Dracula 2000: A Review by Nate Hill

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Wes Craven’s Dracula 2000 is one of those horror flicks that proudly slaps his name over the title like he runs the show, when in fact he’s only participating under a vague executive producer credit. Now that we’ve got that little detail out of the way we can talk about what a thoroughly awesome movie it is, and how the haters can go suck it. It’s a high concept slice of bloody fun and has easily one of the best pairings of an actor with the Dracula mythos ever: Gerard Butler. He’s young and lean here, before he turned into a tank later in his career, and he makes one hell of a kick ass Dracula. The story is too good to be true: a team of arch criminals, led by Omar Epps and also including Hyde from That 70’s Show (lol) break into the European mansion of Dr. Abraham Van Helsing (Christopher Plummer) and steal the heavy duty coffin which he has stashed in his basement and used to contain Vladdy for over a hundred years. Helsing has always used a compound derived from his blood to keep himself alive all that time and ensure that he never gets loose. The burglars have no idea what they’re on for, and pretty soon Butler is loose and ready to get freaky, tearing apart their getaway plane and running off into the chaotic streets of New Orleans during Mardi Gras. He’s searching for a girl (Justine Waddell) to have sex with her and fulfill some horrific prophecy (nice little nod to End Of Days there). Dracula, Mardi Gras, Gerard Butler, Christopher Plummer; four ingredients to pretty much ensure your movie is gonna rock. Plummer makes one of the best onscreen Van Helsings in my books, rivaled only perhaps  by Anthony Hopkins. Butler is a sleek, hip and sensual Dracula, playing the role to the bloody hilt and sedimenting a really cool rendition of the character, with a surprising twist ending that adds some depth to the guy. Watch for work from Jennifer Esposito, Sean Patrick Thomas, Shane West, Lochlyn Munro and Nathan Fillion as well.
Great retelling, or rather addition to the legend, held up by Butler.

Episode 28: JONATHAN GLAZER’S SEXY BEAST

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We get back to our roots with a REGULAR episode dedicated to a single film with two top fives.  This time we talk about Jonathan Glazer’s SEXY BEAST and top five Ben Kingsley performances and top five English gangster films.  We plan on doing more of these regular podcasts in the future, hope you guys enjoy!

THE MUMMY – A REVIEW BY J.D. LAFRANCE

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Many cinephiles view director Stephen Sommers as the cinematic equivalent of Satan, and with everything that has gone horribly wrong with Hollywood blockbuster films. And, to be fair, with films like Van Helsing (2004) and G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra (2009) on a not-too impressive resume (in fact, looking over his filmography, there’s only one film of his I like), he’s hardly a filmmaker one equates with quality, but I will admit to being quite fond of The Mummy (1999). As far as Indiana Jones rip-offs go, it is pretty good. If that sounds like faint praise, I don’t mean it to be as Sommers’ film is actually a lot of fun and entertaining as hell.

The movie is the very popular re-imagining of the old Boris Karloff classic and would go on to spawn two inferior sequels and transform Brendan Fraser into a bonafide leading man. Up to that point he had a reputation for starring in forgettable comedies like Encino Man (1992), The Scout (1994), and Airheads (1994). With The Mummy, he demonstrated some serious action film chops with a hint of romantic leading man qualities that were complimented by his knack for comedy, thankfully doled out in relative moderation this time. The end result is a satisfying popcorn movie with no other agenda than to entertain.

It’s 1923 and the French Foreign Legion engage the Medjai, descendents of Pharaoh Seti I, in battle at the legendary Hamunaptra, the City of the Dead. When his superior officer deserts, Rick O’Connell (Fraser) finds himself in charge, much to his chagrin. It certainly is an exciting way to introduce our leading man as he and his fellow soldiers attempt to stand their ground on the city walls as the Medjai attack in wave after wave. Brendan Fraser shows some decent action movie skills as his character valiantly tries to stay alive despite being overwhelmed by superior numbers and abandoned by his cowardly sidekick (and comic relief) Beni (Kevin J. O’Connor). Rick narrowly escapes and runs off into the desert where the Medjai leave him to die.

Three years later in Cairo, we meet bookish librarian Evelyn Carnahan (Rachel Weisz) at the Museum of Antiquities as she single-handedly manages to topple over a room full of towering bookcases like dominoes when she attempts to shelve a book. It’s a cute bit of slapstick that establishes Evelyn as one of the most not-so graceful people on the planet. With her hair tied up and sporting a thick-rimmed pair of glasses, the movie’s greatest special effect may be trying to convince us that the gorgeous Rachel Weisz is a socially awkward bookworm (yeah, right). Evelyn’s application to bigger and better things has been rejected yet again because she doesn’t have enough field experience. Along comes her older ne’er-do-well brother Jonathan (John Hannah) who has discovered a trinket at an archaeological dig in Thebes. Inside it contains a map to the mythic Hamunaptra, the place where the earliest Pharaohs are said to have hidden the wealth of Egypt. No one has ever found it and naturally Evelyn’s boss scoffs at the notion of its very existence.

