Somnopolis

So we finally have a full trailer to the sequel to Lisberger’s pioneering 1982 cult flick.

Problem is, as I have said before, not many people went to see the original picture. And to be honest, with this sequel focusing on Hedlund’s youthful Flynn jnr, one of the main attractions of Tron is absent for the most part, namely Jeff Bridges himself.

For all its dated effects, the main appeal of Tron to me as a child was the character of Flynn. A mischievous computer whizz who is transported into a virtual universe of lightcycles, dayglo storm troopers and a giant head called the MCP. Bridges’ performance underlined the absurdity of the story, but also made the experience far more enjoyable.

When I watched this film for the first time (and then insisted on bringing the video tape round to my neighbours’ houses to force the other kids on my estate to do the same) I felt confused that the supposed hero, Tron himself, is barely in the film. Boxleitner, bless him, plays the role as it is written. A square-jawed hero who fights for justice.

But Flynn is the protagonist, a ‘User’, transported into this gameworld and viewed by the inhabitants as something like a god. This is also a fine joke – Jeff Bridges as the Almighty? He exhibits his divine abilities accidentally for the most part, or with a rueful grin. Tron as such not only anticipates the advances in cinematic CGI, but also the insular mindset of gaming culture. Flynn’s skills with arcade games, as well as his programmer abilities, stand him in good stead in the Tronverse.

Basically this film was the ultimate fantasy of 80’s gamer nerds. Now like all things nostalgic, it has returned with a sequel for us thirty-something fans. The nerds have taken over the asylum, or more accurately Disney. Lisberger is on board as producer, with Bridges and Boxleitner in tow to ensure fanboy goodwill.

But wait, what’s this? Garrett Hedlund (think James Franco, but with more muscle mass) plays Sam Flynn, who discovers the same device that transported his father into the Tronverse and then is himself digitized. Seems Flynn returned 25 years ago (although time passes much faster for the virtual inhabitants, which explains the line in the trailer) and soon Sam is off on a quest to find his father. Ho and hum. Sidelining Bridges loses half the appeal for me right away. Although the first teaser hinted that our erstwhile hero has become a more sinister figure, which could prove interesting. The film is also being released in 3D to capitalize on the success of Avatar.

While I don’t want to pretend the original cult flick was a masterpiece, it was a smart B-movie that made in-roads into CGI effects and introduced audiences to the concept of virtual reality. It was a damn sight better than The Lawnmower Man. The sequel looks to be a cash-in on the cult appeal of the original, a mixture of nostalgia and a by-the-numbers plot. I would love to be proved wrong, but I doubt Hedlund has the picaresque charm of a young (or indeed current) Jeff Bridges.

I recently watched the Nostalgia Critic’s Top 11 Villains songs piece and found it disappointing. I think in the main it’s because I agree with his statement that the villain generally gets the best tunes. To me though they should be show-stoppers, or slyly humourous, letting audiences in on the secret that sometimes it’s good to be bad.

Disney has come up with some classic villains and I note that the Nostalgic Critic has focused on them. I have chosen more life-action examples. Also I have stuck to songs from films, which rules out The Mighty Boosh’s Hitcher and Dr Horrible’s Singalong Blog.  So while any of these lists are subjective, the songs below are in my opinion some of the more enjoyable examples of vilainous ditties.

Why did I choose only nine? Because I just couldn’t be bothered

The Return of Captain Invincible is a superhero film with a difference. Starring Alan Arkin as an alcoholic superman and Christopher Lee as the villain (of course), this is also a musical in the vein of Rocky Horror. In this scene Lee sings Choose Your Poison, breaking the morale of the vulnerable hero at the climax of the film.

Gremlins 2 is Joe Dante’s lovesong to Warner Brothers cartoons,  a life-action pastiche of Chuck Jones inspired mayhem. The director was given carte blanche to reinvent his own original movie, as the studio in question were unable to produce a suitable sequel. And he returned to them a script that featured this little number.

Baz Luhrman’s Moulin Rouge is more than a musical. It’s a camp pop medley that segues from one ballad to another from moment to moment. What makes it for me is the evident commitment from the performers on screen. Who knew Jim Broadbent could look so good wrapped in a shawl pouting at the camera? Ok…maybe not, but it was a surprise! This take on Madonna’s Like A Virgin moves from Broadbent wildly improvising to mollify the Duke, to a full-blown song and dance number that ends with the villain morphing into Bela Lugosi right before our eyes. Great fun.

