Author Archive

  • The Films of John Carpenter: Eyes of Laura Mars (1978)

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    Technically, Eyes of Laura Mars is not a John Carpenter film (it was directed by Irvin Kershner), but one based on a screenplay he had written titled “Eyes”. Producer Jack H. Harris, who was involved with Carpenter’s first film, Dark Star, handed a treatment of “Eyes” to Jon Peters at Columbia Pictures, who liked the concept of a woman who psychopathically witnesses murders through the eyes of the killer. Unfortunately, the script would go through a number of transformations over time, leaving little resemblance between Carpenter’s original vision and the finished film.

    Laura Mars (Faye Dunaway) is New York City’s hottest, and most controversial, fashion photographer. Her photos, consisting of scantily-clad women and set against ultra-violent backdrops, have simultaneously stirred the admiration and incited the fury of the New York elite. But the violence in Laura Mars’ creations runs much deeper than mere sensationalism. Laura possesses a unique psychic power, one that allows her to witness, in her mind’s eye, actual murders as they are occurring, seeing every terrifying detail through the eyes of the murderer himself. Recently, the killings that Laura has ‘seen’ are of people close to her, and police detective John Neville (Tommy Lee Jones) wants to know the connection. As the bodies pile up, Laura begins to suspect that the killer is someone very close to her, and that she may be the ultimate target of his murderous spree.

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  • The Vampyre Chronicles: Shadow of the Vampire (2000)

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    In the early 1920’s, director F.W. Murnau set out to make a movie based on Bram Stoker’s classic novel, Dracula. The resulting film, titled Nosferatu and starring Max Schreck as the vampire, remains to this day a masterwork of horror.

    Shadow of the Vampire, released in 2000, is a fictional account of the making of Nosferatu, with one small modification. This time around, the roles of vampire and actor have been reversed. Nosferatu’s Max Schreck, so effectively frightening as the undead bloodsucker in the original, is no longer merely an actor portraying a vampire. In a twist that could be among the most ingenious in recent memory, a real-life vampire (Willem Dafoe) has been hired by director Murnau (John Malkovich) to play the role of an actor named Schreck who is, in turn, playing a vampire in his new film. And exactly how did Murnau convince a real vampire to star in his movie? By promising him the throat of the leading lady (Catherine McCormack) once filming was completed. For Murnau, it’s the perfect arrangement, the ultimate truth for his artistic endeavor. But can he control the beast he has so callously unleashed on his unsuspecting film crew?

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  • Hidden Treasures: Special Edition

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    This week, I bring to you an early, special edition of Hidden Treasures, one dedicated to three films that came to my attention by way of a fabulous organization known as Film Movement. Some of you may have heard of it, but for those who haven’t, Film Movement (located online at http://www.filmmovement.com) is a DVD-of-the-month club, one that caters to film enthusiasts, and not to the major studios.

    Taken from their web site, the following is Film Movement’s Mission Statement:

    Film choices are dictated to us by a smaller and smaller group of major studios, which decide to release films based mostly on the stars in the cast and marketability. Many small but deserving films get squeezed out of theaters by Hollywood blockbusters and face skyrocketing marketing costs that make it daunting — if not impossible — to reach appreciative audiences. We created Film Movement because the system of releasing independent, foreign and documentary films needed to be changed. We believed that the only way to change the system was to reach out to film fans directly. Through our first of its kind DVD club our goal is to make these films more accessible. By supporting Film Movement, you are directly supporting independent and foreign film. We hope that you will join our movement of movie lovers”.

    I was fortunate enough to have been a member of Film Movement for the first 3 ½ years of it’s existence. As a member, I received a new DVD every month, each one a film that had been lauded at a variety of festivals, but which never saw the light of day beyond them. Thankfully, both Netflix and Blockbuster now offer the movies of Film Movement as on-line rentals, which gives me a chance to present to you three great titles you may never have heard of, but which you will almost certainly enjoy. I’ve also added a short ‘trailer’ for Film Movement at the bottom, which pretty much sums up what this great organization is all about (Note: Unfortunately, Film Movement subscriptions are currently available only to those residing in the U.S., however a large portion of their catalog is available for on-line rental).

