Frances Ha (Noah Baumbach)

Girls just want to have fun.

It's one thing for a film to show life's heartaches in all its tearful, emotional glory, but it's altogether another for it to look at everything as if they're all but punchlines of a very funny story. The latter, I think, is always the more difficult one to pull off, and "Frances Ha" did just that without even figuratively letting out sweat. Throughout the film, there are hints about love and sex and relationship, but it's really more about the bumbling life of this girl named Frances, played with an entertaining kind of passive-aggressiveness by Greta Gerwig, and her bittersweet struggles through the 'black and white' metropolis of existence, all while these three crumble in front of her very eyes. 

Despite it being a story of a modern woman who we can pretentiously brand as some kind of a bird whose feather is just too bright for her own good, the film is unexpectedly brimming with so much naivety that you can excuse her foibles not just because it's cute and all but because we can understand her blunders. Frances may not necessarily be likable in the same way the characters portrayed by Katherine Heigl and Jennifer Aniston (then again, I'm not saying that you should like them in the first place) in all those junk chick-flicks out there are, but in her, I can sense someone real and breathing and very, very tangible. She's the kind of character who you can normally bump into on some busy avenue, share a brief smile with, and then be both on your way. 

As far as I'm concerned, Frances is as real as any modern female character can get, and it's very smart to show this honesty without reducing and locking her up within a basic 'girl meets boy' plot. "Frances Ha" is, for the record, a love story, but not between two very specific people but more with life itself, and how just wandering through it, sans responsibilities, will inevitably lead you into finding both what you really are and what you're not. And though I have this great urge to brand "Frances Ha" as a film about 'friendship' (between Frances and her best friend, Sophie), really, it's not. I even want to go out of my way and label the film as a comedy but it's really more concerned with the honest-to-goodness dramatic bummers of a twenty-something woman and not with some of her inconsequential quirks ala Wes Anderson. In retrospect, "Frances Ha" really is a film that's almost impossible to categorize simply because it works as some kind of a romance-drama-comedy genre hybrid without really being any of them because it's really just, all along, about this carefree woman who's merely being herself.     

As much as possible, I don't want to reference Woody Allen in my reviews of dramedy films because it's just too ho-hum to do so, but "Frances Ha", minus the almost disturbing dose of neurosis and cynicism, is perhaps what a Woody Allen film may look like if he's a little less world-weary, less redundantly psychoanalytical, and, yes, a tad less sexual. Directed by "The Squid and the Whale's" Noah Baumbach, the film is, just like the aforementioned 2005 indie sleeper, is virtually plotless and its cast not much acting but merely being themselves while saying trivial things that, when you think of it, actually matters. Case in point: The scene where Frances describes, half-drunk,what she really wants in a relationship. That's just pure movie magic right there. 

The script (co-written by Gerwig herself), in all its looseness, is very effective in impeccably highlighting Frances' aimless pursuit of dancing and, subsequently, happiness as a whole. Though some women may not like it if I declare Frances as 'what a modern woman should look and act like" (especially today where the archetypal 'empowered woman' is the 'in' thing this side of the glass ceiling), I think it is but right to brandish her with such a label because, hey, she's as imperfect as imperfect can be, and isn't modern living?

In "Frances Ha", there's no story but only Frances' life, there's no love but only her idealized concept of it, and there's no actual, concrete friendship but only her dreams of, one day, having such that would never go away. And her goal? To dance and choreograph. Perhaps she's too naive and awkward and a notch too 'undateable' to choreograph and orchestrate an entire production number let alone her very life as it happens, but Frances couldn't care less. Sometimes, at least for her, to want something without ever enacting upon it may just be enough because, sooner or later, it CAN just happen, all while she's having fun with herself and making fun of what she is and what she cannot be. As one of the staple sayings of this 'Tumblr' generation goes: "She saved everyone but couldn't save herself." But wait, Frances is not the martyr type, and no, she's really not keen on saving anyone, so read that quote again the other way around and you will pretty much have the idea of what Frances' "aimless goal" in life ultimately is. Shite. Freakin' oxymoron right there. 

Undateable.

FINAL RATING

The World's End (Edgar Wright)

Cornetto!

