Review of "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" (2003)

Surprisingly Good Remake

The horror/sci-fi movie critic Richard Scheib coined the term "Backwoods Brutality" to describe the slew of low-budget movies that emerged in the late 1970's which had as their main theme the violent and abrupt destruction of middle-class serenity. The concept has occasionally found expression outside of the horror genre (see Straw Dogs, Deliverance) but since Wes Craven's "Last House on the Left" (1972), it has been a mainstay of the horror genre. Even thirty years later, the basic idea continues to be remade and re-interpreted.

I believe the original Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) is the most successful exponent of the genre. As it often does in the American variations of this genre, the TCM takes the so-called blue state/red state dichotomy to a grotesque extreme:  the backroads of the Deep South are another country and its inhabitants exhibit unrestrained contempt for every unsuspecting wayfarer. Its use of tension, which is meticulously established in the film's first forty-five minutes, and its release--the last forty-five minutes--is almost elegant in its simplicity. Throughout, violence is used in sparing and sudden bursts until the adrenaline-fueled final act, during which it is mercilessly sustained.

With some minor qualifications, this description also fits Marcus Nispel's 2003 remake. Here the enlarged budget and technical expertise have worked both for and against the film. On the one hand, a variety of new elements have been added to the story. Some, like the mysterious little boy or the ending, are average; others, like Leatherface's skin mask or the "extended family" are effective. On the other hand, the professionalism and attention to detail demonstrated by Daniel Pearl (whose cinematography here is magnificent; he was the lead cinematographer on the original after all) on down to those responsible for filming locations and set detail is consistently impressive.

So the basic "tension-release" framework has been lifted from the original but instead of improving on it the filmmakers have saddled it with characters, situations, drama and violence. (We learn from the HD extras, happily, that some 'tender moments' were left on the cutting room floor). Ultimately I believe it works as a horror movie on its own terms--in fact, I don't believe a better horror movie has been made until the genre's recent resurgence (i.e. The Walking Dead, etc)--and Nispel/Kosar deserve credit in attempting to revise the concept in minor ways for hardcore fans of the franchise. On the balance, however, the original's low-budget guerrilla-like realism as well as some of its visceral power have been compromised.

Finally of note is the performance of Jessica Biel. Having earned her acting chops on the former TV show-slash-Cheesefest "7th Heaven", Biel has as of late found a niche playing physically tough but likeable and intelligent characters (see Blade: Trinity). She's actually quite excellent here; as it was for the original TCM's Marilyn Burns, Biel's performance is exhilarating and intense--almost a kind of cinematic endurance test. But one ends up actually believing she has the acuity and toughness to survive the whole ordeal.

(Some fun trivia courtesy of IMDb:  A then unknown John Larroquette provided the narration in the original TCM. Despite becoming a distinguished actor in the years since, he more than happily agreed to reprise his role for the remake). 

Drawing Lines

This post is inspired, in part, by conversations I've had on this topic basically all my adult life, but especially since I truly declared myself to be a Christ-follower fifteen years ago, and even more especially in what has become polite apologetic talks I've been having, both online and in person, for about the past two months..  This topic has come up again and again, but now that light has been shed in what once were considered dark places, and now that this word "Tolerance" has become the new catchphrase of our culture, it seems a line must be drawn in the sand, now more than ever before. But what is funny, ironic, and sad at the same time is this idea: The Church is too quick to declare certain behaviors right and wrong. That's judgmental and just plain . . . wrong.

So let me get this straight: You are absolutely sure that its wrong, sinful, terrible to tell someone that their behavior is wrong. This, my friends, is the new tolerance. I've seen this repeated over and over again in the last few weeks/months/years by people who want to help the Church shed it's stuffy reputation. And I get it, in some ways. I think there are areas where the Church needs to repent, times when the Church has been hurtful, wrong, and on the other side of important issues. Made up of humans, sinners, we've often, in our checkered 2,000 plus years of history, strayed from our Gospel moorings.

However, it's interesting, this discussion we are having in our culture. If you bend your ear to hear what many people, most people are saying: "You shouldn't judge someones personal behavior (usually sexual preferences). You should respect their choices and give them the widest possible berth. They should be afforded all rights and privileges to practice the behavior they choose." That's what they are saying. "For you (as a Christian) to draw the line where you draw it, based on your belief system, is just plain wrong." This is what we are told; this is what I am told, whether directly or indirectly, nearly every day.

