The Screengrab : godzilla

Screengrab Review: "Tokyo!"

Nick Schager — Wed, 04 Mar 2009 16:00:00 GMT

Omnibus films are typically uneven endeavors, comprised as they are of assorted works usually linked by only one common thread. And true to form, Tokyo!, a compilation of three short films by renowned directors Michel Gondry, Leos Carax and Bong Joon-Ho, isn’t an entirely consistent affair. Yet lurking within these Tokyo-set narratives does lie a shared pulsating thread of isolation. In this surprisingly rich anthology, it’s not merely location that proves the primary connective tissue, but a sense of individuals – on a personal and collective scale – struggling to cope with detachment from themselves, their fellow citizens, and their surroundings. Manifesting itself in ways fanciful, austere, unsettling, absurd and magic-realist, this lonely condition may be treated in tonally dissimilar ways by this trio of diverse tales, yet a strain of solitude, and of literal and figurative aimlessness, nonetheless helps this triptych’s vignettes coalesce into an affectingly atmospheric portrait of the city and its inhabitants.

Neither outstanding nor disappointing, Gondry and Bong’s contributions instead prove intriguing, if up-and-down, examples of two directors refining and/or broadening their typical purview. “Interior Design,” about a couple who temporarily move into the cramped metro flat of a friend while the guy (Ryo Kase) attempts to launch a film career and the girl (Ayako Fujitani) searches for her life’s path, is a far more reserved, un-romantic examination of artistic invention for Gondry, who avoids outright whimsy in his depiction of self-definition as a highly personal act of creativity. Poking fun at cinematic pretentions, casting Tokyo as an impersonal, restrictive-box environment, and wrapping up his story with an unexpected quirk of fate that’s less adorable than quietly contemplative, Gondry’s segment may not be as effervescent as The Science of Sleep or Be Kind Rewind, nor substantial enough to earn intense emotional engagement. Still, there’s something gently moving about his female protagonist’s achievement of purpose through surrealistic physical transformation.

A tad less successful is Bong’s “Shaking Tokyo,” hinging as it does on some too-cute elements that grate rather than endear. Bong’s short focuses on a shut-in (Teruyuki Kagawa) known as a “hikikimori” who’s spent the past eleven years holed up in his apartment, avoiding even eye contact with the delivery people who bring him his weekly pizza. When he catches a glimpse of the pizza girl’s (Yu Aoi) garter belt, and then instinctively looks into her eyes, his sheltered world begins to truly crumble, the earth vigorously shaking in an excessively on-the-nose manifestation of the character’s inner change. Bong’s compositions are as spatially immaculate as his protagonist’s sterile, neatly arranged living abode, but between the girl’s computer-button tattoos – which activate her, like a Mac – and the everyone’s-a-recluse finale, “Shaking Tokyo” feels a tad too obvious in its address of estrangement, at least until the piercing, almost-redeeming penultimate shot of a hand attempting to shield one’s eyes from the sun’s wavering rays.

And then there’s Leos Carax’s crazy, ambiguous, go-for-broke middle segment “Merde.” In his first work since 1999’s Pola X, Carax opens with a Hitchcockian scene-setting cinematographic tour through Tokyo’s skyscrapers that winds down as an iris-shot of a manhole, from which emerges a disheveled Caucasian man (a freakish-looking Denis Lavant) with a twisted goatee, long filthy fingernails, and one milky white eye. In a subsequent, superlative tracking shot, this monster storms down a crowded city street stealing and consuming cigarettes, chrysanthemums, and money, all set to the score from Godzilla. After massacring innocents with grenades, Merde (as he’s known) is captured in the sewers where he dwells, and subsequently defended in court by a French lawyer (Jean-François Balmer) with similar physical characteristics who – as evidenced by an insanely protracted, un-translated chat with Merde – can speak the madman’s gibberish language. Living amidst WWII tanks and armaments, and suspected by the Americans and Japanese of involvement with al-Qaeda and the Aum cult (respectively), Merde proves a shrewdly amorphous stand-in for irrational terrorism, right through both his trial (in which he admits to hating “innocent people” and slanders the Japanese for having eyes that resemble “woman’s sex”) and an arresting execution sequence that’s deft enough to both evoke Syndromes and a Century and playfully set up an American-set sequel.

