Bride of Re-Animator (Brian Yuzna)

Red Rock West.

Folks both living and dead, the mad re-animator that is Herbert West is back (assuming that nothing fatal has happened to him when Dr. Hill's giant intestines have coiled him in the first film) and as lively and demented as he can be, and, along with his colleague Dan Cain, we next see him in, wait a minute, in Peru?! Am I missing something, or has Herbert West suddenly taken heed of Bruce Banner's exploits? 

Anyway, the plot suggests that Herbert West, ever the clandestine doctor who will, even without thinking twice, fit his whole laboratory inside a rat hole or what have you if he must just to evade suspicious eyes and potential dangers alike, has suddenly put himself in the middle of a not-so-subtle and not-so-secret South American war zone for reasons unclear.

The film, in terms of visually upping the ante for the franchise, has succeeded even in this opening scene, because nothing screams 'I will top the first film' more than explosions, a war-torn setting, and some brief gunfight sequences. I wouldn't really bet nearly anything in favor of Herbert West over a highly-trained guerrilla in a shoot-out, but hell, in the opening sequence alone, every horror fan's favorite diminutive doctor has just conveniently shot two skilled soldiers dead in just a blink of an eye, all while performing a surgical procedure on a military casualty. As it turns out, the title of the H.P. Lovecraft short story should not be "Herbert West: Re-Animator", but "Herbert Wild Wild West". That's a joke. Moving on... 

Even just a few scenes in, I can already feel a sense of deliberate epicness that this film is trying to gun for, in the same vein as "Hellbound: Hellraiser 2" when it has successfully transported the horror from the humble doorsteps of an old house (as in the first film) to the fiery gates of Pinhead's version of hell itself. Only this time, though, "Bride of Re-Animator" has so much going on with it that there seems to be no space for proper exposition anymore. On one of the film's many and flimsy sides, there's Dr. Carl Hill from the first film, or, to be more exact, there's Dr. Carl Hill's 'severed head' from the first film that desperately wants to have a piece of Herbert West. On another, there's the whole 'creating a perfect woman' angle that's obviously a nod to the Frankenstein lore. There's also the awkward romantic arc between Dan Cain and this Italian journalist (played by Fabiana Udenio), whose every scene seems to emit a similar vibe as a perfume commercial, and whose thick accent and lethargic presence perfectly complements my occasional yawns.

On the up side, though, Jeffrey Combs is even more entertaining and better-suited this time around as Herbert West, what with his very theatrical-esque portrayal of the said character's mad drive to play god with science, and his uncommon loyalty to his only friend Dan. Physical-wise, Combs seems to be a carbon copy of Johnny Depp; that is if the latter's growth is a bit stunted and if his forehead is ten times more generous. 

Bruce Abbott, on the other hand, who was so effective in the first film, pales in comparison to Combs' unworldly charm, and even more so when she was paired with the said journalist who's even more lackluster in retrospect. Should I say that they deserve each other?

There is a scene deep into the film that is, though impeccably lighted and set-designed, too carelessly-handled that I do not know where to look at or what's happening to whom or who's killing which poor sap anymore. Yes, I'm talking about the climax, which, generally speaking, isn't really one of the franchise's strongest suits. Like a horror house in some county fair, the said climax struggles to cram as many shock elements as possible within a span of 5 or so minutes that anyone who may go in will be more exhausted than they are frightened, post-entry. But hey, as lousy as this sequel may be, "Bride of Re-Animator" is still one hell of a bumpy ride worth taking, and I wouldn't be surprised if I'll once again see myself creeping back to the end of the queue, fingers-crossed, and ready to relive this sloppy experience one more time.

FINAL RATING

Re-Animator (Stuart Gordon)

Abracadaver.