Disney’s Beauty and the Beast owes a lot to Jean Cocteau’s original film. Yet the surrealist classic doesn’t feature crowd pleasing songs. Here the villain Gaston, loosely modelled on Jean Marais, whips up a mob with fear of the Beast.

Could this be the best David Bowie music video? Well it’s better than Absolute Beginners anyway. Also a neat tribute to M. C. Escher.

Now as I’m avoiding the Nostalgia Critic’s choices, it seems odd to choose the same film. But honestly while Steve Martin gets the laughs as the dentist, Audrey II’s cry of ‘Feed Me Seymour’ beats it hands down. The Little Shop of Horrors – It’s just as much fun as you remember.

Matt Stone and Trey Parker have joked that their inspiration for this song from Team America was the hope that it would get an Oscar nomination and maybe inspire reclusive dictator and film fanatic Kim Jong Il to sing it himself at the ceremony. Not bloody likely.

The Southpark boys once more. Doing what Milton couldn’t do for people who were unable to finish Paradise Lost…make Satan sympathetic.

Ron Moody’s Fagin in the 1968 film production of Oliver! also gives us a sympathetic villain. A man who uses child pick-pockets and lives off the proceeds of their crimes. And yet you still like him somehow.

Director and writer Michael J. Bassett’s film of Solomon Kane has been seen and enjoyed. Part Hammer pastiche (in the model of Captain Kronos Vampire Hunter), part sincere update of Robert E. Howard’s pulp creation for modern audiences. It’s all lovingly presented on screen. Even the grime feels authentic and the actors wade through the purple prose as if their lives depended on it. There is a welcome lack of cynicism in this genre film, something unfortunately of a rarity these days. With an admirable level of detail (there are nods to the Puritanical movement and their escape to America; the English navy rules the waves, but the poor at home are impoverished and have dental hygiene issues; lonely corpses hanging from tree branches) this thankfully is not Van Helsing 2.

The Guardian review criticised the film for sticking to the over familiar ‘origins’ form. Personally I disagree. Given the lack of familiarity with Howard’s character, I think Bassett was correct to establish just where this Devonshire Puritan who is handy with a blade came from. FilmBuffOnline has a summation of the character’s journey from pulp novel to screen, which I am much indebted to.

Bassett happily does not condescend Howard’s hero by introducing sceptical notes as to his religious faith. Beginning in ‘darkest Africa’, evil is immediately shown to be a positive force in this story. The devil exists and immortal souls can be traded as currency. Encountering a creature known as The Devil’s Reaper during a ransack of a Moorish fortress, Kane just manages to escape physically and spiritually intact. The reason for his later fierce repentance is made clear in these early scenes. He is shown to delight in violence and death, smiling maliciously as he cuts down the defenders of the fortress.  When the demon tells him his soul is damned, Kane instantly responds that God will protect him. In this universe religion is not a matter of faith. Demons, vampires, sorcerers and witches are quite real. Belief in God is a talisman that the weak in body depend on.

Traumatized by the knowledge that the Devil is pursuing him, Kane tattoos himself with holy symbols and hides in a monastery. The monks eventually kick him out of the order, as his presence is like a giant cthonic neon sign that reads ‘DINNER!’ Offering cold comfort the head of the monastery advises him to ‘find his destiny’.  Bassett then allows Kane to discover another method of being a ‘man of god’. One that thankfully allows him to sever limbs.

After he meets the kindly Crowthorn family, fellow Puritans fleeing bigotry in England for America, Kane contemplates the settled life. Pete Postlethwaite and Alice Krige do fine work here as Mom and Pop Crowthorn, with daughter Meredith played by Wendy Darling from P.J. Hogan’s excellent Peter Pan (Rachel Hurd Wood). The Crowthorns offer Kane some small hope of a normal life and he sets about trying to protect them from the sudden rise in raiders abroad in the countryside. Little does he realize these marauding thugs are actually an organized army of demonically possessed warriors and following an encounter with a shape shifting witch, Meredith Crowthorn is marked by the evil sorceror Malachi (Jason Flemyng).