It turns out that Jonathan actually stole the map from Rick who is rotting away in prison. Jonathan and Evelyn pay him a visit and he agrees to tell them where the City of the Dead is located but only if they free him. They do (and just in the nick of time) and set out for the site with a rival expedition of American fortune hunters also looking for it. As luck would have it, they are led by Beni, setting up a personal rivalry between him and Rick. Both groups arrive at the City of the Dead and split up, each looking for treasure. However, the American fortune seekers uncover a curse that condemns their party to death.

Meanwhile, Rick and Evelyn uncover the coffin of Imhotep (Arnold Vosloo), the ruler of Hamunaptra and who carried on a forbidden affair with Seti I’s wife Princess Anck-su-namun (Patricia Velasquez). He was buried alive for his indiscretions while she killed herself. Evelyn unlocks the legendary Book of the Dead and reads from it, unwittingly resurrecting Imhotep who proceeds to kidnap Evelyn with the intention of sacrificing her so that his lover will also come back to life. It’s up to Rick, Jonathan and Ardeth Bey (Oded Fehr), the enigmatic leader of the Medjai, to stop Imhotep.

One of the things that makes The Mummy work is the chemistry between Brendan Fraser and Rachel Weisz. At first, Evelyn sees Rick as an uncouth mercenary and he sees her as a naive stuffed shirt. But the more time they spend together, especially in death-defying situations, the more they grow to admire and respect one another. The two actors handle this development quite well and certainly make for an attractive couple with Fraser’s matinee idol good looks and Weisz’s beautiful appearance – a little something for everyone. They manage to transcend the predictable screenplay and often clichéd dialogue through the sheer force of their natural charisma. This is readily apparent in the campfire scene where one-night Rick teaches Evelyn a bit about hand-to-hand combat even though she’s had a little too much to drink. She ends up passing out just before they kiss, much to his bemusement. There’s a bit of an old school Hollywood vibe to this scene and to how these actors approach their respective roles that works.

mummy2.jpgAs far as Indiana Jones clones go, Rick doesn’t quite bring the slight air of danger that Harrison Ford brought to Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981), the most obvious influence on The Mummy. Not to mention, Fraser has more hulking boyish good looks as opposed to Ford’s roguish charm. Also, Fraser relies more on comedy than Ford but as far as action-oriented treasure hunters go, you could do worse than Rick O’Connell. Fraser hasn’t really been able to capitalize on the success of this film, appearing in several generic children’s adventure films – although, he showed some promise co-starring with Michael Caine in an adaptation of The Quiet American (2002).

While Evelyn is certainly not as feisty and as capable as Marion in Raiders, she has more of an arc as she goes from sheltered academic to damsel in distress to experienced adventurer. At the time, Weisz was known for appearing in small, independent films and the success of The Mummy would launch her into the A-list stratosphere. She has fared the best of the cast, appearing in delightful romantic comedies like About a Boy (2002) and Definitely, Maybe (2008), and winning an Academy Award for her excellent work in The Constant Gardener (2005).

Sommers handles the action sequences with refreshing simplicity (something that would be absent from his subsequent films). We always know what’s going on and where everyone is. He clearly took notes while watching Raiders and manages to capture its flair for 1930 cliffhanger serials. The Medjai siege on the boat to Hamunaptra early on in the movie is particularly exciting and well-staged, evoking a real Indy Jones vibe.

As with so many big budget tent-pole movies for Hollywood studios, The Mummy was a project that gestated for years and went through many hands before it wound up with Sommers. This new version’s origins lie with producer James Jacks who decided in 1992 to update the original film for the 1990s. He struck a deal with Universal Pictures who agreed to back it but only on a budget around $10 million. Jacks remembered that the studio “essentially wanted a low-budget horror franchise.” To this end, he hired filmmaker/writer Clive Barker whose version was about the head of a contemporary art museum built like a pyramid. The man was actually a cultist trying to reanimate mummies. Jacks described it as “dark, sexual and filled mysticism.” Sadly, after several meetings, Barker and Universal lost interest in the project and parted ways.