Perhaps one of the horror genre's more enduring and uniquely humorous classics, "Re-Animator" is kind of like a respectful bastardization of H.P. Lovecraft's short story (entitled "Herbert West: Reanimator"), and may also be seen as a mock ode to Mary Shelley's "Frankenstein". It is intentionally campy in its set-up and fittingly goofy in some of its over-the-top gore, not to mention that Jeffrey Combs' insanely cult performance is a genuine thing of 'slapstick horror' legend. Sure, the film may not have aged that particularly well especially in moments when it actually tries to scare the bejeezus out of us viewers, but it still holds up quite nicely as an absurdist effort to squeeze out something fresh and conceptually new from the seemingly exhaustive world of the undead. Suddenly, at least through director Stuart Gordon's outrageously horrific playfulness, hospital morgues aren't that monastically creepy anymore, and medical schools not much hives of bright minds but of psychotic lobotomists and of future Josef Mengeles. 

Indeed, it's a twisted and perverted world that the characters of "Re-Animator" live in; add up Jeffrey Combs' Herbert West, the 'roommate from hell'/'mad medical student' who has ingeniously created a serum that can bring dead people back to life, into the mix and you've got one hell of a, well, hell ride into the bloody corners of human anatomy and back. The film may not be as smooth as the "Evil Dead" trilogy in terms of blood-drenched shtick, but at least, it can boast of an iconic image long-time fans of the horror genre can very well recognize: and that is of Herbert West looking somewhere near the camera, pointy-lipped and all, armed and ready with his serum-filled syringe. He may not be as romantically heroic as Lionel in "Braindead", as slick as Ash in "Evil Dead II", or as manly as MacReady in "The Thing", but his persistent madness oozes a kind of detached, ironically magnetic charm that, despite being despicable by default, still makes him very easy to root for. It's also quite nice to see the Dan Cain character (played by Bruce Abbott), a medical student who becomes West's roommate, unusually serving as both confidant and foil to West's loony bin aspirations at the same time. Even David Gale, playing the villainous Dr. Carl Hill, is also quite enjoyable to watch even though his performance screams 'poor man's Christopher Lee' all over. 

The special effects, although indelibly cartoonish even if you try to convince yourself that this is a serious horror picture, are top-notch and hard to look away from, but in a very humorously implausible kind of way. But be that as it may, "Re-Animator" is still a thoroughly entertaining picture with enough obligatory gore, quotable one-liners, and even an apt exposure of flesh, to satisfy the red-blooded cravings of an average horror fan. Though I must admit that the film's climax is probably better on paper than when it was finally executed by Stuart Gordon and company on-screen, the film is still tons of fun, thanks of course to its dreadful kind of energy, tongue-in-cheek execution, and a dose of wit that's even sharper than the hypodermic needle on Herbert West's big-ass syringe. The only problem, though, is that it has every right to go out with an unprecedented kind of vomit-inducing bang, but has instead chosen not to. And is that an iteration of Bernard Herrmann's "Psycho" score?

FINAL RATING

Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles (Erik Matti)

Badasswangery.

Finally, the first Filipino film to be shot entirely on green screen has been released. With that piece of fact, I am really quite torn: Are we supposed to be proud of this giant leap of technological advancement or should we be frustrated by the fact that we may be in an age where computerized style is more prioritized than narrative substance? Suffice it to say, "Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles" has nothing new to offer, story-wise, but there's something in its comic self-awareness (thanks in part to Jade Castro's participation in the film) that separates it from countless horror films being locally released today. 

     

Without any of "The Healing's" thematic pretenses or "Corazon: Ang Unang Aswang's" seemingly forced psychological angle, "Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles" is more successful compared to the two not because of its special effects but mainly because it knows for a fact that depiction of 'Aswangs' on film need not any complexities and that horror movies can be as riotously funny as it is disturbing. 

     

Known as a relatively humorless filmmaker, director Erik Matti was surprisingly able to balance both the comedy and the fright throughout the course of the film. Just like how Jade Castro's "Zombadings" is a satire of our local horror film scene's zombie sub-genre (and also of our 'drag queen' culture), "Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles" is a tongue-in-cheek exploration of what comprises not just a true 'Aswang' film but also a good black comedy. One of them, of course, is a solid cast. 

