Camp Blood

When I go to the movie theater, I’m either seeing what I’d call cinema or popcorn—art or commercial. And when I leave not having felt like the experience gave me something that captivated me with its mastery of plot, genre, dialogue, character, setting or some emotional connection, then that’s the worst. The feeling I wasted my time.
     An exception to this criteria I’ve just mentioned is camp. Sometimes a movie can be awful, yet entertain me enough that I don’t feel it’s wasted my time. As I’m writing this I’m pretending that the Friday the 13th movies are a trilogy. It’s also Friday the 13th today. The 80s is the best decade for horror movies. And of the franchises to come from that era like Halloween, Nightmare on Elm Street, my favorite has always been Friday the 13th. It doesn’t have the auteur cred of the other two. It’s the product of a major studio. It doesn’t’ feel as original or inspired as the other two. It’s almost like a cartoon. Jason Vorhees doesn’t ask us to question the metaphysics of evil like The Shape or the psychological dreamscapes of Freddy. In Friday the 13th Part 2 (1981, Steve Miner) as one of the only characters to even try to profile him, GINNY describes Jason as “a frightened retard.”

     The Friday the 13th trilogy is one of the finest examples of setting. Along with many of the Disney cartoon short subjects of the 1940s-50s, the Friday the 13th trilogy appeals to me in how it embodies the camp setting. I’ve never been camping or even wanted to, but I’ve always loved a summer camp or a state park as a setting. And Friday the 13th is full of precautions to avoid attracting bears, grilling hot dogs, and American flags. And isn't there something a little surreal about a summer camp we never see the kids show up for?

 

The main reason I walked to my neighborhood theater earlier this rainy night is because they showed Friday the 13th Part 3 in 3-D (1982, Miner). In 2009 there was a period of a few years I was totally into 3D, starting with Avatar (2009, James Cameron). And I’d never seen a 3D movie in a theater before that. I’d never even really thought about it, but the only title I’d keep wishing I could have caught a screening of but never thought I would is Friday the 13th Part 3 in 3-D. 

     This movie had the audience in its hand. I can’t remember ever having this much fun in a movie theater (except for maybe seeing 35mm prints of John Waters’ films of the 70s). And the reason it had such an impact is because both the 3D (it’s the red and blue cellophane glasses) technology and the attitudes about sex and drugs are so dated. Yet I don’t consider this an example of camp. When you read about Friday the 13th Part 3 in 3-D you’ll find reports of the cast saying that due to all the focus the filmmakers were placing on getting the 3D right that they neglected the performances—and that’s what makes this movie so amazing. 
     The entire time 3D effects were used the audience all collectively as if they’d rehearsed it were this chorus of oooohs and whooooas whenever there were objects projecting out from the screen at us. At times the dialogue is bad. At many times the logic behind the characters’ motivations doesn’t make sense—but in the most fun and entertaining hilarious possible way. Also I love this scene where the girl in a bikini is seducing the guy and she’s all: wanna go somewhere alone where we can do whatever we want do you know what that’d be like, and the guy replies “disgusting.” It’s perfect. It doesn’t really make sense in that context but then of course it makes perfect sense. 
     I’ve seen 80s horror movies with groups who laugh in that ironic way. But this was different. Friday the 13th Part 3 in 3-D works as a horror movie. The peril is fun but it’s still scary at the same time. The two entries before this one in no way achieve this. Friday the 13th Part 3 also doesn’t mention Crystal Lake. So it’s a cabin in the woods setting, which I’m not thrilled about, but like the franchise itself, it’s kind of an oddity or doesn’t fit in with the other 80s horror franchises. And unlike the first two, it doesn’t have the same nudity and exploitative shots ogling the girl counselors. But it does introduce drugs into the mix, albeit maybe trying to get a little too much mileage out of Cheech and Chong type pot jokes.
     On a technical level, you could look at Friday the 13th Part 3 as a really great example of how several of its scares utilize taking a shot we buy as a closed frame to sneak in a character from offscreen to give us a jump scare, and not just a jump scare but often the (quintessential to this trilogy’s) brand of fake scare. The Friday the 13th trilogy is really adept at utilizing the open frame, like blood dripping on a character’s forehead while they’re lying down—where’s that coming from? 

