ARCTIC APOCALYPSE.

http://ostromiii.tumblr.com/post/107791391209/trapped-above-ice

SMALL TOWN FESTIVAL MADNESS.

 

ONWARD TO WEYAUWEGA (2014 Edition)

The year has come right 'round yet again to the cool and collected days of November, time of ill themed holiday gluttony and, as always, a truly fitting time frame for a little local film festival madness.

Movie geeks take note, just about 30 minutes northwest of this Fox Valley thing, (most of) you readers call home, lies the quiet, unassuming city of Weyauwega. Here (in the Main Street-placed Gerold Opera House) can be found the annual Weyauwega International Film Festival. In years previous, the W.I.F.F. has played gracious host to such rich cinematic jewels as John Frankenheimer’s seminal 60s haunter Seconds, the loopy art-house sensation from France Holy Rollers, the clever and highly clandestine Disney theme-park phantasmagoria Escape from Tomorrow and such Wisconsin-generated gems as West of Thunder and Dead Weight.
Audiences were treated to a wide selection of film types; documentaries, dramas, comedies, action and even some low-brow, grindhouse-worthy horror (Don’t Go To the Reunion or Billy Club anyone?) and the whole thing looks primed to grow ever bigger with each coming year.

 

 

This given year, the 4th such episode of the fest will unfold (beginning on Wednesday, November 12th and wrapping up on Saturday the 15th) in high style. It all kicks of with some ambitious non-fiction cinema in 'Wait', about a creative team (one filmmaker, one musician) wandering across and throughout the varying cultures and communities of South America guided by the mutual pull of something out of their collective past and the epic character study 'Old Man' by fest veteran and award winner Dan Schneidkraut. This puppy charts the highs and lows that befall a father/son tandem set against the impending fate of a long standing Minnesota based record store. Director Schneidkraut is expected to be in attendance to discuss the merits of his 170 minute (!) opus. 'Old Man' rolls at 4:30pm.

 

To slot out the remainder of the fest itinerary W.I.F.F. masterminds Ian Teal and Kathy Fehl have pieced together another sturdy collection of intriguing prospects for any devout cinephile to blissfully devour. For handy example, one can take in promising options like '100: Head/Heart/Feet' which covers the uber obsessive nature of something termed 'ultra-running', wherein a set of athletes compete in an intense, 100 mile long marathon...without reprieve for as much as 30 hours! 'My Name is Jonah' is a portrait of a self designed 'mythic cult hero' who turns out, in real time, to be a rather less than average Joe (or Jonah). 'Wisconsin Mining Standoff', originally produced for Al Jazeera's 'Faultlines' series, could prove to generate a high level of in state related controversy and healthy debate (and you can expect our golden boy-Slick Scotty Walker to figure into it all). 'Oracles of Pennsylvania Avenue', where we get an up front opportunity to witness, via the decades long persistence of three relentless activists, the dedicated origins of what is now so commonly branded (and sometimes smugly dismissed as) the 'Occupy Movement'. Proof positive that many a solid non-fiction film is set to unspool for your educational benefit.     

                                                                                           

 

Also a part of the mix is the Russian bred festival and critical darling 'The Fool' (W.I.F.F. takes great pride in pulling entries in  from all over the globe into their total program) an earnest and, at times, tragic dramatic piece of social commentary focusing on a poor, good natured maintenance man faced with the moral dilemma of how to save the population of a woefully neglected apartment complex. That film is set to bow on Saturday at 5:30pm. Further still, each of the W.I.F.F. installments also likes to indulge in a bit of film nerd nostalgia on a Thursday afternoon. This year's entry is 'The Men' from 1950, directed by Fred Zinnemann ('High Noon', 'From Here to Eternity') and featuring the debut big screen performance by some guy named Marlon Brando as a crippled war vet who must struggle to regain control of what's left of his, now civilian, life. Admission to this throwback feature is free and is again accompanied by the presence of area film scholar Dr. Jack Rhodes. It all starts at 1pm.

 

There will also be a very rich smattering of short film packages right alongside all the heavyweight features. On Friday, starting at 9pm, the fest will showcase a fat block of short films by Wisconsin filmmakers exclusively. Plus, at other spots during the fest Dan (Ed Gein-the Musical) Davis will appear as the star of the emotion based 'Beyond Goldenhill" (Sat. about 12:30pm) and Oshkosh superstar John Pata will make a return to Weyauwega for yet another screening of his searing Pig Destroyer influenced punch to the gut 'Pity' (Thursday in the area of 6:30pm). Many (if not all) of the folks involved in these locally born projects should be on hand to engage in some sweet movie talk afterwards.

 

The main event (as it were) and festival closer this time is a seemingly light hearted little something entitled 'Bucky and the Squirrels', an odd duck retro-satire of sorts about a 1960s one hit wonder pop group (out of our own Appleton, of all spots) who went missing shortly after breaking big. Ages pass into the present day and the lads are unearthed from the frozen confines of their Swiss Alps imprisonment and brought to consciousness. This strange concoction was, for the most part, lensed on location in and around the Appleton area by a well seasoned pro named Allan Katz. Katz is a writer-producer-director-actor who has finessed his trade in (mostly) old school sitcom television. He has taken part in many a greatly adored classic like 'M.A.S.H.', 'Sanford & Son' and 'Roseanne' only to switch gears a bit to script and star in the instantly obscure, now cult chic film 'Big Man on Campus'. In recent years Katz has taken to sharing his accumulated knowledge and experience as a teacher of all things in relation to putting on a show at various universities, one of them being Appleton's own high end Lawrence U.

 

See, Mr. Katz has connections to Lawrence by way of several key alumni he forged lasting relationships with years back. At the beginning of his career, Katz toiled at an advertising agency where he first crossed paths with a certain chap, Tom Hurvis. Hurvis and his wife, as fate would have it, are both successful end products of the Lawrence University educational system and years on down the line they would call on Katz for a favor, they asked him to bring some industry know-how to their beloved alma matter. Paired with another alum, Catherine Tatge, who was working to jump start a viable film program on the campus, Katz was asked to oversee a short film writing and production course that worked to immerse students in the specifics of film production. From there things progressed toward the proposal of crafting a full fledged feature that would involve students and allow them to gain hands on experiences on a real, thriving film set. The production would also serve to work as much local Appleton flavor into the blend as possible as a way of paying tribute to the positive spirit Katz says he found quite commonplace around the school and throughout the surrounding area.

