Tag Archives: Werner Herzog

Lunch with Immortan Joe by Kent Hill

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Dolly Parton once said, “If your actions create a legacy that inspires others to dream, learn more, do more and become more, then, you are an excellent leader.” I like to muse that this was going through the mind of my distinguished guest and Ozploitation luminary, Hugh Keays-Byrne. And my reason behind this thinking – even though, for all intents and purposes, the characters he has brought to our screens for decades have been seen as pure, cold-hearted villains – turns out, we’ve all been wrong.

Toad (Stone), William Whopper (Secret Valley), Toecutter (Mad Max), and the divine one, all shiny and chrome, Immortan Joe (Mad Max: Fury Road) are not the boogeymen society would have you believe. No folks, they are progressives, forward-thinkers. They see the big picture, they are thinking about future generations, not the pesky problems of the current cloud of mayhem.

But let’s face it people – bad dudes are more fun. And our Hugh is one of cinema history’s ultimate bad (though secretly underappreciated visionary with people’s best interests in mind) dude. Born the same year, in fact two days before my Dad, in India, Hugh returned the homeland of his parents, England, where he not only completed his education but also found his way into The Royal Shakespeare Company, and it was in one of their productions that he found his way here, to the great southern land – and here he stayed.

Continuing as he had also been in Britain, prior to his Shakespearean exodus, he appeared on local television productions till along came the ultimate auteur-ozploitation picture in the form of Sandy Harbutt’s STONE. Keays-Byrne would transform into the iconic Toad. But ladies and boys, this filmography is a little bit like a classic rock radio station, because the hits, just keep on coming. He shared a cab ride and a request for narcotics with the Easy Rider, he’s tasted THE BLOOD OF HEROES (while saluting the Juggers), he’s shared the landscape with FARSCAPE and very nearly was the Martian Manhunter for Dr. George’s Justice League. Sure, sure. It might have been groovy. But he will be remembered in the halls of Valhalla as the electrifying good guy of Miller’s indelible imprint on the art of the motion picture when he became the Toecutter in a little movie headlined by a guy named Mel.

Recently, Mad Max: Fury Road has back in popular discussion. It is topping lists as one, if not the penultimate action film OF ALL TIME! That’s right, I said ALL TIME. Now – these may be mere lists on the internet – no shortage of those right – but truth be told, Miller literally, all these years after THE ROAD WARRIOR  (or Mad Max 2, as we like to call it), has reignited the same fire that he started way back when. Fury Road is as much a cultural monolith as it is action-film opus.

It has been a long time between lunches here in my little corner of cinematic nirvana. Last time I had lunch it was with The Equalizer himself, (and another Aussie cinema legend) Richard Norton. So, it is with great pride that I get to enjoy another lunch break with you dear PTS listeners – lunch with the merciful and compassionate Immortan Joe…

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OH WHAT A DAY, WHAT A LOVELY DAY!!!

 

 

 

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Christopher McQuarrie’s Jack Reacher

So I get that Tom Cruise isn’t over six feet tall and doesn’t look like an ex marine biker type tough guy, but that doesn’t stop Christopher McQuarrie’s Jack Reacher from being a lean, mean, badass fucking film and one hell of an effective, tightly written thriller. Now, I’m not a huge disciple of Lee Child’s books nor have read a single one of them and therefore don’t have beef with Cruise in the role, in fact I like the steely, unflappably calm violence he brings and believed him as this outlaw ex military renegade warrior, but I can see hardcore literary fans being a trifle pissed.

Anyways, McQuarrie paints a propulsive, brutal world that Reacher exists in, full of sociopathic mercenaries for hire, mad dog war veterans out for the kill and deep rooted corruption in almost every facet of the government. Reacher, existing outside of said institutions, is free to use any force or tactic necessary to smoke out evil and restore the balance, and believe me this guy does not fuck around, but to his credit, gives fair and ample warning to anyone in his way before he beats the piss out of them. The film opens with a harrowing public shooting perpetrated by some ghost operative (Joseph Sikora) employed by shadowy factions we can’t even imagine. The act seems random but of course isn’t, and Jack breezes on in to untangle a terrifying web of dark deeds and malpractice in echelons most high. Rosamund Pike is excellent as a government figure who may or may not be on his side, as is Richard Jenkins as her high ranking father who also might (or might not) be up to all sorts of no good. David Oyewelo, Jai Courtney, Josh Helman and Robert Duvall all provide solid supporting work.