 

10/13/2023 Plaza Theatre

Atlanta, GA

Anaglyph DCP

Cyberpunk Meets Rock n Roll

Sin City (2005, Robert Rodriguez & Frank Miller) is the one truly great film Charlie¹ has made. Released before 300 (2006, Zack Snyder) both of these movies inaugurated the graphic novel as adapted into chroma key motion picture—shot almost entirely on a soundstage.

Technology moves so fast. Trends evolve so quickly. I indulge in any opportunity I have to bring up what a huge fan I am of George Lucas’ Star Wars prequel trilogy. I really am. The second decade of the new millennium was the end of 35mm being the dominant format to shoot mainstream motion pictures on². And Lucas shot a big studio movie on HD video before anyone else when he captured Star Wars: Episode II – Attack of the Clones (2002, Lucas) on the CineAlta³. Then Charlie captured Once Upon a Time in Mexico (2003, Rodriguez) on the CineAlta too.

I’m leaving Michael Mann out of this conversation because Lucas and Rodriguez used HD video as a rival to film, but Mann obviously shot on HD exploring some gritty grainy digital noise aesthetic—nothing against him, I love the look of Collateral (2004, Mann), Miami Vice (2006, Mann), and Public Enemies (2009, Mann).

So not only do I love Attack of the Clones and Sin City as movies, but in another way they’re historically groundbreaking CineAlta-shot VFX worlds of escapism that foreshadow the Marvel Cinematic Universe. And I’m a big fan of George Lucas and Robert Rodriguez going all in with the CineAlta at a time when everyone was saying video would never replace film.

Oh yeah and there’s Weta Digital—Peter Jackson’s VFX co. that sometime around Gollum became the foremost technical leaders in MoCap. Weta is responsible for Avatar (2009, James Cameron) and Avengers: Infinity War (2018, Anthony Russo & Joe Russo) among others.

Like Sin City, Charlie has adapted a graphic novel into something his own with Alita: Battle Angel (2019, Rodriguez); although Alita is a different kind of graphic novel—a manga. And it works. Also how characteristically manga is the premise of a middle-aged man finding a teenage cyborg girl in a garbage pile and restoring her back to life? DR. IDO (Christoph Waltz) is noble though. He wears glasses, repairs cyborgs, and matches meekness with altruism.

Alita gave me goosebumps and had me crying empathizing with the innocent girl born again, operating on my emotions and moving me with its fairytale of discarded humanity moral social class-conscious underdog journey all the way up unitl…

…that’s right, I forgot: hi-tech VFX action, battles, weapons, berserker suits, motorball, bountyhunters, and umm, a little parkour.

The plot weaves together an arc encompassing several of the supporting cast and their backstories wonderfully: Ido’s ex-wife CHIREN (Jennifer Connelly), her partner VECTOR (Mahershala Ali), and ALITA’s love interest, HUGO (Keean Johnson). And because Alita takes place in Iron City—much like Sin City—everyone is scheming, the streets are populated with criminals and lowlifes, and is “no place for innocent people.” You know like Neuromancer (thanks, Fat) or another James Cameron script he produced but didn’t direct, Strange Days (1995, Kathryn Bigelow), which was also produced by 20th Century Fox. Strange Days is so rad. The VFX world of Iron City is spectacular and mainly why I chose to see Alita in 3-D, but also because it was shot in 3-D and not post converted. Charlie had his directors monitors playback in 3-D on set. Iron City is the trash infested type of dystopia depicted in Idiocracy (2006, Mike Judge), Thor: Ragnarok (2017, Taika Waititi), and Ready Player One (2018, Steven Spielberg), but so much more detailed, imaginative, elaborate, and fun.

Also thanks to Weta, the VFX of inside Alita’s shell is so cool, especially her heart.

And man Jennifer Connelly is stunning, so gorgeous, serious Hollywood glamour and Nina Proctor’s costumes on her are sci-fi chic mostly monochromatic, her presence really elevates the whole thing.

