ArachnaCronenberg-ia!

David Cronenberg is probably my favorite director, yet it embarrasses me to admit that I don’t own a single one of his films on DVD. For the most part, I’ll blame the economy (because everyone else is doing it and I hate to feel left out). Since his releases are often double discs or even Criterion editions, I usually have trouble finding them for under $25 (and when your video library includes 200 titles that rang in at $30, justification is rather difficult). On the flip side, his lesser celebrated (but not by me) films like The Brood are bare bones releases, yet because of their general unavailability, rarely clock in under $15.


Perhaps I can compare it to how I feel about upscale Chinese restaurants; why pay $20 for a smaller serving of sesame chicken when I can order a lunch special double the size, a quarter of the price and get extra fortune cookies upon request? Okay, with the exception of one scene in eXistenZ, there is no actual link between David Cronenberg and my tastes in Asian cuisine, but I did just order takeout. Emily’s stomach will stop blogging now.

There’s another reason though, for the Canadian vacuum in my DVD collection. I tend to buy films with rewatchablility. I can turn on Basket Case or Dawn of the Dead while washing dishes, matching my orphan socks, or cooking (i.e., microwaving leftover Chines takeout), but Cronenberg’s works always require far more energy. There’s rarely a feel-good moment to be found, and as much as I love doublemint Jeremy Irons, randomly looking up from my computer at Dead Ringers gynecology amok scenes are less than entertaining when I just want to play Boggle.

Spider, like many C-films, is not an enjoyable film. It’s a thoughtful, well-crafted, fascinating and deep character study, but despite a title that sounds ripped off the SciFi Channel, this is no web in the park. Ralph Fiennes plays “Spider” Cleg, a middle aged schizophrenic who has recently been released from an institution into a not-so caring halfway house run by Lynn Redgrave. Within 20 minutes, we see that this isn’t the story of a man trying to fit himself into society or form some kind of relationship with another human being; this is a psychological exploration of Spider’s life and how he came to be the mumbling ghost of a man we watch shuffle through a cold and lonely London today. To do this, Cronenberg follows Fiennes as he wanders through his childhood following himself as a quiet boy whose downtrodden parents are played by the incredible Gabriel Byrne and Miranda Richardson (who also takes on the looser role of a pub temptress named Yvonne with equal grandeur, thus giving the finest dual performances since, well, Jeremy Irons in Dead Ringers).

To go any further may spoil what is an intriguing and original film, so I’ll leave my rather uninformative synopsis to say this is not a film about its story, but a study in mental illness that brings the audience inside a scary, confusing, and altogether fascinating place.


High Points
The performances--particularly Richardson, who is simply phenomenal--are all top notch and become even richer upon second viewing when you realize just how multifaceted they are

Many of Cronenberg’s images--like the DVD menu shot, where Fienes huddles down in a long coat that makes him seem like he has no head--are quite haunting


Low Points
Despite a title that begs for arachnids, there are no actual spiders in this film


Rent/Buy/Bury
Buy: It’s hard to be overly enthusiastic when recommending a film like this. You don’t watch it for fun and you might not even fully understand everything you see after the first time. In many ways, this is one of those miserable tales that makes you feel tired and itchy just to be watching it.

Having said that, this is a film to own, or at least rent with the intention of paying late fines when it’s overdue. Like a good Sondheim musical, everything it offers is not on the surface and sometimes won’t be found until the third go around. Several featurettes detail all areas of production and Cronenberg’s commentary track is extremely enlightening. Not only do you learn a little more about the film, you also come to realize just how challenging these roles were for the cast. Anyone with an interest in acting can learn a lot from the very particular nuances of Byrne, Richardson, and Fiennes (who was the pioneer of bringing this book to the screen) and students of psychology may find a truly introspective look at schizophrenia (eat that Russell Crowe! I mean, I loved you in Mystery, Alaska, and I baked you cookies and put that phone down please).

The Rescue of Cornelius

I made a random purchase this Saturday that I wanted to share with those who wouldn't mock my geek-conscious sensibilities. Here goes.

In a small parking lot located in the heart of Chelsea, a weekend flea market is held for wise pack rats to sell 'vintage' (i.e., old) clothing and rusted jewelry to a random assortment of cityfolk with cash on hand. Wandering by, I was drawn to a dirty table with a few old dolls laying in what seemed like a heap of bodies following a nuclear blast. Dangling on the edge was this aging leftover from The Planet of the Apes.


"Is this an original?" I asked the owner who seemed far more preoccupied with his toothpick.
"Yeah, you know what that's from? The apes movies. You know them?"