Once Barker was off the project, George Romero was brought in and he wanted to make a zombie-style horror film along the lines of his legendary feature film debut, Night of the Living Dead (1968). However, Jacks and the studio wanted to make a mainstream film and felt that Romero’s vision was too scary. Next up was Joe Dante with a contemporary reincarnation tale with elements of a love story starring Daniel-Day Lewis as a brooding Mummy. John Sayles even co-wrote the script but Universal was only willing to spend $15 million on his vision. Jacks then offered the project to Mick Garris and also Wes Craven, both of whom passed.

In 1997, Stephen Sommers contacted Jacks with his take on The Mummy “as a kind of Indiana Jones or Jason and the Argonauts with the mummy as the creature giving the hero a hard time.” He saw the original film when he was only 8-years-old and with his version wanted to recreate the things he liked about it only on a bigger scale. He had wanted in on the project since 1993 but other writers or directors were always involved. Seizing a window of opportunity, he prepared an 18-page pitch to Universal. As luck would have it (for Sommers, that is), the studio had taken a bath on Babe: Pig in the City (1998) and in response, decided to revisit its successful franchises from the 1930s. Executives were so thrilled with Sommers’ concept for The Mummy that they increased the budget from $15 million to a staggering $80 million. Once he got the gig, he spent six months researching the film and then eight weeks writing the screenplay.

When it came time to cast Rick O’Connell, Jacks offered the role to Tom Cruise, Brad Pitt, Matt Damon, and Ben Affleck but they were either not interested or too busy. Jacks and Sommers were impressed with the box office receipts from George of the Jungle (1997) and cast Brendan Fraser as a result. The actor was drawn to the project because he was looking for an action film and liked the idea that Universal was reinventing one of its properties from the 1930s. For the character, he drew inspiration from the likes of Robin Hood, Buck Rogers and Sinbad. Most importantly, he understood that Rick was the kind of character who didn’t “take himself too seriously, otherwise the audience can’t go on that journey with him.”

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was shot over three months in Morocco and not in Egypt because of the unstable political conditions there. They also had the official support of the Moroccan army. In a reassuring touch, the cast had kidnapping insurance taken out on them. In addition, the cast and crew had to deal with blinding sandstorms and bad-tempered camels. The production had wranglers on set to catch snakes, scorpions and spiders at the end of every shooting day. This still didn’t prevent many crew members from being airlifted out after being bitten. Everyone also had to worry about dehydration when filming moved to the Sahara Desert. The production’s medical team ended up creating a beverage that the cast and crew had to drink every two hours.

mummy3Looking back, whatever good will Sommers garnered with The Mummy, he has subsequently pissed it all away with The Mummy Returns (2001), which reduced the number of quiet moments that developed the characters and told the story in the first movie in favor of wall-to-wall frenetic action and the addition of a bratty child (Rick and Evelyn’s offspring, natch) into the mix. Sommers didn’t return for the third and most disappointing installment (neither did Weisz) which is just as well. The damage had already been done with The Mummy Returns but the first movie is still a rousing, entertaining ride.

STANLEY KUBRICK’S FULL METAL JACKET — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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One of the more brilliant aspects to Stanley Kubrick’s shattering Vietnam War film Full Metal Jacket is how it’s both emotionally distancing yet almost impossibly intimate at the same time. This is a hellish film – literally, figuratively, and metaphorically – with everything from R. Lee Ermey’s sadistic verbal abuses to the strategically placed fiery debris in the final act suggesting an Inferno that can never be quelled. This is one of the first films that I ever saw with extreme graphic violence, and it made an immediate impact on me as a kid; it taught me how lethal a bullet can be. And over the years, as I’ve gradually become more and more desensitized to movie violence, if I return to Full Metal Jacket, I become instantly reminded of how visceral and powerful and sad it is.

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Even after countless viewings, it remains affecting in ways that I can’t really describe. It’s on the short list of the finest Hollywood depictions of that terrible War and its aftermath, sitting next to Coming Home, The Deer Hunter, Born on the Fourth of July, Platoon, The Boys in Company C, Go Tell the Spartans, Casualties of War, and John Irvin’s rarely discussed Hamburger Hill, which would serve as a precursor to more modern efforts like Randall Wallace’s We Were Soldiers, and Ridley Scott’s Somalia-set benchmark combat film Black Hawk Down. And of course, the two distinct halves that comprise the narrative to Full Metal Jacket are unique in that it feels like a movie with two chapters, rather than the traditional three acts.