I could go on praising Alita: Bill Pope’s camera moves, Charlie’s casting of his stock company of cool Mexicans like Eiza González and Michelle Rodriguez. But I have a few minor gripes. Like the deep voiced Centurions just reminded me too much of Idiocracy, I kept waiting for them to add after “wanted for the crime of murder,” “brought to you by Carl’s Jr.” I mean, yeah I realize from Forbidden Planet (1956, Fred M. Wilcox) to Lost in Space robots talk in that kind of deep voice though.

The motorball sequences didn’t really engage me with their action like the other fights did. Maybe because there were just too many different characters and I’d just never thought Rollerball was cool. Also with the cheesy sports announcer it felt basically like the podrace from The Phantom Menace.

And most of the time I was really into Alita, but times like the moment after she shows Hugo her heart and says, “that was intense, right?” with that childish laugh felt off—like NOMI from Showgirls (1995, Paul Verhoeven).

However, major gripes start with the Alita having a main character wail "nooooo" at the film's climax. That's the worst thing a movie can do, see Spider-Man 2 (2004, Sam Raimi) or Star Wars: Episode III - Revenge of the Sith (2005, Lucas) for other examples. And in addition, the film's ending is setup to launch the franchise built around a serialized cliffhanger. Another thing I love about the Star Wars prequel trilogy is that even though we know it's a trilogy, its installments are self contained and clearly resolved at their respective finales.

¹Robert Rodriguez’s nickname, I have no idea why.
²Since Skyfall (2012, Sam Mendes) most movies shoot on the Arri Alexa HD video camera.
³Sony’s HD cinema-quality motion picture camera.

Trivia:

• Hugo's custom leather jacket and black bandanna/dewrag bear strong resemblance to what Charlie wears in real life. 
• The bartender with the eyepatch is the film's stunt coordinator, Garret Warren, who was shot four times, including in his right eye, by a man hired by Warren's ex-wife in real life.

Underworld 5

Okay so I'm a latent goth. In the middle of my sophomore year I transferred to a small high school and my only friends listened to Marilyn Manson, Tool, Nine Inch Nails and all had long hair and sometimes used black lipstick, nail polish and fishnet Hot Topic clothes. None of these habits rubbed off on me. I was trying to dress like a prep because I thought it would help get chicks and definitely a little wannabe gangster, but I listened to Björk, Melvins, Pavement and Yo La Tengo. A few months ago I started wondering what Nine Inch Nails' "Broken" EP would be like to listen to, then I started watching Tim Burton's The Nightmare Before Christmas (1993, Henry Selick), Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005), Alice in Wonderland (2010), Dark Shadows (2012), and Frankenweenie (2012). Then I realized I've only worn black for the last 7 years and a month ago I had a compulsion to watch the Underworld movies for the first time.

Underworld: Blood Wars (2016, Anna Foerster) succeeds in character. SELENE has lost her love, her daughter, all the vampires are hunting her and there's a new even tougher werewolf named MARIUS organizing an attack on the vampires; which she expertly diffuses, while gaining even more special powers, and learns that Michael Corvin was killed by Marius as her daughter pops up for a surprise visit at the end to set up Underworld 6.

But I don't go to Underworld movies for character development. I go for overblown melodrama, assorted vampire and werewolf action, night shots cast in blue grey snowy Polish country castles, and a few shots of Kate Beckinsale's ass in a leather catsuit or shots of Kate Beckinsale shooting 2 automatic pistols.

My main complaint with Underworld: Blood Wars is that it seems to be missing all the relentless fight scenes with graphic violence. Most of the movie is just waiting for the showdown between Selene and Marius, which is an amazing set piece awesome fight, but that's basically like it for like the whole movie. It happens during a brief werewolf siege that typically would have been longer with a higher body count, but does have a great shot of DAVID coming out from underwater while simultaneously slicing a werewolf in half thrown in.

It felt like the kills were sparse but more thoughtfully crafted. Which, again, I'm not fond of. Right now Underworld is the only contemporary film franchise I'm entirely invested in, and aside from Beckinsale what's won me over is that these popcorn genre hybrids are rated R. And part of the reason they're rated R is because of all the bloody butchering of vampires and werewolves--that's been established. So why shy away from it?