Trailer Review: 2012 (Teaser)

Paul Clark — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 17:00:00 GMT

Say what you will about his movies, but Roland Emmerich’s work has always made for awesome teasers. Remember the image of the White House getting zapped in Independence Day, the museum bit in the Godzilla teaser, or the frozen-over New York skyline of Day After Tomorrow? Quite frankly, I thought this teaser for Emmerich’s latest disaster epic 2012 was his best yet. Of course, much of this has to do with it being a cheeky homage to one of Screengrab’s all-time favorites, the classic teaser for Stanley Kubrick’s The Shining. I knew I was in for a treat when I heard Wendy Carlos’ music from the teaser, accompanying the giant wave that crashes over the mountains (!). But when the monastery floats away just like the couch in the Shining teaser, I had to chuckle- I was the only one in the theatre doing so, but what the hell. Had I contributed to this week's list, I would have declared Emmerich’s disaster movies to be some of my guilty pleasures, and I’m primed for 2012 to be one as well.

Reviews by Request: War of the Gargantuas (1966, Ishiro Honda)

Paul Clark — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 19:00:00 GMT

Note: Beginning this week, I’m changing the format for Reviews by Request in an attempt to allow more people to participate in the requesting process. See the note at the end of the review for details.

Special thanks to reader Kent M. Beeson for requesting this week’s review, of which he said, “I'd love to hear what you think, but I fear the words will get stuck in your throat.” Hope I did it justice, Kent.

As sophisticated as I like to pretend my moviegoing tastes are, there’s still a part of me that loves old-school Japanese monster movies with a childlike glee. I’m guessing a lot of this has to do with the monsters themselves, which without fail tend to make me want to emit loud, Harry Knowles-like cheers of “man in suit! Yeeeeeah!!!” But while I (usually) refrain from doing this, there’s still something about this antiquated technique that takes me back to my youth. In an age when practically any monster imaginable can be created on a computer, it still proves tricky for FX whizzes to really give their CGI beasties a real presence in the action.

Now, some people out there aren’t as keen on old-school monsters as I am, presumably because they’re still in the thrall of the new and the flashy. But in my experience, it’s rare to find a digital monster with even half the personality of the man-in-suit creatures of yore. Peter Jackson’s Kong came close, as did the slimy baddie in The Host, but most of them are too graceful and weightless to really work in the same way as, say, the classic incarnations on Godzilla. By actually dressing a person up in an oversized rubber costume, a monster takes on a kind of imperfect human physicality that’s nearly impossible to duplicate on a computer. This is the difference between a monster who works as an actual character in the story and one that’s merely a plot device. And if a monster movie succeeds or fails on the basis of how good its monster is, Ishiro Honda’s War of the Gargantuas is one of the greatest monster movies ever made.

The plot is… well, I’m sure you can guess. A giant monster attacks Japan, the army tries to fight it off, and scientists work to determine how to destroy it. As with most of the classic “kaiju” movies, science is to blame for creating the monster- in this case, an American scientist (played by Russ Tamblyn) who once created an ape-like hulk who later escaped into the wild. The characters usually refer to the monster as “Frankenstein,” although anyone who paid attention in Brit Lit will no doubt recall that “Frankenstein” was the doctor’s name, while his creation was “Frankenstein’s Monster” or “The Creature.” No matter- the monster’s out there now, and much effort is expended to take it down.