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The action is intense in Full Metal Jacket, but in a fashion that’s very different from most films, because everything is so matter of fact. Douglas Milsome’s gliding, engrossing camerawork draws the viewer into each situation and conflict, never shying away from the gory details or pulling any punches. The purposefully rigid performances, a common practice in Kubrick’s films, stressed the satire in key spots, and everyone in the cast, especially Matthew Modine as an eager reporter and Vincent D’Onofrio as the infamous, dim-bulbed Private Pyle, projected a blank innocence which settles in with the viewer; their dignity is stripped from them and so is yours. The film is also caustically hilarious during many portions of the opening act, with Ermey spouting off all sorts of graphically barbed insults at the fresh recruits.

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Kubrick never made an uninteresting film, and Full Metal Jacket, beneath its icy exterior, contains layer after layer of psychological examination that is tough to find in other films in this genre. Kubrick was a realist underneath it all, and although his films became more and more heightened and stylized as his career progressed, there was always a way to pin his work to something tangible, whether the atmosphere be psychological horror in The Shining, head-trip existentialism in 2001, or marital infidelity and sexual jealousy in his erotic odyssey Eyes Wide Shut. But one of the reasons that Full Metal Jacket has stood the test of time, and probably become even greater as the years have progressed, is because it blew open expected aesthetic doors, and boldly confronted a death machine that would shape America and the rest of the world for years to come.

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Out For Justice: A review by Nate Hill

  

As much of a goof as Steven Seagal is these days, he does have a few very solid and badass flicks from back in the day, the best of which is probably Out For Justice. There’s a whole pile of his flicks out there both new and old, and you have to know how to approach this particular minefield. There’s a bunch that are awesome (Under Siege, The Glimmer Man, Above The Law) and an even bigger bunch that stink to high hell (literally anything after 1999). You can’t go wrong with this one though. It’s a violent, nasty gut punch of criminal activity set on the very mean streets of NYC. Seagal is pathetic in the sense that he doesn’t even realize that every single film he does is stolen from under his very nose by the villain, both in terms of acting and character. I rent a Seagal flick not for Seagal, but for whatever grizzled character actor plays his nemesis, and here that slot is thoroughly rattled by a psychotic William Forsythe. Seagal plays NYC cop Gino, who is on the hunt for the killer of a childhood friend, perpetrated by unhinged lunatic Richie Madano (Forsythe), a maverick of a villain who constantly eludes Gino and plays a deadly, reckless game until he is finally caught up with. Forsythe is a juggernaut, whether trash talking his own henchman and kicking the shit out of them or taking road rage to a whole new level when he shoots a mouthy motorist in the head for looking at him the wrong way. He’s the homicidal life of the party here, and Seagal struggles to live up to his talent, which he can only do via his undeniable physicality. Gina Gershon has a sheepish, slutty bit as Richie’s sister, and watch for Jerry Orbach doing his thing as well. About as awesome a flick as you’ll find in Seagal’s career, and a total blast. 

Wake In Fright: A Review by Nate Hill

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Wake In Fright is like one of those clammy nightmares where you are stuck in some godawful place full of ugliness and depravity, and try as you might, you simply can’t escape or outrun the horror around you. Such is the plight of John (Gary Bond) a schoolteacher in a desolate county of the Australian outback, on his way to Sydney for a little R&R on winter break. His journey takes him to a pit stop in Bundanyabba, an ass backwards mining town in the middle of the middle of nowhere. He stops by the bar, where the leathery sheriff (Chips Rafferty) offers to buy him a beer. And another. And another. And another. You see, the Yabba is such an isolated doldrum of a place that it’s inhabitants resort to extreme alcoholism on a daily and nightly basis, which combined with their sun baked brains leads to some harrowing displays of excessive and whacked out behaviour, that poor John comes face to face with. It’s funny that his last name is Bond, because he has the air of sophistication akin to our dear old 007, and it clashes with these yowling yokels like baking soda and petrified vinegar. His composure starts to creak as each pint of lager cascades it’s way down his esophagus, until the line between civilization and primal Instinct starts to scare him. But is it too late by then? He somewhat befriends Doc Tydon (Donald Pleasence) a raging drunkard who hangs around with a group who do nothing but drink, howl like lunatics, fight and hunt kangaroos. Pleasence is transfixing as a once cultured man of medicine whose soul has been drenched in the endless consumption of beer and calcified by the mad, acrid sun, until the whites of his eyes begin to reveal the decay beneath. The scenes of alcohol drinking in this film are staggering, frequent and very, very disturbing. The lonliness has bred this behaviour and these people know nothing else but inebriation and idle time wasting, their lives reduced to one long episodic bout of day drinking and nocturnal revelry. John veers eerily close to falling directly in line with them and going to far down that path, especially during a nighttime kangaroo hunt that serves as some perverted form of an initiation ritual. I must warn you: not only are the hunting scenes very, very graphic, but they’re completely un-staged. The adage “it’s just a movie” doesn’t apply to these sequences, and the carnage we see unfold is horrifying geniune. The hunts were supervised by the Australian government and conducted in an overpopulated area by experts. None of that makes them any easier to watch. This film serves as an anthropological treatise on what happens to human beings who live in the farthest and most remote corners of the world, left to their own devices by seclusion and time, relegated to near animalistic states that to them is just another day in the Yabba. Billed as a horror film, but the horror comes solely from the human elements, which to me is always far scarier. Deliverence ain’t got nothing on this baby, and we’re lucky we even got to see it at all. Some years after the film’s bitterly received release (Australians were pissed at the depiction of their people, and probably stung deep by the truth of it) it disappeared so far into obscurity that all prints seemed to be gone, and the consensus was that it was lost forever. One day the editor was cleaning his garage on the very day he was going to liquidate everything he didn’t need, and found a single print. This was nearly twenty years after the film’s release, and today you can watch it on netflix Canada. Quite the story, quite the film. Just strap on a thick skin, it’s a sweaty, dusty, boozy rollercoaster that dips to the very rock bottom of the human condition.