I've been able to root for Selene also because there are no ties between her and any other characters that matter. For example, her daughter EVE from Underworld 4 shows up here at the very end and she will matter in part 6, but in Underworld: Blood Wars she is written out of the entire movie just like they did to Michael Corvin since Underworld 4. I love that they just hire a look alike actor and come up with an explanation why these characters are absent because it gives Selene more of an edge. And obviously there's the real life convenience of not having to bring back actors but still involve their characters in the plot.

But like I said I think I'm goth. So I can't excuse the anti-goth plot device invented for Underworld: Blood Wars, the Nordic fortress of Vador with its bleached haired white furred inhabitants and magic waters. Oh yeah also when Selene gets to Vador it's got some kind of Northern Lights going on and SEMIRA later describes its vampires as "pathetic peace loving cowards." Worst of all the magic waters give Selene the special powers she needs to defeat Marius while bleaching her tips! Like I said Beckinsale is the majority of my reasons for watching the Underworld movies, with her black hair, ghostly complexion, and cool sexy black leather fashion so the fact that she ends up with highlights in her hair and a white fur coat just upsets me.

Cruising

Avatar (2009, James Cameron) was the first movie I saw screened in 3D in a theater. There have been a few every year since then that I've enjoyed. But Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai (2011, Takashi Miike) was very surprising to encounter because I'd read a listing that said it was screening at the Cannes Film Festival in competition in 2011. Miike in 3D at Cannes? I'm so glad I had the chance to see it. It was a one-off screening and I'm so glad I didn't have to work or anything. Then there was Adieu au langage (2014, Jean-Luc Godard) which was even more alluring. Godard in 3D at Cannes? This past May at the 2015 Cannes Film Festival Gaspar Noé debuted out of competition his latest film in 3D.

Love (2015, Gaspar Noé) opens cold with a single take static frame depicting MURPHY and ELECTRA fondling each other's genitals until he shoots his load. And underscoring this shot is Erik Satie's exquisite "Gnossiene, 3" (Lent) piano composition.

The film then wakes with Murphy in bed with his child and the child's mother OMI. The rest of Love is a series of flashbacks taking place in a single day that show the events in Murphy and Electa's history that led up to this morning. I've always been a fan of this reverse chronology narrative structure, like for instance in the South Korean movie Peppermint Candy (2000, Lee Chang-dong).

Gaspar Noé's style is on full display foremost featuring cinematography by Benoît Debie, who also shot Irréversible (2002, Noé) and Enter the Void (2009, Noé). Noé has a sex industry catering to all manner of tastes, taboo-targeting, dark, tungsten, warmly lit, strobing, steadicam first person subjective POV aesthetic. And if that's what you fancy, Love will not disappoint.

There are so many sex scenes in Love. And they last a long time. There're also several in-jokes, sly meta-framing devices, and playful humor to be found. Early in the film, when Murphy goes to his bookshelf (alongside of which is the Love palace model from Enter the Void) and retrieves his opium stash, along with photos of Electra, the VHS case that hides these contents is Noé's debut film I Stand Alone (1998, Noé). Later in the film Murphy and Electra are seen early in their relationship to commit a pact where they agree to always "stand together" and never leave each other. There's also a dialogue exchange that gets big laughs: when Murphy responds to what he wants to name his child, "Gaspar." Also when Electra introduces Murphy to her ex-boyfriend art gallery owner, Noé, this character is played by Gaspar Noé, albeit with a grey wig.

And in another bit of meta business, Murphy explains to the other girl at the party that his ultimate dream is to make a "sentimental sex film." Obviously that is what Noé is showing us. And as tediously as Love is paced, as excessive are all of the sex scenes, as bad as all of the acting is, I admire his intentions; and, this outweighs all else here. A lot of the dialogue is exemplary of the tightrope one walks when trying to be sincere and risking sounding cheesy. Like when Electra says "How can something so lovely bring such great pain. Maybe it's better to never love at all." I'm vulnerable to that kind of material because it's what I go to the movies for, the communication of feelings. And I think Noé invested everything he needed to to craft this narrative in a way that is abundantly satisfying and creative.