But suddenly… wait, what’s this? There are actually TWO Frankensteins! Of course, there’d kind of have to be, or else the title wouldn’t make much sense. Anyway, it seems the creature currently menacing the coastline of Japan is not the same creature as the escaped Frankenstein. The new Frankenstein (called Gailah) is the destructive one, while the one that originally escaped (now called Sanda) tries to stop him. At one point, Tamblyn helpfully explains that human cruelty apparently caused Sanda to lose a piece of his body, which eventually developed into Gailah. “It’s kind of like cloning,” he says, although it sounds more like budding to me. If there’s a subtext here, it’s that the man’s appetite for destruction will only sow more hatred and evil in the world. Needless to say, this development leaves the army at a bit of a loss, since they can’t risk creating more Frankensteins in their efforts to destroy the one they’re facing.

I know what you’re saying- what about the monsters? Well, they’re awesome, in large part because they’re not the godlike creatures you’ll find in many movies of this sort. Gailah is basically an overgrown baby, panicking at the sight of fire or bright light, injuring fairly easily for a being of his size. Meanwhile, while the Japanese army would prefer to simply rid themselves of both Frankensteins, Tamblyn and comely assistant Kumi Mizuno know that Santa is really a gentle soul. In my favorite shot of the film, Sanda slides down a mountain in slow-motion to rescue Mizuno, who he remembers from when he was (much) smaller.

What’s inescapable about the Frankensteins is how clumsy they are. They don’t leap around with a balletic grace, but instead lumber and lurch like, well, Frankenstein’s monster. When they fight, they stomp around, they occasionally miss their punches, they fall with a thud. And of course, they do plenty of damage to the city, both inadvertently and purposely. In the end, they take their battle out to sea, where they are presumed destroyed by the sudden emergence of a massive volcano (a volcano ex machina?). Yet it’s never quite clear if they’ve actually been destroyed. One yearns for a sequel, but alas, it never happened.

