Banned in several countries due to the misconception that it was a snuff film, Ruggero Deodato's 1980 shock horror film Cannibal Holocaust has become somewhat of a rite of passage for extreme horror fans. The story is simple: an academic (Robert Kerman) heads to the Amazon to find out what happened to a missing film crew. He stumbles upon an indigenous, cannibalistic tribe from which he recovers the crew's footage. Upon returning to America, he reviews what they shot, revealing the group of filmmakers grisly, nasty ends. Pretty basic stuff, and it doesn't take a genius to understand the influence of Deodato's film on the found footage craze driving such pictures as The Blair Witch Project, [REC], Paranormal Activity, and, most recently, V/H/S.
Cannibal Holocaust, unlike those other films, has built up a reputation as one of the most transgressive films of all time. In Britain, it became one of the holy grails of the video nasties, movies that were forbidden for sale by legislative decree, resulting in an active black market for bootleg video copies of those films. For more on video nasties, I've included a short piece hosted by English critic Mark Kermode after the trailer.
The Hollywood Theatre's monthly Grindhouse Film Festival brings Portland audiences the chance to catch the film this Tuesday on the big screen, projected from a rare 35mm print. Here's what the theater's press release has to say (note the warning about refunds):
The Grindhouse Film Festival presents the only known 35mm print of Ruggero Deodato’s soul-shattering horror film Cannibal Holocaust.
Cannibal Holocaust (1980) A crew of documentary filmmakers, working on a movie about a lost cannibal tribe, disappears deep in the Amazon jungle. An anthropologist is sent in search of them, and finds only their film footage. When he screens the film, we witness the crew’’s horrible fate. This gut churning descent into the dark side of humanity includes some of the most horrific images ever burned into celluloid. This film is absolutely guaranteed to shock, offend and disgust. It is also one of the most powerful films of all time.
WARNING: This film contains extreme violence and scenes of animal cruelty. No one under the age of 17 will be admitted, and no refunds will be given to those offended.
Cannibal Holocaust plays one-night-only at the Hollywood Theatre on Tuesday, October 23rd at 7:30pm. More info available here.
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I'm not sure if it was posting 10 times in seven days last week or just how busy things have been while shutting down my day job at Video Verite, but you might have noticed that the blog's been fairly quiet this week. Even without posting this week, we finally passed 30,000 hits yesterday, a small milestone for our humble, little film obsessed site, indeed. Many thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read, comment, and encourage me to continue posting.
Even with all the other regular life distractions at hand, I was still able to catch a small handful of films opening this weekend at the local indie theaters. Here now is a sampling of just a few of the many options available in PDX for the cinematically curious.
In Search of Blind Joe Death, dir. James Cullingham
A documentary on the immensely, influential primitive folk picker John Fahey. The film brings together a wide swath of individuals, ranging from members of Calexico to Pete Townsend to musicologists and various associates, to heap much deserved adulation at the feet of the late steel string guitarist. Fahey's life and (especially his) music form a story worth exploring and I've often wondered why no one had made a film about him. In Search of Blind Joe Death is a compelling view for both fervent followers and those completely unfamiliar with Fahey's legacy.
In Search of Blind Joe Death plays one-night-only at the Hollywood Theatre on Saturday, October 21st at 7pm.More info available here.
A look inside the Bras family cooking dynasty as world famous chef Michel Bras prepares to hand the reins over to his son Sébastien. Although high-wire acts of culinary mastery are featured throughout the film, the food actually takes a backseat to the family dynamics in the film, distinguishing it from the overcrowded foodie doc scene.
Michel and Sébastien butt heads over both Michel's established recipes and some newer innovations that Sébastien hopes will help restaurant goers discern what it is that he brings to the table. Director Paul Lacoste wisely keeps Sébastien a mystery to the audience until very near the end of the film, allowing for a multi-layered, slow reveal that greatly enriches the viewing experience.
Highly recommended.
Step Up to the Plate begins its run at Living Room Theaters on Friday, October 19th.More info available here.