I'm no expert on these films, but darned if I don't know a Cornelius when I see him. Nothing against the Apes series; I've just never really sat down for a marathon starring my least favorite late hypocritical NRA flag waver. Still, I have a deep appreciation for toys that look perfectly ridiculous next to Barbie, so I asked him the price.


"Eh, five bucks. They're in crappy condition." To demonstrate this, he proceeded to bend Cornelius' back and shake his legs. I bit my lip. This did not feel right. "See?" He flicked the left ankle where a foot no longer existed. The right hand was the same, a plastic stump that some dog or rabid child had once taken for a snack. When someone else picked up a book further down the table, the owner chucked poor Cornelius back on the heap. I could hear a small thud.


Needless to say, I bought the poor half-limbed simian. It felt wrong not to, like when I used to pass old women in Russia selling embryo-sized bunnies to sympathetic animal lovers in the subway tunnels. I averted my eyes then knowing that I wasn't equipped to give a live creature much of a life. Cornelius, however, just might make it.


Especially since he's way taller than all my Star Wars action figures.

Rattlers! Ssssszzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

It shouldn’t be hard to make a decent killer snake movie. Snakes are freaky. They have no limbs. They shed their skin. Their tongues are unnaturally forked and make flicking motions. Their bodies move in the kind of shapes created by rhythmic gymnasts twirling those pink and blue ribbons.  And worst of all, their  little mouths open wider than the Visitors of V eating the Thanksgiving guinea pig.

Like the thoroughly disappointing Snakes on a Plane, Rattlers presents a premise with fangs and executes it with dentures. Somewhere in the Mojave Desert, two atrocious child actors fall into a pit of stock footage rattle snakes. How can this not be a classic?


Sigh. It’s not. Nowhere close.


Our ‘hero’ is played by Sam Chew Jr., a man blessed with a great name and cursed by a severe lack of charisma. As Dr. Tom Parkinson, this herpetologist is defined by a professory turtleneck and need to complain. About money. About women in the workplace. Pretty much about everything.


Naturally, the not-too-nerdy, none-too-cool doctor is called into Mojave territory to investigate the plague of snake-related deaths that has been mildly irritating the American northwest. Chew gets a love interest in what I assume was meant to be a spunky, feminist photographer who introduces herself by pointing out that it's the 70s and women should be treated as equals. To prove it, she waits to sleep with the obnoxious Chew until after their dating montage, a dull two minutes scored with bad flute music and involving silhouettes at a water fountain.

Somewhere down the line, the military gets involved, as does a bitter divorcee and an unlucky plumber. While it's a nice relief to see real live animals that aren't pixelated by a Mac, the snakes are rarely filmed in the same shot as any actor, leaving you little to fear and lots of disappointment upon the realization that these terrible actors never had to face any real live difficulties. Well, I guess uttering dialogue like "That's not just a cart. It's a security blanket on wheels" is something I would only wish on a mildly irritating enemy.


Still, for all its potential and a super teasing tagline--What a Horrible Way to Die!--Rattlers is a major snooze.


Low Points
When a character introduces himself as having a beautiful wife, two kids, a new house, and one payment away from owning his boat, he has no right to survive a horror movie. He does.


Just because you have a man and woman sharing scenes together does not mean you have romantic chemistry

The general score sounds like, as the French revolutionary in the South Park movie would say, ‘zee sound of a dying giraffe’


High Points
A snakebite survivor has a nice little speech about his escape...if only it were delivered by a competent actor


Um.


Lessons Learned
If you 're a fairly good-looking woman, army officials will tell you classified information


Coffee is not a drink


Plumbing is a dangerous profession

Snakes not only bite, they also push people off ladders and set fire to their barns.


Nothing ends a life-threatening escapade with killer snakes and psychotic army generals better than the promise of a 7 course dinner at a Chinese restaurant.

Winning Line
“Birds under a lot of stress eat more. In human terms, they get fat.” Aw, you sure do have to use simple words in explaining science to the university janitor.


Rent/Bury/Buy
Bury in a deep pit and throw some dead rattlesnakes on top. That’s pretty much how the special FX were run in this film, so it’s only appropriate. Not bad enough to be so-bad-it’s-good and nowhere near good enough to be, well, mildly good.

Jeepers! Jennifer's Creepers

Allow me to start with a totally shallow assertion that has nothing to do with horror but everything to do with my personal jealousy:

Jennifer Connelly has and has always had one of the most fantastic heads of hair in the history of cinema. Possibly mankind.