War of the Gargantuas has pretty much everything you could want from a Japanese monster movie, and nothing you don’t. There’s very little “human interest” in the movie, aside from a hint of a love story between Tamblyn and Mizuno. Instead, the movie gives you 90 minutes of monster mayhem, army battles, wanton destruction, and stern-faced scientists trying to puzzle out what it all means, all in glorious Tohoscope™ and accompanied by music by the great Akira Ifukube. Yes, it’s formulaic, but when the formula is done this well, it’s churlish to complain. If you like movies like this, War of the Gargantuas should be right up your alley. I know I enjoyed the hell out of it.

~~~~

Beginning this week, I’ve decided to switch the format of my Reviews By Requests columns. Rather than taking suggestions in the comments section, I’m going to start using a poll to determine my next Review By Request. Below, I’ve listed five noteworthy films I haven’t seen. I ask only that you, the readers, choose your favorite from this rather diverse bunch. So, what’ll it be? Andy Warhol’s two-projector art film? Monte Hellmann’s Warren Oates-starring B-movie favorite? Werner Herzog’s early documentary about a blind and deaf woman? The Vincente Minnelli/Rat Pack classic that has lent its name to the blog of Screengrab fave Glenn Kenny? Or Kon Ichikawa’s epic account of the 1964 Olympic Games? It’s up to you:

Which of the following should I review next? | BuzzDash polls

This poll will remain active through Friday, and whichever movie receives the most votes will be my next Review By Request. So feel free to stump for your favorite of the bunch in the comments section below, or even suggest a few titles for the special horror-themed Review By Request that will run the week of Halloween.

Cartoon Fever: The World's Greatest Animated Shorts (Part One)

Andrew Osborne — Thu, 28 Aug 2008 20:00:00 GMT

Last week, it seemed like a good idea to salute The Top 20 Animated Feature Films of all time, which opened a Pandora’s Box of possibilities for this week’s obvious follow-up list: the Greatest Animated SHORTS of all time.

And by “short,” of course, we mean anything from seconds to approximately 40 minutes, which is the length of time when (according to the Academy of Motion Picture Arts and Sciences) a movie officially becomes a feature (which, I suppose, means 1999’s 75-minute Pokémon: The First Movie wasn’t technically a rip-off).

Anyway, as your post host, I should note that most of this week’s Jumbo Shorts list is the work of Screengrabbers Paul Clark and Phil Nugent, who both clearly have a severe case of Cartoon Fever. The condition is highly contagious and not even Acme has a cure, so don’t say we didn’t warn you!

GERTIE THE DINOSAUR (1914)

This film by Winsor McKay, the creator of the comic strip Little Nemo in Slumberland, is sometimes called the first animated short; it isn't, but it may have been the first to demonstrate that an artist with as much skill and imagination as McKay could create a personable animated character that would charm and captivate audiences as well as any live actor. You can see McKay at the start of the film, and that's supposed to be him talking to Gertie in the intertitles: this is the film version of a live vaudeville act he originally did in which he appeared on stage and played ringmaster to Gertie as the film was projected on a screen behind him.

BAMBI MEETS GODZILLA (1969) and ANIJAM (1984)

Marv Newland was a mere stripling of an animation student when he created Bambi Meets Godzilla, an instant midnight classic and, at a minute and a half in length, one of the all-time great one-joke movies. Fifteen years later, Newland had founded the animation production house International Rocketship Ltd. and used his name and contacts to get twenty-two different filmmakers to contribute their talents to Anijam. The animated equivalent of a comics artists' jam or a game of Exquisite Corpse, the film starred a Newland character called Foska; each animator was given the last frame of the sequence created by whichever animator had preceded him (without knowing anything else about what action had come before or would follow), and the requirement that whatever he did with his thirty seconds of film would end with Foska on-screen; aside from those stipulations, they were allowed to go nuts. The results are a ten-minute film festival that serves as a record of what animators around the world were doing at one fertile moment in the history of their art form.

DUCK AMUCK (1953)

In making this list, we might have selected one of any number of Chuck Jones classics. But honestly, Duck Amuck seems the only suitable choice here. For one thing, it’s funny as all get out, with some of Daffy Duck’s best moments. But what makes it stand out from the rest is the way it carries the self-referentiality that’s present in many of Jones’ Looney Tunes shorts to brilliant extremes. From almost the very beginning, the Warner Bros. animators positioned themselves as the irreverent alternative to the Disney juggernaut. And cartoons like Duck Amuck are the reason why: instead of bowling the audience over with virtuoso artistry and emotional appeal, they won our hearts with wit and no small amount of mischief. And nowhere is this more evident than Duck Amuck, which doesn’t simply break the fourth wall, but has the fourth wall reach out and exact brutally funny revenge on the star.