This draws the attention of the Masked Rider who leads the army sweeping the countryside. The Crowthorns are attacked and Meredith kidnapped. Kane is promised redemption if he succeeds in rescuing the girl from Malachi. This new purpose dislodges our hero’s funk and allows him to make use of those fighting skills (presumably learned by actor James Purefoy for his ill-fated casting in V for Vendetta).

Mention should be made of Purefoy’s efforts in the lead role. There was a danger, given his slight resemblance to Hugh Jackman, that audiences would once again think they are watching a prequel to Van Helsing. Purefoy’s efforts thankfully dispel any such notions. He gives the character a welcome injection of stoic humour, something of a relief after the legions of grim-faced vigilantes swamping the multiplexes of late (I’m looking at you Batman/Rorschach etc.). He also ably shares the screen with Postlethwaite and Max von Sydow, complimenting their performances. As I have said above, what I find most interesting about this film is the sincerity in its acting and writing, which combine to draw the audience into a story of devilry and swordplay. While there is a hint of the pantomime in Jason Flemyng’s Malachi – at one point he pounces on an innocent maiden with the relish of a moustache twirling villain – he never mugs for the camera in the style to which audiences have become accustomed. When the de rigueur CGI monster enters the fray it feels like a let-down. The flesh and blood actors have already done such a fine job of engaging the plot, that the Painkiller boss-fight is out of place in this surprisingly character-driven fantasy picture.

So a heart-felt genre picture that rescues Robert E. Howard’s canon from the steroidal musculature of the Governator. Bravo.

Nylithia’s Myspace page.

Sounds very promising. Firstly I hope the period setting restrains the more excitable instincts of contemporary film-makers where the supernatural is concerned. You’re stuck on a boat with an undead Transylvanian lord who looks decripid and ancient. Shoot the film accordingly.

Secondly, well, I hope at the very least it’s better than that Angel episode set on a sub.

Rather than repeatedly remake the same Dracula film over and over, I prefer this approach. Pick the sequences from the novel that happened ‘off-page’, as it were. I wonder if the film was inspired by the play Curse of the Demeter?

With thanks to Ragnarfan

Source: The Hollywood Reporter

“The Last Voyage of the Demeter” may set sail with director Stefan Ruzowitzky, who helmed the Oscar-winning foreign film “The Counterfeiters.” Ruzowitzky is in negotiations with Phoenix Pictures, and would work from a script by Bragi Schut, the writer of the upcoming Nicolas Cage horror movie “Season of the Witch.” The ship Russian ship Demeter appeared in Bram Stoker’s classic 1897 tale “Dracula.” In that novel, the Demeter washes up on the shore of Whitby, England, during a fierce storm after transporting Dracula from Transylvania. Only one crew member survives, but he collapses into insanity. The ship’s voyage will take center stage in the film, with the crew locked in a desperate struggle to survive as their mysterious passenger hunts them. Mike Medavoy, Arnold Messer and Bradley Fischer of “Shutter Island” fame will produce.

Thomas Pynchon’s latest comes quick on the heels of Against the Day and clocking in under five hundred pages is doubly surprising for this is an author who has vanished for years at a time, only for a large opus to suddenly appear every odd decade.  Like Salinger, or Terrence Malick he is seen as an eccentric recluse, whose output can divide readers between those who find him incomprehensible, or a revelation.

I confess I find his books to be a struggle sometimes. Characters and locations sidle up to the reader without warning, as Pynchon’s sentences are long flowing threads that need to be concentrated on. Nothing can be taken for granted as the goal is not so much ease of comprehension, but taking the literary form to strange new places.

So Gravity’s Rainbow ends in a Cabalist fugue, while Inherent Vice introduces us to the stoned thought patterns of Doc Sportello, whose every utterance is a minefield of question marks. Pynchon may give readers the impression of resorting to automatic writing on occasion, but there is a disciplined confusion of form and style here.

As I have said here before, this book reminds me of The Big Lebowski and The Long Goodbye. Both films took the model of a Raymond Chandler story and then aerated the claustrophobic noir form with the breezy indolence of post-loved up LA. Doc has a lot in common with the Dude, his stoned amicability allowing him to cruise into danger and blithely ignore the threats of powerful men. His way of life is a thorn in the side of ‘straight’ culture, as he appears to have found a neat middle-ground between the compromises of selling out and the naive hedonism of hippies.