     

Dingdong Dantes, playing the film's brash protagonist, is very effective in his abundant display of both arrogance and reluctant heroism. With a spot-on sense of urban bravado, Dantes has perfectly captured a city dweller's perceived self-importance and superiority when interacting with humble country people, or so they seem to be. While Joey Marquez, a great comedy actor by his own right (especially in his films with Lito Pimentel), is an inspired casting choice. In his role as Lovi Poe's character's father, he has paradoxically combined both cowardice and misplaced machismo in an Aswang-laden backdrop that asks for neither. And arguably in the film's most shockingly hilarious moment involving Marquez, a dead body and a fresh, beating heart, he has humorously performed a sickly vengeful act that will surely do Hammurabi proud. 

     

But among the strong supporting cast, that which include Janice de Belen, Roi Vinzon and Mike Gayoso among others, it was Ramon Bautista who has stolen the whole show. His performance was in no way the greatest ever (or even the best in the film for that matter), but his natural comic rapport with the camera is just so effortless that he has seemingly put the majority of the film's humorous weight on his shoulders.

     

By mainstream standards, "Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles" is very, very violent; and for a horror film that promises innovation, the film's plot and premise is relatively derivative. But that's what makes this film so enjoyable. It's conscious of its own trashy sensibilities and it flaunts it with bloody gusto and comic craftiness. Despite of the fact that it was obviously inspired by western horror films, "Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles" is still undoubtedly Pinoy, especially in its peculiar capturing of our own supernatural roots by way of slapstick horror. The only thing that I have found to be quite off in the film is its extreme use of Zack Snyder-esque slow-motion and the unnecessary CGI-fication of the 'Aswangs' themselves, which has made them a tad less threatening and more of a collective of creatures antagonistically believable only if put side-by-side with Enteng Kabisote. 

     

Nonetheless, "Tiktik: The Aswang Chronicles" is still a very enjoyable cinematic experience. Hell, it has even made product placements look fun. By turning bits of Boy Bawang into potential long-range weapons reminiscent of Marc Solis' projectile corn bits in "Magic Temple" and Lipps candy into an elixir of bravery, the film makes me want to be a make-believe Aswang hunter in a wasteland of scattered flesh and bones. Despite of its violent content, the film has still managed to touch a chord or two in my inner child. Now that's something.

FINAL RATING

RoboCop (Paul Verhoeven)

Murphy.

Films like "RoboCop" are the prime reasons why the action scene of the '80s is truly the best there is. In a time where highly-paid action stars are being manufactured for the sake of non-stop, shallow-minded feast of blood, guns and guts, "RoboCop" stands tall as that rare work that mixes delicious satire, brutality and inspired originality in one action-packed entirety. 

It stars Peter Weller as Alex Murphy, an honest, hard-working Detroit police officer that was violently murdered in action by a ruthless gang led by the notorious Clarence Boddicker (Kurtwood Smith). But because of revolutionary technology, he was resurrected back to the land of the living hardly as a man anymore but as a law-upholding, well, as what the title suggests, robot. 

But wait, there's a catch right there: his memory box is not fully wiped out. So guess what? He wants revenge. Motown is in for a ride. 

Paul Verhoeven, a truly visionary action and science fiction filmmaker, is arguably at his definitive best here. Possessing a unique vision for action that certainly can't be surpassed even by today's standards, Verhoeven paints every action scene with an attention for the explosive and the absurd. His action sequences are those that are inclined to shock, to excite and even to put a sardonic smile in a viewer's face all in one stride. For instance, if some action films utilize blood squibs for the sake of enhancing the effect of a gunshot wound, "RoboCop" uses it in a more ironic fashion. The said prop has instead been used to enforce a more cartoonish depiction of violence, which is greatly significant for the film's prevailing satirical tone and its distinct comic book feel. 

So with that being said, what is it that "RoboCop" is satirizing then? Very much like Frank Miller's "The Dark Knight Returns", "RoboCop", finely written by Edward Neumeier and Michael Miner, ingeniously pokes fun at what news programs may look like in an unstable future: A short running time, a couple of all-smiling anchors and an overly feel-good atmosphere ironic to the news at hand. Oh, and did I mention that this film is also a slight attack towards capitalism and consumerism?