    Ali Zaoua (2000)
    Through the years, many films have centered on the dreams of children, but Ali Zaoua, a Moroccan film directed by Nabil Ayouch, takes a singularly unique approach to this subject. The children at the center of Ali Zaoua are alone, abandoned by their families, and suffering a sad, poverty-stricken existence on the streets of Casablanca. For them, an active imagination is not so much a luxury as it is a means of survival. Ali Zaoua (Abdelhak Zhayra) is one such child, who dreams of traveling across the sea to live on a tropical island, one where two suns are always in the sky to keep him warm. Unfortunately, fate intervenes. As Ali and his three friends, Kwita (Mounim Kbab), Omar (Mustapha Hansali) and Boubker (Hicham Moussoune), waste away the hours playing at an empty construction site, a gang of kids confronts them. One of these kids throws a rock, striking Ali in the head and knocking him unconscious, leaving Kwita, Omar and Boubkar to care for their wounded companion. As he’s being dragged through the streets on a makeshift stretcher, Ali dies, and his three friends agree that Ali deserves a first-class funeral. Each will do what he can to raise money to give their friend a burial at sea, certainly a fitting burial for a ‘prince’ like Ali. As constructed by director Ayouch, Ali Zaoua is a fascinating cross between drama and documentary. The children who star in this film are not actors, but actual Casablancan street kids, and their performances are nothing short of amazing. Ayouch shows a great compassion for the plight of these children, with a tone that is always observant, and never strained or artificial. These kids, forgotten by their families, suffer through life’s pitfalls on a daily basis, and the only thing that gets them through it all is their dreams, their hopes for a better tomorrow. Ali Zaoua is a film you won’t soon forget; an account of the exuberance of youth played out on a stage decorated with society’s most abhorrent contempt.

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  • The Films of John Carpenter: Dark Star (1974)

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    One of the better Holiday gifts I received this past season (ok, ok…I bought it myself with some of my Holiday money) was the book, “John Carpenter: The Prince of Darkness” by Gilles Boulenger. Essentially a series of interviews that the author conducted with the famed filmmaker, the book covers everything from earliest inspirations right up to Ghosts of Mars (which was Carpenter’s newest film at the time of publication). It was while reading Boulenger’s book that I was struck with the idea for this series. What I plan to do over the course of the next several months is watch every John Carpenter movie currently available on DVD (which is damn near all of them), in chronological order, and record my thoughts and opinions on each one. I see it as an excellent opportunity to explore the career of one of the cinema’s most entertaining directors, and I’m looking forward to it in a big way.

    The first film in this series is Dark Star, which started life as a student project in the early 1970’s, when Carpenter was enrolled at USC. Directed by Carpenter, from a script he co-wrote with fellow classmate Dan O’Bannon (who would go on to compose the screenplay for Alien), Dark Star is an ultra low-budget sci-fi comedy, pieced together bit by bit over the course of several years. Eventually, producer Jack H. Harris would get involved, with the intention of giving the film a general release. At Harris’ insistence, additional scenes were shot, increasing the film’s running time from just over an hour to 90 minutes total. Both versions of the film are available on the special-edition DVD, but thus far I’ve only seen Carpenter’s original cut of 1 hour and 8 minutes. Unfortunately, even at this shorter length, Dark Star tends to wear out its welcome rather quickly.

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  • Hidden Treasures – Week of February 24th

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    For this week’s Hidden Treasures, I take a look at three excellent films which also happen to be three excellent musicals. Enjoy!

    Fiddler on the Roof (1971)
    Since when do hardship, oppression and stifling traditional values translate into a feel-good experience? The answer is…usually never. But Norman Jewison’s 1971 musical, Fiddler on the Roof, manages to be an exception. The story of one man’s attempt to hold onto custom in the face of a changing world, Fiddler on the Roof is one of the most heart-warming movies I’ve ever seen. Based on the long-running Broadway musical of the same name, the film is set at the turn of the century in the town of Anatevka, a poverty-stricken village in the Ukraine. Tevye (Topol) is a milkman whose three daughters, Tzietel (Rosalind Harris), Hodel (Michele Marsh) and Chava (Neva Small), are close to marrying age. Jewish tradition calls for the father to be involved in the selection of a husband for his daughters, but all three girls seem to have a mind of their own when it comes to choosing a potential mate. So what is it about Fiddler on the Roof that’s so uplifting? What’s to smile about when children are trapped by the strict traditions of their parents; when people are persecuted for their religious beliefs; when poverty, sadness, and violence are the rules of the day? The joy is found in the relationships, in the interaction of these well-rounded characters. It’s there when Tevye asks Golde (Norma Crane), his wife of 25 years, if she loves him, and noticing the spark in her eyes when she realizes that, despite their constant bickering, she does. It’s in Tevye’s internalized debates as his daughters, one by one, break with the tradition he holds dear. It’s even in Tevye’s heart-breaking goodbye to his daughter, Hodel, who’s about to catch the next train to Siberia to marry the revolutionary-minded Perchik (Paul Michael Glaser). In short, it’s the will to carry on, to smile in the face of oppression. Through the difficulties, there is always hope, and in the poverty and sadness, always life. These are the images from Fiddler on the Roof that stay with me: some happy, some sad, yet all very endearing. Drink La’chayim to life!