Seriously. It positively glistens. I thought about digging out those 3D glasses that have been sitting on my nightstand since My Bloody Valentine because the shine was that bright that I needed the shade.


Creepers, aka Phenomena, is a 1985 horror/thriller/mystery by Italy’s favorite hit-or-miss surrealist Dario Argento.  While it never attained the popularity of some of his earlier giallos, it did boast an awfully impressive poster that hung on display in my local video store throughout the late 80s. 


A few years before entering the Labyrinth, Jennifer Connelly played Jennifer Corvino*, the impossibly gorgeous poor little rich girl with a natural kinship to insects, chimpanzees, and a wheelchair-bound Donald Pleasance. While her superstar father is off filming on location, Jennifer is sent to an exclusive yet terribly lax boarding school in a creepy European village ("People call it the Swiss Transylvania." “Why?” "I don't know. They just do.") run by one severe ice queen and a frumpy bee-a-phobe/former Mrs. Argento. Despite her glorious mane and celebrity pedigree, Jennifer has some difficulty making human friends. Perhaps she should stop sleepwalking (a major sign of snobbery, according to the cool kids) and start listening to the Bee Gees, who get a major shout-out from a 14 year old girl who not only sports a Bee Gees t-shirt, but also makes a Bee Gees reference in class, just in case you didn't know that she liked--you guessed it--the Bee Gees.

As we expect from any good Argento heroine, Jennifer finds herself caught up in a violent web of nightmare imagery, slow motion death scenes, and oddly mismatched musical scoring that ranges from 80s metal to electronically mixed opera. (One can't help but wonder how acting against the beats of the band formerly known as Goblin gave Ms. Connelly an edge in fighting creatures known as goblins.)

But back to the story: A creatively violent killer has been hunting teenage girls and while the cops are pretty clueless about how to catch him, they are smart enough to call upon invalid entomologist Pleasance for some pointers on when the murders took place based on corpse worms. He in turn sends the young Jennifer out to investigate along with a sarcophagus fly. Remember how that lovable lug Luto was friends with rocks, so when trouble was brewing he could let out a howl and boulders would come a’rollin? Jennifer has a similar relationship with creepy crawlers, be them stinging wasps or sweet lil ladybugs. As you might guess, this comes in handy more than once, although Argento is skillfully restrained in avoiding insect excess. 

Call it Suspiria: The Middle School Years. Like Argento's best-known classic, there is an eerie Snow White vibe that threads itself throughout the story, from the dark-haired ingenue lost in the woods to a witch's house with its own juicy secrets. I won't go any further for fear of spoiling what is an original film culminating in one of the most bizarre (yet in hindsight, very strongly foreshadowed) climactic end scenes I've seen in some time. Personally, I'm always intrigued when a filmmaker like Argento scales back to tell a smaller, more personal story (similar to George Romero’s Martin). Supposedly Argento has said Creepers one of his favorites, and I can see why: this is an intriguing, teasingly paced film that slowly pulls the audience in and leaves them with a finale that’s somehow simultaneously hysterical, horrifying, and damn adorable.


High Points:
Two very different but most excellent decapitations


Donald Pleasance and Jennifer Connelly, particularly during their shared scenes

One word, two times: Swarm


The entire last 20 minutes


Low Points:
I have a pet peeve regarding 'special guest stars' in films. Since the movie-making process is a temporary thing, isn’t everybody involved a guest? Thus, when the music of Creepers is provided by 'special guests' Iron Maiden, Motorhead, and more, what does that mean? Did they do all their recording on a party boat?

Lessons Learned:
Exclusive private schools in Switzerland are run like reformatories, with forty kids to a desk-less class. Expect sudden outbursts and mass chanting of “Screw the past!” and “Richard Gere!”  to occur during literature lessons.


Insects + 13-year-old girls make fantastic detectives, especially when investigating a violent serial killer known for killing 13 year-old-girls

Sophie is French


Winning Line:
“Please. I’m a foreigner and I’m lost.”


Repeat Offender:
Like many horror films centered around a beautiful woman, this one includes a subplot in which someone is trying to stick her in a mental asylum

Doll Alert:
Patience...a creepy little image starts the beginning of the gloriously Grand Guignol ending.