The real treat and scene stealer here though is legendary filmmaker Werner Herzog cast as a terrifying arch villain known only as ‘The Zec.’ Dressed in black with half his fingers missing, blessed with that milk over mercury voice only he has and with a penchant for inflicting heinously ruthless torture and punishment on his own cohorts, this is one villain that I wouldn’t want to come across anywhere, it’s a fantastic portrayal and he’s clearly having a blast. This is one of the rare times where I’ll concede and say that an action film works with a PG-13 rating. Usually it limits creativity and dulls any edge a thriller might have but here McQuarrie has still somehow made this thing feel genuinely dangerous, edgy and mature. It’s a brilliant thriller with several set pieces designed for maximum impact, a smart script with just enough eccentricities peppered throughout the dialogue to stick. Cruise has a lot of fun to, whether he’s taking a bar brawl out into the street and putting several dudes in wheelchairs at once or engaged in nasty, bone smashing hand to hand combat with any of the many spooks out to get him. Love it.

-Nate Hill

Werner Herzog’s My Son My Son What Have Ye Done


Werner Herzog’s My Son My Son What Have Ye Done, although not quite congruent with what you’d call my cup of tea, is an impressively bizarre little foray into… well, something. Michael Shannon plays a disturbed stage actor who, in an offscreen fit of violence, slays his mother (the great Grace Zabriskie) with a sword. Now, whether by mental illness, strange Peruvian spirits that piggy-backed on his psyche after a trip down there or reasons unknown, he slowly unravels throughout the rather short yet obstinately molasses paced film, until the final act solidifies his exodus into the realm of total bonkers lunacy. Shannon is an expert at all things in the circle of mental unrest in his work, and even when playing innocuous supporting characters or stalwart leads, there’s always a glint of menace in the whites of his eyes. It’s an impenetrable character study though, giving us not much to go on other than obtuse clues and the weird, wacky troupe of people in his life, portrayed by an appropriately zany bunch of cult actors. He has an uncle (Brad Dourif, a Herzog regular) with an ostrich farm and some, shall we say, interesting views on life. His quiet girlfriend (Chloe Sevigny) looks on in unsettlement, and his mellowed out drama instructor (Udo Kier) tries to make heads or tails of everyone else’s strange behaviour. You know you’re in the twilight zone when Udo Kier is the most well adjusted character in your film, but such is the territory. As Shannon descends into whatever internal eye of the storm privy only to him, he takes his mother and her two friends hostage, and the obligatory salty detective (Willem Dafoe) and his rookie partner (Michael Pena) show up to add to the clutter. David Lynch has an executive producer credit on this, and although the extent of his involvement is hazy to me, simply having his moniker post-title in the credits adds a whole dimension of bizarro to go along with Herzog’s already apparent eccentricities. It’s well filmed, acted and looks terrific onscreen, and I’m all for ambiguous, round the bush storytelling as a rule, but this just wasn’t a dose that sat well with me or tuned into my frequency as a viewer. Worth it in spades for that cast though, and their individual, episodic shenanigans. 

-Nate Hill

GABE POLSKY’S RED ARMY — A REVIEW BY NICK CLEMENT

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Fascinating on a historical level, riveting when it comes to the sport being discussed, and compelling in a deeply humanistic fashion, Gabe Polsky’s terrific documentary Red Army examines the intense Cold War relationship between Russia and America, and the various hockey players that were caught up in an international saga of greed, hubris, and outright dictatorship. Literally kept as slaves by their country, Russian hockey players back in that time period were revered by all and had to adhere to an intense training schedule that kept them away from their families for long periods of time. All of their insane treatment is detailed in this sad and scary film that highlights just how difficult it would have been to be playing under the Russian coaching regime back in the 80’s. Red Army primarily focuses on legendary defenseman Slava Fetisov and how he and his various teammates navigated the politically charged waters of worldwide sport during a time of immense uncertainty and volatility. Fetisov is quite the character, and while he provides tons of amazing information and anecdotes, on more than one occasion someone should have reminded him that he was there to make a documentary, not just to have his ass kissed; there are NO off limits questions when you’re the front and center focus of someone’s film. That being said, the exciting hockey footage that Polsky intercuts with his intelligent question and answer sessions with some of the era’s biggest stars commands the audience’s attention, and this is easily one of those movies where if you’re not a fan of the milieu, you’ll still enjoy the film because of how well-crafted it is on a formal level, and how interesting it is as a history lesson. And for any hockey fan or past or current player (I was lucky enough to lace up for 15 years), this will be a fabulous way to spend 80 minutes. And if you’re of a certain age, the names and faces on display will bring back waves of emotion and nostalgia. I know it did for me. Mike Vernon POWER in there, too.

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