Washington D.C. hardcore band Bad Brains were a complete anomaly when they first emerged in the punk scene of the late 70s. Being an all African-American punk group in a mostly white playing field was one thing, but Bad Brains was also the fastest, most technically innovative group that anyone had ever seen playing this kind of music.
Directors Logan and Stein tell the story of the band's formative years while following them on the road during a recent, tumultuous reunion tour. Their cameras don't stop rolling even when things get rough between the band (singer H.R. displays his notorious mental health issues for the camera, causing things to go sour near the end of the tour), adding much needed tension to a film that might otherwise just be an exercise in nostalgia.
Bad Brains: A Band in D.C. screens
at the NW Film Center's Whitsell Auditorium (in the Portland Art
Museum) as a part of the Reel Music Festival series on Friday, October 19th at 8:45pm. More info available here.
This 1971 fever dream of a film started the ball rolling for the Australian New Wave. Detailing the downward trajectory of John, a Sydney-based schoolteacher (Gary Bond) on vacation in the Outback town of Bundanyabba (referred to as "the Yabba" by the natives he meets), the film throws our hero into a volatile mix of gambling, alcoholism, and kangaroo death unlike anything I've ever seen. Donald Pleasence shows up about a third of the way through the picture as Doc Tydon, a drunken physician living in squalor. Once they meet, John and Doc's paths are tied together to the bitter, marsupial-wrestling end.
Recommended for those who revel in the weirder, more disturbing side of cult cinema (probably not ideal viewing for card carrying members of PETA).
Wake in Fright begins its run at Cinema 21 on Friday, October 19th. More info available here.
As I pointed out last week, without the success of the 1931 version of Dracula, Universal Pictures might not have continued producing what are now unquestionably a series of the best monster flicks of the silver screen. Taken on its own, though, Dracula is a masterpiece of the macabre, filled with more shadows than light and powered by an unparalleled and unforgettable performance by Bela Lugosi in the title role.
If you haven't seen the film in a while, or even if you have, there's no better time to revisit it than now while the Hollywood Theatre has a 35mm print on hand.
Dracula plays at the Hollywood Theatre on Saturday, October 20th and Sunday, October 21st at 2pm.More info available here.
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Nobody doubts that coal mining in the 20th century was a hard, grimy trade to ply, but The Miners' Hymns adds noble to the list of words appropriate for describing this type of labor. The film is the latest release from Bill Morrison, best known for Decasia and a series of short works (Light is Calling among the best of them) based in archival footage so ravaged physically by the hands of time that the deterioration produces unexpected and painterly qualities. This time around, Morrison sets aside his usual fascination with decaying source materials, a choice that is surprising at first, and yet, the results are no less hypnotic to behold.
The film focuses on the coal mining industry of Durham, England, allowing us to gaze upon the coal miners as they drink, work, and fight in solidarity. Morrison organizes the footage into discrete sections that move through the day and/or lifespan of the industry, carefully integrating the region as a player in his narrative. For instance, after watching the miners toil underground for a long stretch, we see as an immense amount of coal is piled high in an above ground pit. Morrison soon cuts to a group of children playing in these artificial hills of black rock. Union demonstrations, clashes with authorities, and a ceremonial march through the backdrop of Durham play largely into the final third of The Miners' Hymns.
All of this occurs without narration; as per usual, the filmmaker resists being tied to a strictly literal retelling of the history as it flits across the screen. Instead, the rough proximity of these events form their own hazy and vaguely familiar narrative, decipherable while still oblique enough to gather up mystery. The original score by Icelandic composer Jóhann Jóhannsson intertwines seamlessly with the visual motifs that Morrison has stitched together here, heightening the imagery and rhythm of the edits into something greater than the sum of their parts. The lasting impression of this audio/visual collaboration is that these miners as a combined force were superhuman in their efforts. Even if the negative health effects experienced by that population can't be expunged from memory while viewing it, The Miners' Hymns offers a heroic portrait of these men who toiled beneath the earth's surface.
Highly recommended.
The Miners' Hymns screens
at the NW Film Center's Whitsell Auditorium (in the Portland Art
Museum) as a part of the Reel Music Festival series on Monday, October 15th at 7pm. More info available here. Remember to find and "like" us on our Facebook page.