They've survived through the onslaught of shambling zombies, have fought against a band of dead-eyed villagers, and have even starred together in that alien film entitled "Paul". To say that Simon Pegg and Nick Frost, whose on-screen partnership traces as far back as the 1999 TV series "Spaced", have done everything there is to do as far as 'genre' comedy films are concerned is an understatement, and so is saying that my anticipation about this film is merely high. Being a big, big fan of "Shaun of the Dead" and "Hot Fuzz" (I have also seen episodes of "Spaced" and quite loved them as well), I felt a stab of definite fanboy defeat after finding out that this film will not be shown in theaters here in the Philippines. "The World's End", the final chapter in Edgar Wright's "Blood and Ice Cream" trilogy (or alternately called as the "Cornetto" trilogy), has giant boots to fill, especially considering the fact that the two preceding films were runaway successes both critically and commercially. 

Like Nolan's "The Dark Knight Rises", "The World's End", pre-release, is in a very delicate position of either delivering or flat-out failing. And if I'm Edgar Wright, I wouldn't forgive myself if the film bombs, for it will forever be a blemish on my resume and will further support most people's claims that trilogies can only succeed so much. Fortunately, however, just like the first two films, this one's just as fun if a little less clever. Granted, the film is easily the weakest of the three, but it is thankfully still the kind of product that I would always expect from the Wright-Pegg-Frost combo. Honestly, I want more from these three.

Though the film, in its entirety, is in every way just as visually dazzling as "Shaun" and "Hot Fuzz", what lacks is the utter ingenuity in the storytelling department, even if the film is quite original in bringing about the apocalypse within the context of such a harmless pub crawl. But aside from that and the intensely enjoyable performances by the whole cast, the film is surprisingly without much narrative swerves, bar the unexpectedly elegiac ending, of course. 

What elevates the film, though, in terms of quality, is the way how Simon Pegg has (almost) single-handedly carried the film through with his jumpy gift for comedy. It's also interesting to note that he has essentially switched characters with Nick Frost, who we know see as a straight-laced, no-nonsense character, while he is now the alcoholic slacker of a character that the latter is more accustomed in playing. His name is Gary King, a directionless drunkard/recovering addict who has cunningly deceived his now white-collared friends (played by Nick Frost, Martin Freeman, Paddy Considine, and Eddie Marsan) into attempting with him once more the epic pub crawl that they have failed to finish some 20 odd years ago. 

For his friends, the pub crawl is merely a cordial outlet to catch up with each other, the beer pints being secondary. For King, the crawl is everything that's left of his wasted life and his obviously damaged liver. But for the mysterious populace of the town in which the pubs are situated, well, this little beer-drinking escapade is an itch that needs to be scratched. After all, what nuisance a bunch of drunkards can really be, especially if they will be but foils to a very sci-fi master plan, right? So, yes, what ensues is a combination of desperate hilarity, alcoholic frenzy, and blue-blooded (literally) eschatological badassery. Oh, and did I mention that the film involves some type of extraterrestrial craziness that perfectly complements, in an odd way, the film's display of inebriated fun? 

"The World's End", despite its shortcomings, is mischievous and wildly fast-paced, and is Wright's thoroughly enjoyable attempt in picturing the funny side of both the apocalypse itself and the days that follow; that is with pints and pints of booze, some dose of melodrama, and a bunch of paranoia-inducing quips. And trust me, the film's final 5 or so minutes alone has enough strength to completely blow the entirety of Roland Emmerich's world-destroying oeuvre out of the water. It's that good of an 'end of the world' film, that effective of a comedy-drama hybrid, and that powerful a playful cinematic vision of what's in store for humanity in the end is. And as much as it is a stand-alone science fiction film, it's also uninhibited in paying a nice tribute to its obvious influences, namely "The Day the Earth Stood Still" and "The Invasion of the Body Snatchers". When you've seen that robot near the end, haven't you immediately thought of Gort? Did you not unconsciously insinuate that Donald Sutherland may appear as one of the aliens? And, finally, did you not feel a little "Twilight Zone-y" during the climactic confrontation between King and the 'alien boss' (I'll just call it that)? 

