PAUL THOMAS ANDERSON’S INHERENT VICE — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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The skunky stench and hazy after-effects of marijuana can be found all over Paul Thomas Anderson’s hysterical, bewildering, utterly zonked-out shaggy-dog detective movie Inherent Vice. Based on Thomas Pynchon’s much celebrated novel, this is a wild, ridiculous, totally blazed piece of work that had “cult-classic” status written all over it the moment it was released in theaters a few years ago. Different and yet similar to obvious inspirations such as The Big Lebowski, The Big Sleep, and The Long Goodbye, Inherent Vice likely annoyed many who went in looking for something more traditional, but at the same time, was probably “just-right” for many others. There’ll be no real middle ground with this one. You’ve got to be interested in watching a perpetually stoned, lackadaisical, possibly hallucinating lead character that can’t seem to get out of his own way. The cast is peppered with tons of stars (Reese Witherspoon, Owen Wilson, Benicio Del Toro, a debauched Martin Short in one of the best scenes in the film) but Phoenix owned the picture. Coming on the heels of his exquisite and varied work in both The Master and Her, he delivered a totally different performance in Inherent Vice, cementing his chameleonic quality to any role he takes on, investing every performance with integrity, intensity, and odd charm. He’s long been one of my favorite actors and I can’t wait to see him in the new film by Lynne Ramsay that just premiered at Cannes.

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The “plot” of Inherent Vice can be followed, but I’ll admit that it’s taken me a few viewings to fully digest everything that this film has to offer, as great movies allow for constant exploration. Because Phoenix’s character is essentially an unreliable narrator, and because everyone he comes into contact with screws with him in some way, there’s this sense of randomness to the plot that won’t be to everyone’s liking. Inherent Vice is more about the crazy characters and the druggy aroma and the floral dialogue and stony voice-over and the minutiae of the time period – those looking for an “air-tight” plot need to go find something else. It’s also about the collision of two subcultures, and how America, in particular Los Angeles, was rapidly changing during this time period. Josh Brolin absolutely nailed his supporting role as an angry LAPD officer who clashes with Phoenix multiple times throughout the story. And there’s some of the bravest nudity I’ve ever seen from an actress on the part of the lovely and talented Katherine Waterston, who injected her character with an earthy sensuality that you don’t normally see on the big screen. Inherent Vice carries a distinct visual atmosphere, with master shooter Robert Elswit’s purposefully hazy and scratchy cinematography being just the right tonal fit for the offbeat material. The on-location shooting adds to the cool-factor, and the play-through soundtrack is completely groovy – Can POWER!

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Stephen King’s Graveyard Shift


Stephen King’s Graveyard Shift is curiously one of my favourite adaptations of his work. I say curiously because it’s not a very tasteful film, let alone even a good one. It’s simple schlock and awe, goo and slime for 90 minutes straight, every human character either an unsettling nutcase or cardboard stock archetype. There’s just something so Midnite Movie-esque about it though, a sense of fun to its gigantic, hollowed out mess of a textile mill in which some kind of vile denizen stalks a night crew that pretty much deserves everything they get. People wander about, squabble and are picked off in ways that get steadily more gruesome until the final reveal of the monster in some overblown puss-palooza of a finale. What more do you need in your bottom feeder helping of horror? Steven Macht is the sleazebag who runs the mill at his tyrannical whim, while David Andrews is the closest thing you’ll find to a stoic protagonist. Andrew ‘Wishmaster’ Divoff shows up as a stock character, but it’s Brad Dourif who chews scenery and ends up the only memorable person as the world’s most simultaneously intense and incompetent exterminator, a bug eyed little weirdo who freaks people out with extended monologues about Viet Nam when he should be perusing corridors to find whatever’s lurking there. The monster itself, if I remember correctly, is one big pile of grossly misshappen, poopy prosthetic puppetry, as is often the case in early 90’s King fare. Would you want it any other way? Simple, efficient and impressively gory is what you’ll find on this shift. 