    Pink Floyd The Wall (1982)
    Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” is, in my humble opinion, the single greatest rock album of all time. I’ve been a huge fan ever since it was first released in the late 1970′s, and it continues to fascinate me to this day. “The Wall” is beyond haunting; it’s almost otherworldly, inhabiting both a time and place that is completely foreign, yet entirely absorbing. Thanks to director Alan Parker, what was, and is, an incredible rock album has become a breathtaking motion picture, one that remains entirely faithful to the brilliance of the original work. Pink (Bob Geldof), a world famous rock star, has been beaten down by life. As a boy (played by Kevin McKeon), Pink was emotionally devastated by the death of his father (James Laurenson), a soldier killed in battle during World War II. Due to Pink’s fragile state of mind, his mother (Christine Hargreaves), a loving yet overprotective woman, smothered her son, which did nothing but drive Pink deeper into his own troubled psyche. Things don’t get much better for Pink in his adult years, where he becomes trapped in a loveless marriage to a former hippie (Eleanor David). Abandoned by his sanity, Pink withdraws from the world and shelters himself deep within his own subconscious, building a psychological ‘wall’ that he hopes will protect him from the cruel world outside. Eventually, however, this wall, originally constructed to keep everybody else out, only succeeds in keeping Pink trapped within. Alone and confused, Pink must find a way to dismantle his inner prison before all the rage he’s been repressing over the years suddenly, and violently, breaks free. Visually, Pink Floyd the Wall is stunning, a perfect example being the schoolhouse sequence (which plays out over the album’s most famous tune, “Another Brick in the Wall, Part II”), in which a conveyor belts transports faceless children to their doom at the hands of a violent schoolmaster (Alex McAvoy). Throughout the years, Pink Floyd’s “The Wall” has succeeded in conjuring up many astounding images in my mind, images so incredible that I would have never believed for a moment a film could do them justice. In glorious fashion, director Alan Parker proved me wrong.

    Hedwig and the Angry Inch (2001)
    The brainchild of writer/director/star John Cameron Mitchell, Hedwig and the Angry Inch gives us the full history of Hedwig, a fictional female Rock star who began life as a young boy named Hansel in Communist East Berlin. We learn of Hedwig’s botched sex-change operation (which she used as the inspiration in naming her band the “Angry Inch”), her failed marriage to an American soldier (Maurice Dean Wint), and her whirlwind romance with a young protégé named Tommy (Michael Pitt), who would later steal her songs and make millions as a rock star. Hedwig and the Angry Inch exudes a spirit that I found entirely intoxicating, and another aspect of the film which is equally as intoxicating is the music. Each and every song is addictively over-the-top, possessing those qualities distinctive to other camp classics, such as The Rocky Horror Picture Show. My favorite tune has to be “The Origin of Love”, which relates a fascinating story of mythological gods, the splintering of humanity, and the ultimate creation of love. It’s a brilliant, life-affirming song, yet is just one of many brilliant, life-affirming songs performed throughout the movie. Hedwig and the Angry Inch is a wild, extravagant film that thumbs its nose at traditional ideologies as they relate to love, sex, masculinity, and even rock music. It shocks as it threatens conventionality, yet is constructed with such a fresh energy, and performed with such heart by John Cameron Mitchell, that it demands the undivided attention of even the most conservative minded audience members. With wry humor, a bit of pathos, and some great rock music, Hedwig and the Angry Inch will quickly melt away your inhibitions.

  • Hidden Treasures – Week of February 17th

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    Here’s this week’s Hidden Treasures. Enjoy!

