Stop Picking At It!

Well that was weird.

Recently, I watched a chilling little Netflix streamer called Dark Touch. You'll have to wait until February's Attack of the Shorties for the full review, but I'll tell you now that I found it fairly great. On the surface, it was an easy killer kid film (my favorite kind) but much like the recent WWE released Oculus, the film proved to be an incredibly sad metaphor for child abuse. With that in mind, I was happy to seek out more films from director Marina de Van.

Quick Plot: Esther (played by the writer/director herself) is an attractive middle class young woman quickly rising through the corporate ranks at her marketing job and about to buy an apartment with her handsome, successful boyfriend. Life's just a bowl of cherries, or, as we're in France, a carton of cigarettes.

One night at the kind of parties French films like this one and Irreversible have led me to believe are daily occasions for attractive Europeans, Esther accidentally cuts her leg on some metal. Thinking nothing of it, she continues to dance and drink the night away, only realizing much later the true severity of the wound. A doctor urges her to get surgery, but for no clear reason, she decides to let it heal on its own.

Kind of.

Before you could open a bottle of red wine, Esther finds herself rather fascinated by her bloody infection. She cuts it open, chews at it, pokes at it, shreds it in order to tan what can be saved--

Yeah. Ew.

Throughout all of this self-mutilation, Esther continues her 'real' life, occasionally with disastrous results. A work dinner with important clients goes south quickly when Esther, after a few glugs of wine, begins to see her arm as being dislocated from her body. It's a fascinating and much-discussed scene that does a surreal job of contrasting this insane body horror with the dull bourgeois conversation held amongst professionals unwilling to fully acknowledge whatever madness might be around them. 

As director, writer, and star, Marina de Van truly gives her all in In My Skin. The term ‘brave’ performance usually just refers to an attractive actress playing a scene naked or without makeup, but what Van does is far more complicated and yes, brave. Esther isn’t fun or even likable, per say. Van puts a distance in her character that deliberately feels cold and almost off-putting. It’s not that we don’t like Esther: it’s more that we, like her fiance, can’t seem to really know her.

In My Skin calls to mind the works of David Cronenberg, a similarly experimental filmmaker whose fascination with the human body has led to some of the genre’s most memorably twisted moments. In My Skin isn’t quite as fulfilling as something like Videodrome, but it’s a strangely fascinating tale that leaves a definite mark on the viewer. I don’t think it’s for every horror fan and I haven’t fully reconciled what it was trying to do, but it’s the kind of film that will challenge you well after its final does of gore.

High Points

At first, I almost felt like the blankness of Esther was  something negative. Why not give us a little more of pre-cut Esther so we get to know and see how far she falls. By the end of the film, however, I realized how purposeful it was for Esther to be utterly ordinary and inaccessible. Any shading on her personality would skew one’s interpretation of what it all means

Low Points

That being said, I’m still not entirely sure what it all means. But I might just be a dumb ol’ Amerrkan

Lessons Learned

Potassium alum is the secret to tanning human skin

How I long to say "go to the doctor when you gash open your leg and find yourself bleeding profusely"...

And yet, dear reader, how can I espouse such a simple direction when time and time again, I find myself slicing a chunk of my finger off when cutting bread, only to power through the blood loss in order to finish dinner? With my multiple unnecessary scars, I say: I am in no position to give doctoral advice on such issues as this

Rent/Bury/Buy

Marina de Van is probably one of the most interesting, yet under the radar new voices in modern horror. I haven’t fully wrapped my head around In My Skin, but I loved the challenge of it and will certainly revisit it in the future. This is an unusual spin on body horror that might not be immediately satisfying, but is certainly worth the effort. It will stick with you.

La Vie En Iron Rose

Jean Rollin is one of those well-known names to genre fans who go one level deeper than your (slightly) more genre household names like Argento or Jorodorowsky. Somehow, I've compromised my cinema card by never having seen a single one of his many films. 

Naturally, I decided to amend that by starting with what, by all accounts, is the least Rollin joint out there.

Quick Plot: A pretty young woman without a name wanders through rural France, eventually settling down to witness a provincial wedding. There she meets a fellow party guest who is instantly taken with her. They agree to go on a bike ride the next day, as all French first dates go. After flirtatiously roaming around an old train station, they park their wheels outside a sprawling cemetery, aka, the perfect picnic spot.