Rent/Bury/Buy:
Buy: This is included in Mill Creek's Drive-In Classics Pack, but only as the edited American version. My copy clocked in at a mere 83 minutes. The uncut film is out there, with 20 minutes of extra footage (much of it dialogue and plot based) and while I always champion the cheap, I would recommend the investment. Fans of Argento will enjoy his signature style wrapped around a film that is genuinely different; general horror lovers should love the fantastically sublime finale; Jennifer Connelly admirers can be creepily pleased to see she was pretty much always a ridiculously beautiful downer, even as a young teenager. I, on the other hand, continue to envy her even more now that I see she spent her childhood with both Jim Henson and Dario Argento.

*Maybe it's my Long Island experience talking, but the name Jennifer Corvino so does not sound like the virginal maiden Connelly's meant to represent. There's something about the Italian Americanness of it (pronounced in my head in a flat smoker’s voice as ‘Jenifah Cahvino’) that calls to mind a hairdresser with press-on nails and acid-washed jeans. Is it just me?  

You Know You're a Horror Addict When...

Upon channel surfing late last evening, my eyes lit up to see the title Chihuahuas From Hell. Without a second (or even first) thought, I immediately hit 'select' and sat back for what I hoped would be a light-hearted but blood-heavy romp somewhere between Demonic Toys and Cujo, perhaps 90 minutes worth of crappy dog puns, neutering jokes, and of course, a Jamie Lee Curtis one liner/(fingers crossed) cameo to celebrate the success of Beverly Hills Chihuahua. Considering it's my birthday tomorrow, that doesn't seem like a lot to ask.

So. I flip. What do I get? Cesar Millan's kind but stern face shaking in exasperation at a spoiled young woman and her growling lapdog, Peanut.

Perhaps it's the recent death of Monsters HD (The. Best. Channel. Ever.), but I guess I've come to expect that there will always be a horror movie of some ilk available at all times to entertain me. Think about it: Chihuahuas From Hell. Compared to a title like Leprechaun: Back to 'Da Hood (itself a spin-off to a 5 film franchise, making this some sort of mathematical sequel term I can't quite wrap my English major head around), this one sounds like Citizen Kane. Followup titles could include Part Dos: The Return of El Diabolito, Part Tres: Season of the Bitch, the sci-fi entry I, Chihuahua,and of course, should the series prove a massive success, Demon Chihuahuas 22: Electric Boogaloo.

Just saying: if a sheep, snowman, and ice cream sundae get their own star turn, shouldn't we have no limits? Or is there indeed a line-- however fine it may be--that the genre, for its own dignity, should not cross? Will some Full Moon/Troma-esque studio start a division of horror films made to quickly rip off popular children's series, a la the porn industry?

And with all this talk of silly killer horror, where on earth is my silly killer caterpillar movie?

Little Brothers Are So Gosh Darn Annoying

A film like Basket Case is hard to see with a fresh eye. I grew up with Part 2 being on active rotation in my VCR, but the sequel--loads of over-the-top, self-aware fun that involved a tender yet anatomically unexplained sex scene, as I recall (ahem) fondly--lacks many of the qualities that made the original such a beloved piece of early 80s cheese. Try as you might, it's difficult to recreate the sweet sleaze of pre-Guilianni NYC, stop-motion animation that reminds you why you should hate modern CGI, and a white boy afro that puts Peter Brady to shame.

Quick Plot: Duane is new to Manhattan, but instead of standing on line for a Magnolia Bakery cupcake and getting orchestra tickets to Mama Mia, he checks into a seedy motel in Hell’s Kitchen and chaperones his basket-dwelling, formerly conjoined twin brother Belial on a mini murder spree of the doctors who separated them years back. (I guess having a giant wad of chewing gum that roars like Sloth attached to your side was a tad taboo in the 80s.) A few obstacles pop up along the way, namely Duane’s whirlwind romance with a doctor’s assistant/aggressive tourist trap pusher who sports a blond Farrah wig that calls to mind a poor man’s Miss Piggy. 

See, Beliall hasn’t had much contact with women. Nor has Duane, although he seems to have no problem attracting a few. Friendly, flirty neighbors include a sassy prostitute whose idea of heavy boozing is a six pack of Budweiser and a talkative New Yawkah with Bette Davis makeup. It’s easy to laugh at the hammy acting of Basket Case, but having spent a good year plus walking around Manhattan and often finding myself trapped in random conversations with overeager strangers, I don’t doubt that these characters were based in reality.

What I love about Basket Case (other than Belial, bless his blob-like heart) is that every person involved in this film commits. Okay, I could do without the opening death scene that kind of reminded me what my high school Physics teacher would sound like if ‘Help. No. Oh God. No’ ever came out of his mouth, but from the twin vet assistants decked out in full nursing gear to the joyous full frontal streaking of Kevin Van Hentenryck, a good time was clearly had by all.  Thankfully, NYC auteur Frank Henenlotter had enough talent and good humor to let the audience in on the fun.