ALEX ROSS PERRY’S LISTEN UP PHILIP — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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Listen Up Philip is a black-hearted pisser, a dark comedy that loves the fact that it’s gloomy, sour, and mean. I knew nothing about the plot or intent of this film before viewing it, but had noticed the high Rottentomatoes score and that it had appeared on numerous top 10 lists, with Dargis really giving it a rave review in the NY Times. And I have to say, it’s SO much fun to be taken totally by surprise by a film. This is a small, deeply misanthropic movie, seemingly shot on 16mm film (?), with a grainy, jumpy, boozy visual style that in some scenes I wished had been opened up a bit wider. Inspired by the Duplass-mublecore-shakiness aesthetic and graced with more than a pinch of Woody Allen, writer/director Alex Ross Perry (Queen of Earth) has an incredible talent with words, as his screenplay is verbose, witty, and incredibly sarcastic — it’s tons of fun on the ears. The film centers on Philip, an alarmingly cruel writer played with almost too much ease by the great Jason Scwartzman, and I don’t think I’ll be alone in saying that his character reminded me of Max Fischer gone REALLY bad.

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His second novel is on the horizon, and he just can’t keep any part of his personal life in order. His girlfriend Ashley (the incredible Elisabeth Moss, who in one scene allows her face to do some of the best acting I’ve seen in a while), is sick of their troubled relationship, and Philip, in a fit of desperation, bolts out of their NYC apartment so that he can spend time at the summer home of his idol, the prolific author Zimmerman, perfectly portrayed by a slimy and dickish Jonathan Pryce, all scotched-up and bitter from a life filled with resentment. That’s all I’m saying about the story, as there’s a lot more that happens than just that, with multiple shifts in perspective which was very unique.

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But what I will say is that both Schwartzman and Pryce play too amazing assholes, men who are so full of themselves yet so phenomenally wrongheaded about everything, constantly making poor decisions and saying terrible things to people, that it’s sad to realize that there are probably lots of real-life people like these two guys out there. Listen Up Philip isn’t afraid to be casually mean, and the way that Perry is able to dole out humor in the bleaskest of emotional circumstances speaks to his erudite sensibilites. And I loved how the film ends on such an uncompromising note of despair and personal anguish – it would have been a cheat to finish in any other manner. Also, the dryly hilarious voiceover provided by Eric Bogosian(!) really seals the deal on this playfully mean-spirited look at emotionally stunted men and one woman who can hopefully brake free from all the bull-shit that’s thrown her way.

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THE NINTH GATE – A REVIEW BY J.D. LAFRANCE

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Critical and commercial reaction to Roman Polanski’s films has always been mixed at best. To say that they are an acquired taste is an understatement. The Ninth Gate (1999) is no exception. Despite what the film’s misleading trailer promoted at the time of its initial release, it is not a straight-forward supernatural thriller but rather showcases the auteur in a darkly humorous mood as he plays around with the conventions of the genre.

Dean Corso (Johnny Depp) is an unscrupulous book dealer whose motivation is purely for financial gain. He swindles a naïve couple from a set of rare and priceless books in an amusing scene that sets up his character beautifully. A very rich book collector by the name of Boris Balkan (Frank Langella) hires Corso to validate his recently purchased copy of The Nine Gates of the Kingdom of Shadows, one of only three copies that exist in the world. The book contains nine engravings which, when correctly deciphered and the interpretations properly spoken, are supposed to conjure the Devil. Balkan believes that only one book is authentic so he hires Corso to track down each copy and verify their authenticity. It seems like a simple enough task but as Corso soon finds out, someone does not want him to complete the job. He crosses paths with an odd assortment of characters, from a mysterious woman (Emmanuelle Seigner) who seems to help him in his quest, to another, more obviously evil woman, Laina Telfer (Lena Olin) intent on impeding his progress and quite possibly trying to kill him.