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Here it is, the great granddaddy of 'em all (if by "all" you mean monster movies), James Whale's 1931 creature feature Frankenstein. Based on Mary Shelley's iconic, Gothic horror novel from 1818, the film was quickly green lit by execs at Universal after the wild success of Dracula. Whale promptly recast the lead; Universal originally wanted Bela Lugosi to play the part, choosing Boris Karloff as his murderous and (in Whale's sympathetic hands) misunderstood monster.
Let me just say, this is one handsome movie. Many of the shots are firmly under the spell of German Expressionism and the look of the thing capably resonates a creeping terror throughout. And though they might seem a little dated, the performances are great across the board. Karloff is a mountain of decaying flesh here and it's the role for which he'll always be remembered. Many folks champion Whale's sequel, Bride of Frankenstein, and I can certainly follow (and might even agree with) that argument, but the original film still retains a power that can't be denied.
For two afternoons only, the Hollywood Theatre has a 35mm print of this classic horror film available for Portland film fans to enjoy. Don't hesitate, 'cause it'll be gone before you know it. 'Tis the season, after all.
Frankenstein plays at the Hollywood Theatre on Saturday, October 13th and Sunday, October 14th at 2pm.More info available here.
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It's safe to say that Emily Brontë's famed 1847 novel Wuthering Heightshas seen more that its fair share of screen adaptations;IMDb lists fifteen such entries. Somehow, I'd only seen the 1939 William Wyler version with Merle Oberon, Laurence Olivier, and David Niven, a rather flowery, stiff affair that carries the strong whiff of being based on important literature. That early version tells the story, but little else is conveyed by its capable performers and workmanship-like production.
When it was announced some time back that Andrea Arnold's next film would be a new take on Wuthering Heights, it seemed an odd fit. Her work on Fish Tank and Red Road had shown her to be one of the most promising contemporary directors on the British scene, garnering positive comparisons to the social realist cinema of Ken Loach. But how, exactly, would the application of her most lauded techniques--the use of handheld cameras, wide-open, dialogue-free spaces, and an emphasis on the environments in which her characters live--work when set against a 19th century period piece? Incredibly well, it turns out.
Andrea Arnold's Wuthering Heights isn't like most period pieces. If there's a comparison to be had, it's with Jane Campion's last feature, the magnificently composed Bright Star. Both pieces shed the sterility so often associated with costume dramas, dirtying up the clothing worn by the characters and allowing period dialogue to flow from the actors mouths in an organic manner that communicates both its basis in reality and its meaning. It's an approach that offers a sense of life to what might otherwise come off as nothing more than filmed theater.
As with her prior projects, Arnold's take on this material engages deeply with issues of class and gender. She's also recast Brontë's Heathcliff (Solomon Glave as the younger version, James Howson as the elder one) as Afro-Carribbean, adding a telling analysis of racial inequity via Heathcliff's struggle to seen by his adopted family and loved openly by his Catherine (Shannon Beer as an adolescent, Kaya Scodelario as an adult).
None of these concerns are forced, as Arnold integrates everything into a
film that quietly watches over the lives of these people, observing
their emotional lives and circumstances, rather than placing the audience into a formally set stage where the actors project performative representations of lives lived. Arnold slowly paints these characters in additive strokes that cumulatively forms the framework for her retelling of the story.
Highly supportive to this bold vision is the work of cinematographer Robbie Ryan
who has crafted the best version of the visual style
they've been exploring during his long-running collaboration with Arnold. Ryan's camera imparts the chill of the landscape, the smell of the earth, and the warmth (and great lack thereof) of the bodies that roam these spaces. When Heathcliff sorrowfully lies back in the pouring rain, there's a sense of danger and urgency promoted by the imagery that's palpable to the senses.
Fish Tank was the best film I saw in 2010. Wuthering Heights is among a handful of titles from 2012 that I expect to be thinking about and revisiting for years to come. Andrea Arnold is more than just a promising talent; she may be the best working director out there. Wuthering Heights, like all of her films thus far, isn't fashioned for those expecting quick thrills, easy explanations, or happy endings, but it is a great work of art made at a time where, more and more, art films seem to be falling out of fashion. My advice: resist giving in to your reservations about slow cinema, period dramas, and art films. Wuthering Heights may not be for everyone, but to my own set of aesthetic sensibilities, it's exactly the kind of cinema that I want to see when I go to the movies.