High Points:
Belial going all George Michael on the Hotel Broslin in a stop motion animated rampage that is somehow hysterical, cheesy, and oddly creepy at the same time


The shot of the twins’ dad being fittingly split in two following the operation that, well, split his sons in two

Every facial expression made by Beverly Bonner

Low Points:
Belial is scary and shocking to see. We get that. By the fifth “character about to die faces camera and lets out a scream” scene, the reaction is kinda annoying

Hey, did you know that this takes place in and around the Hotel Broslin? Really, you didn’t? Let me show you again. Oh! And did you know this scene is inside the Hotel Broslin. Let me--Okay, I get that the budget was small, but you don’t have to be so proud of having burning neon sound effects that you use them about 27 times in the course of a 90 minute movie. 

Lessons Learned:
It's very possible to rape a woman to death without external genitalia

Never trust a doctor that looks like a cross between Steve Buscemi and Dr. Nick, particularly if he eats pizza during a consultation


42nd St. was a lot cooler before the Disney Invasion


Scuzzy Times Square hotel walls come decorated with framed portraits of Irving Berlin


*(Further proof of a previous theory) Nothing good comes out of upstate NY


 Best line:
“I like you drunk. You’re cute when you slobber.” as said by a horny veterinarian that vaguely resembles one of the deformed Sigourney Weaver clones in Alien: Resurrection


Rent/Buy/Bury
Buy: The only thing that would make me recommend this movie more is if a Belial Beanie Baby was included with the purchase. The new 20th Anniversary DVD release is loaded with special features, including lots of tidbits about how money was saved (one word: streaking). The light-heartedness makes it an appropriate party movie filled with gleeful gore that should, for the most part, amuse rather than disturb.  Plus, I’m all for supporting a film that --while it may involve mutant rape, infanticide, patricide, and a total abuse of the Hippocratic oath--has a genuine innocence that seems to power every reel. Brotherly love, a first kiss, and wicker. What’s not to love? 

Invited to The Uninvited (Which Leaves Me Grammatically Confused)

While browsing the thoroughly unimpressive horror section at Circuit City, a young man with a thoroughly impressive mohawk handed me a screener pass for The Uninvited, a film I wanted to see as badly as I want Lost to never explain the secret behind the four-toed statue (translation: not a lot). But because I'm physically incapable of not taking advantage of something free, I sat down for what I assumed would be disposable PG-13 pop with a quota to meet for twelve jump scares, at least five scenes where we see the lead's worried reaction before cutting to what horrifies her, and four Is-It-A-Dream? sequences that always leave me saying No, because nobody ever looks that good after just waking up. 

I'm not going into detail here because, well, The Uninvited was what it was meant to be. The performances were fine and a few moments made me slightly uneasy, but this is ultimately one of those glossy 'thrillers' that's simply made for an audience that has no objection to text messaging during viewing and will most likely have a mini dilemma over whether to rent  this or The Unborn from Blockbuster in two months time. 

Quick Disclaimer: Perhaps my words on this movie should not be taken as any kind of sacred text (because I assume the three people reading this consider me a filmic goddess with impeccable taste). My own theater experience was significantly affected by the fellow sitting behind me and his unquenchable need to break any mild tension by shouting some variation of  "She gonna get you, bitch/Get that bitch/That's a freaky bitch" during every quiet moment that involved a 'bitch' (freaky or otherwise).  Once or twice, this was actually more amusing than the film.

High Point:

Casting Elizabeth Banks allows me to post a picture of Michael Rooker

Low Points:

A score that tells you everything you need to know about how to feel in a scene

*The supreme mediocrity of this film has rendered me unable to recall anything else

Lessons Learned:

Proposing to your late wife's home nurse a mere 10 months after you became a widow in a freak explosion witnessed by your traumatized daughter is not a great idea, particularly if said daughter has just been released from a mental asylum

Ghosts of children that died in 1996 dress like Victorians and are kind of a drag

The secret to a good roast is to let it sit ten minutes before carving. If I made roasts, this would actually be useful.

Best Line: 

"I love you and I have a condom." (Bonus points for being the first words we hear in the entire film)

Full Price/Sneak In/Stay Home

Stay home. Or don't. See if I care. I don't. I won't be angry. I just...won't...care.

Which ultimately sums up how I felt about this movie.