 

This heavy incorporation of Fox Valley bodies and real estate makes this 'Bucky and the Squirrels' thing the must see Wisconsin epic of, probably, the whole festival. The Saturday evening screening (8pm) of 'Bucky and the Squirrels' is actually the official world premiere for the film (a move by Katz to pay tribute to the productive Wisconsin backbone the film is founded on) and the man himself told me with his own voice, by way of a quick phone chat, that he will be on the scene to share in the fun and bond with folks afterwards.  

To follow up all this movie watching and related banter there will be the concluding festival awards ceremony and socially rewarding after party with all the beer drinking, dancing and whatever else people do after a full slate of serious movie digestion has been put to rest.

Any and every inquiry related to the Weyauwega International Film Festival can be directed to this lovely web savvy address; wegaarts.org. Ticket pricing, finalized schedule layout, directions and the like will be on hand for those who (I hope) will develop the curiosity needed to make the trek to this year's edition of the little festival that could.

May the urge reach you, one and all, to take in some quality cinema out there in wonderful Weyauwega.

Happy festing.  killpeoplenamedrichard@yahoo.com  

FILMS WITHOUT FEAR...FOR BETTER OR WORSE.

GORGING ON A CINEMATIC BUFFET.

Last year 'round about this time I set out on a modest attempt to spread the word and generate notable interest within our region in relation to a solid cultural collective calling themselves Wega Arts and basing their creative attack in the nearby town of Weyauwega. The organization, founded and run by Ian Teal and Kathy Fehl, seeks to perpetuate various outlets of artistic expression in its community through the cultivation and presentation of stage plays, booked touring performers, film screenings and workshops. The main point of focus for me for this column was then, as it still is now, the mid November placed Weyauwega International Film Festival. Now entering its third run through, the fest is looking to expose any film fancying types from all surrounding areas to yet another varied menu of rich examples of the film form (both the long and the short of it).

 All things cinematic are set to kick off Thursday, November 14th at 1:30pm at the Gerold Opera House (which can be found at 136 Main St.) with another throwback installment from Hollywood's rich and far reaching past (remember, last year's was the edgy John Frankenheimer thriller 'Seconds'). 1960's 'Midnight Lace', directed by David Miller and featuring Doris Day and Rex Harrison in a strange mix of Hitchcock wannabe and offbeat character study which charts the misfortune of an American woman (Day) living in England who finds herself the apparent person of interest of a would be stalker. From here the fest plows on, unspooling film after film across the next four days. Some flicks of passing note include a pair of odd duck documentaries centering on the kinship between the art of drinking and the allure of the bowling ally ('Pints and Pins') and the obsessive quest by an expatriate American who returns stateside to find the finest representation of that golden calf of fried foods ('The Great Chicken Wing Hunt'). There are tales of movie mavens ('Tough Ain't Enough-Conversations With Albert S. Ruddy'), a historic escape artist ('Houdini') and even some convoluted affairs of the heart ('9 Full Moons').

One major standout section on the schedule that was passed along to me (it's all still tentative as this goes to press, for complete final results check, wegaarts.org) is what is set to be dubbed the 'Friday Night Fright Fest'. Beginning at 7pm on the 15th, there will be a tight trifecta of genre pictures, each with (what sounds like) a decent shot at becoming the next big thing in the cult film underground. A pair of these, 'Billy Club' and 'Don't Go To The Reunion', both made on locations in our very own state, play on the cheeky familiarity of long adhered to 'slasher on the loose/doomed youth' tropes and related shock effect plot devices while at the same time attempting to inject some very much needed energy into the oft tread, ultra violent  stalker/splatter sub-genre. The third film, 'Escape From Tomorrow', on the other hand, seems to be the product of an entirely different filmmaking methodology altogether.

'Escape From Tomorrow' comes to the Weyauwega fest at long last following a protracted period in which those responsible for its creation were not even sure if it would ever reach a legitimate audience. The film is a perplexing, monochromatic phantasmagoria set in and around a combination of the Disney theme parks Disneyworld and Disneyland and it involves a typical family man type named Jim White (Roy Abramsohn) whose grip on a tangible reality grows increasingly fragmented as his vacation day with the family progresses.

This curiosity has generated a bit of a rep for itself primarily based on the absolutely removed from conventional tactics employed in its production. It would seem the director, an ambitious gent named Randy Moore, guided his project's shooting process along in almost entirely incognito fashion, grabbing footage without consent from the theme park powers that be with indistinct consumer DSLR cameras (Canon's Mark II and IV specifically), with his actors taking cues and script notes off of I Phones and such. Even after such a clandestine production phase was completed, Moore sought to stitch his baby together outside the country (in South Korea, where the director also tapped area technicians to help polish the effects work) to maintain utter secrecy from the Mouse. Several playdates at major fests soon followed (including a premiere bow at the almighty Sundance, where the film first began to noticeably cause a stir) with the ever ominous spectre of how the beast that is the Walt Disney Co. would react to the film's existence hovering over it and making the commercial future of 'Escape From Tomorrow' an uncertain concept at best.

This film was originally slotted into the line up of last year's Weyauwega fest only to have such legal uncertainties withhold it (it was substituted with the very worthy French effort 'Holy Motors', a head scratcher without peer and definitely a healthy addition). This time out, folks will finally get to see just what the elaborate fuss was all about.

The remainder of this year's W.I.F.F. is peppered with quality attractions as well, from several short film packages spread throughout the weekend to a sure to be rowdy awards ceremony set to follow that 'Great Chicken Wing Hunt' doc on Saturday night (at about 9pm). Free to ticket holders of the day as well as fest pass holders, the show will feature beer (care of Central Waters Brewery) and eats (including, yes, chicken wings) and live music. I've been informed that a fair number of behind the scenes folks will be in attendance to either introduce and/or entertain questions and commentary in relation to their respective projects. 'Billy Club' co-writer, director and actor Nick Sommer and members of the 'Don't Go To The Reunion' posse will be on hand Friday evening to chat at length about their playfully creepy gore fests. Familiar face Dan Davies will intro his latest offering, the short film 'Caroline' (which he wrote and acted in), the 'Pints and Pins' crew are penciled in and the filmmaker (Jim Tittle) behind the Sunday afternoon entry, the Midwestern sand mining documentary  'The Price of Sand' may participate too. Plus one can never count out some sort of last minute addition when it comes to filmmakers jumping at a fair chance to talk up their latest creations.