-Nate Hill

B Movie Glory: G-Men From Hell


G-Men From Hell is.. well, pretty much exactly what the title suggests. Based on a comic book, I think, it concerns two melodramatic 1950’s FBI Agents named Dean Crept (William Forsythe) and Mike Mattress (Tate Donovan) who are gunned down by mysterious assailants, and sent off to the inferno to rot, only they aren’t finished their business earth-side, and escape using some magic dimension opening crystal. Once back in the realm of the living, they set up their own private detective agency, forced to keep up their good deed quota in order to prevent from being dragged off again. The Devil (Robert Goulet, hilarious) is furious and dispatches an agent of his own to retrieve them. Meanwhile, a relentless and fairly nutty police detective (Gary Buddy) is also hot on their trail. Busey, as usual, flips the script into the dustbin and does his own warped thing with the dialogue, making scene partners visibly try to hold in laughter and bewilderment, proving once again that any film he appears in will never get boring. Forsythe and Donovan play it like Looney Toons in noir mode, two campy gumshoe performances that are so knowingly tongue in cheek that it almost seems like a stage play. Cameos include Bobcat Goldthwait, David Huddleston, Kari Wuhrur, Charles Fleischer, Frank McCrae and Vanessa Angel. I feel like the whole thing is just a bit silly to work, even as one big riotous in-joke, but it’s a colourful diversion nonetheless, and any film with that title deserves a watch as an ode to it’s sheer commitment to blatant inanities. Please excuse the pitiful lack of high def photos in my collage, whoever was in charge of screen caps and production stills on this should be shot in the face.  

-Nate Hill

Stuart Gordon’s Fortress


Stuart Gordon’s Fortress is one of the more overlooked dystopian sci-fi thrillers of the 90’s, and despite somewhat being a B-movie, it holds its own in pretty much every department. Quality story, terrific acting (even from the king of stilted delivery himself, Christopher Lambert) and a story with more depth than the poster or marketing might suggest. Lambert plays an unfortunate man on the run with his wife (Loryn Locklin) in an America of the future where having more than one child per mother is prohibited. They’re both nabbed trying to make a break for Mexico, locked away in a horrific prison called Fortress, a place where science has run amok and all kinds of neurological and biological experiments are performed on the inmates under the steely direction of evil Director Poe (Kurtwood Smith). Fortress is an unorthodox nightmare where basic rights are replaced by those of cattle or worse, and no one is safe from micro implants, mind alteration and all sorts of fun stuff. Lambert plans an elaborate escape with the help of various inmates including Vernon Wells, the late Tom Towles, Jeffrey Combs and Clifton Collins Jr., all putting in excellent and varied performances. The scene stealer is Kurtwood Smith though, who is usually cheeky, psychotic or sarcastic in his work. Taking on the type of role that typically goes to a Malcolm McDowell type guy, he tackles a character that is the farthest thing from sympathetic you could find and sort of turns that on its head, making him seem very much human in one galvanizing piece of acting work. You can label this type of thing second tier or low budget, write it off or not take it seriously, but the fact remains that many of these efforts are works of art in their own right, beautifully crafted adventure stories set in universes more vibrant and imaginative than our own, stories just to the left left of normal and full of schlock, machines, creature effects and smoke machines. Gordon is a master in this arena (remind me to tell you about Space Truckers one day), a creative force to rival Roger Corman and the like. Fortress is my personal favourite in his stable, and one shouldn’t underestimate its entertainment value and ability to hold up decades later. Oh and also, this suffers from an adorable condition I call Blade Runner Syndrome™, in which the far off year the film’s timeline exists in has been caught up to by our own trajectory, making the films future look like our past. This film’s specific year? 2017, as you’ll see in the poster above. That means that right now, Lambert and Smith are duking it out in that clandestine compound somewhere out there. Cool thought. 

-Nate Hill

LUC BESSON’S THE MESSENGER — A REVIEW BY FILMMAKER & GUEST CRITIC DAMIAN K. LAHEY

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‘The Messenger: The Story Of Joan Of Arc’ (1999) dir. Luc Besson

I’m a big cheerleader for this film. I think this is a remarkable achievement. I find Besson’s direction and intentions pure and Jovovich is incredible in the title role. The post modern way in which screenwriter Andrew Birkin and Luc Besson tackle the story gives the film a real timeless quality and a sharp contemporary message. And the cinematography by Thierry Arbogast? Get out of town! Absolutely gorgeous!