The only problem is that we don't actually believe this, do we? For instance, it's considered wrong now to tell someone that they are engaging in wrong behavior. If you follow an orthodox, Biblical position on sexuality, for instance, you are usually labeled a bigot, insensitive, and well, ironically, wrong. If you say that your basis for conduct is the trustworthy, inherent Word of God, well then you are considered narrow, not really open-minded, and well, ironically, wrong. If you declare that God is love, a love that expresses itself in right justice against sin and if you declare that everyone is born into Sin and with a Sinful nature, you are considered judgmental and, ironically, wrong. If you declare that God passionately pursued sinners by sending Jesus Christ, the only God-man and that his death, burial, and resurrection are the only way back to God, to eternal life, and to spiritual wholeness, you are considered intolerant and well, wrong.

But here's the problem underlying all of this "tolerance": it doesn't work out. In order to definitively declare something wrong, you are acknowledging that there is a basis, somewhere, for actually deciding right and wrong. It tells me that while you don't like where I put my line, you clearly have a line. You're not as tolerant as you might think. You have a value system that determines what is right and what is wrong. Because you have just told me that I'm wrong for thinking the way I do. Nobody actually believes the idea that truth is relative, that my body of truth that works for me is okay and your body of truth that works for you is okay. Because what happens when they conflict? What happens if my body of truth says that its okay to steal your iPad? How does that test your tolerance? All of a sudden we're pretty big on "Thou Shalt Not Steal." We're not advocating "conversations" and talking of a God who is "less black and white and more shades of gray", at least when it comes to my truth that says it's okay to steal your iPad.

Do you see where I'm going?

You may think you are the most progressive, nonjudgmental, hip, non-legalistic cool Christian out there, but you have a line somewhere. The question is, where do you draw it and on what basis? If I say that I take my code of right and wrong from the Bible, that may sound a bit archaic or old-fashioned. Fine. So where do you get yours? Is it the consensus of the prevailing culture? That's fine, but here is the problem with a majority-opinion type of value system. It depends on the goodness, the virtue, the character of the culture. And you don't have to look far into history to see cultures, many, whose values systems would make us recoil in horror. For most of American history, the majority considered black people to be less than human. It considered them, at times, 3/5ths human, worthy of buying and selling like property, and for a long time, not worthy of voting, holding office, or even sitting at the same lunch counter as whites. If, during that time, you allowed culture to determine your value system (as many Christians, sadly did), you'd think it was okay to treat your fellow man in this subhuman way. So you see the futility of drawing the line where culture determines the lines should be drawn?

Perhaps culture is not your measuring stick. Maybe it's Tradition. Maybe it's your own upbringing or experiences that shape your belief system. My point is not so much that you should accept the God of the Bible as the best arbiter of right and wrong as I do. My point is to help you see that, like me, you too have a system of right and wrong. You draw the line somewhere. And you base it on something, a set of core beliefs. You may not like me saying you have a set of core beliefs, but you have a set of core beliefs. I know at least one of those core beliefs: "Thou Shalt Not Steal my iPad". Am I right?...

The question is to ask yourself and for me to ask myself is simply this: Who determines who makes the rules? Who determines where the line should be drawn? What constitutes good and evil, sin and charity? What shapes our definitions of these things and how justice is served?

All of us are making judgments, whether we realize it or not. To declare someone intolerant is, in it's own way, a judgement about someones values. It's a statement, based on some kind of belief system.

As a sinful, fallen, Gospel-loving Christian saved by God's grace, I choose to anchor my value system to something timeless: God's unchanging revelation of Himself in His Word. I may not always interpret the Bible clearly because I "see through a glass darkly", but I've found that it's a more reliable standard than the changing whims of human emotion, popular culture, and social science.

All of us are planting our flags somewhere, whether we admit it or not. I'm planting mine here.

Review of "Superbad" (2007)

Superbad is a parable of values and friendship, reminding us that a good and earnest moral upbringing will be able to safely glide us through life and make us achieve happiness much easier. Its characters are well-mannered and sweet, not to mention inherently likable, as well as everything being morally correct and admirable.

