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.