    The Last Laugh (1924)
    The Last Laugh, a 1924 silent film from German director F.W. Murnau, is the heartbreaking story of a hotel doorman who loses the only thing he holds dear: his job. The doorman of the Atlantic Hotel (Emil Jannings) takes great pride in his work, and always does his best to see that the hotel’s guests are treated properly. When the Hotel Manager (Hans Unterkircher) decides the Doorman’s too old to continue at his present position, he reassigns him to the basement, where he’s to function as the hotel’s new washroom attendant. Shocked by this turn of events, the former doorman struggles to maintain his dignity, and must do his best to cope with a position of much less importance. The Last Laugh is a rarity in that it doesn’t rely on title cards to further its story (title cards were traditionally used in silent films as a means of expressing dialogue or bringing the viewer up to speed with what was happening on screen). It was Murnau’s assertion that his film, so powerful emotionally, didn’t need title cards. Everything that the viewer required to follow the story was right there on the screen, from Murnau’s sharp direction to Emil Jannings’ deep, soulful eyes. No words, either spoken or written, could have possibly communicated this film’s intentions any better. Through total silence, The Last Laugh’s message rang out loud and clear.

    All The Real Girls (2003)
    It’s nighttime. A boy and girl are standing outside, locked in an embrace, and talking to one another. She says she likes talking with him because she can say exactly what’s on her mind. He asks what’s on her mind. She, in turn, asks why he’s never kissed her. He says it’s because he really likes her, and therefore doesn’t want this relationship to be like all the others. She lightheartedly suggests that he kiss the palm of her hand. That would make this ‘first kiss’ different from the others, wouldn’t it? This opening shot from director David Gordon Green’s All the Real Girls runs for nearly four minutes, never once cutting away from its initial framing. The camera remains perfectly still, focusing entirely on the young lovers, resulting in a scene that is not only very romantic, but also very genuine. The boy is Paul (Paul Schneider), a young man in his early twenties who floats through life in his small southern town, and the girl is Noel (Zooey Deschanel), who has just returned home from boarding school. Before meeting Noel, Paul had been a bit of a wolf, sleeping with many girls in town, but he feels that Noel is special, and different from the others. However, when Noel goes on a weekend getaway with some friends, it leads to an event that forces Paul to reflect not only on his relationship with Noel, but the insensitivity he himself exhibited in his past. All the Real Girls flows smoothly, almost effortlessly, and as a result, not a single moment from the film hits a false note. Each character, conversation and relationship seems as real as they come.

    Pit and The Pendulum (1961)
    No actor was better suited for Edgar Allen Poe than Vincent Price. He embodied both the gentle sophistication and deep-seated despair that a Poe character demanded, and when it came to depicting a slow descent into madness, Price had no equal. In this Roger Corman-directed film, Price plays Don Nicholas Medina, who is stricken with grief at the recent death of his wife, Elizabeth (Barbara Steele). When the family’s physician tells Elizabeth’s brother, Francis Barnard (John Kerr) that his sister died of ‘shock’, Don Nicholas is forced to reveal the truth, and leads Barnard into a secret torture chamber hidden deep within his castle, a chamber that Elizabeth had grown obsessed with during her final days. Director Corman brought a great style to his Poe adaptations (which included films such as House of Usher and The Masque of the Red Death), constructing an atmosphere of foreboding doom by way of elegant period costumes and sinister set pieces. Showing a flair for color and an understanding of what it is that makes people squirm, Corman breathed new life into the great writer’s chilling compositions, with Vincent Price mixing in the proper dose of the macabre for good measure.

  • Finite Focus: “…until I blow this whistle” (Monty Python’s Life of Brian)

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    Life Of Brian One SheetI am a big fan of Monty Python, and Monty Python’s Life of Brian is arguably the finest film the British comedy troupe ever released (though Monty Python and the Holy Grail has more than it’s share of supporters as well, and rightly so). Of course, the very nature of the film (a comedy set in Jerusalem during the time of Christ) opened it up to attacks from various groups, and Life of Brian was the target of substantial backlash when it was first released in 1979. Because of an uproar from religious leaders, the film was banned outright in both Ireland and Norway. Even before the cameras started rolling, Life of Brian experienced its share of problems when EMI, the company which had agreed to finance the picture, pulled out because they deemed the script “too blasphemous” (fortunately for the Pythons, former Beatle George Harrison stepped in and put up the money). I find these attacks all very interesting, especially when you consider the fact that Life of Brian was not so much a film concerning the life of Jesus as it was a comedy that happened to take place at the same time Jesus walked the earth. William Wyler did this very thing in 1959 with Ben-Hur, only without the jokes. Who’d have thought laughter could be considered so distasteful?