Now, there are a couple of awkward moments in the film. Things that seem out of place for one reason or another. They are small and inconsequential save for one that I feel should be addressed. I do not believe this film does itself any favors by treating the murder/rape of Joan’s sister as a black comedy sketch. I think this damages the film at the very start and it takes a minute to recover from it. It is also entirely made up. Joan Of Arc did not have a sister brutally raped and murdered by the English. I’m sure Besson had his reasons but…

The Church is presented as an unwieldy political monster here – draconian and far reaching as well as hypocritical and rigid in its discipline. Its intentions anything but noble. The French Government learns of a peasant girl gaining notoriety for her religious visions and decides to use her in a shrewd attempt to reignite a flagging nationalism. Joan was a natural when it came to myth making and the French monarch saw in her a great opportunity. While Joan Of Arc’s devotion to the cause was intense and blinding, the character she created for herself was one to be manipulated by far more calculating minds. To the people, the Maid of Orleans was a symbol of many things – hope, a resurgent France, proof of God’s existence…but to the French Government and the Church – she was a tool. And a tool they used wisely.

The cast that appears in this film is glorious. Jovovich is assisted on all sides by the likes of Dustin Hoffman, Faye Dunaway, Vincent Cassel and John Malkovich and they all give incredible performances.

At the end, she burns. We know Joan doesn’t make it out alive. There’s a mock trial and political shenanigans. But Joan’s victory in this film isn’t the military campaigns, her legend building or ability to inspire religious simpletons. In a clever, revisionist move the filmmakers paint Joan Of Arc’s greatest triumph as her ability to finally forgive herself. She finally comes to understand that the voice she’s been answering to is not God’s but her own. She does not need God’s forgiveness for her sins. She simply needs her own forgiveness to find peace.

Let’s face it. People look themselves in the mirror and tell themselves vital lies every day to keep them going. And some of these lies are larger than others. Joan’s vital lie was her unwavering belief that everything that occurred to her had a religious explanation and thus justified her extreme behavior. This prevented her from seeing the larger picture and it is that narrative that ultimately brought her down. She failed to understand her role in a world of boundaries, governments and alliances.

The filmmakers ask us to accept that Joan Of Arc is neither saint, opportunist, lunatic, do-gooder, or glory seeker but instead a highly passionate and confused teenager made up of all these things that happened to come together at the right time and place to create an enduring piece of history. In her final hours she finds absolution from within, freeing herself at last. She does not burn as the ambitious and over zealous Joan Of Arc. She burns as the simple peasant girl from Orleans who wanted to confess and having finally done so, could embrace her fate.

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THE COEN BROTHERS’ MILLERS CROSSING — A MINI-REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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The 1990 crime film Miller’s Crossing is one of my favorite films from the Coen brothers, a neo-noir gangster movie that gets better and better with each viewing, fully showcasing the Coen’s estimable gifts as storytellers and stylists, with bracing and dark wit balanced by stark violence, creating a rich, dense cinematic world that unfolds with sinister calm. Starring Gabriel Byrne, John Turturro, Marcia Gay Harden, Steve Buscemi, Mike Starr, Albert Finney, Jon Polito, and J.E. Freeman, the plot hinges on rival gangs and how one man navigates the tricky and duplicitous waters of engaging with both sides. Shot with formal precision by Barry Sonnenfeld (he also shot Raising Arizona and Blood Simple for the Coens) and judiciously edited by Michael R. Miller (Raising Arizona, Orgazmo), the film boasts a superb musical score from Coen-mainstay Carter Burwell (Fargo, Being John Malkovich), with everyone in the ensemble delivering pitch-perfect performances. Despite not finding a supporting theatrical audience, Miller’s Crossing has become a cult favorite in the years since its big-screen release, and one of the better offerings this genre has provided in decades. Look out for Sam Raimi and Frances McDormand in small roles, while the nods to Dashiell Hammett ground the film with a literary quality that kicks it up another notch.