As seen in the film's numerous faux TV commercials, there's this unforgettable TV ad in "RoboCop" that shows the fictitious 6000 SUX (a new car model) immensely dwarfing a dinosaur (which, I don't know, may symbolize the olden, more innocent times of simpleton living). Such image proves that "RoboCop" isn't just an action vehicle that caters to audiences' need for some adrenaline rush but also a timely commentary to our declining discernment between need and want. 

In a few years' time, we may just as well buy everything that the television tells us to. The film capitalizes in this sort of pessimistic view of capitalism and misuse of the media and made quite an unforgettably satirical impression out of it. 

But aside from conceptual originality and an iconic RoboCop design (by Rob Bottin), which are the primary reasons why this film is highly successful and was even able to attain a cult following, another potent reason as to why "RoboCop" is truly special is because of the performances. 

Led by Peter Weller's restrained approach to the Alex Murphy character, the cast is simply terrific. Although the performances were in no way deep or complex, they were uncannily energetic enough for the film to maintain its entertainment level even without the high-powered action sequences. 

Take Miguel Ferrer as a great example. He plays the ambitious and bureaucratic Bob Morton who, despite of being a cold-blooded douche, made Murphy's transformation as RoboCop possible. Ferrer, in all of the scenes in which he is in, is armed with a great sense of timing and articulate unorthodoxy that it's entertainingly exhausting to watch him perform. 

Same goes for Kurtwood Smith as the villainous Clarence Boddicker, who is so good in playing a major villain here in "RoboCop" that he was offered an equally despicable role again in "Total Recall" (also directed by Verhoeven), only to turn it down. While Ronny Cox, playing Richard 'Dick' Jones, the vice president of the film's fictitious corporation named Omni Consumer Products (OCP), is the stereotypical image of a purely manipulative corporate villain. Although contained within the limitations of a generic character, Cox was able to squeeze out something special and distinctive from the role. As for Nancy Allen, she plays Murphy's partner on duty with pristine calm. She is the image of sanity in the film. 

For jaded viewers, it's difficult to distinguish the gold from the dung in a genre (in this case, action) that is more inhabited by the latter. For me, watching "RoboCop" renders this viewing cynicism as untrue. Even from afar, it's easy to see this film's golden makings as a true action masterpiece even if you put it in a damn septic tank. And despite of the occasional garbage that may surround it, its greatness shines forth through the heap. 

"RoboCop" is one of the best action films of all time, and unlike other action pictures of the same kind that were made solely for the specific era to which they belong, this film transcends time. It has aged supremely well, and its entertainment and shock factor are just as potent as they were almost 30 years ago. This is one for the books.

FINAL RATING

Drive (Nicolas Winding Refn)

The driver with no name.

Humanity and brutality. Director Nicolas Winding Refn, who deservedly won the Best Director Prize at the 2011 Cannes Film Festival, has beautifully tackled both in a stark existential light, that which echoes the likes of "Taxi Driver", and ultimately weighed both in a blurring contrast which highlights the compromises of poor choices. "Drive", with its violent nature and perverse tone, could have easily been a disposable Grindhouse-like feature. Its exaggerated depiction of nerve-wracking gore, an aspect that is a most common reason for audience polarization, complements the whole film but still suggests a heightened feel of sensationalism for the sake of shock.

Yes, these violent scenes are truly unnerving, but looking at the main character, a skilled driver who works in the movies and also for night heists, played with great control but also with unflinching rage by Ryan Gosling, his mysterious transformation from a passive loner to an involved, blood-drenched avenger is the one that's much more disturbing. Forget the violence first, it is this protagonist's motives and questionable decisions that is the film's center. With him lacking enough character background, it makes his actions all the more intriguing, but his surprising notion towards love and connection without much words to back it up, on the other hand, makes him all the more affecting.

