Review: The Devil’s Rejects (2005) – **

Sigh.

I remember seeing the original trailer for The Devil’s Rejects in the movie theater. At the time, I thought it had so much potential (which it does). But Rob Zombie, the film’s writer and director, didn’t go all out. Yes, he has people shot, stapled, axed, and killed in a multitude of ways. However, his plot runs thin after a while: the plotline “Bad people killing decent folk” extends only so far. One can argue that killing (and the murderous Firefly family) is not the main focus of the plot because the film’s central character is the sheriff who exacts his revenge. However, it’s not, for if the movie was about the sheriff, we would not be watching the same ending to the story.

We’ve seen it all before. Bloodshed is nothing knew, thanks to the slew of films introduced to us by the “Splat Pack,” the new group of directors including Eli Roth, Rob Zombie, James Wan, and others who specialize in gore-flicks. At one point after seeing so much brutality, the audience finds such heedless use of violence boring. I was not left shaken (or stirred, for that matter) by the cruelty in this movie. It’s a real shame that it’s the new “thing,” it’s now posh for a horror movie nowadays to out-gore its predecessor. (Kind of an ego-trip when you think about it.)  While trying to scare the audience’s pants off with blood and organs and body parts, audiences grow more comfortable with gore, and it’s harder to reach a new “high,” so to speak. Horror directors are doing themselves, and their audiences, a disservice by focusing too much on gore, for if they concentrated more on political and social themes (or somehow making the audiences think a little more), audiences will never grow tired of directors topping each other’s filmography through intellectual stimulation.

It’s obvious Zombie has talent: the exhilarating (and even emotional) “Freebird” sequence proves it. If he was a little more interested (aesthetically) in this movie, I would have been fine with it. I like something a little extra with my horror. Think Videodrome: yes, there’s blood and guts (and lots of it), but it’s all for a purpose and toward a greater good.

*For more on this “torture porn” trend, check out Jim Emerson’s great post at his Scanners blog.

Review: Paris, je t’aime (2007) – ****

After six months of waiting, I saw the first four-star movie of 2007 tonight. I first heard about this movie around a year ago. I liked the assembly of talent, director- and actor-wise, yet I couldn’t make a decision of whether to see it upon its release. I was apathetic when it was finally released, figuring I’d never have a chance to see it; however, the film’s engagement in my city intrigued me. A friend was psyched about it, so we went to see it. And yes, the movie, Paris, je t’aime, is everything it should, or could, be.

Based on my experience with this movie, I suggest not asking anybody (or investigating) the plots of the individual segments. Learning anything specific about the shorts ahead of time ruins the potential beauty of the experience, so I will not summarize any portions here. Just jump into the movie and face the film for what it is: 20 directors professing their love for Paris through short film vignettes regarding the City of Lights.

Some of the directors that I found unfamiliar surprised me. On the whole, I got what I expected from the directors I favor, even a couple revelations. Gus van Sant’s contribution was sweet and lyrical in his special kind of way. I like Alfonso Cuarón, but his segment could have been more. Yes, it was cute, but I expect more from the director of Y tu mamá también and Children of Men. (Although I liked the reference to films by other directors involved with this movie: the posters for Elephant and The Motorcycle Diaries are visible in a window of a video store.) I feel as if I’m only beginning to appreciate Alexander Payne: the more I watch his work, the more I realize what an auteur he is. Of all the segments, his and the Coens’ are the only shorts that I can tell are definitely a work of their directors: the other segments could have been done by anybody, and I wouldn’t know the difference.

Yet, at times, I felt disappointed in the movie. The movie occasionally shifts into multiple-personality mode: Christopher Doyle’s silly piece is strangely juxtaposed with some depressing and dark short films. However, the one or two poor segments cannot spoil the whole movie. As one film professor taught me, “A film is supposed to collapse then come back together again.” Just as the city itself is something to experience, Paris, je t’aime is, on the whole, a gentle, superb love letter to Paris not unlike Woody Allen’s Manhattan is to New York City.

Review: Chicago (2002) – ***

Musicals aren’t my favorite fare. I like Bob Fosse movies, though. Cabaret, All That Jazz, Chicago — wait a sec. Bob Fosse’s dead. He didn’t do Chicago the movie; he did Chicago on the stage. I knew there was a reason this felt like a lesser movie…

Now to say this is a lesser movie… well, it’s like saying that History of the World, Part I is a lesser comedy than Young Frankenstein. It’s unfair to compare a masterpiece to a movie that’s not great, but still good. Of course, Chicago is not the same thing people saw on Broadway, and I’m sure it was a challenge to adapt a theatrical piece to an audiovisual medium like film. Bill Condon (who also succeeded with Dreamgirls) wrote the screenplay, but I wonder how much of his work was kept in the shooting script. The acting is average, except Richard Gere is obviously having a ball, and he infects us with his joy. The only things that saved this movie were Gere’s performance, the music, and the choreography.