The third act really takes things further with the visit to the sex club. Around this part of the film Murphy gets arrested for drunken assault on a guy, and the cop at the precinct ends up inviting him out for a beer later, then recommends he take his girlfriend to a sex club so he can have sex with her and other women and not be jealous because that's the problem with his American mentality. The night Murphy takes Electra to this sex club is a wonderful set piece. I was definitely reminded of the suspenseful, dark, what's going to happen underground sex club scene in Cruising (1980, William Friedkin) and also to some degree the club from Irréversible. I never would have imagined how ominous and filthy sex club-fitting John Carpenter's Assault on Precinct 13 theme could have sounded until I witnessed this scene.

The final shot of the movie was perfect. The aspect ratio switches from 2.35:1 to 1.33:1 and Murphy and Electa embrace each other in a bathtub, face to face, as water from the shower trickles down on them. Electra asks, "Please promise me that you'll never leave me," and Murphy responds, "I  promise I'll love you to the end." After holding on this, superimposed on the screen is THE END. Then the credits roll, holding this image, as the scene is underscored by an excerpt from Glenn Gould's rendition of Bach's Goldberg Variations. And for me this is didactic and romantic--Noé saying that this first night together, this first moment of two people having just decided to fall in love and believe they have a chance at being together for the rest of their lives is love. Nothing else after that matters.

We never find out what happened to Electra. There's just a cryptic phone recording that says something like out of service. She says if she ever had to be in pain and not have love that she'd kill herself. And her mom tells Murphy that she'd been saying some suicidal things for the past two months. Dark.

Although there is a CU shot of a penis ejaculating in 3D with sperm projecting out into the audience. This movie is as dirty as it is sweet. There is the moment when Murphy claims he wants to make films with blood, sperm, and tears.

The soundtrack is a lot of fun too. There are some hauntingly beautiful pieces, especially the Satie stuff. But, also some other clever choices like the first sex scene between Murphy and Omi using Goblin's "School at Night," lullaby from Deep Red (1975, Dario Argento).

--Dregs

AH DIEU OH LANGAGE

Jean-Luc Godard is a lot like The Melvins. I first encountered both artists in my teens. Godard was a huge influence behind, and inaugurated La Nouvelle Vague, or The French New Wave in the early 1960s in the same way The Melvins were a huge influence behind, and inaugurated Grunge in the early 1990s. Both Godard and The Melvins proved early on that instead of riding the crest on their wave of success it was more appealing to deliver avant-garde works that would ultimately polarize their fans and test the patience of many for years to come. À bout de souffle (1960, Jean-Luc Godard) is Godard's Houdini (1993, Atlantic Records) in its accessibility, the way it catapulted them into the public spotlight, and its lasting impact.

Stoner Witch (1994, Atlantic Records) was an event in my hometown of Corpus Christi. Everytime I recall hopping into someone's car, with my skateboard stowed in the trunk among those of the other passengers', that tape was constantly looped on auto-reverse, constantly blasted. And while it rocked harder than Houdini, it showed increasing experimentation and side B is almost all drone and sparse. Pierrot le fou (1965) is Godard's Stoner Witch because it's comparable with À bout de souffle as his strongest work (the one to recommend) but boasts significantly more experimentation of the type that typically distances many fans.

1994 was my introduction to the culture of personal filmmaking. I don't feel like going on about Pulp Fiction (1994, Quentin Tarantino) but, yeah it came out that year, and yes, it taught me that movies were made by one person and that getting taken out of the moment is the best way to put you in the moment. So aside from cinema, I was skateboarding, hanging out with kids 10 years older than me, going to all ages punk rock shows, and listening to Melvins. Somehow one day an older dude, I mean like thick black beard/I heard he smokes crystal-older was telling a group of friends I was tagging along with that there was a Melvins release after Houdini and before Stoner Witch . . . whaaaaaa?!!! Street legend had it that Prick (1994, Amphetamine Reptile Records) was complete garbage, absolutely positively unlistenable, and the reason it had a cover illustrated with the text SNIVLEM was because they hated their parent major label and this was a way to find a loophole in their contract and release this when and as they wanted. So the bearded older kid stoked the fires that would be in my imagination the coolest sounding tape ever.