With all of its unconscious references to classic science fiction films, its almost parable-like unraveling of the characters' friendship, and its quick-witted script that just won't quit with its well-formulated banters, "The World's End" may just be one of the most entertaining and unexpectedly emotional films of 2013. What's only slightly disappointing, though, is the fact that it's not really as 'great' as "Shaun of the Dead" and "Hot Fuzz". But hey, if this is how the world will really end, count me in as one of those crazed (not to mention bearded and hygienically-challenged) doomsday prophets that will excitedly warn you about it.

FINAL RATING

My Own Private Idaho (Gus Van Sant)

Hustlers.

Aside from it being an almost Dickensian look into the world of hustlers (or male prostitutes, if we get a bit more direct), the film is also a tear-jerking look at how great of a loss River Phoenix really is to the movie industry and also to the furthering of the Marlon Brando-esque leading man mystique in films. From the minute River, with all his James Dean-like mannerisms and uncanny good looks, enters the frame, one can't help but be sad about the wasted potential of what he could have been and what wonders he could have done working with other talented filmmakers. In a way, this was his great coming-out party as a truly serious dramatic actor, and he didn't disappoint. And if Keanu Reeves' character Scott, a rich heir who, for reasons unclear, has chosen to be a hustler instead, is the one highly pivotal in terms of the film's connection with Shakespeare's "Henry IV", River Phoenix's role is its throbbing heart and aching soul, and he makes us feel every single ounce of his character's silent cries through his narcoleptic ways as a hassled hustler.

Though set in the polluted streets and dingy sidewalks of modern-day America, the film is surprisingly flowery in its wordings (to of course keep up with its Shakesperean roots) and perhaps often a bit stagy on how the washed-up characters describe off-screen events and explain themselves to their fellow low-lives. Sometimes, though, the film then suddenly switches from overlong, quasi-poetic utterances to brief, street-smart talks, which makes it quite incomprehensible and, subsequently, infuriating to watch at times.

Gus Van Sant, an openly gay filmmaker, is equal parts brave, bold, and even elegant in directing this film that even the more explicit sex scenes were shot in a series of beautiful, tableaux-like images that seem to be a very tasteful aesthetic choice on his behalf. There's no denying the fact that the themes explored in "My Own Private Idaho", from homosexuality to downright prostitution, is hard to portray in a cinematic manner that would not tread the territories of exploitation and smut. Yet Van Sant, who has directed his fair share of modern film classics ranging from the Oscar-winning "Good Will Hunting" to the shocking indie gem "Elephant", has never let that happen, for he knows that although the highly sensitive issue of homosexuality is the area where the film extracts its primary emotional force from, the film is still simply about this gay man (River Phoenix's character) who just wants to find his mom and also to love somebody on the side, and isn't that, regardless of gender, the default story of our lives?

As expected, with this being the story of male prostitutes, it is a given that odd fetishes will be handed enough share of the spotlight, just like the ones in "Belle de Jour" and especially in "Midnight Cowboy", a film that, I believe, is kins in spirit with "My Own Private Idaho". There's the singing Udo Kier, for one, and also the fat client who seems to get off when he hears the sound of cleaning brushes making contact with dirty floors. And in the middle of the oddity of it all and these night people who seem to be more of themselves when the sun is out, stands River Phoenix's Mike and his struggle to literally keep himself from constantly falling asleep and also to keep whatever's left of his memory of her mother, who seems to continuously pester his mind with recurring childhood scenes of Oedipal-like affection. 

Physically speaking, the character is already challenging for River Phoenix to play because there's the difficult obligation of accurately portraying narcolepsy on-screen. And then, there's the trickier part of mustering all the fragile nuances of playing someone as emotionally scarred as Mike and then keeping them all at bay so that he can project a false sense of street grit. Jon Voight, who played Joe Buck in "Midnight Cowboy", has finely captured that, but Phoenix, I think, has even perfected it. I don't know, perhaps I'm a bit biased about his greatness in the role simply because he's already no more, but there's a kind of elegy in his eyes and in his actions that makes the experience of watching him play someone as tragic as Mike even more heart-rending, and dwarfs Keanu Reeves' unexpectedly effective performance all the more. 