REJECTED (2000)

Nearly half a century after Duck Amuck, big-budget animation has become more popular than ever, with the style perfected by Uncle Walt remaining the dominant formula. But on the fringes of the medium, there are a number of independent animators keeping the old Chuck Jones spirit alive, and foremost among them is Don Hertzfeldt. Combining absurdist humor, low-fi doodles, and occasionally profound insights, Hertzfeldt (still only 32 years old) has amassed a sizable and extremely vocal cult following. Some of us (okay, it was Paul) proposed the idea of including Hertzfeldt’s most recent masterpiece Everything Will Be OK on this list, but we couldn’t bring ourselves to snub Rejected, the film that remains the animator’s most popular and even garnered him an Oscar nomination, quite possibly the coolest move the Academy has made this century. In a way, it’s Duck Amuck in reverse -- whereas Jones’ film was predicated on the idea of the animator subjecting the cartoon to his every whim, Rejected is about the animator losing all control of his creation. Only it’s way funnier than that. Don’t believe us? Once you’ve seen it, we defy you to watch a baby uneasily walk around without thinking of the convulsively hilarious fate that awaits the tyke in Rejected.

STREET OF CROCODILES (1986)

The accepted masterpiece by stop-motion masters the Brothers Quay takes on the task of adapting Bruno Schulz's unadaptable, surreal writing to the screen, pulls it off, and then keeps going until it turns into its own special, unclassifiable thing. To say that it helped create the look we associate with cyberpunk would be to reduce it to a mere style; it'll still be alive and kicking when the hundreds (thousands?) of music videos and TV commercials and God knows what else that have plundered it for its looks have been reduced to period pieces and covered with dust.

Click Here For Part Two, Part Three, Part Four & Part Five

Contributors: Andrew Osborne, Phil Nugent, Paul Clark

Vanishing Act: Savage Steve Holland

Scott Von Doviak — Thu, 22 May 2008 18:30:00 GMT

If you’re not of a certain age, you’ve probably never even heard of Savage Steve Holland – or if you have, you may be under the impression that he was a professional wrestler back in the '80s. Well, you got the right decade: for a little while there, Holland was second only to John Hughes as American cinema’s foremost purveyor of comedic teen angst. I honestly couldn’t tell you whether I’ve seen one of his movies in its entirely (though I’m sure I’ve channel surfed through them hundreds of times), but some people my age still swear by the guy.

An animator who studied at CalArts (and who, according to wikipedia, designed the Whammy on the game show Press Your Luck), Holland’s legacy rests entirely on two movies he made with John Cusack: Better Off Dead (1985) and One Crazy Summer (1986). In the former, Cusack gets dumped by his girlfriend, makes several suicide attempts, then hooks up with a foreign exchange student. In the latter, he’s a cartoonist who spends an eventful summer on Nantucket with the likes of Bobcat Goldthwait, Demi Moore and Curtis “Booger” Armstrong. Neither movie set the box office on fire, but both were cult hits with long afterlives on video and cable, thanks to 80s-style wackiness like Cusack’s creation of a claymation Van Halen hamburger:

Or Bobcat Goldthwait wreaking havoc in a Godzilla costume:

Alas, the magic could not last. Holland’s third directorial effort, 1989’s How I Got Into College (which he did not write), was a certifiable box office bomb, and that was it for Holland’s movie career. He found a niche on television, however, directing episodes of Encyclopedia Brown, Shasta McNasty, Lizzie McGuire, and my one-time late night guilty pleasure, V.I.P. But as Indiana Jones is here to remind us, all things '80s will return to haunt us, and that includes Savage Steve Holland. He has no less than three comeback vehicles in the works: a straight-to-video sequel to Legally Blonde, a National Lampoon movie called Ratko: The Dictator’s Son, and The Big One 3, described by the director as the sort-of third part of the Better Off Dead/One Crazy Summer trilogy. But that’s not all. Holland is attached to yet another project, one that can only be summed up by its three word title:

Howard Stern’s Porky’s.

Didn’t I say something about all things '80s returning to haunt us?

The Screengrab Highlight Reel: May 10-16, 2008

Scott Von Doviak — Fri, 16 May 2008 21:30:00 GMT

Join us if you dare for a disorienting journey of sight and sound we call THE WEEK IN SCREENGRAB!!!

SEE!!! Scarlett Johansson make out with Penelope Cruz for two seconds!

TREMBLE!! Before the might of the Top 12 Tough Jews in Cinema!