There you have it, a serviceable 'heads up' on another fine showcase of cinematic treasures here in this Wisconsin. Make no mistake, this is a well planned festival by a pair of folks with their heart in the art, don't at all let the small scale locale fool you.

Once again, all necessary information (i.e. ticket prices, showtimes, finalized film scheduling) can be found easily at wegaarts.org


Hope to see a huge turnout for this one, don't let me down.


Also of note.

Room 237

Being all about the often larger than life and deep beneath the surface alternate interpretations of Stanley Kubrick's Stephen King adapt 'The Shining'. Unfolding less like any standard format of feature or documentary film and more akin to some kind of art student's instillation project that got lost on its way to the gallery, 'Room 237' serves to not so much conventionally entertain viewers as entrance and confound them with its conviction to a series of boarder line absurd analytical proposals. The complicated project, as assembled by one Rodney Ascher, plays out a series of audio taped discussions with a bunch of genuinely enthusiastic people I'm afraid I've never heard of over an ever flowing parade of imagery encompassing many a well known Kubrick work (with obvious, dominant emphasis on 'The Shining' itself) as well as a largely random collection of material from less then expected sources like Spielberg's 'Schindler's List' and the lurid mid-80s Italian gore flick 'Demons'.

The speakers use this particular format to (with Ascher's careful guidance) breakdown in often crucial, obsessive detail how and why their given theories of true meaning behind Kubrick's 1980 film are perfectly sound. Rolling out and cutting back and forth between speaker and subject gives off a vibe of a mix tape running to and fro at some manic movie fan's invite only party. The film's interviewees expound with breathless abandon on how 'The Shining' contains, shuffled within its meticulously rendered surface narrative, everything from the well documented atrocities of the Nazi instigated mass (near) execution of the Jewish race to the punishing round up and stomping down of the Native American peoples by greedy, self righteous colonists (from Portland, Maine to Portland, Oregon) and back around to explicate how Kubrick employed his cinematic craftsmanship to help the U.S. Government to enact a staged moon landing in 1969. Uh-huh, sure.

'Room 237' works well as a sort of intellectual geek show that allows its subjects to banter unchecked about these strange ideas that an other wise generally lauded piece of high end genre filmmaking has oddly inspired within their nominal mindframes. I didn't even bother to mention the gal with the minotaur fixation or the fella who goes way out of his way to carefully point out what he believes is a subliminal erection. Well, now you have two more things to keep an eye out for.  You're most welcome.

'Room 237' comes on DVD/Blu ray from the IFC Midnight Label and contains the usual bonus goodies, commentary, music score featurette, deleted scenes (which are little more than audio tracks, sans the film clips, providing additional babble) and a Q&A session from some simple looking Kubrick fan fest. Recommended for the conspiracy theorist who believes he's heard it all.
http://www.ifcfilms.com/films/room-237


Abducted.


A tight and rather minimal psychological horror scenario made with much stronger than anticipated efficiency and reserve. It all surrounds your basic, cute to a fault, young couple (Trevor Morgan, Tessa Ferrer) who one fine night find themselves the object of mystery kidnappers who abscond them to a dank and foreboding location and subject them to a series of initially inexplicable experimentation. As their startling incarceration drags on and more and more additional young human pairings arrive in their midst, the kids begin to brainstorm over the gravity of their situation. Is this the work of some elite terrorist outfit? A government shadow group? Alien forces with malicious plans that stretch far beyond the simple reach of this small sampling of earth peeps?

The film builds a decent measure of genuine tension as these questions loom, unanswered and the natural fragility of these unfortunate, young creatures is supremely tested. The skill set piloting this compact piece from behind the camera belongs to Glen Scantlebury and Lucy Phillips, both sharing duties and honing a small yet significant team (and there is evidence of this on display on the DVD's brief accompanying making of special feature) to bring together a finished film that works based on solid character development care competent performances complimented by the quality of the cinematography and especially the rather concise cutting together of scenes and imagery. As it turns out, Mr. Scantlebury is a well seasoned veteran of the editing process who honed his skills on a long list of major pictures like Francis Ford Coppola's Dracula (and his far less daunting recent picture, 'Twixt') and several bloated Michael Bay directed odes to ADD like the first 'Transformers'. He's currently slapping together a much unneeded reboot of The 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' with Megan Fox, but let's not hold that against him. His work here spells out a genuine talent that, along with his teammate Mrs. Phillips, should suitably produce quality goods in cinematic form on and on again down the road.

This 'Abducted' thing should do the trick for fans of decent low budget genre filmmaking as apposed to the utterly disposable dreck that clutters the direct to video market. It can be found at most rental joints or here;  http://www.abducted2013.com/


Done with the movie stuff...for now.

Weaving Through Debris.

(originally published in the September 2011 issue of The Scene)


Winding it all down to the wire, I find myself left with a lucky 13 states awaiting proper marriage with a suitable cinematic partner. It’s getting harder to find good lovin’ these days and in the movie/geographic matchmaking scene, it’s hardly any better.

But, I digress, let’s set to business and open it all up with a pair of impossibly dated time capsules wedding the multifaceted quirks of human behavior and mannerisms to their immediate surroundings. Both the ambitious and reverently revealing Middletown (for Indiana) and the playfully stupid Heavy Metal Parking Lot (for Maryland) address their chosen subjects with a strict anthropological objectivity, the goal is simply to share a slice of the American pie with as wide an onlooking crowd as possible.

Shepherded over by its creator, Peter Davis (the mind also behind the essential to watch, Oscar-adorned Vietnam war dissection Hearts and Minds) Middletown takes precious time to meticulously investigate the various, wide-ranging particulars of the populace of Muncie, Indiana. Leapfrogging across six separate episodes (five of which actually made airdates on PBS before unwarranted yet inevitable controversy set in) the project comes as close as any in recent memory to capturing the exact pulse of both a city and, in turn, a specific region.