Polanski received the screenplay by Enrique Urbizu and was so taken by it that he read the book it was based on, El Club Dumas by Arturo Perez-Reverte. He liked the novel because, “I saw so many elements that seemed good for a movie. It was suspenseful, funny, and there were a great number of secondary characters that are tremendously cinematic.” The novel featured several intertwined plots and so Polanski decided to write his own draft with long-time screenwriting partner, John Brownjohn (they had collaborated previously on Tess, Pirates and Bitter Moon). Perez-Reverte’s book contains numerous literary references and a subplot concerning Corso’s investigation into an unpublished chapter of The Three Musketeers. Polanski and Brownjohn jettisoned these elements and focused on one particular plot line: Corso’s pursuit of the authentic copy of The Nine Gates. For Polanski, the story had “all the ingredients that I like. It’s a great dose of a certain kind of irony and humor, and a bit of the supernatural or metaphysical or whatever you call it. Suspense and a central character, which I found very appealing.”

Johnny Depp became attached to the project as early as 1997 when he met Polanski at the Cannes Film Festival promoting his directorial debut The Brave (1997) that was in competition. Initially, the veteran filmmaker did not think that Depp was right for the role of Corso because the character was 40-years-old. Polanski was thinking of casting an older actor but Depp was persistent and wanted to work with him. According to the director, Corso’s disheveled look was modeled after Raymond Chandler’s famous sleuth, Philip Marlowe and there is a hint of that rumpled cynical vibe that is the trademark of that character. Hints of friction between Depp and Polanski while working on the film surfaced in the press around the time of its North American release. The actor said, “It’s the director’s job to push, to provoke things out of an actor.” Polanski told one interviewer, “He [Depp] decided to play it rather flat which wasn’t how I envisioned it. And I didn’t tell him it wasn’t how I saw it.”

Polanski cast Frank Langella as Balkan after seeing him in Adrian Lyne’s version of Lolita (1997). The director liked how the actor could be “charming and disturbing at the same time.” Polanski cast Lena Olin as Liana Telfer because he needed “an actress who could give the impression that she’s an intellectual and, at the same time, a very sensuous woman capable of great bursts of violence.” Barbara Jefford was a last minute casting decision because the German actress originally chosen was struck with pneumonia and another actress could not learn the lines. Jefford came in with only a few days notice, learned her lines, and affected a German accent. Casting Jefford was a nice nod to her role in the Hammer Horror film, Lust for a Vampire (1971), where she played a countess who conducts a satanic ceremony to resurrect the body of her daughter.

Polanski admired the work of director of cinematography, Darius Khondji. “I love his lighting, because he knows how to make it both sophisticated and realistic. It keeps you on the fringe of fantasy so when you tip over into the supernatural, it doesn’t feel artificial at all,” he remarked in an interview. Khondji was also keen to work with the director. “I’ve always wanted to make a movie with a witchcraft or supernatural subtext – I love those kinds of stories. Roman is obviously one of the best directors in the world to work with in that genre.” Filming took place in France, Portugal and Spain during the summer of 1998.

While the film’s slow, deliberate pacing turned off many, there is a method to Polanski’s madness. The gradual pacing draws one into this engaging world. Perhaps it is the European setting but The Ninth Gate has an otherworldly atmosphere that is well done. The attention to detail and Khondji’s richly textured cinematography is exquisite and contributes to the overall mood of this vivid world. For example, the New York City scenes have a very 1940s vibe to them, utilizing brown and blacks with a warm gold glow from the street lamps. This is, in turn, contrasted with the green and red in the phone booth when Corso is trying to contact Balkan.

hQFD1However, The Ninth Gate does not just have atmosphere going for it. Johnny Depp adds yet another intriguing character to his roster of unconventional roles. Corso is an unethical cheat who would do anything to make a buck. A rival describes him as a “vulture” and “unscrupulous” to which he freely admits to as he swindles four volumes of a rare edition of Don Quixote. He really does not care about others and yet, despite all of his reprehensible qualities, Depp’s natural charisma and charm make him kind of an endearing character that you care more about as he delves deeper into dangerous waters.