    Controversies aside, however, there is no denying the brilliant humor on display in this film, and I found it very difficult to pick just one scene to focus on. I considered a handful of sequences, including the “Biggus Dickus” incident, the “Sermon on the Mount”, and of course, the final “mass crucifixion” musical number. In the end, I settled on the following scene, only because I always loved the way John Cleese handled it (the absolute classic line is delivered by the soon-to-be-executed prisoner, played by John Young, when told by Cleese that his continued “blasphemy” was only making things worse).

    Even those who haven’t seen Life of Brian won’t require much along the lines of a ‘story set-up’ to enjoy this scene, but just in case you haven’t, there are 2 things you should know before clicking below:

    1. According to tradition, women are not allowed to attend public stonings, and
    2. The best-selling items on the black market are fake beards, which, when worn by women, go a long way in passing them off as men.

    That’s all I have to say…enjoy!

  • The Vampyre Chronicles: Horror of Dracula (1958)

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    Produced in England in 1958, Horror of Dracula was Hammer Studio’s take on the legend of the world’s most famous bloodsucker. Interestingly enough, the film’s title was changed upon its import into the United States, having been released simply as Dracula in its native country. The reasoning behind this change was that the distributors didn’t want there to be any confusion between this film and the classic 1931 Bela Lugosi version, which was experiencing a revival of sorts in select cities across the U.S. at the time. While I can understand the concern, the fact remains that any “confusion” between the two would be highly unlikely. For example, due to the strict regulations governing film production at the time, 1931’s Dracula was made without the spilling a single drop of blood on-screen. In Horror of Dracula, the red stuff starts to splatter during the opening credits.

    Jonathan Harker (John Van Eyssen) travels to a remote region of Eastern Europe to do battle with the evil Count Dracula (Christopher Lee). Unfortunately, he never returns. Back in London, Harker’s good friend, Dr. Van Helsing (Peter Cushing), informs Arthur Holmwood (Michael Gough), the brother of Harker’s fiancé, Lucy (Carol Marsh), that Harker has died abroad. But the sad tale doesn’t end there. Soon after, Lucy falls seriously ill, suffering from a strange case of anemia, which has Van Helsing convinced that Count Dracula has made his way to London, and is about to bring poor Lucy under his spell.

    For Horror of Dracula, the coveted role of the infamous Count was awarded to actor Christopher Lee, who would go on to play the vampire six more times for Hammer over the next several years. Much like Lugosi before him, Lee was born to play this role, successfully conveying both the Count’s sophisticated nobility and his savageness. This is evident right from the start, when Harker first arrives at Dracula’s castle. At this initial meeting, the Count, who is ever so polite, acts more like a professional butler than the Lord of the Undead, and even carries Harker’s luggage to his room for him. The next time we see Dracula, however, will be under much more intense circumstances. Having been lured out of his room that first night by one of the Count’s wives (Valerie Gaunt), Harker finds himself cornered, and seconds away from receiving a bite on the neck. Suddenly, Dracula bursts into the room. With blood dripping from his teeth and wild, bloodshot eyes, The Count does battle with his deranged wife, quickly subdues her, then carries her off to another part of the castle. Only two scenes in, Horror of Dracula has set everything in motion, showing us all we need to know about Count Dracula.

    As mentioned above, Lee would go on to star in a string of Dracula movies for Hammer Studios, including Dracula: Prince of Darkness in 1966 and Dracula Has Risen from the Grave in 1968. More often than not, he appeared alongside Peter Cushing, who was the perfect Van Helsing to Lee’s Dracula. They would star together in a string of Hammer ‘Horror revival’ films, including The Curse of Frankenstein (in 1957), The Mummy, and The Hound of the Baskervilles (both 1959). But for fans of Hammer’s unique take on the classic tales of the macabre, these two fine actors will be forever locked in mortal battle, Lee’s Dracula on one side and Cushing’s Van Helsing on the other, fighting it out for the future of humanity.