Director Nicolas Winding Refn and screenwriter Hossein Amini (basing his screenplay on the novel of the same name by James Sallis), exposes two primal human impulses, to kill and to love, and brilliantly incorporated it into the film's stylized, almost poetic take on noir. What resulted is a perfect amalgamation of both substance and form, with a fair amount of adrenaline rush to sweeten it all up.

In its very immediate surface that echoes some action film formulas, It is expected for "Drive" to contain one-dimensional characters, particularly the villains, played by Albert Brooks and Ron Perlman. But these displays of intended shallowness is overwhelmed by the film's pitch-perfect rendition of tender love. Ryan Gosling and Carey Mulligan sure has never worked before. Ryan Gosling sure is already initiated with love stories. But Carey Mulligan has been memorable via her turn as a naive young woman in "An Education", so jumping from innocence to maturity, performance-wise, is really quite challenging on her part.

It's almost a thing of miracle, but their chemistry here in "Drive" flowed smoothly despite of some initial constraints. Carey Mulligan, although very young, has portrayed Irene, the main reason for the driver's daring decisions, with this sense of desensitization towards life. It's as if she has gone through so much that she simply wants someone to hold. And him, the driver, on the other hand, being lonely and a complete nobody all his life (albeit him being a stunt driver for the movies), only wants someone's life to touch. With the use of great lighting, cinematography and music (with the elevator scene being the best example), "Drive" has successfully established these two characters' link with an almost melodious feel but also is effective in breaking it.

Narrative-wise, the film is tight in its execution, holds on firmly with what it is all about, and never went on for something else. This particular focus for what's immediate rather than to experimentally delve more on something that is marked with pretense only highlights the film's material strength in its consistent ability to tell a story and also to seamlessly state why it has been told in the first place. It roots out, of course, as what I've said earlier, from the characters' flawed choices.

Nicolas Winding Refn has stated that "Drive" is a tribute to surrealistic director Alejandro Jodorowsky, whose cinematic deviance is a thing both of beauty and disgust. That is particularly limiting because "Drive" is, above all, a general tribute to what great, uninhibited filmmaking is all about.

FINAL RATING

The Fly (David Cronenberg)

Metamorphosis.

Before anything else, even now, I still can't believe that I have bought a copy of "The Fly" from a legitimate store for a whopping 25 pesos (that's around 50 cents in American currency), while countless copies of Asylum-produced films like "Transmorphers" and "The Day the Earth Stopped" (Really, they thought someone would fall for that?) are there in the same store sitting comfortably in their overly expensive asses. Oh wait, a film called "Fargo" also sits in the lonely 25 bucks rack. Damn, really.

Now, moving on, I think it's quite refreshingly sardonic for director David Cronenberg and screenwriter Charles Edward Pogue (who adapted his screenplay from the 1958 original and also from the George Langelaan short story) to use an irrelevant insect to shockingly introduce us to the narrative's true frightening pulse. The film could have also worked on a much lighter level if its anomaly would have rooted out from the simple idea of the teleportation device itself, but the film took this common science fiction nugget into the real extremes, not just for the sake of it, but to offer something more.

Now we see the downside of intellectual grandeur not just by how it portrays the toll it gives to a man who has one mentally and socially (living in isolation, a lousy hair, Einstein references and the like), but also physically. The film of course focused more on the very last. But that focus that may seem, at first glance, too shallow a center point for a film, was emotionally balanced by enough doses of drama and "Frankenstein"-ish goth romance. What differentiates "The Fly" from Mary Shelley's literary classic, though, is how the first specifically merged both the 'fiend' and Victor Frankenstein in one wholeness, in the form of Jeff Goldblum's Seth Brundle character.

How he turned into that ghastly, slimy and monstrous creature, that is where the story's Olympian god-like intervention and alteration of the characters' motives and actions take full command of the film. Like the fly inside the teleporter plot mischief, Seth Brundle's motive as to why he carelessly attempted (and technically succeeded) to teleport himself was for one simple reason. No, not those complex internal conflicts regarding a self-debate of how he can change the world and himself by way of molecularly transporting himself through electricity and wires and stuff, but for the simple fact that he was crazy drunk (with a baboon as sole company) during the time.