While the Coens parodied Marlowe with the Dude, an unemployed bowler discussing the case of the Big Lebowski as if he has become convinced he is an actual PI – Doc Sportello has a detective’s licence and a reputation as a man who can be trusted to get the job done. Often pro bono. He even has a contact in the LAPD – Bigfoot Bjornsen – although the Swedish giant is just as likely to be Doc’s torturer as ally. The grudging respect between the two thankfully never devolves into the stereotypical ‘buddy up’, model of Hollywood. Doc is under no illusions. LA is haunted by the dual phantoms of the Watts riots and Charles Manson. He and his ‘kind’, are hated by the police and the feeling is more than mutual. Mention is made of the Mod Squad, the show that argued it was cool to be a narc. Doc is wise enough to bite the hand that feeds him.

The cover jacket blurb to Inherent Vice mentions that this is a departure for Pynchon, his own take on the detective novel. The plot does contain the usual tropes. Doc is hired to investigate two cases that are related. He finds himself caught in the middle of a massive conspiracy involving sex, drugs and real estate. Even the old standard of the femme fatale enters the proceedings, his ex Shasta who hires him to look into what soon becomes a missing person’s case.

In the end though I believe Inherent Vice fits neatly into the Pynchon canon. Like Against The Day, Vineland and Gravity’s Rainbow it is a story that revolves around the disillusionment with an era. The sixties are cosily remembered as a time of free love and the peace movement. Pynchon reminds us that Helter Skelter forever damned the hippies in the public eye as potential cults plotting murderous rampages and justified widespread police aggression. When so much politically was at stake, the idealism of Martin Luther King and John F. Kennedy’s Camelot enshrined by martyrdom, characters seem more interested in discussing episodes of Gilligan’s Island, The Mod Squad, or Dark Shadows. Sinking into nostalgia and witless trivia the sixties was transformed into a fiction of itself before it had ended. As Doc shambles from one adventure to another, he seems to represent a curious wisdom. Everyone is compromised, so why not trust the bad guys to do something right for a change?

“What, I should only trust good people? man, good people get bought and sold every day. Might as well trust somebody evil once in a while, it makes no more or less sense. I mean I wouldn’t give odds either way.”

Last week I was asked by a friend to give my opinion on a rough cut of a documentary on the Burmese military dictatorship. I hasten to add this was just to make a note of my emotional response, not due to the value of any views I may hold. As such I only watched the very beginning of the rough cut. I would like to discuss what my impressions of that experience were.

It begins with hidden footage of the day-to-day horrors of life in Burma. We as the intended audience are only seeing this due to activists and native Burmese smuggling the shots out of the country at great personal risk. Immediately the footage establishes just how everyday, in the most awful sense of the word in this context, death and misery are to these people. The police and military target their own citizenry, forcing them to live in terror, exhausting their will to resist and depriving them of even the most basic dignity. A woman is shown standing beside an open graveside dug in the dirt, sobbing as a body wrapped in black cloth is lowered into the hole. We see citizens forced to their knees in the street and beaten with truncheons by uniformed thugs. The visual shorthand that typically signifies a secretive, brutal regime – the police man reaching out to cover the camera lens that bears witness – is also employed.

What strikes me most forcibly about these scenes is that they are unsurprising. I am aware of the extent of the regime’s brutality to its people. I doubt there are many who aren’t. The smuggled footage itself only serves to confirm that knowledge, perhaps confront us as viewers with our own indolence and apathy, but nothing more than that.

The documentary then introduces us to its subject, a man who lived through the Burmese regime and has escaped. When we meet him he is watching a dvd of the Sylvester Stallone film John Rambo. Following the title screen, our hero’s name in thick red font on a black background, the film locates the action in Burma with a scene of soldiers massacring innocent Burmese. There is a quick cut to a child being shot in the chest. We see several people running from the soldiers, only for them to be executed in slow motion.

The man is shown breaking down in tears after watching the scene. He says it is just like his memory of life in Burma.

I am troubled by this scene in the documentary. It acts as a contrast to the reality of the footage at the beginning of the film. Here is horror courtesy of camera techniques, blood squibs and paid actors, packaged for our entertainment. This is a fiction that apes the brutality of the real. It also presents a solution to the crimes committed against the Burmese in the form of Stallone’s monosyllabic Vietnam veteran. Rescuing Western peace activists from captivity, his violent dispatching of the villainous soldiers is cathartic for cinema audiences. Here at least is a form of intervention we can all agree on.