MARVEL!! At our prognosticating ability as Speed Racer Bombs! Screengrab Two For Two!

HOWL!!! At our fierce declaration that CGI Must Die!

DESPAIR!!! At the news of the Sequel to Donnie Darko!

REJOICE!!! As Godzilla Turns 50!

RECOIL!!! At the latest entries in the Unwatchable series: the flatulent Track of the Moon Beast, the unspeakable Marci X, and the merely so-so Invasion of the Neptune Men!

BOIL!!! A rabbit, I mean! As we look back at Fatal Attraction!

HURL!!! As you discover Werner Herzog’s Very Bad Idea!

SHAKE!!! And shimmy! As you listen to OST: Run Lola Run!

DRINK!!! Along with Shia LaBeouf!

FEAR!!! The Killer Inside Me!

And finally…did we mention Scarlett Johansson making out with Penelope Cruz? All right, enough of that. Have a good weekend, Screengrabbers and Screengrabettes!

Godzilla at Fifty: PopMatters Blows Out the Candles

Phil Nugent — Tue, 13 May 2008 14:30:00 GMT

PopMatters celebrates Godzilla's fiftieth birthday with a jam-packed "special section" on the radioactive thunder lizard's oevure and cultural legacy. Thomas Molesky and Brian Ruh fill in the historical context; Steven Luc examines Godzilla's ability to be all things to all people; Mark Pyzyk ponders the levels of "self-loathing" that drive audiences to cheer the big fella on as he confounds our military and flattens our cities; Tobias Peterson and Will Harris wonder how he got so cute; Bill Gibron addresses the criticisms leveled by Mystery Science Theater 3000 that "the surly superstar from the land of the rising sun really coasted through a great many of his later films."

In the opening essay, Mike Ward tracks what a long, strange trip it's been through the chronology of Japanese Godzilla films, from the atomic-devastation metaphors of the original Gojira, as hia mama named him, to the self-conscious mythology addressed three decades later in Godzilla 1985, in which Godzilla is compared, by a scientist, to "a living nuclear weapon" and described by reporter "Steve Martin" (Raymond Burr) as nature's way of reminding us "how puny we really are in the face of a tornado, an earthquake, or a Godzilla." Writes Ward: "Maybe in Godzilla's case, overtly stating the theme is the same as contradicting it. If, in his unknowability, Godzilla stands in for the inexpressible horror of the atomic bomb, then expressing this metaphor outright — he's a 'living nuclear weapon' — robs it of its force. This is why mysterious quantities like the Oxygen Destroyer are no longer needed to defeat him. A volcano is now Godzilla's equal; which puts him into a known category, along with tornadoes and earthquakes. Godzilla is just another disaster." With so much to chew on, PopMatters could have been allowed to simply ignore perhaps the biggest disaster ever to tarnish Gojira's name, but instead, Ward addresses it head on, directly and succinctly: "Toho Productions' Godzilla could whip Roland Emmerich's Godzilla back to the Jazz Age."

MTV Movie Awards Continue to Exist

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 07 May 2008 15:00:00 GMT

The ’90s live forever at MTV – in between all the dating and celebreality shows, anyway – so it probably should come as no surprise that the MTV Movie Awards are still in existence, and will be hosted this year by Mike Myers. It sounds like a very 1996 idea to me, but after checking the date on the press release, it appears to be true. Now the nominations have been announced and it’s time for the speculation to begin. Will Shia LaBeouf and Sarah Roemer win Best Kiss for Disturbia, or will those upstarts Briana Evigan and Robert Hoffman from Step Up 2 The Streets pull off an upset? Will McLovin Mania sweep Superbad’s Christopher Mintz-Plasse to the Best Newcomer Prize? And what future classic of cinema will leave with the prestigious Golden Popcorn prize for Best Movie?

In fairness, I dimly recall a time when the MTV Movie Awards were a fun, irreverent alternative to the usual award show pomp. This is a show, after all, that presented both Godzilla and Clint Howard with Lifetime Achievement Awards. A distinguished ceremony during which Will Ferrell once wet his pants. A red carpet extravaganza with a somewhat flexible dress code:

It doesn’t take long for “fun and irreverent” to congeal into “lame and desperate,” however. Last year MTV brought in Survivor producer Mark Burnett to liven things up, but sadly, the nominees were not forced to eat gross food items or vote each other out (which might be a fun twist). Instead, my sources tell me (I was out playing Bingo), the night was basically a repository of cheap rehab jokes about Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan and mind-numbing moments like the awarding of Best Summer Movie You Haven’t Seen Yet to Transformers.

Still, this is a blog for film news, so here is the news. The MTV Movie Awards nominees have been announced. You can find them here if you’re interested. Heck, you can even vote for them if you really care!

Roland Emmerich: Not a Big Wim Wenders Fan

Scott Von Doviak — Wed, 19 Mar 2008 19:00:00 GMT