Like the Coen brothers that seem to laugh at their protagonist's (especially in their neo-noirs) own misdemeanors and faux pas as they go helplessly and hay-wire insane from one situation to another, Cronenberg brilliantly manifests this unconscious natural albeit peculiar flow of existence that purely enunciates that sometimes, things, particularly the crazy ones, just happen. But from this initial, almost comic-like hammering of nails to seal Brundle's 'unfortunate fate', "The Fly", after being initially founded by an uneasy but evidently passionate romance between scientist Seth and journalist Veronica (played by Geena Davis, who later became more renowned as Thelma in "Thelma and Louise"), is emotionally intensified not mainly by its visual horror but by the sheer idea of love.

Through this way, the film became more or less a much relentless horror. A horror of choice. The film instantly became more concerned not about who kills who or who goes where or who decapitates which body part, but what it really takes to give up something. Would you relish love all the same even when the one you continuously love is a physical manifestation of hate and disgust? "The Fly", surprisingly, answered immediately with a not-so-subtle shotgun blast, then a fade to black. Not seeing what happens next is an extreme rarity among science fiction horrors. Not even the most recent "Splice" denied us a peak of an uncertain epilogue.

This is the thing that will surely be a constant reminder as to why I 'll always place "The Fly" on a separate field of existence, far from other films of its kind. It is this brave adamant stance to refuse us the answer to the question "What happened next?" that took me into "The Fly's" almost hypnotic spell of fright, bodily fluids and mad love.

It is this film's shining ability to just live in the moment, the beginning, middle, end and all, and forget about any prolonged post-carnage drama that convinced me of its audacious greatness. Fast-forwarding through the film in weary anticipation of a surprise post-credits sequence and subsequently finding out that there's none, there's this slight sigh of relief. Post-carnage drama? I believe Veronica's brief but infinitely tragic weeping is enough. I was moved, alright.

FINAL RATING

Hobo with a Shotgun (Jason Eisener)

Rutger Hauer as the Hobo.

If you think "Machete" is bloods and guts galore, well, you haven't seen "Hobo with a Shotgun" yet . The film's concept, once merely a fake 'Grindhouse' trailer winner, fully delivers despite of its seemingly limited premise of a homeless man trying to clean the streets of an anarchic town. Initially, when I first laid my eyes upon the said trailer, I thought it was quite imaginative in its idea of creating a gun-toting character out of a hobo, but I thought the man playing the eponymous role in the 2-minute imaginary project (at the time) is too young and fairly unconvincing. This is where great tweaks in characterizations come to play; specifically, this is where Rutger Hauer enters the scene. 

So from being just a film that mainly highlights a man's exploitative exploits of exploding heads and maniacal sadists "Taxi Driver"-style minus the immense psychological baggage, with the help of Rutger Hauer's Clint Eastwood-ish presence, "Hobo with a Shotgun", in a way, transformed into some kind of an all-out urban western with a no name hobo at the crimson spotlight.

At first, I thought that the primary villains in the film were too exaggerated that it borders outright outlandishness even in the standards of 'do-it-all' B-movies. But then I realized, if this is not the way how these actors would act, then how should they? Brian Downey, who played the attention-seeking town kingpin 'The Drake', is a perfect contrast to Rutger Hauer's reserved and laid back Hobo, and so are Nick Bateman and Gregory Smith as the kingpin's sons. I do not know, but in "Machete", when I saw good ol' Steven Seagal as the primary villain, I can't help but notice the dry antagonistic chemistry between him and fellow few-worded Danny Trejo as they both struggle for an unsure, short-lived climax.

"Hobo with a Shotgun", on the other hand, fully capitalizes on how characteristic contrasts (the silent Hobo and the foul-mouthed Drake) help the psychological and emotional drive of the story. Indeed, the dichotomy between Hauer and Downey's character makes the pay-off all the more enthralling to anticipate and we, as audiences, are quite assured that the build-up won't just culminate in a big stare-off contest.