"My Own Private Idaho", though included in many 'essential films' list, is by no means a masterpiece, but it's the kind of movie, no matter how happy and contented you are with your life by the time you've decided to pop it into your DVD player, that will certainly make you seek your own private whatever, in terrible longing for loneliness. It's an odd feeling, but it sure is something.

FINAL RATING 

Rushmore (Wes Anderson)

Max Fischer: prep school rebel. Or not.

Perhaps a film that really was quite a puzzle during its time that even veteran film critic Pauline Kael was "thoroughly mystified" by it, "Rushmore" bursts into the screen with a kind of humor and passive grace reminiscent of Robert Altman's works, but is sadly lacking in solid focus and direction. For newbie filmmakers, it is but normal to either commit rookie mistakes or wallow in self-indulgence (or both) along the way; for Wes Anderson in this film, it surely is the latter. Unlike his later works which are all clear about what their central themes are ('family' in "The Royal Tenenbaums", "The Life Aquatic", and "Fantastic Mr. Fox", 'brotherhood' in "The Darjeeling Limited", and 'young love' in "Moonrise Kingdom", among others), it is quite obvious that "Rushmore" isn't really sure about what kind of film it really wants to be. 

On one side, it's kind of like trying to be a coming-of-age story about a popular, seemingly self-taught student named Max Fischer (Jason Schwartzman) who's consistently getting his ass beat by the eponymous school's stern educational system. On another, it's really about an unlikely friendship between Max and a quirky industrialist named Herman Blume (played by the 'godfather' of quirks: Bill Murray), and also their intense romantic interest on a young, newly-widowed teacher (Olivia Williams). And then, as if in hundreds of other corners, there are also these little happenings that seem to have little to no significance to the whole story, but are nonetheless scattered all throughout the film by Wes Anderson simply because he is Wes Anderson, and that he can do off-kilter things in his films and still be labelled 'cool'. 

The performances, although all are imprinted with a sense of wry passive-aggressiveness that emanates from almost all of Wes Anderson's characters, come up quite short in terms of making me feel that this is indeed a Wes Anderson film. Adding on what I've said earlier, the script is a tad too aimless to begin with, which of course resulted in the film being two sizes too small for its projected ambition. It is, for me, like a standard-sized blanket that was stretched far beyond its limits to accommodate 5 sleepers. In short, "Rushmore" is like 3 films worth of stories were crammed into one 'school misfit-centric' picture and was then left just as that, which is nothing short of a textbook exercise in 'more being less' coming from the Futura font-loving director himself. 

Although much has been said about how Wes Anderson is slowly perfecting the art of handling multiple narratives with every film he makes, "Rushmore" is still here to remind us that he and his films were once not so masterfully absurd and quirky but instead quite mischievously unfocused and clumsy. And just like its hero Max Fischer, "Rushmore" seems more interested in extracurricular activities rather than its core priority, which is to tell the story in a non-alienating way. And is it just me, or is Max Fischer really isn't that likable and strong of a protagonist to really carry the film through? Perhaps there's a reason why Anderson's later films feature more than one main character, and also why Jason Schwartzman has merely taken on relatively smaller roles in his films ever since. It appears that one of Wes Anderson's weaknesses is extracting and then sustaining an interesting enough narrative from a single character, and "Rushmore" just goes to expose this glaring fact. The film is like "Dead Poets Society's" detached and peculiar younger brother, and he couldn't care any less about you, your opinion, and whether or not he gets himself understood. This is, quite simply, a film made by a director who's still testing the waters.

FINAL RATING

Before Midnight (Richard Linklater)

A Greek dramedy.

We have ventured with them through the streets of Vienna and tagged along on their reflective walk one Parisian afternoon. Jesse and Celine, as far as modern cinematic couples are concerned, is indeed the thinking man/woman's love team, thanks to Richard Linklater's deeply contemplative yet very entertaining style of writing. And after all these years, the first film, "Before Sunrise", still stands tall as a wonderful testament of how bittersweet a happenstance romance can be, while "Before Sunset" effortlessly goes to show how a hyper-idealized overnight love can completely change when, paraphrasing Jason Silva, lovers finally go their separate ways and return to their respective task-based existence. 