Highly recommended.
Wuthering Heights begins its run at Cinema 21 on Friday, October 12th. More info available here.
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3, 2, 1...Frankie Go Boom is another one of those manic comedies based in familial strife where none of the characters behave like anyone ever would in real life. Fair enough, there's certainly a place for absurdity and crudity in movies, but writer/director Jordan Roberts' (Around the Bend) film punishes its audience for caring about what he's set up in the first act by quickly transforming into an unglued mass of nonsense, one that seems as cruel to the audience as it does to its cast.
Frankie has an uneasy relationship with his brother. Bruce (Chris O'Dowd) has always been a bit of a fuck up; in fact, when we meet him as an adult, he's just finishing up a stint in rehab. There's little, if any, kind of fraternal bond between these guys. Bruce constantly tortured Frankie when they were kids, perpetrating an endless series of pranks on Frankie so he could videotape them. It's been years since the brothers have seen each other, thanks to Bruce allowing Frankie's humiliation at his wedding to go viral on the internet.
After attending Bruce's exit ceremony from rehab with his parents (Nora Dunn and Sam Anderson), Frankie quite literally crashes into Lassie (Lizzy Caplan). She's drunk and very recently jilted, so, of course, they decide to go back to Frankie's place to have sex, which is all fine and dandy, except Frankie can't quite seal the deal physically. Well, guess what, Bruce videotaped the entire thing and plans to share his "film" with others. Bruce passes the goods on to Jack (Chris Noth), a washed up actor who he met in rehab, who, of course, ends up being Lassie's father. The entire film devolves into a banal dash to get the sex tape before Jack sees it or it hits the web.
Here's the thing: most all of these actors deserve better than what they're dealt here, especially Ron Perlman whose ex-convict in drag (okay, post-op gender reassignment) routine is played in the most obvious direction it could ever go. It's enough to make one wonder if any of the actors read beyond the first thirty pages of the script before signing on to the project. It's almost more of an insult to the audience that 3, 2, 1...Frankie Go Boom begins well enough before becoming the boring, convoluted mess it will be remembered for being, if it's remembered at all.
3, 2, 1...Frankie Go Boom opens at the Hollywood Theatre on Friday, October 12th.More info available here.
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Born Jerome Felder, Doc Pomus was an extraordinary figure when he first hit the music scene, a white, Jewish blues singer paralyzed by polio as a child. The fact that his music was exceptional only added to the befuddlement of audiences and record executives. The new documentary AKA Doc Pomus delves into both the striking figure he was as a performer as well as the absolute phenom that he later became as a songwriter in the Brill Building scene of the early rock and roll era, penning such classics as "Save the Last Dance for Me,""This Magic Moment,""Little Sister,""A Teenager in Love," and countless more hits.
Drawing from a wealth of interviews ranging from conversations with his ex-wives and son to the many musicians whose paths intersected with Pomus (Ben E. King, Lou Reed, Shawn Colvin, B.B. King, Dion, etc.), the documentary paints Pomus as a sometimes tortured genius who was blessed with extended periods of reprieve from his sorrows while effortlessly drawing from them for lyrical inspiration. The endless soundtrack of hits speaks far more loudly than any of the interviews could about this man, responsible for so many of the songs that defined the times in which he lived.
If there's a fault to find, it's in the repetitive nature of the interviews as the discussion shifts to the end of Doc's life, something that commonly occurs in these kinds of biographical documentaries (see the otherwise fantastic Who Is Harry Nilsson (And Why Is Everybody Talkin' About Him)? for another example of such missteps). Overall, AKA Doc Pomus is a treat for fans of both his songs and the particular era of rock and roll in which he wrote them.
AKA Doc Pomus screens
at the NW Film Center's Whitsell Auditorium (in the Portland Art
Museum) as a part of the Reel Music Festival series on Friday , October 12th at 7pm. More info available here. Remember to find and "like" us on our Facebook page.
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