Nestled snug to the east of the state (and sporting a head count roughly comparable to our so beloved Appleton), Muncie fits right and tight under the basic, presumed guidelines of small scale, Bible-belt all Americana. I imagine it stands today much the same as it did in the later 1970s when this program was assembled.
Taking its overlaying cue (and title) from a 1929 publication Middletown: A Study In Contemporary American Culture by esteemed scholars Robert and Helen Lynd, this Middletown digests its subject matter and reorganizes it into its six handy sub-sections. Said films (each helmed by a different party, including Peter Davis himself) focus with separate yet equal objectivity on things political (The Campaign), spiritual (Community of Praise), marital (Second Time Around) and athletic (The Big Game, and it’s basketball, as is to be expected in the Hoosier state) and the pains of youth and the lack there of.





The epic scale and the intimate detail hold hands productively throughout as the disparate citizens of this chosen hamlet extend their lives out in full for the camera eye. Standouts in this rather massive, archival undertaking include a gregarious Irish politico, an ex-marine turned Shakey’s Pizza proprietor and even a collective of lippy high school seniors in full rebellion mode (to be seen in the series closer Seventeen, which piles on enough curse words and touchy themes and ideas as to instigate an uproar and subsequent banning from being aired back in its day).

The success of this work as a whole is care the way it both provides its potential audience with an unsparing insight into a specific community’s pros and cons and how it manages to liken them to much of our own. In a way, Middletown serves as a mirror held up to anyone who chooses to pay it any mind. If one were to attempt a similar project in a different locale in our present here and now, sure the trivia of fashion and hip technology would prove markedly altered and the inevitable given regional inflections would seep through (plus, there would be far less smoking, everybody seems to be cigarette dependent in this damn thing!) but the essentials of the social, financial and emotional aspects of American living have remained largely a constant. Catch it all at icarusfilms.com.

Likewise, albeit on a far more compact, bootleg and some might say downright moronic scale is the mid-80s, Maryland/D.C. area relic Heavy Metal Parking Lot.

Now this baby began as a one-off public access short stunt by two local dudes (John Heyn and Jeff Krulik) seeking to share, in passing, the delirious/drunken celebratory silliness that is the tailgating sub-culture collecting outside a Judas Priest gig somewhere called Largo, Maryland. What came soon after was a steady building cult phenomena born of copious tape trading and rock star endorsement (it was reportedly a tour bus staple of a pre-martyrdom era Kurt Cobain and that one little folk band he played in) and, ultimately, the well-dressed out DVD release I’m now using as reference (get yours off the website heavymetalparkinglot.com) which goes a long way to demystify the legacy of the whole thing and give it a proper historic context.

What essentially consists of about 16 minutes or so of loud, inebriated (and often shirtless) working class dopers, basement rockers, big hair bitches and all around chuggerheads attains a bit of quasi-nostalgic legitimacy by way of numerous sequels, homages and exhaustive “Where are they now?” updates (they even managed to track down the elusive Zebra-Boy! If you have no idea who I am speaking of, watch the film, you can’t miss him).

I do realize the state-based significance of both John Waters and Barry Levinson, but nothing has ever sold me so deeply on Maryland as this retarded little work of art. I’m telling the lot of you now, if it is deep and insightful reportage you seek, if it is lasting mental nutrition you are lacking then this is certainly the place to look for...the exact opposite.

On to more modern meditations and the pristine Virginia-based farmland of What Remains. This location (near Lexington) serves as the living, loving and working space of the pro shutterbug Sally Mann. Mann, best known for her hot button collection of portraits and other captures involving her three children titled Immediate Family (which contained images that fell under the strict designation of child pornography care the religious right), subscribes to a philosophy of finding the appropriate muse within her familiar surroundings. First, she milks her family members for photographic effect (the mostly black and white prints are often glorious) and then moves with gradual progression toward the landscapes that encircle her home. She shoots in large format (film, remember that shit?) and imprints her work with a soul and an openness to the randomness of life or, “the angel of uncertainty” as she dubs it.






Her work addresses the fragility of existence (a trait possibly influenced by her father’s preoccupation with death). The peak exemplification of this comes when she pays visit to a University of Tennessee-based forensic study area and is allowed to shoot various decaying corpses. The set up might seem unsettling but the resulting photos hold an irrefutable power.

We follow Mann through a multitude of highs and lows, from the everyday living variety to the convoluted process of snagging gallery support. A man by the name of Steven Cantor had previously covered the crafting of Mann’s notorious Immediate Family project back in 1990 (a resulting short film, Blood Ties is part of this picture’s bonus materials) and again provides the guiding eye that allows the audience to step inside Sally Mann’s space and observe for a cool 80 minutes. What Cantor does here set up an open mic for Mann’s ample voice, both as an incredibly gifted, born photographer and as a strong-willed woman who makes her way through her life as she sees fit.

Being as I am a wanna be camera nerd my own damn self, I managed to cull many informative tidbits in relation to this wonderful art form and certain methods that I may wish to emulate and apply to my own approach to imagemaking. Thus, What Remains stands as both a compelling biographic portrait and as an information well for those seeking to learn and/or polish their “eye,” so to speak. (zeitgeistfilms.com)

Lastly, we slap this whole uneven thing upward to our nation’s very first state.

I Can See You marks yet another challenging entry from the New York-based, East Coast-minded mini-studio Glass Eye Pix. Founded in 1985 in good faith by actor/writer/director Larry Fessenden, this outfit has steadily produced some rather striking pictures. Key works of note include Ti West’s efforts The House of the Devil and The Innkeepers and Jim Mickle’s more ambitious than it can afford to be vampire opus Stakeland. They also found the time to fund this severely under the radar ditty from Graham Reznick and it’s a fitting fable for Delaware.





It all comes together so simple, a trio of upstart Big Apple ad campaigners abscond themselves to the deep woods to camp, frolic, snag photos and brainstorm ideas in prep for an impending big dog client. All progresses smooth and tidy I suppose as the lads wander and drink some with various fellow campers and even find the time for a little free-spirited skinny dipping. Soon, however, a fattening level of menace creeps into play and the tone of each passing situation shifts into a sort of collision of David Lynch savvy shadow mystery and Stan Brakhage abstract experimentation.