  • Hidden Treasures – Week of February 10th

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    This week, I’m offering up three titles that appear on my list of the greatest films ever made

    All That Heaven Allows (1955)
    In All That Heaven Allows, director Douglas Sirk paints a disturbing mural of small-town America, one that reveals a side of suburbia often overlooked by his contemporaries. Cary Scott (Jane Wyman), a recently widowed middle-aged mother of two, falls in love with Ron Kirby (Rock Hudson), a landscaper who also happens to be much younger than she. Cary is very happy with Ron, despite the fact that her children (Gloria Talbott and William Reynolds) and the rest of her upper-class society disapprove of the match. Before long, Cary’s feeling pressure from all sides to end the love affair, and finds she must decide whether or not she will remain true to herself, or appease those around her by sacrificing happiness for social acceptance. In crafting All That Heaven Allows, director Sirk went to great lengths to make Cary’s community appear as picture-perfect as possible, with large houses lining the streets and perfectly manicured lawns as far as they eye can see. Like everything else in this closed-minded society, however, such appearances are merely artifice, a supposed perfection that hides an outright contempt for individuality and change. At its most basic, All That Heaven Allows is a story of the soul, a spirit that longs to break free of its invisible bonds, but cannot. By exploring the underbelly of a closed society; the gossip and rumor, the unwritten rules of a community, and the consequences if these rules are not strictly adhered to, Sirk successfully deglamorizes what many Americans in 1955 believed to be the ideal way of life.

    The Enigma of Kasper Hauser (1974)
    Director Werner Herzog’s filmography is littered with both dramatic tales (Aguirre Wrath of God, Stroszek, Rescue Dawn) and documentaries (Lessons of Darkness, Little Dieter Needs to Fly, Grizzly Man). What’s truly fascinating about this body of work is that, thanks to Herzog’s unique, observant style, it’s difficult at times to determine which of his films are the dramatic, and which are the documentaries. The setting is 19th century Germany. A young man named Kasper Hauser (Bruno S.) is found standing alone in the middle of a village, unable to speak and barely able to walk. In fact, prior to this particular morning, Kasper had spent his life locked away in a basement, where a strange benefactor (Hans Musaeus) fed him regularly, yet never bothered to teach the boy to read, write or speak. Released suddenly into the outside world for the first time ever, Kasper must rely on the kindness of strangers to help him adapt. With the help of Professor Daumer (Walter Ladengast), Kasper learns the intricacies of society, and is soon considered an upstanding member of the community. Yet, as Kasper’s astuteness sharpens, he realizes that society is as cold and empty as the small cell he used to call home, and wonders aloud if he will ever find fulfillment in a world such as this. In The Enigma of Kasper Hauser, Herzog takes a long, hard look at society from the outside, through the eyes of a man who is both inspired by its intricacies and frustrated by its structure. Locked away from the world for many years, Kasper Hauser nonetheless saw things much more clearly than most, even if he was the only one who knew it.

    Alice’s Restaurant (1969)
    Based on a popular song by Arlo Guthrie, Arthur Penn’s Alice’s Restaurant is a veritable time capsule of the late 1960’s, when the counter-culture challenged societal norms at every turn. A young man (played by Guthrie himself), looking for a place he can call home, travels to Massachusetts to live in an abandoned church run by his good friends, aging hippies Ray (James Broderick) and Alice (Pat Quinn). Yet the film is far from a rallying cry for the “Tune In, Turn On and Drop Out” movement. In fact, what’s most appealing about Alice’s Restaurant is that it gives us both sides of the coin, convincingly offering up the argument that not all of life’s problems are solved when you leave society behind. Guthrie is surprisingly good in the lead, and director Penn injects a nice blend of frivolity and high drama to ensure Alice’s Restaurant is engaging form start to finish.