Balkan is a pompous windbag filled with self-importance but Frank Langella stops just short of being a cliched, moustache-twirling villain. He’s melodramatic and his presence is a nod to horror fans who recall his most famous role in Dracula (1979). Lena Olin’s dangerous Telfer widow evokes her femme fatale character from Romeo is Bleeding (1993). She smokes and even flashes a suggestive shot of her black garter-clad thighs in an attempt to seduce Corso and draw him into her web. She uses sex to get what she wants and when that fails she resorts to violence, attacking him in an animalistic frenzy.

Emmanuelle Seigner plays a mysterious woman who constantly shadows Corso and sometimes helps him out when gets in dangerous situations. Her motives do not become fully apparent until the end and even then it is open to interpretation. She helps him get inside the Fargas house and flies with him to France. Who or what is she? At one point, she literally glides down a flight of stairs and saves Corso from getting a beating at the hands of Telfer’s henchman.

This movie is ample with clues, a puzzle waiting to be solved. For example, in Balkan’s lecture at the beginning of the movie, he suggests that all witches are evil and in league with Satan. The irony is that Corso sleeps through this important clue to Balkan’s real intentions. There is also the odd, disregard for The Book of Shadows, a book worth an estimated $1 million. It is placed in constant peril and is even flicked with ash when the Ceniza brothers analyze it.

As for the cliché aspects of the film, one should be less concerned at anticipating plot twists and predictable elements in favor of simply enjoying the ride. Polanski probably was aware of this and decided to have fun with them. There is Balkan’s “666” password, Corso’s perchance for getting the crap kicked out of him, and the one-armed woman book dealer that all contribute to a playful mood that punctuates the film whenever it runs dangerously close to being too pretentious or self-important.

Polanski approached the subject matter with a certain amount of skepticism as he said in an interview, “I don’t believe in the occult. I don’t believe. Period.” He wanted to have fun with the genre. “There is a great number of clichés of this type in The Ninth Gate which I tried to turn around a bit. You can make them appear serious on the surface, but you cannot help but laugh at them.” For Polanski, the appeal of the film was that it featured “a mystery in which a book is the leading character” and its illustrations “are also essential clues.” The film has a playful tone but Polanski knows when to reign things in. As the horror is heightened so is the film’s dark comedy during the climactic moments. The screenplay is in perfect synchronicity with the direction.

For a film supposedly steeped in literature, the text, and by that I mean the story, is irrelevant. There are many clues scattered throughout the film that suggest this to be the case. One has to understand that among the characters there is a hierarchy. At the bottom level is the Frenchman that Corso meets early on. He owns one of The Nine Gates but is not all that interested in it except for the craftsmanship of its binding. Then, there is the Baroness who has spent her life writing about The Devil but never considered the meaning behind the images in her copy of The Nine Gates. And, if you take her word, she had the best clue because she claimed to see the Devil when she was a child. At the next level is Laina who is aware that the book has some power but is still focused on the words and not the images. Above her is Balkan who knows that the text is irrelevant and that the pictures are crucial but incorrectly thinks that the key to summoning the Devil lies in them.

The Ceniza brothers have the ability to tinker with the power of the pictures. They are allusive figures that seem whimsical when Corso first meets them and then are gone when he visits their now defunct store at the film’s end but thanks to the movers who are disassembling the store he gets the final piece of the puzzle. Corso starts off at the bottom because the value of books are neither in the text nor in the pictures but in their binding and availability. By the film’s end he realizes that the power is not in the pictures but the quest itself. There is the mysterious woman who resembles one of the figures in the engravings and actually provides the final clue for Corso to reach the end of the quest. The final layer is the viewer. That makes nine players and eight levels of consciousness created by Polanski.

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was a refreshing change from the trend of mundane Hollywood supernatural schlock at the time (i.e. The Bone Collector, Stigmata, End of Days, et al.) that took itself way too seriously and tried too hard. Unlike those films, The Ninth Gate never falls into that trap. It contains some truly vintage Polanski black humor that, alas, North American audiences and critics alike did not appreciate. They wanted meat and potatoes filmmaking that he has always resisted in favor of subversive thrills and following his own muse come hell or high water.

MICHELANGELO ANTONIONI’S BLOW-UP — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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Blow-Up is the very definition of “cool.” It will always be one of my absolute favorite films. It radiates sex and style and class and sophistication and the way Michelangelo Antonioni primarily used images to tell his story will always fascinate me to no end. You get David Hemmings in one of the quintessential screen performances and Vanessa Redgrave in all of her radiant splendor, not to mention an absurdly talented (and photogenic…) supporting cast. This was the first of three movies that Antonioni made for MGM (Zabriskie Point and The Passenger are the other two), and it remains one of the most influential, form-busting movies of its era, a wild romp through London’s swinging 60’s, with the outsized exploits of famed fashion photographer David Bailey serving as a character influence.