Molly Dunsworth, although how cliched it is to have a 'prostitute with a heart of gold' as the feminine lead, is energetic, boisterous and sweet all at the same time as Abby, the girl who Hobo envisions as a school teacher and tells of metaphorical stories about bears. Oh, and she also has an Ash-like "Groovy" moment in the film and an encouraging speech that is the thing of 'cheese'.

As for the screenplay, there's nothing much to say as it is more concerned about the Hobo's one-liners and doomed soliloquy. Now, if you want to watch a film solely for fun that you can repeatedly watch even if you're brain dead yet with enough adrenaline left, "Hobo with a Shotgun" is pure, razor-edged, brain residue-littered entertainment for you. It is a film conceived from perversion and exists in bad taste, but what you may find out is that it's also surprisingly dramatic and hopeful in a silly and flawed kind of way. Plus, do not expect much explicit sexuality. Yes, the film is violent, profane and rabidly morbid, but it's never gratuitously sexual. And for that, I salute the film.

Indeed, in a reality of a hobo armed with nothing but a rusty old shotgun and some aspirations for idealistic change, sex is not an option. But frankly, judging from the film's overall content of everything bloody red, crushed and dismembered, where would you really put those scenes? Even its bar and club settings aren't really very welcoming to such. What we got instead are harshly-situated innuendos that fit into the film's pumped-up feel but do not really materialize into any pumping scenes. But is that a bad thing?

FINAL RATING

I Spit on Your Grave (a.k.a. Day of the Woman) (Meir Zarchi)

Left for dead.

Sometimes, there are pieces of provocative filmmaking that although tackle sensitive, graphic and taboo themes, can still pass as art. This may be a personal bias, but I do regard the likes of "Irreversible" as a daring cinematic art. The original "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" had its artistic merits amidst its exploitative slaughterhouse feel. Hell, even Clive Barker's "Hellraiser" can be considered as a masterful exercise of gothic storytelling. And then there's "I Spit on Your Grave".

This is where the pretense of unorthodox cinematic art really exhausts reasons and justifications. A revenge-themed independent production that actually climaxed in the gruesome and harrowing series of rape scenes. It is a film that can never find its place in a positive consensus. It is a deeply offensive display of feminine violation on celluloid. It is a highly nauseating exploitation picture that is tailor-made for that little, almost neglected 'fast-forward' button on your DVD remote control. Yet it sparked endless curiosities, garnered an underground cult following and even inspired a remake. Why? In one of my rare (cough, cough) instances as a film watcher and reviewer, I honestly do not know why.

"I Spit on Your Grave" is, above its surface of violence, murder, and physical and emotional torture, is primarily founded by two negative extremities fighting for hegemonic balance: misandry and misogyny. After all, as I question myself as how the 'momentary' capturing wonder of the video camera ever reached such a pathetic low point, the film is surprisingly, although unconsciously, split into two parts: The first being 'women' through the viewpoint of sexually shallow men and the second being the literal physical deconstruction (and dismemberment) of the idea of advantageous masculinity as the tables are finally turned.

Actually, I never thought that I will ever have the chance to see this film; but in a cruel twist of fate, I finally did, and although I really wish I hadn't, it gave me genuine firsthand reasons why.

This is disturbing stuff, and yes, even in today's standards, "I Spit on Your Grave" is still extremely disquieting. Just one tip for men, if ever you are planning to watch a horror film with your girlfriend, please do prefer Freddy and Jason's campy exploits more; this piece of questionable cinema doesn't belong in the 'horror' genre or does it even qualify as a film. It is a revenge-fueled assault to the senses completely devoid of any moral sanctions, nor traces of narrative cohesion, nor characters with common sense.

FINAL RATING

The Blind Swordsman: Zatoichi (Takeshi Kitano)

Absorbing the rain through blind eyes.