The whole thing is pieced together with an admirable level of skill and the story feeds its three leads (including one eerily Conan O’ Brian-looking sad sack who basically fills the obnoxious blowhard role all too well) with a heady succession of surprises and ultimately sets them on a course with things better left seen than explained. The fear of the unknown and all that, you dig? Our founding fathers would be so proud. There’s probably still a smattering of their tortured souls wandering them diabolical Delaware forests, creepy. (icanseeyoumovie.com)

And one more thing.....JOHN CARPENTER’S THE WARD.

After flirting with a near decade of non-activity, save a pair of underwhelming Masters of Horror episodes, the frail old gentleman who blessed us with Escape From New York, The Thing and several other major genre pieces (say, what’s the one with that masked dude knifing people?) is back to making movie babies and the first result is, well, meh.

This time out Carpenter follows the fateful trials of a troubled lass (the admittedly fetching Amber Heard), who is placed in a nuthouse for gals after she is found oblivious in front of a burning farm house. The script then finds various ways for our lovely young anti-heroine to clash with staff and inmates and wander dark hallways so that she may cross paths with a number of ghostly cliches.

It all plods along with unremarkable abandon toward yet another one of those twist endings you’ll never see coming unless you’ve already seen a lot of movies with twist endings before. In all good truth, I have seen much worse from an upper shelf genre brand name (i.e. Wes Craven’s woeful My Soul To Take), but that hardly excuses the middling vibe that embodies this thing. Oh well, welcome back John and better luck next time.

Outta words, outta time.

killpeoplenamedrichard@yahoo.com

SOMETIMES, A BEAUTIFUL DELIRIUM.

50 Films/50 States Part 5.

I have trouble dissecting the eccentricities of the human mind sometimes. Even though I am a card carrying member of this so-called 'race', I find that many of my fellow man, woman and child things possess a measured degree of character differentiation that sets them at sharp odds to my given perspective. Because of my nerdy predilection for cinema, I often find myself scrapping for clues to the how, what and why of the human mechanism within the confines of the motion picture medium. I got several choice examples of what I'm on about right here, plus it will serve to knock off a few more states in the process.
Take, for handy instance, the irresistible, eye sore of deliberate tragedy that is the life of Jonathon Sharkey. Here is a feller so bent in the direction of wrong that he can justify maintaining a lifestyle mash-up of blood drinking, neo-satanism and all around pagan/goth/macho posturing while fostering such lofty political ambitions as running for the part of Governor of the state of Minnesota! His bold and (some might add) dunder headed attempts at such serve as a sort of spring board for an awkward yet functionally amusing, shot for the bare minimum documentary/case study titled, in all fair taste, Impaler.
Said title hails from Sir. Sharkey's blunt platform of discipline in relation to a wide range of criminals and lowlifes. Sharkey states plainly, early on in the film, that any and all terrorists, drug dealers and baby rapers (for scant example) will be subject to blunt force trial, torture and eventually decapitation and impalement. This warped unit sees himself as a bastion of hope for his beloved America (Sharkey also holds future plans of a Presidential run, something that should fitfully suit another film, likely already in the works) and not some weak kneed failure like George W. Bush (himself a ripe target for Sharkey-esque impalement).





All this rant savvy 'look at me, I'm weird!' type nonsense leads to, really is a patchwork dissertation on the punishing particulars of living under the grip of mental illness. In this instance, the filmmakers (Texas native W. Tray White being the main man) have gleaned acute evidence of this man's suffocating urge to dance in the proverbial spotlight. You see folks, in addition to his proclaimed status as a devil adoring, vampiric lord, Jon claims to have plied his natural genius in such arenas as Nascar, pro-wrestling and Law (for a more expansive rundown on all this, check his IMDB profile- http://www.imdb.com/name/nm2652647/bio- it'll enrich your life! no really!). Of course, all of this grows more and more pathetic as the film strays from in house chats with Sharkey and his school bus driver lady friend in snowbound Princeton, MN to outside parties (ex-spouses, pals and legal officials) who tend to highlight the copious holes in Sharkey's train of logic. Overall, not an unbearable slice of 'you can't make this shit up' style of human interest reportage. Plus, it always does my heart good to see any form of social commentary in relation to that lake and lousy sports team saturated state with the often odd-duck political representatives (Jesse 'The Body' Ventura, Al Franken, Brett Favre) that resides just to the west of us. Impaler can be readily snatched off of netflix...probably about all the effort one needs to expend on it.






A man of equally potent, yet immensely more positive, self design is humble, God fearing, workaholic South Carolina resident Pearl Fryer. The man is a self taught topiary wonderkind and honed local institution who finds himself in front of the camera lens for the quint little feature A Man Named Pearl. Like Impaler, this film serves as a small scale (though more effectively rendered) intro to a genuine American curio at large just off the beaten path. The precise setting is Bishopville (pop. 3,600-ish), located (in Lee county, what's said to be the poorest county in the state) out in the open spaces between the more sizable state populaces of Florance and Columbia. It is here that ol' Mr. Fryer has carved and maintained one of his state's (and most certainly his town's) more esteemed attractions.




Since relocating to Bishopville in the mid 1970s, Pearl has managed to stun and bewilder his mostly simple and set in their ways neighbors by transforming the yard of his domicile into an organic gallery of sprawling art. Pearl toils tirelessly at sculpting, trimming and nurturing the many elaborate designs in his 3+ acre garden that has earned a word of mouth legend that attracts bus loads of tourists to this sleepy little stop off the road that may have otherwise never even registered on most folks' radar. This ongoing life's work now works to solidify this community and keep it healthy. Mr. Pearl lends his knowledge and a shade of his potent work ethic to area (and, sometimes, statewide) children and students, attempting to instill in them a level of self value that can only grow and mature along with them. As a character, Pearl is a gentle, labor worn yet vigorous individual with an even balance of traditional rural morals and free spirit impulse. His thick east-southern drawl and wiry, lanky stance make for one memorable screen figure. Credit to directors Scott Galloway and Brent Pierson for collaborating on a warm and informative piece that always respects this southern gentleman and true artist for every quirky aspect that fuels him. Well shot and economic, A Man Named Pearl never wares out its welcome. Available from the good folks at Docurama, don't believe me? Check here- www.docurama.com/docurama/a-man-named-pearl-dvd-cd-set
A slight bit of pace changing for this next entry in that it is not so much a standard issue feature, per se, but more of an epic and on going small screen offering that breaks down the graphic dramatics of one urban locale yet plays it off as wholly symbolic of many of the other cityscapes in the given region.
Brick City, as the title suggests, is a deep rooted delineation of the largest city (Newark) in what is commonly passed off as the Garden State (New Jersey). Now, I know I could have easily picked this state off of my convoluted 50/50 checklist by virtue of some dispensable dick, tits and fart joke addled Kevin Smith movie or, maybe even something a tad more upscale, say the Louis Malle opus Atlantic City or....hell, there's even a movie called Garden State .
Nah brah, I'm sticking to the real shit. This here Brick City thing is a Sundance Channel backed series (season one covered here, season two recently completed) that covers the modern day quest of positivity obsessed mayor Cory Booker to restore order and integrity to the long impoverished and crime ravaged city he now oversees. Booker and his all star team of do good types and various, assorted low income street citizens work though the tension and turmoil of urban renewal and the challenges of slapping order over top of the kind of embedded chaos that doesn't conveniently subside.