  • Hidden Treasures – Week of February 3rd

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    Here’s this week’s Hidden Treasures, with three films I’m sure you’ll enjoy

    The Day of the Jackal (1973)
    The Day of the Jackal, a police thriller directed by Fred Zinnemann, is downright obsessed with the particulars. The O.S.S., an organization bent on assassinating French President Charles DeGaulle, has thus far been unsuccessful in every attempt on the leader’s life. In one last-ditch effort, they bring in an outsider, a British assassin known only as the Jackal (Edward Fox), to finish the job. A pure professional, the Jackal’s extreme level of secrecy has caused mass confusion within the ranks of the French police, who have thus far been unable to learn either the would-be assassin’s true identity or his current whereabouts. Enter Claude Lebel (Michael Lonsdale), considered the best detective on the French force. With time ticking away, Lebel must stoop to extreme measures to locate the elusive Jackal and prevent him from carrying out his murderous plan. In relating this tense story of political wrangling, The Day of the Jackal essentially explores two separate, yet equally intriguing plotlines. On the one hand, we follow the Jackal as he sets his plan in motion, from acquiring an assumed identity to the purchase of his weapon, a specialized rifle that is virtually untraceable. We also tag along with the police, specifically with Lebel and his partner, Caron (Derek Jacobi), who must request assistance from outside organizations such as Scotland Yard in order to piece together the identity of this mysterious assassin. This is where the film truly sets itself apart. So often, in a movie of this nature, we spend most of our time following one plotline, while the ‘other side of the coin’, so to speak, is either completely ignored or, at the very best, under-explored. In The Day of the Jackal, both sides garner equal attention, and we the audience are treated to a real bargain when watching this well-crafted thriller. After all, it isn’t often one’s given an opportunity to see two films for the price of one.

    Exotica (1994)
    “I wanted to structure the film like a striptease, gradually revealing an emotionally loaded history”. This is how director Atom Egoyan described his stylistic approach to 1994’s Exotica, a film that’s main setting is a high-end gentlemen’s club, where women take off their clothes for a wealthy clientele. Much like a striptease, director Egoyan moves Exotica along slowly, peeling away one layer of an emotionally charged story at a time, all the while luring us in with a singularly enticing tone. The Club Exotica, a sophisticated gentlemen’s nightclub, offers adult entertainment to men of discerning tastes. Francis (Bruce Greenwood), a professional accountant with a tragic past, is one of the Club’s many regulars. Every night, Francis requests that the same dancer perform at his table. That dancer is Christina (Mia Kirshner), beautiful and alluring, whose act is to dress like a schoolgirl. Christina was once romantically involved with the club’s DJ, Eric (Elias Koteas), and over time, Eric has grown jealous of Francis and Christina’s ‘professional’ relationship. What none of them realize, however, is that they share a very special bond, one that, once revealed, will force each of them to re-examine their lives. At the heart of Exotica lies a complex tale of betrayal and loss, yet we remain in the dark to most of it for quite some time. The film reveals its intentions gradually, circling the outermost boundaries of its story in wide motions before gradually narrowing itself, coming closer and closer to the tragedy that serves as the film’s center. We are tantalized, teased and excited in much the same way the dancers work on their patrons at the Club Exotica, and, like them, we’re more than willing to wait for the payoff.

    Ratcatcher (1999)
    Director Lynne Ramsay’s debut feature, Ratcatcher is the story of James (William Eadie), a twelve-year-old Scottish boy who faces a number of problems in his life, not the least of which is the knowledge that he was personally responsible for the death of a friend. That friend was a neighbor named Ryan (Thomas McTaggart), also twelve years old, and the tragedy occurred near a dirty canal as the two jostled back and forth in the murky water. James gave Ryan a playful shove, and Ryan fell into the canal, never to resurface. Scared and confused, James ran off. Ryan’s body was eventually discovered, yet with no witnesses as to what actually happened, James keeps silent about the whole ordeal. He will spend the next few weeks hanging out with older kids, falling in love with a fourteen-year-old named Margaret Anne (Leanne Mullen), and dreaming of the day he and his family will move into a house in the suburbs and escape their meager environment once and for all. Set in the slums of Glasgow, at a time when a garbage collector’s strike left trash piling up in the streets, you might conclude that this film is a real downer. Yet for all its tragic trappings, the main thrust of Ratcatcher is seeing the world through the eyes of a child. Like Morvern Callar, Ramsay’s sophomore effort, Ratcatcher opens with a tragedy, but where Morvern Callar was a study of how its tragedy changed one woman’s life forever, this film is about overcoming misfortune, moving beyond reality to a place where a child’s dreams can run wild. Through the darkness of the world it has created, Ratcatcher provides a glimmer of hope in an endless sea of despair.