Film Review Archive (date seen: December 20, 2010)

Being titled solely as "Zatoichi" (or "The Blind Swordsman: Zatoichi"), I'm actually quite surprised to the numerous story arcs that director (and star) Takeshi Kitano has instead put his focus on, turning the eponymous masseur into some sort of a natural force on the side rather than a vulnerable hero on the center of it all. Takeshi Kitano was quite good as the title role, and considering that he's the chief villain in "Battle Royale", his 180 turn (I can't say it's 360 as Zatoichi wasn't a full-blown romanticized hero) as the mysterious wandering swordsman was impressive.

The film's plot was very "Yojimbo-like", not just because of the warring gangs and all, but mainly because it's the main element that meagerly puts Akira Kurosawa's works before into slight criticisms as being "too western". There's not much danger in the fight scenes, as there's no need to really root for Zatoichi because we, the audience, already know that he'll always come out of sword fights unscathed and clean as an obsessive compulsive man on an extreme episodic fit (a little of a "Blackadder" hang-over on that particular simile). I'm also glad that there's a great amount of comic relief in the film because it might have gone a little too grim without some of the needed laughs.

"Zatoichi" was a good film and meritorious for not taking its violence too seriously, but yes, the fights were great, the laughs were spot-on, but do we really need that final dance sequence?

FINAL RATING

Piranha (Alexandre Aja)

'In the meat of the moment.'

Film Review Archive (date seen: November 13, 2010)

Should have been called "Naked Women with Some Piranhas". Alexandre Aja, whose "The Hills Have Eyes" remake I highly regard, immersed this film and himself with all the common elements of horror films, then multiplied the "over-the-top" factor by ten. The target of all the gore and violence isn't for genuine disturbances, but blood-wrapped punchlines for its supposed B-movie feel; and it fits, because the whole film's a complete joke.

Honestly, who would not want to see occasional nudity in films? But putting sequences involving such censorship-inspiring parts every couple of minutes to create a sinful atmosphere to justify the flesh-peeling deaths in the following moments for such a mainstream horror feature is quite pushing it. Jason, Freddy, and Michael (Myers) have one in each of their films, and so was the others. Two is alright, three is pretty acceptable, but to exceed more than that? That, I think, jeopardizes a film, especially if those scenes have no connections whatsoever with the narrative progression.

I'm not here to preach any "anti-nudity in films" advocacy, but the time that these said sequences have occupied in this film is a complete waste that when the piranhas finally attacked the deserving victims, it's not excitement and suspense I've felt, but more of a sigh-like inner mumbling stating, "oh, finally".

"Piranha" could have been a very taut film, but all the moments spent on nudity were too much when it could have been a hefty lot of time to use for some memorable foreshadowing. What resulted is a film filled with many bare-skinned women, less suspenseful ambiance, flawed logic, and a very lousy ending.

FINAL RATING

The Thing (John Carpenter)

The thing.

Film Review Archive (date seen: September 19, 2010)

Pure exercise in paranoid filmmaking, with a very exceptional science fiction concept (quite reminiscent of "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers") as a canvas for the blood and gore, the suspense and tension. The story is quite fundamental, a bunch of people in one place hunted by a mysterious force. With this simple premise, it all comes down to how it was executed.

Helped by the very impressive special effects by Rob Bottin, "The Thing" is a significant film that relentlessly explores the human condition if enclosed in such a hellish situation. Kurt Russell was great as Macready, a character that I think has established a cult following as one of the all-time great heroes of the horror/sci-fi genre.

But when you look at it, he never possesses any characteristics identifiable with such. He never set on to save anybody but himself, purely relying all of his actions to his id. But maybe it's these kinds of traits that all of us viewers like to see from a protagonist: an everyman facing an otherworldly predicament. A nobody in complete survival mode.

While watching "The Thing", the tagline of Ridley Scott's "Alien" repeatedly recurs in my mind (come on, don't pretend you don't know!) and I thought, it never needs to reach space; Antarctica in its vast icy glory is enough to inspire deaf ears, deep fears, and loud screams.

FINAL RATING