9 years ago, we were left to draw our own conclusions regarding what can happen to Jesse and Celine and whether or not their picture-perfect romance can carry itself away from the pragmatic hassles of reality, as Jesse is after all already married and has a son. Finally, though, we now have the answer in the form of "Before Midnight": the final chapter to the 'Jesse and Celine' saga. Yeah, that totally sounded like an epic superhero film.

In this film, Jesse and Celine are on a Greek getaway, and this time, it's not, in any way, a happenstance encounter but an official family vacation (along with their twin daughters). Yes, here in "Before Midnight", Jesse and Celine is finally (and permanently) together, albeit unmarried. Not the exact set-up you might expect if you think of an ideal kind of love, but hey, better to have that than nothing at all. Sure, both of them were physically withered by age quite a bit, but the energy of how they connect with each other is just as fresh and young as the moment when they first met in a sleepy train ride back in Vienna. "Before Midnight", with its preservation of Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy's on-screen chemistry that spans close to two decades, delivers just the right amount of ups and downs, romance-wise, to leave unto us a feeling that we've just been witnesses to what may be the closest cinema has gotten in perfectly capturing the essence of a flawed but nonetheless true kind of love.

Comparatively speaking, watching "Before Midnight" in all its sexual innuendos, hurtful gender slurs, and overwhelming pragmatism makes "Before Sunrise" and "Before Sunset" seem like two innocent younger brothers who have just gotten out of the house long enough to frolic freely in the streets for a while. Simply put, "Before Midnight" looks just like the big brother who has finally arrived to fetch his younger siblings so that he can smack some sense into them that no, it should never be all play. Though the film is still ripe with nostalgic talks about time in relation to love and love in relation to life at large and all that idealizing romantic bull, it's more clear on what it wants to examine, and that is the separation of love from the conundrums of life and vice versa. Unlike the first two films which seem to indulge only on reflections about what can be and what could have been between Jesse and Celine, "Before Midnight" is the realistic wake-up call that things are bound to inevitably fall apart. 

With Richard Linklater on the helm and on scribe duty, it's not a surprise that the film is just as layered as the first two films. This time, though, everything seems to be very much at stake, as both Jesse and Celine, for the first time in their screen lives, are quite careening into an emotional climax that may just be as explosive as the one in "The Avengers". Are we going to see them just as strong as before? Or, as surreal as it may sound, are we going to see them bitterly part ways? In ways more than one, "Before Midnight" is the maturation that we've all been waiting for and are unconsciously dying to see, because as much as it feels good to see them together at the end of "Before Sunset", it's still an altogether different kind of ballgame to tackle the all too real things (such as career conflicts, priorities, and family) that go along with love like prickly bonus items. And for that, I guess Linklater has nothing short of done something that makes me believe that, no, the telling of great love stories in films is yet to run its course. On the other hand, though, it's sad to think that to make me believe just that, it has to be done by ending one of the bestest modern ones there is. 

Like a more optimistic and infinitely more humorous "Scenes from a Marriage", "Before Midnight" is an extraordinary film that will force you to think twice about being married, but at the same time will convince you to just hold on to the imperfect truth that holds two people together like Velcro. And as Jesse and Celine struggle through a mudflow of insecurities, misled accusations, and complex decisions, the Velcro still sticks, and neither of them know the definite reason how and why save for the fact that, well, it just does. And remember what Celine was repeatedly saying while watching the sun set? "Still there." In the end, perhaps she can say the same to the love that she and Jesse have stumbled upon one fateful day in Vienna nearly 20 years ago; a kind that they thought would only be nothing but a fling, only to find out that there's definitely more to it than the aimless walks through cobblestone streets.

FINAL RATING

Thor: The Dark World (Alan Taylor)

Thor's once again ready for some arse-smitin'.

Without any reservations or holding anything back, I can confidently say that "Thor: The Dark World" is the best Thor film to date, which really isn't saying much considering that this is only the second one. The film, as expected from Marvel Studios, is ripe with spontaneous humor, effective one-liners, and smirk-inspiring references that you may think that Marvel's head honchos have seen "Man of Steel", looked at each other in utter disbelief specifically during the climax, and contacted, within minutes, some of their friends in the comedy business. Lesson learned: never trust a Marvel trailer, for it will tease you with the prospect of sheer ominousness, but will almost always bring you an all-smiling kind of escapist popcorn stuff. 