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Indie Gems: 13 Moons


It’s anybody’s guess how ones like 13 Moons slip through the cracks, but in this case it was probably a case of nonexistent marketing and no effort put into a proper release. Despite having a cast that’s speckled with all kinds of big names, character actors and cameos, it has the appearance of barest of bones indie digs, and looks suspiciously like it was filmed bootleg/guerrilla style. I’ve not a clue what the story behind it’s conception is, but it’s a brilliant little flick that you won’t find anywhere these days, but deserves a look. It’s one of those moody, nocturnal L.A. set ensemble pieces in which a group of eclectic characters wander about, intersecting in various subplots until it finally comes together in the third act. This motif is overdone these days, and I just have to throw a jab at Paul Haggis’s Crash, which has aged like Kraft Dinner left for a week in the Florida sun, but my point is that they either work or topple over like a jenga tower buckling under the weight of each character and scenario. This one is so low budget it looks like it was shot on an etch a sketch, but thankfully the story is powerful, emotional, hilarious and strange enough to make a lasting impression. Steve Buscemi and Peter Dinklage are two sad-sack clowns who wander the nightscape, and in fact the image of absurdly out of place clowns roaming the lonely streets of NYC, getting caught up in a raucous night out involving a man (David Proval, an underused talent in the industry) and his young son who is dying of cancer and desperately seeks an organ doner, while his mom (Jennifer Beals) looks for them. Meanwhile there’s an insane clown played by Peter Stormare who’s running about, and when I say insane I do mean it. Stormare is always a little zany and flamboyant, but his work here takes the cake and whips it at the wall. It’s easy for actors to be uninhibited in indie fare like this, free from the prudence of studio chaperones, and he knows this, his character eventually playing a key role but most of the time careening around like a bat out of hell set loose in New York. The cameos are fleeting and fascinating, and one wonders who was buddies with who and pulled what favours to swing their appearances, but it’s nice to see them irregardless. Sam Rockwell and Michael Parks are fun as two bartenders, real life ex-hoodlums Danny Trejo and Edward Bunker show up briefly as.. hoodlums, and watch for quick turns from Pruitt Taylor Vince, Michael Badalucco and others. The film is thoroughly indie that no one has, or probably will ever see it, and my review probably adds to the scant half dozen or so write ups that are out there. Sadly many little treasures like this exist, unbeknownst to most. 13 Moons is a sweet, scrappy, somewhat star studded little piece that is well worth anyone’s time, if they love a good story in an oddball of a package. 

-Nate Hill

MEL BROOKS’ SPACEBALLS — A MINI-REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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Mel Brooks’ Spaceballs is one of the funniest movies ever made. Of course, comedy is easily the most subjective genre out there, but for me, this film just nails its target so often that it’s impossible not to smile at all of the loving fun it pokes at Star Wars and countless other space operas that inspired this piece of cinematic idiocy. Brooks, of course, is a comedy legend, having made such brilliant works as Blazing Saddles, Young Frankenstein, and High Anxiety, but this is the effort from him that I’ve seen the most, and because he was so warm with his sense of humor and never overly cruel, you’re able to see how his satirical targets are born out of a place of love for the source material he’s riffing on. Everyone in the having-a-blast cast was riotous, with special mention needing to be given to Bill Pullman, John Candy, Rick Moranis, Joan Rivers, Daphne Zuniga, Michael Winslow and Dick Van Patten. Cinematographer Nick McLean has a very cool resume; ditto the film’s editor Conrad Buff. Spaceballs is one of a handful of comedies, including all three The Naked Gun entries, Airplane, Caddyshack, and Animal House, that I could watch at any point of the day and pee my diaper from laughing. Now if only they had made Spaceballs 3: The Search for Spaceballs 2…!

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Batman

Batman

1989.  Directed by Tim Burton.

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Paving the way for the cinematic age of the superhero, Tim Burton’s noir drenched take on the caped crusader is an intriguing film.  Batman was one of the darker entries into the comic book genre at the time, using Art Deco architecture and a Stygian color palette to present Gotham as a city of another time.  Jack Nicholson’s over the top embodiment of the clown prince of crime combines with Danny Elfman’s memorable score and Academy Award winning art direction to create a Gothic dreamscape where the terrors of the mind walk the streets and identity is the last battleground between good and evil.