The scope of this subject matter is intricately addressed within the project's 260 minute sprawl. Subplots, asides and effectively placed injections of humor work as second and third tier support systems to the greater central ambitions of community, family, economy and the cancerous detriment that the city's ever present criminal element brings (murder's the word, ya heard?!). At the front of it all is Booker, the bright light of hope or frustrating pain in the metro ass (all depending on which talking head's speechifying one buys into). The mayor and his tireless quest to reverse his city's negative level of notoriety and maintain the sanity of both himself and his loyal crew (gruff Director of Police Garry McCarthy most notably) veers back and forth from the cruel reality of gang related homicide, which is haphazard and unyielding, to a cheerful downtown distraction for the positive like a visiting big ticket circus troupe. Intermixed with Booker's renovation campaign are the immediately related struggles of several reformed gang banger cum social activist types, feuding politicos and even a feisty lawyer pulling to save one key (and very pregnant) young lady out of jail.
This truly is what one might legitimately refer to as 'quality television', the dearth of such stuff on the small screen in recent years (shows like 'Lost' and 'Dexter' not withstanding) makes a rare breakthrough like this one here ever more special. The team of Marc Levin and Mark Benjamin have assembled and finessed a staggering amount of material into a still fat and epic dissertation on the pains of urban discipline and the harsh truths of classism and social/economic imbalance that could well serve as a metaphor for most sizable cities in the state of New Jersey (I've been to Newark and been told by those in the know there various 'ghetto' anecdotes, with all the worst signs pointing to Camden). The show was first aired on the Sundance Channel but can easily be obtained in the ever dependable DVD format with a sprinkling of bonus features including input from executive producer Forest Whitaker (one can also obtain further background nuggets on Cory Booker care a defacto prequel of sorts titled Street Fight and covering Booker's initial trial and error attempts to become the Newark mayor-par excellence). So, without fail, you must get your Jersey learn-on the real way, track the first, five part, season of Brick City at all costs starting with this website; firstrunfeatures.com
Backing away from documentary overkill, it is time now to pay respects to a film I find is one of the best and most complete experiences of recent years. That and it all takes place in and all over my birth state of California. Paul Thomas Anderson's fifth feature, There Will Be Blood (Paramount Vantage) is, for me, a complete beast of a film that executes on such a high and consistent level of sheer film making finesse that reminds me once again what being a film geek is all about.
This is the movie that finally made full and robust usage of that most particular and fascinating of quality modern screen actors, Daniel Day-Lewis, that possessive screen presence that made the most of his place in such otherwise underwhelming A-list affairs as Gangs of New York and In the Name of the Father. Here, Lewis is given no restriction and the picture is his to dominate and he never disappoints, plowing through an epic (158 minute) saga of gusto, greed and the savage means to which the main character, an oil obsessed entrepreneur named Daniel Plainview hell bent on monopolizing the turn of the century California landscape, pursues his meal ticket, no matter the social, moral or spiritual cost. Plainview uses methods of keen manipulation and smooth oratory skills to rest area folk assured that his goals are lofty and genuine enough to prove beneficial toward them and their related communities in the long run. Meanwhile, he proceeds to dig and drill his way toward increasing wealth and a rapidly distancing attitude toward the very nature of mankind. Plainview finds direct conflict in the shape of several pesky, intrusive bodies such as a dodgy, alleged long lost sibling (Kevin J. O'Connor, hailing from, you guessed it- Fond Du Lac!) as well as an equally shifty young vessel for the good lord's word, a preacher named Eli Sunday (Paul Dano) who ultimately shares in Plainview's descent to the very bitter end.
What P. T. Anderson has done with this film, by far his best, is fashioned a magnificent, fully realized work of art, not simply dispensable commercialized 'entertainment' as fodder that passes by the eyes well enough without ever entering the brain for any substantial measure of time. He has even surpassed his previous, very good, Robert Altman in the time of Tarantino style fables Boogie Nights and Magnolia in terms of storytelling, strength of character and virtually every facet of technical prowess one can think of. The film looks grand, is cut great and boasts one immaculate sound mix topped, above all, by the eerie/beautiful minimalist score from Radiohead lead guitarist Jonny Greenwood. Yes, my friends, this is, as in the parlance of the drunken youth of this sad modern hell, the shit. Eternal props to Anderson, D. D. Lewis and the rest of the There Will Be Blood commune. This is the perfect mix of light and dark, art and actuality, elegance and cruelty. Probably not the type of graphic banter many will agree upon in the direction of this film but, no matter say I, this is a glorious slab of misanthropic poetry set to separate the deep thinker with the keen sense of cinema from the gaggle of 'bros' in vapid search of the next big Hangover.
Ugh, all out of words. Next month, more movies, more states, more brotherly love for one and all!

AGAIN WITH THAT OSHKOSH ZOMBIE WALK.....

BECAUSE MY MAN JOHN PATA AND THE OSHKOSH HORROR CREW KNOW HOW TO BLEED TERRIFIC ANNUALLY.

NEW YAWK IN THAT 2010 THANG.

BEEN DOIN' THIS METROPOLIS PHOTOGRAPHICALLY SINCE JUST BEFORE THEM BIG, BAD BUILDINGS WENT 'BOOM'....SO MANY FACES, SO MANY PLACES, SUCH PRECIOUS LITTLE TIME IN WHICH TO EXPLORE AND EXPLOIT THE TOTAL OF THEIR WORTH....NOT FOR LACK OF TRYING, MIND YOU.

