was actually meeting up with her former foster brother to escape crazy Joan Cusack who’s gone off the deep end ever since her first daughter went missing on an upstate camping trip and since adopted McKenzie to recreate her birth child, complete with a hair dye and nose job. You’re still with me, right? We’re only halfway there. Because now the detectives are convinced Joan Cusack is KARAZEE and decide to investigate her for the DEATH of her first daughter. Some poking and prodding (including at a Thai massage parlor where a former underage porn star works) leads them back upstate where they discover that the first kid WAS INDEED kidnapped by a backwoods mountain man who made the kid his slave wife. The shivering shell of a woman gets reunited with a still-crying Joan Cusack at the end, the forgotten adopted daughter silently nods at Olivia, and Dick Wolf’s name comes up to the sound of a gavel).

Now what was I talking about again?

Quick Plot: Sometime 100 years ago or so, a desperate man yanks his maid's teeth out as an offering to something mysterious in his basement that has apparently taken his son. The donation doesn't get the desired result.

Flashing forward to the present, 10-year-old Sally is moving to that same lordly estate with her estranged architect dad Alex (Memento's Guy Pearce) and his art historian girlfriend Kim (Mousy Holmes). It doesn't take long for Sally to discover they're not alone, as mysterious voices call out to her from behind the bolted basement ash door in a playful whisper.

Surely they mean no harm! Yes, they got naughty with Kim's fancy dresses but for the lonely depressed-in-the-making Sally, these things seem like possible fairy friends...until they stab the house's caretaker in the back with scissors and proceed to torment the poor girl whenever the lights go out.

You’re wondering what the villains look like I assume. Appropriately short, or else they wouldn’t be invited to The Shortening. They’re gray little bat things with glowing eyes or, if it helps, the spitting image of the goblin from Goblin -

but with big ungainly hunchbacks --

and shrunk down to the size of Barbie dolls.

It's a problem, because for a good deal of its buildup, Don't Be Afraid of the Dark does a decent job at being scary. "Her name is Salllllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyy," whisper the creatures in a fairly unsettling tone. It's not until we--and Salllllllllyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy--catch a glimpse of the rugrats in their full CGI glory that we say 'eh, that's pretty stupid.'

In fairness, one of the films that terrified me the most as a child--and fine, still kind of does--is Stephen King's Cat's Eye. Putting aside the first two 'grownup' segments, it's the third story starring Drew Barrymore as an innocent child TORMENTED by an ugly gray goblin living in her bedroom that always made me hug my Pound Puppy. In part it's Barrymore's performance and the idea that a little kid could be put in such danger. The design of the villainous troll has certainly aged by 21st century standards, but a recent rewatch made me no less unnerved. It's the pure ugliness of the creature (wearing a ragged jester's cap no less!) that made me believe--then and now--that this thing liked to murder innocents in their beds.

The problem with Don't Be Afraid of the Dark is that the 'things' to be afraid of are, plain and simple, executed poorly. The idea is fine, with them resembling a cross between emaciated humans, vampire bats, and mothballs, but when pixelated and thrown in closeup, they look SyFy Channel ready. I understand the physical and financial limits of puppetry. But I also understand the basic fact that building your horror movie around something that is supposed to be horrifying then delivering something from an early 1995 draft of a failed PBS kids show set in Gollum's day care center is generally not the way to make your audience happy.

And another thing about Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark: it’s not the worst genre film to enter theaters last year. But 10 hours after watching it, as I sit here and type out a review, I kind of can’t believe how many little problems it has overall. I submit:

-An early scene where Sally is trying to convince the adults that there are creatures behind the ash door. Dad bends down to investigate. Director Troy Nixey’s camera gives us a sexy shot of Guy Pearce’s earlobe as still-mysterious tiny hands slide a sharp poker through the door’s slits, aiming it straight at the part of Guy Pearce’s body that would hear even the slightest beat. Of course he stands up just before the spear could stab him to triumphantly announce “I don’t hear anything.”

Which would be fine if the movie’s soundtrack didn’t BLAST the scraping sound of the poker sliding over metal. WE heard it, and our EARLOBES weren’t aimed DIRECTLY AT the SOUND.

-Why is the fairly useless housekeeper an old British woman? Is it because a) they liked that actress b) they thought it added to the atmosphere or c) the filmmaker forgot that he was making a movie about a haunted New England home and decided to honor Old England?

-Any time a character hears another--often a child--SCREAMING FOR DEAR LIFE just a few rooms away, said character (usually an adult) reacts as such:

1. Stops

2. Tenses up

3. Looks around towards the source of noise

4. Opens mouth

5. Widens eyes

6. Sprints towards the action

Now I’ve never had to save anyone from carnivorous goblin people, but I’m going to make a bold assumption and say you can generally skip steps 1-5

-The world’s most helpful librarian explains plenty of useful exposition to Kim, including the fact that these nasty creatures have to feed on ONE body to keep them warm and toasty until the next time they emerge. But judging by the first scene, these dudes have a pretty intense appetite that isn’t sated by devouring the artist’s child. Yet SPOILER ALERT by the end of the film, the things have presumably made a Thanksgiving feast out of rail thin and buttless Katie Holmes and seem content to hang out downstairs until the next tenant. Consistency please?