Now onto the real review. Superbad is a shamelessly raunchy R-rated comedy with more four letter words than a Webster dictionary. Again, this sounds like the introduction I'd give a poorly rated film. By no means is Superbad a bad comedy. It is a smart, witty, and factual teen movie side-stepping clichés and underwritten primary characters, while at the same time remaining funny and entertaining until the end.

2007 was the year where Judd Apatow took off. He gained attention in 2005 with The 40 Year Old Virgin, but pretty much garnered a household name with this and Knocked Up, both starring Seth Rogen. It wouldn't surprise me to hear that Superbad is an autobiography, since the writers of the film, Seth Rogen and Evan Goldberg, share the same names as the lead actors. Maybe that could be why this feels so sentimental and close to home. Or maybe it's because Superbad is aware what kind of unsettling situations high school can put you through and knows how to document them in a fun way.

The film centers around loudmouth pervert Seth (Hill) and self-conscious, paranoia-stricken Evan (Cera) as they endure their last few weeks of being high schoolers before they are shipped off to separate colleges. Seth and Evan have been friends for years, and are tired of the fact that their separate ways have been the talk of their parents and friends.

Seth has a crush on the recently-popular Jules (Stone), a beautiful redhead, who trusts him with supplying alcohol for her party. Evan has a crush on Becca (MacIsaac), a sweet and simple girl who agrees to meet up with him at Jules' upcoming party as well. In order to purchase the alcohol, both Seth and Evan trust their pal Fogel (Mintz-Plasse), who plans to acquire a fake ID. Because of this ID, Fogel now becomes his fake name, "McLovin," a name that has garnered much fame on the web.

The night unfolds into a chaotic spectacle of unprecedented stature, so much so that I won't go into explaining the routes and acts of desperation the characters take in order to be liked, admired, or even noticed. Fogel winds up teaming up with two police officers (Hader and Rogen) who act more like the bad guys rather than good guys. This setup and sort of topsy-tursvy treatment of character roles create limitless comedic possibilities, most of which are well utilized.

But what truly makes the film work is its level of realism and intelligence. It has wit, and puts it to use. The writing and acting captures the awkwardness of the teenage lifestyle with pinpoint accuracy, at the same time makes it fun and painful to witness. I can think of quite a few films that allow their characters to thrive on ego and self-interest, with no redeeming qualities. Here, the characters in Superbad just want to fit in and achieve the girl of their dreams, but shallow stereotypes and one stutter too many prevent this goal from happening.

Superbad is quite a rarity; a funny, good-natured comedy focusing on things of the immoral nature.  Sadly,  too many people believe these films are just raucous sex comedies with no substance, soul, or charm. However, the characters are likable and charismatic, and lack the oh-so-typical nihilistic, "I just want to have sex with anything that moves" mentality. Some may be surprised at the level of nuanced emotional instances the film reaches. The performances are fun, the writing is polished and witty, and the antics never seem to go over the top. It's too bad the women roles in the film feel a tad underwritten. Hopefully we have a well-written follow up to explore that angle sometime soon.

Review of "The Black Cat" (1934)

If anything, "The Black Cat" proves that awkward and unconventional film-making is nearly as ancient as cinema itself. This incredibly strange film hasn't got a plot (or at least not a highly significant one), but it nevertheless remains one of the greatest classics in the horror genre for a large number of other reasons. It represents the first – and undoubtedly finest – teaming of horror cinema titans Bela Lugosi and Boris Karloff, and the sequences they share together (which are quite many) are so competitively brilliant you'll often think they really did behave like enemies on the filming sets.

 Other than the stellar performances of the two veterans, "The Black Cat" is a landmark horror film because of the unspeakably sinister atmosphere and the featuring of hugely shocking & controversial themes. Remember this film came out in 1934, and was Universal's highest grossing production that year, yet it revolves on topics like Satanism, torture and a wicked type of taxidermy! Some of the little trivia & monologue details, whether or not relevant to the plot, are almost too morbid and unsettling for words. For example: houses that are build on mass graves of World War One's concentration camps, vivid stories of war imprisonment and a rather explicit depiction of physical retribution during the climax. These are all elements that easily come across as shocking by today's standards, so I'm really curious what kind of effect "The Black Cat" must have had on movie-goers in 1934. I bet several people were traumatized for life. And then last but certainly not least, "The Black Cat" is a purely genuine (and one of Hollywood's only) highlight of the Expressionistic filming style. Not coincidentally, because writer/director Edgar G. Ulmer is European and previously worked with some of the greatest directors who first translated the artistic trend to cinema screens, like Fritz Lang ("Metropolis", "M") and Paul Wegener ("Der Golem"). With some of the aforementioned macabre themes, you're anticipating old dark houses and grim torture dungeons, but instead the sets are brightly lit, futuristic and even somewhat relaxing. It's a truly beautiful piece of work to behold, thanks to Ulmer's directorial vision and Charles D. Hall wondrous art direction.