FAITH NO MORE?

IT'S QUITE AMAZING. ACTUALLY, THAT I EVER EVEN SNAPPED A SINGLE SHOT OF THESE 'BASTARDS' AS I ONCE GOT THE BOOT FROM THE BROOKLYN BASED WATERFRONT VENUE FOR POSSESSING A MORE THAN DECENT CAMERA AND AS A CONSEQUENCE, HAD TO GO AHEAD AND SNEAK INTO A GIG THAT I HAD ALREADY PAID MY $60+ IN TICKETING AND FEES TO SEE.......AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH=LOGICAL.

OBSCURITY DENIED!

(originally published in the Scene-June 2007) THE RESURRECTION OF ALEJANDRO JODOROWSKY.

Long ago, in the (pre) DVD days of home video leisure there was this wonderfully suspect little sub-culture of the bootleg video tape. I discovered this world in the form of a thick, amply xeroxed catalog ordered from the back pages of Fangoria magazine. It featured a wealth of the finest in multi-cultural sleaze, monster, splatter and otherwise undefinable product that, for a plethora of reasons, was never destined for a day in the mainstream sun. Sure, it may have taken a bit to adjust to the often less then stellar picture quality accompanied by frequent poor sound, this and the common lack of subtitles on the many non-English films. But I soon grew addicted to the exotic goodies wrapped in reused brown paper packaging that I awaited endlessly at my mother's mailbox for. I built myself a fine little library of oddities that I was convinced would never rear their heads in any other format but this.

Oh how I have been proven wrong.

In a way it brings a fleeting form of nostalgia to cast those worn old bootlegs into trash can oblivion. Their third or fourth generation images exuded a charming delirium that went lengths to enhance the peculiarities that fueled these types of films. But with new technology comes new promise.

Slowly but steadily, the arrival of DVD (followed by Internet downloading) has opened wide many new niches in relation to so-called 'obscure' cinema. Smaller companies have taken up the crusade of breathing new life into long left for dead movies. They've been cleaned, repaired and supplemented in more ways then could ever have been fathomed by those dingy, brown paper bootleggers. Many of the films focused on in this very article began life before my loopy eyes as bootlegs.

It is in bootleg land that I first discovered the crazed majesty of a certain Alejandro Jodorowsky.

Jodorowsky is an enigmatic smorgasbord of cultural influences and artistic output. He has traveled the world as a mime, playwright, comic book writer, tarot card reader and, most significantly, filmmaker. His work is of the quality not quantity fashion, he has only produced six features and one short in his entire career. Two of said films, 'El Topo' and 'The Holy Mountain', were the pride of my bootleg collection, I watched and rewatched them thinning the tapes slowly to the breaking point. The time has come to finally upgrade with the release of not only these two films, but a full six disc box set devoted to the filmic universe of this startling and unique talent.

I suppose I should first clarify one thing, the title, 'The Films of Alejandro Jodorowsky' (Anchor Bay Entertainment/Abkco Films) stands as a tad misleading. This set does not contain the complete Jodorowsky filmography. In truth, it covers the first half through the span of four films and two soundtracks as well as some bonus treats. Also I strongly recommend that the films be watched in order of when they were produced. I believe that Jodorowsky only got bigger, better and braver as he continued on his sublime cinematic tangent. To aid in this, I will break the set down disc by disc and give my two cent 'fringe' opinion on each flick.

We kick things off with 'La Cravate', a half hour short that served as Jodorowsky's introduction to the film medium. The piece is essentially a mime shtick involving two male characters (one an artist and the other a muscle man) and their dealings with a young lady who switches heads as an occupation. It is silent, short and rather whimsical with more than a passing resemblance to the likes of Chaplain or Keaton. This really serves as an intro for the beast of imagination that would son develop in later work. The story goes that this piece was stolen by the lead actress and thought lost for the better part of fifty years. Somehow it was uncovered in an attic in Germany and polished up for reintroduction via this set. Interesting stuff but keep in mind we're just getting started.

In 1968 Jodorowsky unveiled his debut feature 'Fando y Lis' to chaotic response in his then home of Mexico. Freely adapted (solely from memory, no script) from a play by sometime collaborator Fernando Arrabel and realized in high contrast black and white, the film feels like an aborted Felliniesque bastard flailing itself across the screen. What transpires is less a story than a feverish phantasmagoria committed to the celluloid real (something that holds true for the majority of Jodorowsky's work). A confused young man and his crippled lady are hell bent on finding the Eden like city of Tar. They shamble around treacherous quarries and brave all manner of revelers and deviants who appear at random along their path. The whole of this experience is initially tough to take, but upon additional inspection I am able to appreciate the sheer purity of form and lack of consideration for cliche at large here. It would be oh so easy to dismiss this as artsy fartsy dreck and leave it at that. I prefer to return to a difficult film sometimes and see if I can't dig deeper (especially when its creator progresses with successive works, as is the case here) and maybe uncover its secrets and surprises. After all, no significant film is ever meant to be viewed just once.

Next up is the film that initially put Alejandro Jodorowsky's name into the consciousness of multitudes. 'El Topo' arrived at the early tip of the seventies to almost single handily usher in the 'midnight movie' phenomenon. It tells the tale of an Eastwood styled drifter who, with his naked son in tow, tracks and challenges numerous outlaws and mystics before undergoing a radical transformation/rebirth of his own. The movie both feeds on and reconstructs many of the conventions and ideologies of the era; the western, the 'beat' film, exploitation cinema and spiritual diatribe. The film eventually won favor from none other then outlaw, hippie, cultural mega-icon John Lennon. Fact is, Lennon dug 'El Topo' so much he hustled Beatles manager Allen Klein to procure the film for American distribution. This led to an alliance of both prosperous and catastrophic results. Never the less, it is the reason 'The Holy Mountain' got made.