I say that without irony: this cemetery is gorgeous. Covered in wrought iron fencing and ancient tombstones artistically sprouting moss, the setting is true painting onscreen and cinematographer Jean-Jaques Renon's camera absorbs it in full. After some dilly dallying around the graveyard with coy talks about death and souls, the young lovers sneak into a crypt to consummate their new relationship. When they come up for air, the sun has set, leaving only some haunting moonlight to help them navigate what now seems to be an inescapable purgatory. 

Rollin made his name on vampires and full fleshed eroticism, neither of which are explicitly present in The Iron Rose. That is not to say, however, that The Iron Rose is fully lacking either. 

As ‘the girl,’ Francoise Pascal has one of those deceptively ethereal presences that ups the ante once The Iron Rose hits its turning point (although ‘turning point’ is an odd phrase to use in a surreal film). Dressed in a sunny yellow schoolgirl outfit, Pascal plays the part of the typically reluctant date freaked out by cemeteries, only to gradually transform into a death-courting dancer of seduction. While The Iron Rose is fairly chaste (especially compared to Rollin’s usual output), the chemistry between the leads lends the film an ominous sensuality that seems to be just waiting to turn into something truly dangerous.

Maybe I’m just saying that because this film includes a clown in a cemetery.

The Iron Rose is unlike any film I’ve ever seen. While it drops hints about its more surreal leaning early on, the fairly straightforward narrative is masterful in lulling us into a story we can expect and understand.  The transition into something unknown is handled incredibly well, as Rollin does such a powerful job in using the location to suggest something amiss. He’s greatly aided by Pascal and her slow descent into...well, SOMETHING.

I won’t say that I fully understood The Iron Rose or truly got what Rollin was going for, but it made for a fascinating and one-of-a-kind watch. This is the kind of film I could see myself revisiting some time down the line and getting something completely different from it on second viewing. It’s certainly worth the try.

High Points

Goodness is this a pretty place to set a subtly surreal love story/horror movie/philosophical surreal game or whatever it is that I just watched

...especially when you factor in Pierre Raph’s masterfully haunting score 

Low Points

While it feels right to not quite understand the female's constant change of spirits, her partner seems to be posed as the straight man. You would then think that his story would serve as the sort of audience surrogate, but the character's turns never seems to register. It's just a choice that I don't quite understand.

Lessons Learned

Bodies stop decomposing if it's not damp

A sudden turn-on to the bones of young children is generally not a good portent for your relationship

It's obvious, but how can we ignore it: don't, I repeat don't, have sex in a graveyard. If Bloody Birthday couldn't teach you that, maybe this can

Rent/Bury/Buy

I don’t know that The Iron Rose was the best place to begin my Jean Rollin education as it doesn’t necessarily represent his more well-known trademarks, but I found the film truly fascinating on its own. Sure, it’s slow-moving and nonsensical, but that is clearly part of its point. The film is currently on Netflix Instant along with quite a few other Rollin titles. I’m excited to see more.

Le Horde (That's French for 'The Horde')

We horror fans are in the mist of a worldwide condition known as Zombie Fatigue. Symptoms: excessive yawning and full-body lethargy when watching yet another saga of the flesh-eating undead. Unless a film uses zombiism to explore something deeper (a la Deadgirl) or simply nails a good old cannibal feast out of the park, what’s the point?

France’s The Horde doesn’t revolutionize that oh-so-potent subgenre of horror, but it sure does give you 90 minutes of pretty exciting zombie action. Is that enough?

Quick Plot: A group of police officers decide to take their own vengeance on a pair of Nigerian gangsters hiding out in the projects. Storming the castle fails miserably, resulting in a few deaths and, more importantly, the discovery that the dead are waking up with speedy legs and carnivorous appetites.

It’s zombies! It’s a siege! It’s a combination of what’s worked in a bunch of other horror films stuffed inside this one, and you know what? I dug it. 

The bad guys are interesting, with their own untold history that makes all their brotherly interactions fairly loaded. Though she’s not particularly likable, the female lead packs some excellent moxie as a woman with one mission and plenty of punches. The third act addition of a high energy, zombie slaying, racial epithet spewing tenant offers an enjoyable light touch (especially when he keeps referring to the greasy ponytailed bad guy as a carny, just cause), and most importantly, each character’s demise (those who have one; no spoilers here) is given its proper due by either being brutal, heroic, surprising, or sad.