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The plot was inspired by the short story The Devil’s Drool by Julio Cortazar, and the film features Hemmings as a cocky, womanizing photographer, and revolves around a series of photos that he snaps out in the park one afternoon, which may or may not contain the identity of a killer and a murder in progress. Brian De Palma would do a riff on this material with his classic 1981 thriller Blow Out, which starred John Travolta in one of his best performances as a movie sound mixer collecting sound effects near a river when he inadvertently witnesses and records the sounds of a car crash which may be more than it seems. But back to Blow-Up; this is a film I’ve viewed multiple times, always with a few years in between each viewing, and I love how it’s come to mean so many different things to me as a person each time I encounter it. The film has a bewitching nature, a dreamy quality, not hallucinatory, and it sort of resembles a methodical thriller without the conventional ending that we’ve all come to expect after years of Hollywood shoving plot contrivances down our throats.

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Antonioni, a master filmmaker who loved to subvert his audience at every opportunity (I fucking love The Passenger, too), was clearly fond of the open-ended finale, a storytelling device that can be extremely effective when properly handled, but can also feel amazingly cheap and artificial in the hands of lesser filmmakers. Here, because Antonioni has set so much up and given the audience so many tantalizing bits to examine, the fact that the film ends the way it does shouldn’t provoke anger, but rather, further mystery with the potential for more discoveries on repeated viewings. Herbie Hancock’s jazzy score punctuates the film in all the proper ways, but what Antonioni excelled at best was silence, and how it can be used in so many ways to evoke so many emotions. The cinematography by Carlo Di Palma is absolutely brilliant, each shot informing the one previous and the one following, with an expert sense of camera placement, color, and space within the frame.

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And then there’s the parade of gloriously beautiful women that are trotted out for Hemmings to flirt, photo, and party with, with one extremely memorable sex scene clearly ranking as one of the best ever put on film. Damn this movie must’ve pissed so many prudes off! Hemmings gives a fascinating performance, filled with self-assurance then self-doubt, all the while displaying a unique resentment towards women despite his glamorous job, with a stare that could cut glass and shake anyone off their guard. He’s a man who has become jaded by his lifestyle, but when he’s offered the chance to do something with true meaning, he becomes re-energized by the possibilities that his craft allows and by the random nature of life itself. Blow-Up isn’t a movie where you’re going to learn all of the plot points in an easy fashion, and in many instances, Antonioni leaves his audience to interpret what they’ve seen and what he’s shown. For me, that’ll always be the mark of a GREAT artist – the rare ability to create something rich and complete while still allowing for room to grow and rediscover.

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Bound: A Review by Nate Hill

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Before the Wachowskis rocketed into the stratosphere of cinema with their big budget world building and brilliant, lofty ideas, they made Bound, a down n’ dirty, kinky little slice of mob pulp that’s as much fun as it is sexy, potent and dangerous. Gina Gershon plays Corky, a hard nosed opportunist with a keen eye for making money and a fondness for beautiful women. Jennifer Tilly is Violet, the bored wife of weaselly gangster Ceasar (a lively Joe Pantoliano), who has just come into a whole wacky of shady cash via his employer Mickey, played by one of the great character actors of his generation, John P. Ryan, who is sadly no longer with us. Ceasar has been given the money to launder, but Violet has other plans that involve double crossing him and making off with it. When she happens to wander into the gay bar that Corky frequents, sparks fly. And I really mean it, for soon enough the two are in bed together for one of the single most hot and heavy sex scenes you will ever see in a film. Seriously, you’ll want to open some windows for this baby. As soon as Corky gets wind of the money, the plot simmers as everyone makes a discreet mad dash for riches and no one is sure who is screwing over who. Gershon is tough, sexy as hell and leaves a faint trace of vulnerability in her excellent performance. Tilly is crafty and secretive, deliberately making people underestimate her until it’s too late. This was Ryan’s last film role, and he makes the most of it as a salty old thug with a dash of class, a touch of kindness and the unnerving tendancy to snap at the drop of a hat. Christopher Meloni is hilariously pathetic as his second in command who irritates everyone around him, especially Ceasar, who has a scary little temper of his own. One senses real danger for our two female leads, because despite the somewhat playful and often satirical tone towards tell gangsters, the Wachowskis have still fashioned them to be formidable and cruel, a wise tonal choice that grounds the viewer and distills geniune suspense. The characters are all brilliantly written and realized, so if you read this review thinking this was a trashy little lowbrow affair, it’s not. It’s It’s a real world tale that just so happens to take place in a lurid part of movie town, and contains one scorcher of a lesbian love affair that is as affecting in dialogue and body language as it is with sex. A special film, and not one to be missed.