 With such a beautiful depiction of atmospheric morbidity and the powerful acting showdown between Karloff and Lugosi, it's hard to deny that the absence of coherent storytelling is somewhat of a letdown. "The Black Cat" is virtually plot less and definitely doesn't owe anything to the writings of Edgar Allen Poe, even though the title and the reference of his name during the opening credits suggest otherwise. The film just unfolds the story of a vendetta between two war veterans. Hjalmar Poelzig (Karloff) was responsible for the 15 years lasting imprisonment of Dr. Werdegast (Lugosi) and tricked his wife and daughter into believing he died on the battlefield. By now, the purely evil Poelzig even promoted himself to being the High Priest of a devil worshiping cult and fiendishly plots to sacrifice the enchanting Joan Alison who was, along with her husband Peter, traveling with the vengeful Werdegast. The story often feels underdeveloped and it seems like the entire cast & crew realized the production primarily focused on style and visual flair. With a slightly more competent script "The Black Cat" easily would have ranked in the top five greatest horror movies ever made. Now it's still a highly recommended classic, and worth seeing if only for the nostalgic and almost magical sequence where Boris Karloff and Bela Lugosi play chess together.

Review of "Looper" (2012)

Sitting here a few days after viewing Rian Johnson's Looper, parts of it are still falling in to place. Standing out amongst this years crop of mostly underwhelming sequels and comic book adaptations, Looper thunders onto the screen, showing, much like Inception did two years ago, that there is a place in 2012 for fresh material and just how good it can be when it's done right.

The film tells the story of Joe (Joseph Gordon-Levitt), a hit-man for an organised crime syndicate tasked with assassinating targets sent from the future. After being confronted with his future self (Bruce Willis) and failing to perform, Young Joe is forced to track down Old Joe and finish the job before being tracked down himself by the nefarious mob led by Abe (Jeff Daniels). However there is much more to the story than the basic premise, and Johnson isn't afraid to keep details close to his chest until later in the film than most movies of this type, so I won't spoil them here.

While certainly paying subtle homage to its predecessors, Looper is a stunningly original sci-fi masterpiece, vastly superior to any of the higher profile action releases this year. While certainly made on a much larger playing field than Johnson's previous work (Brick, The Brothers Bloom), there is still a small-scale, independent feel to the film, and it benefits from clearly staying completely under the control of the young director. Delivering excitement sprinkled with thoughtful themes of personal sacrifice, he offers us much to chew on.

Johnson understands that a successful action film doesn't need an explosion every ten minutes, and allows ample time for developing character and story, something which will likely divide audiences. Looper is very deliberately constructed, and after the highly charged opening establishing the intricate time-travel premise and direction of the plot, Johnson scales back the action almost too much as he ambitiously juggles the many and varied story elements he has created. Thankfully, any weakness in the middle of the film is largely overshadowed as Johnson launches the third act with such ferocity that the stark change of pace leaves you breathless.

Despite the problems in the middle of the film, Looper overcomes its flaws purely by being that rare beast in Hollywood nowadays, the totally original script. Not an adaptation, not a sequel or remake, but a fresh idea from the mind of an immensely talented young film-maker. In a perfect world, Looper would be the game changer it deserves to be, slapping Hollywood studios across the face and announcing that not everything has to be a PG-13 franchise based on a comic book. It's unlikely that this will the case, and it remains to be seen whether or not the film will even be a success, but it's encouraging to see that there are young auteurs at work who are fighting to craft new and exciting stories, even if we only get to see the results every year or two.

Review of "Les Miserables" (2012)

The guiding ethic of any film adaptation of a legendary source must be: "Change as little as possible." Those in charge of Les Miz knew precisely what they were working with. A few songs are shortened, a handful of lines altered, and a few scenarios condensed or adapted to their original literary form, but the whole remains gloriously and satisfyingly intact.