I realize that’s an incredibly fast and not very informative recap, but there’s not too much point in digging any deeper. The Horde is exciting for its running time, and then it’s over. It’s far better made than the majority of modern zombie cinema, and for a violent, funny, and sometimes scary 90 minutes, it’s more than suitable. And then it’s over.

High Points

The introduction of the first zombie, his face masked in a black plastic bag, is, what the French call, ‘le badass’

Similarly, most of the human-hand-to-zombie-hand combat scenes are genuinely exciting. No one goes down easy, and watching it unroll is worth a handful of popcorn each time

Low Points

The movie is a perfectly suitable mashup of zombies and siege. That it does little of anything original is mildly disappointing if your expectations are in that realm

Lessons Learned

Surprising to me, the French do indeed use the verb ‘French’ to mean what we Americans think of it as. Or at least, that’s what the subtitles said

If you use your rifle to secure every door you close behind you, you will eventually run out of rifles

The French have very hard heads. How else to explain the multiple cranium butts that never seem to phase our fierce zombie fighters?

Carnies ain’t so down and hip with the concept of having their leg amputated

Rent/Bury/Buy

Now streaming on Netflix, The Horde is an enjoyable watch when you’re looking for good horror action. There’s no boundary pushing and in time, it will probably blend together with a lot of movies with similar styles, but that doesn’t necessarily take anything away from it. It’s a perfectly fine action horror film that won’t bring about world peace, but will keep you on edge.

Subway Swap!

If there’s one day I don’t look forward to every month, it’s paying an ungodly $104 for my monthly Metrocard. Thankfully, one day I DO look forward to is trading movie recommendations with T.L. Bugg over at The Lightning Bug’s Lair and gloriously enough, May counteracts my MTA gripes with a suitably themed subway swap!

Over at The Lair, expect to find what I except to be the Zach’s glowing review of one of my recent favorites, 2009’s Canadian underground evil cult horror, End of the Line. For my part, Zach sent me the conveniently Watch Instantly 1985 French hit, Luc Besson’s Subway.

Theme!

Quick Plot: Um...let me try:

Christopher Lambert is Fred, a tuxedoed drifter of sorts who has stolen some super secret documents from a gangster’s bedazzled wife Helena (the gorgeous Isabelle Adjani) and is now hiding out underground where he meets a bevy of oddballs that includes a rollerskating purse snatcher, greasy flower man, talented body builder named Big Billy and a medium-length haired Jean Reno.

Now you might be thinking to yourself, ‘that’s not so hard a summary.’ In many ways, Subway is a simple film about a boy who loves a girl and the wacky world in which he tries to woo her. 

Except it’s not at all, because you don’t really know anything about Helena and Fred’s relationship until an hour into the film. Prior to that, you’re left wondering how they actually know each other, what mysterious documents he know holds as blackmail (if memory serves, I don’t think we ever actually find out) and just how giant this underground community of non-CHUD metro dwellers can possibly be. Mixed in is a sarcastic police investigator who much like Reno’s tragic turn in 1998’s Godzilla, just can’t get a good cup of coffee.

Subway is, based on extensive Wikipedia browsing, part of the European ‘80s Cinema du look movement. No, this has nothing to do with Lars Von Trier’s Dogme 95 let’s-hurt-you,-you-softie-moviegoers pledge. Cinema du look seems to pretty much be a plan to blast style as high above substance as possible, focusing on slick visuals and pop culture as related by a bunch of alienated young people that have no sense of depth or politics. I think.

Depending on your cinematic taste, you might be thinking such a film style is either as brilliant a combo as peanut butter and banana or as loathsome as putting butter on your pancakes (I don’t understand why anyone would do this). I suppose I appreciate both--even if I still will throw my hot coffee at any waitress who brings me a butter soaked dish of pancakes. On one hand, why shouldn’t a talented filmmaker give in to the joys of camerawork and present his/her audience with something that takes advantage of visual possibilities and is, I assume, easily pleasing to a modern film-going public? On the other hand, allow me to introduce my old often introduced friend Paul Verhoeven, a director who can magically produce films far more fun AND logical than Subway but that still contain a surprisingly dense, always reverent amount of smart satire.

See, I guess what I might be saying is that Subway is fun and fresh film. But I think it would have been far better were it directed by Paul Verhoeven.

I liked Subway. I did. It was fun in a where-the-brie-is-this-going kind of way. But also a tad empty, one content with presenting types rather than characters and stuff rather than story. For 90 minutes, that’s more than fine. It’s just not fantastic.