Though the film is with a subtitle that seems to suggest a more brooding sense of adventure for the 'Thunder God' himself, "Thor: The Dark World" is a very fun and innocuous 'might and magic' outing that's as relentless in its action as it is in its comedy. Plus, you will know that you're in for a ridiculous type of enjoyment when one of the first things you will see in the first 10 minutes or so of the film is a stark naked Stellan Skarsgard running aimlessly around the Stonehenge while parading his very Swedish behind. 

Also, for the first time, we're given an otherworldly villain that's not really a kin to our long-haired hero. His name's Malekith (Christopher Eccleston), a dark elf who wants to destroy all the realms and revert the entire universe back to its dark state because, like rats, his kind is most comfortable in the dark. Of course, no matter what it takes, this will not be allowed by the future king of Asgard, or by the incumbent Odin (Anthony Hopkins), or even, surprise surprise, by the god of mischief himself: Loki (Tom Hiddleston in a definite scene-stealer). 

For someone who's really not into the whole fantasy and sci-fi stuff, "Thor: The Dark World", in some regards, may come across as something too jargon-y, especially when Natalie Portman's Jane Foster starts to talk about gravitational theories and whatnot. On the other hand, though, coming in as a fantasy fan will surely be a treat all on itself because, compared to the first film, Asgard (plus the other realms) is in fuller view this time around, and we're also finally able to behold its sheer size and very Rivendell-esque aesthetic. 

In addition, the film is also more well-endowed in its action sequences, though I can definitely see the visual dissonance that seems to suppress the film's search for a kind of identity. I see a group of bearded warriors engaging in a very fantastical skirmish and "The Lord of the Rings" is what immediately enters my mind. I see a metal-hulled ship that's being shot at by giant laser guns and "Star Wars" involuntarily pops up in my head. Though it is but given that "Thor", in its own right, already has a fairly established universe in the comic books, I still just can't buy how it was realized on-screen, and it also doesn't quite help that director Alan Taylor is a "Game of Thrones" luminary. 

On a more positive note, though, the film's climactic set piece, which sees Thor and Malekith do battle in a highly spasmodic gravitational condition (in layman's term, they're fighting while being spontaneously teleported from one realm to another), is on par with "Iron Man 3's" firecracker of a payoff. 

Chris Hemsworth, in his third outing as the titular superhero, is more effortless than ever in Thor's otherwise unwieldy boots and heavy garb while holding the even heavier Mjolnir, though him being completely overshadowed by Hiddleston's even more effortless portrayal of the unpredictable Loki just can't simply be avoided. This time around, after being defeated in "The Avengers" by, well, the Avengers, Loki is the obvious victor, performance-wise. 

And the ending? Well, I can't believe what I've just seen, but did Kevin Feige and company just borrow from "G.I. Joe: The Rise of Cobra's" playbook? It's a great sleight of hand (the ending, that is), sure, but I've seen it before, and sadly in an infinitely lesser film. Does this suggest that Marvel's creatives are finally reeling? In terms of the overall quality of "Thor: The Dark World", it's quite evident that, no, it's not anywhere near that, but the ending sure speaks a lot about the fact that even air-lifting Joss Whedon into the set for emergency rewrites just couldn't save a relatively lousy ending. 

Nonetheless, the film is still good enough for what it is, and has some nice enough surprises and in-jokes up its sleeve to make it adhere more tightly to the ginormous hull of the Marvel Cinematic Universe. And, man, just seeing Heimdall the Gatekeeper (Idris Elba) single-handedly kick some dark elf ass secures "Thor: The Dark World" an automatic spot in my list as one of the more truly enjoyable Marvel movies to date. Again, that's not saying much, but the film sure is staggering in scope, which has pumped me up even more for the astronomical degree of awesome that's in store for us when "The Avengers: Age of Ultron" finally rears its head.

FINAL RATING 

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