Ici et Ailleurs (1976, Godard and Anne-Marie Miéville) is Prick. Both are spontaneous, unpredictable, beautiful, funny, dark, ridden with non sequiter bridges and tons of sampling. And both are mesmerizing, accessible works that are refreshing because they are unlike 99% of the work done by their contemporaries, yet done by artists who have already been  to, say, the top of the charts.

Watching Goodbye to Language in 3D (2014, Jean-Luc Godard) harnesses what it means to be spontaneous and to explore. Its structure is very much in keeping with late Godard, especially Histoire(s) du cinéma (1988-98, Godard) with techniques that imbue his narrative with music, art,  literature, and philosophical references at a constant rate. Late Godard is appealing to me because it feels like what I want to capture as a filmmaker, without outside pressures like audiences, budgets, and marketability. It feels like a chore to set up a story so clearly everytime, always planning a film considering the audience. If feels like a joy to walk outside and film what you see, then improvise a story, then put in the music you never dreamed would be married to these images, and finally start cutting and make if fun. Of all that is going to be written about this movie, I'd like to leave my basic appraisal at that.

I still can't believe Godard shot a movie in 3D, and I've heard about this for almost a year. The film is choppy in the spontaneous way I've come to love. The 3D is fun but turns impressive when Godard tracks a character leaving a 2-shot by panning right, but stays on the first character--so each of your eyes processes this simultaneously. There is an exhilaration about seeing something in a theater for the first time. Sometimes it feels like they screwed up the 3D, but I think the flaws only endear this experience. I was constantly straining to see, feel, and know more, but I was never disappointed.

At one point there is some dialogue like: the image is the murder of the present. And yet somehow all of the images of Godard's dog, nude women, flower arrangements, and water all present Godard as explorer. We feel that at the present this is what inspires him and that that is enough.

I'll admit that I don't get why Mary Shelley is writing Frankenstein while joined by Lord Byron and Percy Bysshe Shelley in the same way I kind of understood why Emily Brönte gets murdered in Weekend (1967, Godard). And I will admit that there is a lot in Goodbye to Language that I don't yet fully comprehend, but that's alright with me. Again, I'm sick of the every other movie tendency to be so safe and organized.

And I am not sure what this film would be like in 2D, but as of now the experience I had seeing this in a theater in 3D was wholly engrossing. And while in the past I have had doubts as to whether old age negatively influences filmmakers, my top film of 2013 was by a 78 year old and now my top film of 2014 was by an 83 year old. Goodbye to Language feels like it was shot by someone very young, and that's one of the highest complements I can bestow.

This film runs 69 minutes and I've always been a proponent of shorter features. 72 is my sweet spot, but 69 guarantees I'm walking into the theater with the requisite excitement of knowing I won't get bored.

--Dregs

Speed 3: Zero Gravity

I've never been a fan of Alfonso Cuarón. I don't remember Y Tu Mamá También (2001); I don't watch Harry Potter; and Children of Men (2006) was boring as shit. I dismiss Children of Men because I typically decide if I love or hate a movie before I see it. And, based on the premise: a world where women can't have babies anymore... I knew I would hate it and I do. Similarly I love Jonze/Kaufman, but Her (2013, Spike Jonze) already frustrated me with the what if a guy fell in love with his computer? premise in its trailer.

But Cuarón has Chivo as his ace. When I saw the trailer for Cuarón's big budget Fall 2013 3D blockbuster in space with Bullock and Chivo in the mix, I knew I'd love it. And I was shocked because of the films I know I'll love, rarely are hundred million dollar effects blockbusters the ones that hook me.

Gravity is perfect.

It's a fine dessert.

It's eighty minutes and change of flawless eye candy.

The main draw is the setting. We are in space. That's the whole point. Take the story and restage it anywhere else and this movie is yawn inducing. However, this short capsule of Dr. Ryan Stone (Bullock) dealing with debris from a soviet satellite explosion is riveting because of the detailed portrait painted by Chivo and Cuarón.