  • Finite Focus: The Conflict Within (Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid)

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    One Sheet I think the reason Sam Peckinpah is my favorite director is that his films are so very personal, reflecting in equal parts the varying components that made up the man’s personality. In life, Sam Peckinpah was a complex individual. A descendant of pioneers and settlers, he was taught to hunt, ride a horse and herd cattle in his youth, leading to a love of the western frontier he would carry with him the rest of his life. Yet Peckinpah also had a creative side, which was nurtured by his mother (In David Weddle’s Peckinpah biography, “If They Move, Kill ‘em”, Peckinpah’s sister, Fern Lea, says she believes her brother’s creativity was a source of embarrassment for him, because, as she mockingly put it, “in our family, ‘by God, the men were men’!”). A man in turmoil, Peckinpah would continually struggle with these conflicting facets of his personality. It was machismo vs. art, and both usually found their way into his films.

    Nowhere is this duality more evident than in the following scene from his 1973 film, Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid.

    To set the scene up: Pat Garrett (James Coburn) has been hired to hunt down his old friend, Billy the Kid (Kris Kristofferson). His search has taken him many places, and pitted him against many people who love and admire The Kid. Recently, he’s learned where a former member of The Kid’s gang, Black Harris (played by Peckinpah regular L.Q. Jones), is shacked up. Before riding out to confront Harris, Garrett enlists the help of the local sheriff, Colin Baker (Slim Pickens), whose wife (Katy Jurado) serves as his deputy. Knowing Harris’ reputation, they ride out heavily armed, ready for a gunfight. The rest you’ll see for yourself.

    Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid is far from a perfect film, yet it does contain one perfect scene. Shifting from violence to deep emotion within its 3 and a half minute runtime, the following does more than carry its story forward; it reflects the complex personality of the man who created it.

    And it does so brilliantly.

  • The Vampyre Chronicles: Nosferatu (1922)

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    In 1922, F.W. Murnau directed his gothic masterpiece, Nosferatu, the first ever feature-length version of Bram Stoker’s classic vampire novel, Dracula. Unfortunately, Murnau failed to purchase the rights to the novel before doing so, and was therefore forced to alter his story ever so slightly. He had hoped that, by changing the character’s names and moving the central location from London to Wisburg, Germany, his film might slip by unnoticed. It didn’t. Florence Stoker, the author’s widow, sued the filmmakers for the unauthorized use of her husband’s work. Ms. Stoker eventually won her case, resulting in a court order that every existing print of Nosferatu, negatives and all, be gathered up and destroyed.

    Fortunately for us, they missed a few of ‘em.

    Thomas Hutter (Gustav von Wangenheim), a young real estate agent, has been sent by his maniacal boss, Knock (Alexander Granach) to the castle of Count Orlok (Max Schreck), where he must negotiate a contract that will bring the mysterious Count to Wisburg. Leaving his new wife, Nina (Greta Schrõder), behind, Hutter makes the long journey to Orlok’s castle. Once there, Hutter comes to realize the Count is, in reality, an undead monster, and must be prevented from ever leaving the grounds of his dilapidated castle. However, the Count moves quickly, and seals Hutter up in a room in the tower. Setting out for Wisburg alone, the Count plans to take up residence in an abandoned building, one situated directly across the street from Hutter’s home.

    Despite the many years that have passed since its production, Nosferatu remains a truly frightening marriage of story and atmosphere. The character of Count Orlok, as portrayed by Max Schreck, is easily one of the most recognizable monsters ever committed to film. and, 80+ years later, his vampire is still the most chilling in cinematic history. When we first meet the Count, he’s emerging from a darkened tunnel to greet the newly-arrived Hutter, an initial appearance that is as sinsiter as it is shocking. Schreck’s vampire resembles a giant rat with a pair of deep, hypnotic eyes, and even the child-like Hutter, so carefree in the film’s early scenes, shrinks in terror at the sight of his host, as if suddenly sensing the evil that has descended upon him. Later that night, Hutter is cutting some bread for dinner. His hand slips, and the knife slices into his finger, drawing blood. Orlok’s eyes widen. He jumps from his seat and approaches Hutter with a crazed look in his eyes, once again causing his guest to withdraw in fear. Schreck’s performance, in this scene and all others, is positively creepy.

    In 1924, Béla Balázs, a German film writer, wrote that the experience of watching Nosferatu was like a “chilly draft from doomsday”. That’s still true today. Thanks to the talents of F.W. Murnau and Max Schreck, Nosferatu remains an undeniably spine-chilling masterpiece.

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