High Points

About 3/4 into the film, Subway almost pauses for an absolutely odd and beautiful little singalong. Yes it stops what is mostly a bouncy and light action film, but it’s rather wonderful

Isabelle Adjani is a superb actress, but let’s all admit that in her first scene, it’s really the 9 lb. earrings that do the heavy emoting. Because I doubt they got any work after this film, a moment of salute:

Low Points

If Wikipedia is to be believed (and they always are, right?), the only readily available version of Subway features a dreadfully dubbed audio track wherein for whatever reason, Christopher Lambert provides his own Frenchish vocals and everybody else sounds like Peter Falk

Lessons Learned

High mohawks can lead to high levels of sassiness

Nothing says ‘impromptu subway concert’ quite so well as boy scout uniforms

If planning on speeding through Paris in a car chase to escape murderous/carsick goons, always be sure to pack the right high energy mixed tape

Rent/Bury/Buy

I definitely recommend Subway, as it’s unique, enjoyable, and a piece of cinema footnotes in recent theory history. As a Netflix stream, it’s a more than ideal way to pass some time with surprise. No, I didn’t want to marry it and have its chic mohawked children, but it’s an easy rental for a light-hearted and bizarre time.

For some darker days underground, head on over to The Lightning Bug’s Lair for Zach’s take on End of the Line.

Hey Na, Hey Na, They Came Back

Not to bum you out or anything, but you are going to die. One day, whenever, it will happen because unless you’re Tuck Everlasting or Vanna White, the only certainty you can bank on in this wild and wonderful world is the simple fact that death is universal.

It’s somewhat natural to know our own mortality, but accepting this when it happens to someone you love is a different story entirely. It’s not fair that our friends and family and heck, pets can just not be there one day, and the act of eventually coming to accept this is easily one of the most difficult and trying experiences most of us will ever have. 

They Came Back is a French arthouse horror film of sorts from 2008 and one that, among other things, asks what happens when mourning is annulled. It can tentatively be classified in the zombie genre simply because its basic premise hinges on the dead returning to life, but much like the similarly not-zombie-zombie film Deadgirl, it’s far more focused on exploring certain aspects of man and his world than giving us gore.

Quick Plot: On a sunny summer day in the suburbs of Paris, 70 million men and women who passed away in the last ten years or so wander back into town. They’re not hungry for brains or decomposing en route; they’re just there, all a little bit off and quiet, a look of distance in their eyes. They certainly seem disconnected with those around them but also, healthy and...you know...alive.

They Came Back is an ensemble story, though it does extract a few main characters from its city council. There’s the elderly mayor widower who now has to balance reorganizing pensions with reconnecting with his previously deceased wife. A couple welcomes back their young son, a boy whose sudden lack of social skills spell a whole different future for his family. The father’s possible former lover, Rachel (it’s hinted at rather subtly), is initially hesitant to even see her late partner, though slowly, she finds herself falling back in love with him or whatever it is that he has become. Along the way, we watch the city officials organize public shelters and hold conferences on what exactly millions of returned healthy corpses means for the budget.

It’s not easy to discuss They Came Back, in part because it defies any easy categorization. Dubbing it horror is dangerous, since it can easily affect your anticipation as you wonder where this eerie atmosphere and setup will lead. I was unsettled throughout the film, much in that same pseudo-horror manner left by the unique and powerful Lake Mungo. Where that film brilliantly focused so closely on a single family’s grieving process, They Came Back lightly tiptoes on a range of issues that surround the broader issue of death. It doesn’t force bureaucracy on us, but there are some effective town hall meetings and multi-sided discussions wherein we see the cold and detached treatment of a new race of people in an already crowded world. There are no easy answers, but They Came Back poses plenty of fascinating questions.

High Points

Setting the film during summer is an unusual and effective choice, as it somehow lends a sense of physical freedom to the world

Low Points

Mild spoiler: There are no answers or explanations in They Came Back, something that feels so very, very French. Maybe that’s for the best and when I finally revisit this film down the line, I’ll probably have a better feeling on where I stand in that regard. In the immediate aftermath of viewing, it’s ultimately frustrating

Random Comparison

There’s a lot about They Came Back that made me think of Jose Saramago’s brilliant novel (and not so brilliant film) Blindness. Both capture a seemingly isolated society plagued with a bizarre spell of sorts (in Blindness, the entire population loses their eyesight) and have a certain cold humanism about their approaches to following a large society dealing with a disaster. I guess what I’m saying is that if you like Blindness, check out They Came Back, and no matter who you are, read Blindness.