There is a scene featured in the trailer for John Rambo when Darla from Buffy the Vampire Slayer is rescued from being raped at the last possible second. The  soldier unbuckles his belt, grinning at his victim. The moment is stretched out, with Julie Benz’s pitiful cries for help. Then our hero appears and garrottes the soldier.

This was how the film-maker’s advertised their picture. There are bad people in Burma doing bad things. In this movie, Rambo kills them dead, in a variety of interesting ways, and rescues a white chick from being raped (but not soon enough that you won’t be denied some small vicarious thrill).

Why set  John Rambo in Burma? The franchise needs a villain, just as its fans need their Two Minutes Hate. Commies are gone and the majahideen are something of an embarrassment for Stallone, given that his character previously aided and abetted them against the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan. For the next outing of the series, it is rumoured Rambo will be fighting werewolves.

And so the suffering of the Burmese people becomes a cartoon for our amusement. Watching that man cry as he watched the beginning of Stallone’s film made me angry and sad all at once. He recognized in the slow-motion captured fakery the real. Cinema-goers though were afforded a fictional catharsis that allowed them to ignore it.

Addendum – since writing this blog, I have been told the finished film will not include the scene discussed above. All the same I felt I should publish this piece, as it affected me quite strongly.

God bless the Rubberbandits.

Oh Gordon…

Author Dan Roff and artist Chris Lane’s Zombies: A Record of the Year of Infection had the misfortune of being published in 2009, some years after Max Brooks gave a one-two punch to the horror genre with the Zombie Survival Guide and World War Z. Both books had the clever conceit of being a collection of accounts of experiences  with the undead told by survivors, neatly doubling as short stories using zombies as a device in multiple locations and environments.

Roff and Lane rely on the old horror standard of the ‘found document’, in this case an illustrated diary. Dr Robert Twombly, a Seattle based haematologist, was working in a medical laboratory in the city during the initial outbreak. He resorts to describing the progress of the infection almost as a coping mechanism. Twombly has a habit of documenting migration patterns of birds as part of his study. The book begins with one such entry before the worldwide outbreak of the infection in January 2011. Throughout the entries that follow Roff and Lane refer to Twombly’s interest in animals frequently. He notes the behaviour of dogs around the undead and seems more at ease striking up relationships with them than other humans. He even wonders whether they can also be infected, which sets him off on a quest of sorts, travelling across the zombie infested wilderness to discover the cause of the outbreak.

Right there Roff has introduced some new elements into the zombie sub-genre. How such an epidemic might affect animals is not examined that often. One of the few examples I can think of is Zack Snyder’s Dawn of the Dead remake, where a pet dog was used to deliver supplies to a human trapped by marauding zombies. Secondly an actual cause is identified – and it’s a pharmaceutical one. George Romero took the decision never to reveal the reason why the dead started to return to life and devotees like Edgar Wright and Simon Pegg followed his lead in Shaun of the Dead, mocking films that do give a explanation.

 Zombies: A Record of the Year of Infection becomes something of a warning then against the increasing separation of civilization from the natural world. One of the most entertaining sequences is Twombly’s encounter with a vegan rock band who are well used to travelling on the road in their van, quickly adapting to the outbreak. Lane’s image of a bass guitar being used to decapitate a zombie is a definite highlight.

However, while this is an interesting addition to the canon, the book is a quick read with nothing especially new on offer. Whereas Brooks broke the zombie tale out of its Romero-constraints (who is to say guns would work? Is fortifying a position really a sensible move against a foe that continually replenishes its numbers? What makes you think an island would be safe – zombies can’t drown!) Roff and Lane’s story is ultimately predictable. Twombly’s traumatised reaction is well realized – seeking to exorcise the horrors he has witnessed by capturing them in his diary illustrations, only to be plagued by nightmares regardless – however, the scenario is nihilistic in the most traditional sense. There is even a no nonsense Final Girl named Katherine who seems to stray into the book from her own story and then leave.

I worry that zombies, vampires and werewolves are saturating the market. Too often the stories repeat the standards of earlier entries, with each new book or film looking to be the definitive tale of the supernatural, only to retread the same steps with perhaps a glossier feel. Over the weekend I caught an episode of Supernatural which featured a nightmare vision of America overrun by the demonically possessed. The scariest moment in the whole gore-fest was a single phrase. “President Palin.”

Brrrr!