Chivo is Emmanuel Lubezki, AMC, ASC. He shoots all of Malick's films since The New World (2005, Terence Malick). I prefer his style in Gravity. Chivo's  more static and fluid, not as kinetic and Jell-Oey. The images in Gravity aren't as arty as Malick's stuff. I don't know why but this movie is so applaudable for characteristics I would normally connote a sell-out piece of crap of imbuing. And that's why I have come to call Gravity a classic.

Chivo's soft lighting always keeps a feathered gradation of shadows and skintones on these 2 movie stars. He's learned that hard shadows are his enemy. We never see the sun in Gravity. And we are usually within close sight of the Earth, which makes sense considering that's the confinement of the world of the story--just above the Earth's atmosphere.

The two big set pieces are the two separate instances of orbitting debris that Kowalski (Clooney) clocks in as arriving in ninety minute intervals. The first act is so awesome and serene, when the collision approaches it is truly breathtaking because the technology of the vfx is used so effectively. I didn't even realize I could think astronauts and spaceships were cool until now. And the silence is a neat contrast to all of the loud visuals.

Bullock, America's sweetheart, is wonderful. Normally I can't stand her. She is America's everywoman. She's in shape, but not stripper hot. She's mousy, but alternately exotically striking. She's vulnerable, but brave. She's mediocre, but sharp. The cypher of Bullock in zero gravity is the perfect prism to refract this protagonist's lonely "Twilight Zone" confrontation with isolation.

I didn't laugh once. But Clooney is adequate as comic relief.

I can't begin to wrap my head around how they blocked this, but the feeling as an audience member of floating in space and the filmmaker's success in orienting the geography of the set pieces is undoubtedly masterful. The look of a film is something I'll always value above all else, and Gravity is so aesthetically well thought out that I got to go back to the joys of suspending disbelief.

--Dregs

Revocate the Agitator

Takashi Miike makes directing look so fun. His material ranges from gruesome torture macabre to G rated children's films, hitting almost everything in between along the way. What genre hasn't he tackled?

Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai (2011, Takashi Miike) is majestically sparse.

Set in 17th century Japan, this Jeremy Thomas-produced, Ryuichi Sakamoto-scored costume samurai buskin portends a solemn, restrained ballad of desaturated hues, tons of silence, and ominously zen rock gardens.

Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai doesn't appear as a filmed play, although because of its minimal use of characters and locations, it easily could have. Miike overcomes this pitfall by shooting ornate tableaux with a floating 3D omniscient POV through predominantly wide-angled lenses.

Miike often makes movies without any graphic violence, but just because Hara-Kiri:Death of a Samurai doesn't illustrate the explicit carnage doesn't mean that the film isn't visceral--it is.

The gut becomes the epicenter of where a man's test of self is played out. In Hara-Kiri: Death of a Samurai a nuclear family has to deal with the throes of insurmountable poverty. Motome, Miho, Kingko and their unnamed white cat inherit the same set of circumstances most Hollywood casts battled during the Great Depression, with a similar uncorrupted innocence.

The film's themes are embedded in the arc of Hanshiro and his virtue in the face of oppression. He's up against impossible odds, and Lord Kageyu of the House of li represents an unswayable set of fixed values as old as the rocks and wood that make up the architecture of the various structures the film occurs in. The plot is classically archetypal, yet is stripped down to the grim mechanics of the court martial-like interrogation of the samurai Hanshiro.

Characters are sketched lightly. The dominance of the House of li's military might is in direct opposition to the starving family--and this is the heart of the film. Doomed lovers practically deserve their own genre. From Romeo and Juliet to You Only Live Once (1937, Fritz Lang) and They Live by Night (1949, Nicholas Ray), the death of young romance is the fodder of endless photoplays.

And seeing as how this is one of those rare occurences where the victims (Motome and Miho) are completely faultless, their struggles earned my sympathy especially in the way in which I kept thinking about how this story is so relevant today. What's the solution? Beats me.

We're a frail species.

--Dregs