Rob Marshall, the director of the movie version of Chicago, is not Bob Fosse, the King of Sexy Dance. Marshall is a studio director. Not a bad director, just someone who knows where to place the camera without the movie jump-cutting: he serves his purpose. But I didn’t like the way he filmed the musical numbers, which, in my opinion, should be more music than anything else. However, the film keeps jumping in between the narrative and a character performing a musical number on a stage in front of an audience. I liked the music and dancing a lot and didn’t like it constantly being interrupted. I would have preferred straight-up song-and-dance numbers.

And that’s about it. I usually try to offer more in-depth thought than this, but Chicago is a “blah” kind of movie. Just like Marshall, the film simply serves its purpose. I was satiated and entertained, but my cup did not overfloweth, so to speak. I expected more of that wowing “razzle-dazzle” I’ve come to expect from Fosse’s material. It’s not his fault, though. While I’d recommend the movie for a rainy Sunday afternoon (when I watched it), you’re still probably better off watching a Fosse movie to see the original master at work.

Great Movies: Bride of Frankenstein (1935)

Frankenstein is not what it’s hyped up to be. I like it, but it’s not a grand film. Great, classic horror it’s not. The characters are flat, unnecessary subplots impede a reasonable pace, and, especially disappointing, the movie only hints at the Monster’s capability of being a complex creature. In a rare exception to the rule, the sequel was far superior. While The Bride of Frankenstein parallels the first film in some ways, it’s incredibly complex, much more interesting visually than plenty of horror movies from recent years, or even the past few decades.

James Whale, the director of those two Frankenstein movies, had a tough job for the first film. He had a script based on a book, and everyone has some idea how tough it is to translate written language into visual images and accompanying sounds. The movie is clichéd in parts, especially the romantic subplot(s); and it feels like a classic Hollywood film, not even a classic Hollywood horror film, considering it takes forever for the Monster to become a part of the story. However, for Bride, Whale had an original, inspired screenplay to work with, and he was able to roam freely with his style. He seemed more comfortable with Bride, whereas Frankenstein, overall, felt like a combination between the look of Cabinet of Dr. Caligari and the editing of The Maltese Falcon.

As moral a story as Frankenstein is, Bride is more religious. Christian symbols, mostly crosses and Christ figures, are galore. When the villagers capture the Monster in the woods, they tie him in such a way that his arms are at right-angles to his body. However, his arms are bent at the elbow, as if he is an imperfect symbol of Christ. During the first scene with the blind man, as the Monster lays down to rest and the scene fades out, we see only half of a cross on the wall, as if the Monster embodies only part of the symbol. In the Bible, Christ didn’t volunteer to be crucified: God told Him that He would need to sacrifice himself in order to allow the people on the earth to be saved. (Well, it’s not a direct parallel, but close enough.)

I found it interesting how the sequel referenced and brought up a couple questions about its predecessor. After the Monster saves a woman from drowning in Bride, we have to wonder if he intentionally killed the little girl in Frankenstein. Near the beginning, a townsperson sees Dr. Frankenstein move and shrieks, “He’s alive!” Sound familiar? The doctor ends up taking a part in an interesting role reversal in which he is the one being toyed with (as he toyed with his creation, in a sense).

The story introduces a small facet of psychology to show the Monster’s humanity. In Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, he lays out the different categories of needs that people have. In the movie, the Monster exhibits almost all the basic physiological needs: water, food, breathing, sleep, etc. The only one he doesn’t display is sex. (Forget the fact that it was impossible to show sex on-screen at the time.) We see no mate for him, and we forget about such a role for a creature that we, at first, viewed only as a scientific experiment, not a human being.

In the end, the film is even borderline existential. In the second blind-man scene, one of the villagers says, “[The Monster] is not human!” Essentially, though, he is. He did not choose his predestined existence, just as we do not choose to become alive: it just happened to him. He cannot help he is “the Monster,” and he tries to live the best he can. Isn’t that all that we can hope for anybody? That he/she try to live a good life and leave the rest up to fate, destiny, chance, or whatever?