'The Holy Mountain' is, from this critic's standpoint anyway, a watershed in the arena of fantastic film making. It is startling and amazing in so many ways it almost feels like sensory overload. Anyone with a taste for the imaginative and visionary in their art will find paradise within this picture's running time. The storyline has something to do with a petty street dreg (who more then passingly resembles the Catholic white man representation of Christ) who is taken under the tutelage of a character called 'The Alchemist' (fleshed out by Jodorowsky himself) and led on a quest for ultimate enlightenment....or some such hippie shit. Whatever, the so called story is beside the point. This is the mother of all head trips and I challenge any skeptic to walk away from this journey unscathed, there is just far too much to take in. This is the type of stuff that makes most folks' dreams seem lethargic by comparison. You got everything you need to overdose to in this mother; screaming amputee midgets, orgasm machines, reptiles dressed as conquistadors attacking each other, birds fluttering out of bullet wounds and much, much more! This is the peak of Jodorowsky as a film maker and I urge anyone interested in taking part in this fantastic box set, save this one for last as it is well worth the wait.

Sadly, after completing 'The Holy Mountain', Jodorowsky would enter into what would become a thirty odd year feud with Allen Klein over a more commercial project the producer had in mind. Jodorowsky flatly refused and Klein withdrew his most accomplished films from commercial exhibition. 'El Topo' and 'The Holy Mountain' languished in cinema purgatory for the duration of their spat. In the interim, Jodorowsky continued his maverick path come what may. He would begin work on an adaptation of Frank Herbert's beloved sci-fi opus 'Dune'. This was to be a project that would have gathered a counter culture dream team together for a single ambitious extravaganza. The planned film was to star Salvador Dali, Mick Jagger and Orson Wells. It was to feature designs by H.R. Giger and a score featuring Pink Floyd. Oh the potential! Alas, the big shot money men got big time cold feet and the plug was pulled, only to be reinstated to unfortunate effect a decade later by Dino DeLaurentis and David Lynch. The Jodorowsky envisioning of 'Dune' remains one of the great unrealized projects in the history of film. Pity.

After this debacle, Jodorowsky would focus on various projects aside from cinema only to return in 1979 for another failure in the largely unseen (even by me) children's film 'Tusk'. This picture remains on the bootleg circuit in a French language only version. At any rate, Jodorowsky has since distanced himself from it.

Nearly nine more years would pass before the release of 'Santa Sangre'. The story of a once institutionalized boy and his long suffering, dismembered mother and the violence they inflict together is one of unsettling psychological power. The significant critical and theatrical attention leveled at this return to form must have seemed refreshing to a filmmaker who'd been separate from success for so long. 'Sangre' retains many of the visual tics of the director's notorious style while maintaining a largely straight forward narrative structure. Make no mistake though, this is no everyday movie. In one scene we follow a rather debauched night on the town with a posse of mental ward escapees which covers the spectrum from hookers to cocaine and so on. Now I don't want to give too much away here, like the best of Jodorowsky's works, this one subsists on surprise. It travels roads unexpected and finds many a unique (and sometimes horrid) wonder. The bad news is that this gem was left out of the new set due to ongoing litigation. The best bet is to track down an old copy in a dusty video store corner.


The same holds true for the next and final produced film from Jodorowsky to date.

'The Rainbow Thief' is another project that the directer now disowns. As he tells it he was hired by the producer to film his wife's script to the letter as a birthday gift for her. Thus Jodorowsky was given access to his biggest budget and name actors such as Peter O' Toole to shoot a light tale of an odd prince and a filthy beggar who become friends in a sewer. The resulting film swiftly died on all levels and stands as an unjust final note to an ingenious career.

Let's hope that the arrival of 'The Films of Alejandro Jodorowsky' makes that all go away. The set is a godsend to any discerning fanatic of the arts. It opens the door to a body of work that has gone mostly unseen for far too long, and has certainly never been this exquisitely presented. The films have all undergone transfer overhaul and the final product is top self. After countless times sitting through the barely passable quality of those damn bootlegs, these discs make the experience as fresh as if the films came straight from the lab. The set features commentary, set photos, two soundtracks ('El Topo', 'Holy Mountain'), deleted scenes, script excerpts and a full length documentary. This last item, the 86 minute 'La Constellation-Jodorowsky' from 1990 is an engrossing insight into the man's philosophies, inspirations and theories on everything from his childhood to the art of self discovery that is film making. It features lively interviews with the directer as well as admirers like Marcel Marceau and Peter Gabriel(!). I think only complaint I hold on the subject of this bountiful new set is the lack of any accompanying booklet/liner notes. Though that may be due to the forthcoming publication of 'Anarchy and Alchemy', a literary analysis of the man and his art by Ben Cobb. Expect that volume by the end of the summer. Do, however, try to check out 'The Films of Alejandro Jodorowsky' at your local media shack (i.e Best Buy, Exclusive Co.) and let it sink deep into your psyche.

For further info, you can web it up at, www.anchorbayentertainment.com
www.abkco.com




Hold on! Put that beer down you scumbag, I'm not done yet.

Here are some other hits and misses.


'Tideland'- A little girl gets lost in the wilderness of her own imagination following the back to back overdoses of her junkie parents. She finds solace in the company of talking doll heads and a local spastic who thinks he's a submarine captain. Oddly not as bizarre ass it sounds. In fact, the whole thing is a tad mundane in its quest to be eccentric and 'daring'. The latest offering from the once great Terry Gilliam, who continues to distance himself from the genius of 'Time Bandits' and 'Brazil'. Oh, and Jeff Bridges is in it.....sort of.


'Pan's Labyrinth'- Another little girl lost, only this time the result is one of the best fables (hell, movies!) of the year. Guillermo Del Toro puts himself one step closer to icon status with this rich, visually hypnotic tale of creaky ghouls and creepy men. Set in 1940's Spain at the height of fascism, the movie gracefully dances between vivid fantasy and cold, cruel reality. It propels its doe-eyed pre pubescent heroine into a race to change the fate of an alternate reality from certain doom to life affirming hope. A triumph of the imagination.



'Zodiac'- M.T.V. got nothing on this. David Fincher proves once and for all that he is beyond the A.D.D. of his music video past. Articulate and exacting, this is a major epic chronicling a rather dark chapter in our recent history. In the late 60's, the Bay area of Northern California is thrown into turmoil by a series of serial attacks accompanied by the media published taunts of the perpetrator himself. The movie also charts the repercussions that follow for years afterward as the Zodiac killer is never caught and simply buries himself into urban legend. Long, methodical and rewarding for the more focused movie goer.