"The Work Song" is set to the image of a hundred convicts battling a stormy sea to pull a listing ship into dry dock—and only here does the film's live-recording ethic fall short, as the music and voices lack the power to match the imagery, seemingly washed out by the sea noise, where the live musical would normally captivate from the first note.

Neither of them theatrical belters, Jackman and Crowe's performances feel subdued in the opening scene. But the film finds its gravitas the instant Colm Wilkinson appears as the Bishop of Digne, and from that instant, the next two and a half hours are nothing less than the repeated sliding of the viewer's soul up and down a finely-honed blade.

The ability to take close-ups gives the film an intimacy that is unattainable on a Broadway stage, and power numbers are sometimes reduced to a chilling whisper. Anne Hathaway destroys herself to bring Fantine to life, and her incredible, personal pain washes in waves from the screen. The tooth removal, normally excised from the musical, is even back from the book—though modified in location. "Confrontation" is then viscerally set as a full-on close-quarters sword fight.

Film also allows a depth of scale that challenges the stage. The transition to "At the End of the Day" is a grim and powerful scramble through the slums of Paris, shaking the screen with the palpable rage of a nation. "Look Down" is another tour de force, while "Do You Hear the People Sing" emerges from a quiet, elegiac call to arms that organically overtakes General Lamarque's funeral procession.

Samantha Barks' Éponine lights up in her every interaction with Marius, and shots of her in the background of "A Heart Full of Love" are soul-rending. But she suffers just enough tiny cuts that "A Little Fall of Rain" is not quite as arresting as it should be, and the constant close-ups amputate the power of a scene that should captivate not only through its intimacy, but through the inactivity that washes across the entirety of a once-violent stage.

Russel Crowe's soft-voiced Javert takes some getting used to, and while it works more often than one might expect, he sometimes seems to be singing with a sock in his mouth—most notably during "One Day More," where he seems to have been mixed in at a different volume level from the rest of the cast. Yet the cinematography of "Stars" is simple yet stunning, and Javert's Suicide suffers nothing in this interpretation.

M. Thénardier endures a few cuts (most notably the truncation of "Dog Eats Dog"), but Sacha Baron Cohen steals enough asides and chews enough scenery that his part hardly feels reduced.

The background has been filled in with elements from the novel, and those who have read Hugo's epic will appreciate nods to Fauchelevent and the Petit-Picpus convent, Gavroche's elephant-home, Marius' grandfather, and the tavern behind the barricade. There is even a quick cut to Gavroche when Éponine is shot, winking at their normally undisclosed sibling relationship.

Even the finale remains perfectly and satisfyingly intact. The only challenge with a film that so precisely parallels its stage inspiration is resisting the necessity to deliver a standing ovation once the final note has been sung. If only they had found a way to incorporate a curtain call!

Review of "The Ghost and Mr. Chicken" (1966)

This picture is easy to rave about. I don't know how many times I've seen it, but 'Chicken' never fails to work its magic. A thesis could be written on its gentle lampooning of small town America, the travails of the 'little guy', and the character studies which show the human comedy which surrounds us every day of our lives. Pretty much every scene is a classic of comedy, from the malfunctioning elevator operator to the repeated motifs of 'Atta boy, Luther' and 'And they used Bon Ami!' It's also a treasure trove of fine performances, from Burt Mustin to Jessalyn Fax, not to mention Don K., of course. Harry Hickox, Hope Summers, Charles Lane, what could be better? Everything is genuine, from Skip Homier's matching with (former Playboy model!) Joan Staley to Luther's accurate but frenzied punching of the transmission buttons in the center of the steering wheel of his Edsel. Vic Mizzy's score is incredible, and his crazed organ toccata will burn itself into your memory even more than his trademark electric guitar accents. Everything is well-composed in Techniscope. This picture, along with the rest of the Knotts Universal contract (climaxing in the very odd 'The Love God?'), 'Angel in My Pocket', and even 'Cold Turkey' form an amazing comic vision of Americana, created by brilliant minds who knew how to capture it without resorting to cheap shots or vulgarity. 'Chicken' is a great comedy, a classic, and its greatness is found in its humbleness.