On the surface, Batman hits all of the expected narrative points of a caped crusader epic.  The Bat battles the Joker, grapples with trauma from the loss of his parents, experiences emotional discordance with intimacy, and is initially rebuked by the people he is attempting to save.  However, Burton build’s on Sam Hamm and Warren Skaaren’s script by placing the story in an alternate Gotham, cut off from traditional reality.  Where later films, such as Nolan’s trilogy, would seek to weave the concepts of costumed vigilantes into plausible reality, Burton created not only an original take on the character, but an entirely unique world.  There are similarities to reality, but Gotham is very much its own universe.  The buildings emulate the sharp angles of Lang’s Metropolis, captured by Roger Pratt’s insightful cinematography, perfectly emulating the comic book experience.  Looming shots of the doomed metropolis are interwoven with bold compositions of Welles-like chemical factories and avant-garde gatherings of the elite.

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The thugs and police use antiquated weapons such as tommy guns while enshrouded in classic outfits designed Bob Ringwood.  Paul Engelen’s makeup design is another outstanding touch, particularly with respect to everything outside of the already astonishing Joker prosthetics.  While Nicholson’s demonic trickster is the centerpiece, Engelen’s devious designs align with Burton’s farcical realm of dread.  From grinning victims of Joker’s chemical poisons to beleaguered, unwashed News Anchors, physical appearance, not just costumes, is an important part of Batman’s dangerous hysterics.

The overarching divide between wealth and poverty is bridged by the criminal element, symbolized through Jack Nicholson’s unforgettable portrayal of The Joker.  The seminal character has had several incarnations over the years, with Nicholson’s being the most madcap of the bunch, harmonizing the gleeful insanity of Caesar Romero with the dangerous edge that Ledger would bring to the role years later.  Nicholson’s embodiment is so over the top that it outshines Keaton’s Bruce Wayne/Batman in every interaction and while this initially appears as a flaw, it is also a testament to Keaton’s quiet restraint that showcases his immense supporting talent.  Batman is a film about larger than life personas doing battle in a city of excessive dreams, a place directly responsible for their existence.  Where Nicholson is the criminal turned maniacal aristocrat, Keaton is the fallen noble, a man with expansive wealth who drifts from scene to scene in a calculating haze of aloofness, waiting for the call to action.  While both characters share certain qualities, each actors’ approach to the material beautifully conflict, carving out layers of subtext within their relationship and in their distinct views on the world around them.

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Kim Basinger delivers an interesting turn as Wayne’s love interest, Vicki Vale.  Initially, her scream laden performance may repulse, however, after repeated viewings, there’s an edge to her character that reveals itself, particularly during her scenes with Nicholson.  Despite the facade of fear, Basinger’s physical cues are representative of someone who has looked death in the face and it is one of Batman’s few flaws that this concept wasn’t explored more fully, particularly her character’s experiences during a South American civil war.  Her scenes with Keaton are placid, perhaps due to reasons outlined above, but an understanding of Vale’s history puts some of the soapy pleadings in the final act into a more forgivable light.

Prince performed the soundtrack, lacing the golden age throwback with funky rock tunes that were in high rotation during the summer of 1989.  Party Man, the most memorable track is featured during the slapstick museum sequence, a scene that is the perfect summation of Batman’s theme.  What appears playful and eccentric from a distance masks murderous intent and it is here that the Bat and the Joker first lay eyes upon another.  Danny Elfman’s triumphant score outpaces the riotous soundtrack with an eclectic blend of inspiring anthems and shadowy undertones, simulating both Batman’s plight and the fallen metropolis of Gotham, a city living in the shadow of itself.

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Available now for digital streaming, Batman is one of the most important American films of the ’80s.  It created a blueprint that has been improved upon since its release and was the key to opening the floodgates of superhero related entertainment that continue to dominate the box office to this day.  Nicholson’s epic performance is the brightest gem; however it is the world of Burton’s design that is Batman’s hidden power, a corrupted place of elegance and predation that has inspired nightmares and dreams since the film’s debut.  If you’re looking to see where it all began, Batman is the caped patriarch, and it delivers on virtually every level.

Highly. Highly Recommend.

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