That's the kind of film this is. When watching it, there are sparks of intrigue. Then you apply the slightest sense of logic and realize that just about nothing in the film works.

Except for the fact that it’s about creepy little things and thereby a supporter of The Shortening!

High Points

Considering my recent issues with modern genre cinema’s obvious choices in sound design, I have to give credit to Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark’s first major jump scare. You probably saw the leadup in the trailer, as Sally slowly unfurls her bedsheet to see what’s nipping at her feet. Most films made today would tell us the EXACT moment of reveal with a soundtrack crescendo, but this one is smart enough to catch us off guard. Even if the payoff is a tad underwhelming (Hunchback Goblin Barbie didn’t do much for me), the execution of the scene is smart

Low Points

The fact that nobody in the movie seems to have the common sense to turn the lights on

Lessons Learned

Things that won’t endear you to your prospective stepdaughter: talking teddy bears, scone baking

Drawing is easy

Either people in movies are really vulnerable to the effects of falling down the stairs or I am a superwoman. Do you KNOW how many times I’ve tumbled down or up steps? Do you KNOW how many times I’ve passed out or died from doing so? In 30 years, the answer thus far is zero.

Terrible Parenting Alert

Poor Bailee Madison can’t catch a break with her cinematic parents. After Joan Cusack’s near brainwashing, the kid has to deal with Guy Pearce’s apathetic fathering and worse, Katie Holmes overeager stepmother-to-be incompetence. My favorite example of such involves Sally falling asleep on the grownups’ bed--because she is terrified of being eaten--Katie Holmes waking up and CARRYING THE TERRIFIED KID BACK TO HER OWN ROOM. Poor unloved Sally wakes up to plead with Kim not to leave her, which Kim kindly promises. Once the kid is out, Kim stands up, smiles, throws the god awful talking teddy bear under the covers with Sally (who has already expressed hating the stupid thing) and LEAVES THE KID TO BE ATTACKED BY CARNIVOROUS MONSTERS. I know kids say the darndest things, but when they’re paralyzed by fear, can’t you just humor them for a night?

Rent/Bury/Buy

As flawed a film as I think Don’t Be Afraid of the Dark is, I still didn’t necessarily hate it. The house looks terrific and the idea of vertically challenged goblins eating children’s teeth kept me entertained enough for a good deal of its running time. I can’t recommend it to the kind of genre fan who’s bothered by logic holes and cruddy CGI. I don’t really recommend it to anyone, but I think there are those with a more forgiving attitude towards modern theatrical horror (if you exist) that will find it more enjoyable than some other mainstream releases. Or not.

Crushing On Valentine's Day With LoLicia Silverstone

2012-02-14T07:14:00.001-05:00

Sometimes, all it takes is one scene--nay, 11 seconds--to transform a film from forgettable to mind blowing. In support of this statement, I give you--minor spoilers--the climax of 1993’s The Crush:

Sold, right?

Quick Plot: A sometimes American-sounding Cary Elwes plays Nick, a researcher and hack writer for a tabloid who moves to a sunny town to rent a house from a well-off family that includes the precocious Adrienne, a 14-year old Lolita so aware of her Lolita-ness that she introduces herself in short denim jeans and an iconic sunglass tilt.

Before you can say fatal attraction, Adrienne is seductively leaning on walls in a way that makes her Aerosmith video hair look positively scandalous, much to the discomfort of Nick as he tries to woo his coworker (Bad Dreams’ Jennifer Rubin) and keep his job. Also in the way is Amber Benson (yes, Willow’s girlfriend Tara) as a suspicious pal of Adrienne and Adrienne’s tough guy dad who establishes himself as a tough guy by there fact that he’s played by Kurtwood Smith.

Of course, the fact that dad Kurtwood Smith keeps a working carousel up in his attic hampers his badassness slightly, but without said carousel, we wouldn’t have the aforementioned amazing climax.

So really, how can you complain?

The Crush is a shining example of 90s era trash cinema, making up for its lack of gore by instead cramming in ickily inappropriate sleaze. This is the kind of movie that has a 14-year-old Silverstone explain why she doesn’t like carousels with the pointed line “I ride real horses now,” and note she says this to her dad and titular crush with all the subtlety of Nomi Malone at the gynecologist.