Rent/Bury/Buy

I definitely endorse a rental of They Came Back, although I make no promises that you will not find it snail-paced or teasing. Or maybe it will touch you in a haunting manner you find fresh and new. Jah no say pa. Either way, it’s an unusual film that certainly warrants a chance from the curious-minded cinemaniac looking for something genuinely different.

Because No Baby Shower Is Complete Without Existential French Parasites

Fetuses are small, right? What about ancient parasitic fetuses that crave human blood and discuss French philosophy with their ambivalent mothers? Still under 5’, yes?

That’s a glorious truth, because otherwise, how could I fairly include 1990’s Baby Blood in February’s Attack of the Vertically Challenged Villains?

Quick Plot: Meet Bianca, the assistant lion tamer for a dingy French circus and abused wife of its sour keeper. Her unhappy life changes one day when an African leopard is brought into the act, dying gruesomely when an ancient parasite eats its way out of its spotted chest. See, the parasite finds its way into Bianca’s vagina, which is pretty much the biggest reproductive inconvenience since Maryam D’Abo’s XTRO fate. Before you can say morning sickness, Bianca packs up and moves on to be alone with her well-spoken fetus and its hunger for human blood.

From there, Baby Blood (or the slightly better titled The Evil Within) just roams for the next few months of Bianca’s pregnancy, all the while watching her discuss everything from murder to existentialism. Men are killed along the way, sometimes brutally and with intent, others, as mere accidents that get caught in the good samaritan crossfire. Throughout each trimester, Bianca and her fetus try to figure out who and what they are to each other. Will she miss him when he’s born? Is she happier now being the slave to something inside her body than she ever was as an undervalued wife?

Baby Blood is not a typical film, and in complete honesty, I have no idea if it’s any good. Made in 1990 by Alain Robak, it’s hampered a tad by its time (nothing says sexy like a puffy ‘90s jacket) and dubbing, particularly when a character speaks a foreign language (scripted as Portuguese, but actually, the original French soundtrack) only to immediately slip back into perfect American English immediately after. Moments like these made it hard to truly gauge the film’s quality.

At the same time, Robak executes his story with a distinctively European and perhaps even feminist attitude. Little lines littered throughout the film hint at how Bianca is always under the power of a man, whether it’s her cruel husband, dastardly fetus or hitchhiking driver all too willing to strand her at a gas station for a laugh. In her conversations with her unborn baby, Bianca also demonstrates the complicated relationship I imagine many women have with their soon-to-be children, one wherein she feels used in both parasitic and beneficial ways. As an exploration of pregnancy, Baby Blood is surprisingly thoughtful.

This doesn’t mean the film is perfect or even a joy to watch. The plot doesn’t really follow a strong line, though at least we have a ticking due date to help keep us focused. While the parasite is certainly chatty, we never really learn enough about him to sense its importance in the larger world, and Bianca’s motives are hard to read when even she doesn’t know how to feel about what’s inside her. 

So Baby Blood. Hm. It sure makes you think...

High Points

Robak does some innovative tricks with his camera, often using the point of view of his victims to great effect

It’s hard to judge Emmanuelle Escourrou’s performance under poor dubbing, but she does convey an interesting and eventually, sympathetic sadness with her unusual face

Low Points

For as much as Baby Blood is Bianca’s story, it certainly would have behooved the film to give HER a clear ending or ultimate arc

Lessons Learned

French people can’t resist investigating vehicles parked in odd spots

When giving birth, one can expect the following:

Pain

Contractions

You’ll push and push

There will be a little head

Then you push again

Then something emerges, just like a baby dolphin

Oh, and finally, you’ll cut the cord yourself

Football players in London are known for raping whatever comes their way, especially when it’s covered in blood

Rent/Bury/Buy

As I sit back to write about this odd little foreign film that fell on my radar due to the concept of a parasitic fetus, I think I’m deciding that I liked it. It’s strange and oddly pensive, even if the plot seems unfocused and mood, completely uncertain. Perhaps it will work better with its original French soundtrack and English subtitles, where the mood should (I imagine) read a little clearer. Sadly the DVD is bare of any other special features, but this is still a film worth renting when you’re looking for something different, particularly if you’re hoping said something different contains female nudity, male bloodshed, and Cronenbergian dream birth sequences that should serve as sufficient birth control.