High Points

In her film and Shortening debut, Silverstone shows plenty of moxie (plus a huge skill at flipping her hair and sulking)

Low Points

Look, I appreciate the Dread Pirate Roberts as much as any child of the ‘80s, but there’s virtually nothing about Nick to make for a good online dating profile, much less focus of obsession for a beautiful and talented teenager like Adrienne

Lessons Learned

Wasps are social AND territorial (come to think of it, so are WASPs)

In the 1990s, real men wore pink dress shirts

Classy barbeques involve marshmallows and wine

Rent/Bury/Buy

As 90s nostalgia gets tastier with age, The Crush is a film that can make you giggle based almost solely on its time stamp. Trashy as a PG13 rating can allow, the movie isn’t by any means good, but it embraces its ridiculousness all the way through its foreshadowed wasp attack and heavy carousel creepily circling in an attic with a pull-down ladder. And no, there is no explanation for how exactly one moves a working carousel into an attic with a pull-down ladder (perhaps it’s some sort of growable carousel?) but that in itself makes The Crush the cheese sandwich that can satisfy any craving.

Because Evil Fetuses Are Short Too

2012-02-12T20:59:00.000-05:00

Jennifer Aniston may have started her career throwing four leafed clovers at leprechauns, but where in that 1991 debut do you see the Emmy winner eating human hearts, talking to herself in a baby voice, rubbing her breasts with savage aggression, making out with her best female friend, peeing green goo on the chest of an albino, or having sex so furiously that she actually chafes her partner's penis off?

Also, Allison Brie's hair is WAY better.

Quick Plot: Stop me if you’ve heard this one: a burly man wearing sunglasses enters a psychiatrist’s office only to find an alum from No Holds Barred. No matter.

The burly sunglassed dude hands her a gun and introduces himself as a demon with a bit of a problem. See, Satan has let him have the chance at humanity again, but in order to do so, he has to, and I quote, “knock up my sister, force her to kill six people during the pregnancy and give birth to my demon kid.”

And Dr. Melfi thought she had problems.

The demon in question is played (terribly) by none other than Kane Hodder, who, like the rest of the cast, has the unfortunate task of acting beside Allison Brie. Brie--best known to most as Trudy Campbell on Mad Men or Community’s Annie--gives one of the most energetic performances in an unworthy film since Faye Dunway warmed up her wire hanger swings in Mommie Dearest.

Brie plays Mary Elizabeth, a virginal nice girl mourning the recent death of her mother only to be wind-inseminated (winseminated?) at her stormy funeral. The next day, Mary Elizabeth awakens to find her belly round, sense of smell keen, and morning sickness pukey. After her older spinstery sister (played by Pet Sematary’s Denise Crosby, still with a bad haircut) gives her a People Under the Stairs style non-bubble bath, the family (plus doctor dad, slutty blond room renter, and the recently hired albino handyman) decide to keep the maybe immaculate conception secret. Unbenownst to them, an ex-mercenery turned priest (?!, yup) is also fully aware and instructed by his superior--played by, um Kane Hodder in a cardinal's robe and sun tanner's sunglasses--to save humanity when Mary Elizabeth goes into labor.

Along the way, Mary Elizabeth finds herself possessed by her demon fetus. What, you ask, does being possessed by one's demon fetus actually entail? Talking in baby voice (obviously), having sex with your roommate's German boytoy (duh), and ripping out the hearts of a few unfortunate passerbys (or German boytoys) and eating them with the relish of bad pizza dipped in good relish (it's delicious). All these actions are supposed to slowly revive her big brother to his human form which one would hope means he would TAKE OFF HIS SUNGLASSES ALREADY. Instead, it leads to more conversing with Joan Severance's therapist and committed insanity by Allison Brie.

Born, as you might guess, isn't a dull film. In fact, it tries incredibly hard with the might of an overachiever (sort of like Annie on Community, come to think of it...) to be as wacky as it can, something that typically results in more exhaustion than quality.

This is no exception.

You can definitely see that director Richard Friedman wanted to approach Alex D’Lerma’s script with confidence and quirk. The fact that virtually all the side characters have their own weird little twists is certainly interesting, but when their oddities are thrust in our faces atop an already forced storyline complete with CGI demon baby, nothing sticks. Example: Kane Hodder shouts “Push bitch, push!” as his sister goes into labor on a floor filled with decapitated heads screaming in support and two nude blond twins stand by looking bored.

I know how they feel.

High Points

Brie, all the way

Low Points

Though the DVD extra tries to convince us that Born is a black comedy, the movie itself never seems to be in on the joke

Lessons Learned

Going to a club when pregnant will help your child’s techno dance skills later in life

It’s a well-known fact that 99% of albinos are born with the same gene that causes homosexuality. Duh.

When in doubt, insult someone by calling them a Nazi

Satan’s most valuable pain giver tortures people in the most horrifying manner imaginable: through tasers

Rent/Bury/Buy

I didn’t enjoy Born, a fact that I almost feel guilty about considering how hard the film seemed to work (I base this on the overly informative making-of featurette included on the DVD). It’s wacky for the sake of wacky, a style I generally find as annoying as cell phones during a movie or people who won’t try exotic food when it’s offered. Born tries too hard, but unfortunately for itself, it doesn’t try nearly as hard as its deserves-much-better star.

Ah well. I suppose Ms. Brie could take some comfort in knowing she’s not in Are You Scared 2, which apparently exists and is advertised on the Born DVD. Thank Hodder for small favors...