Say what you will about the 10,000 B.C. director (and we have), but at least the man knows his station in the movie universe. “I'm making movies for the masses,” says Roland Emmerich in a recent interview with The Guardian. “These movies are expensive. A lot of people have to see it, like it and come back. If you start making movies for film critics, you've lost.”

If there’s one thing nobody has ever accused Emmerich of doing, it’s making movies for film critics. But of course, everyone is a critic, including Emmerich’s own mother, who did not particularly care for the director’s breakthrough hit, Universal Soldier. “She was just upset with me that there was so much blood in it - and she was right…I can't say that I like it. But I'm comfortable with it now. When you're not loved by the critics, it's very hard for anyone to say anything good about your movie.”

Although he was a film student in Germany during the heyday of Fassbinder and Wim Wenders, Emmerich doesn’t pretend the New German Cinema was ever an influence on his work (and again, it’s not like anyone is saying otherwise). “Everybody is always so careful about these things. I mean, I'm good friends with Wim Wenders, but it doesn't mean I have to like his movies. Some of them, I like. Most of them, I find boring. And I would tell him that to his face.” We’re still awaiting Wenders’ thoughts on The Patriot and The Day After Tomorrow.

Still, even though he’s always loved the big-budget Hollywood blockbusters that are his bread and butter today, Emmerich would appreciate a little credit for following his own path. “Emmerich has yet to make a sequel or tackle a popular comic-book franchise, preferring instead to collaborate with other writers on his own ideas,” Guardian writer Steven Goldman insists, apparently forgetting that Godzilla was rampaging through Tokyo before Emmerich was born. “Rather than presenting himself as a director for hire, he has increasingly sought to maintain creative control over his own fare by selling his scripts at auction.” You see that, Hollywood? Roland Emmerich doesn’t need your big, dumb ideas! He has plenty of big, dumb ideas of his own!

The Ten Worst Medical Breakthroughs in Movie History, Part 1

Phil Nugent — Thu, 31 Jan 2008 21:30:00 GMT

This weekend marks the opening of The Eye, starring Jessica Alba as a blind young woman who regains her sight thanks to corneal transplant surgery. Unfortunately, this happy situation brings her to grief when her new peepers start feeding her frightening, apocalyptic visions. If the plot sounds familiar, if may be because The Eye is a remake of a 2002 Hong Kong film by the Pang brothers. But it might also have something to do with the fact that, from the 1960 French horror classic Eyes Without a Face to more recent films such as the 1991 Body Parts (itself based on a French novel called Choice Cuts), it's easy to think of other movies where experimental transplant surgery has had unhappy side effects for the lucky beneficiary. (Steven Spielberg's first professional directing gig was "Eyes", one of the segments of the 1969 pilot for the horror anthology series Night Gallery, in which the fates play a cruel joke on a nasty eye transplant patient, played by Joan Crawford.) Although a great many movie doctors have plied their trade wisely and humanely, saving many fake lives in the process, it's still true that there have been a great many ambitious medical breakthroughs in the movies that have yielded questionable results, and worse. To wit:

THE INCREDIBLE TWO-HEADED TRANSPLANT (1971)

Case in point. This low-budget horror movie really nails the potential dangers of reckless and unregulated transplant surgery. Or maybe it really nails the potential dangers of giving Bruce Dern a medical license. Dern plays an unprincipled, deranged — dare we say, Dernesque — mad genius who's squatting out in the desert, idly sticking extra heads on raccoons. When a drooling, murderous sex maniac stops by to ask Dern how's tricks, our hero sees his chance and grafts the head of this leering cretin onto the oversized body of the pure-hearted village half-wit. It turns out that the pervert, by virtue of his stronger will and general alpha maleness, gains control of the shared body, a development that leads to scenes where helpless innocents are killed and molested by the monster, scenes that are intercut with close-ups of the actor playing the meanie resting his head on the shoulder of the actor playing the sweet idiot; the latter moans, rolls his eyes, and generally registers his disapproval, while the former sniggers and makes Billy Idol faces. Dern and his creation are destroyed at the end of the movie, but a year later, some exploitation film scientists who somehow got ahold of his notes grafted Ray Milland's head onto the body of Rosey Grier in The Thing with Two Heads. It can easily be distinguished from this movie because the scientists who perform the operation on Grier and Milland do not have a concerned best friend played by Casey Kasem.

JUNIOR (1994)

For some of us, the disappointments related to this Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle began with the news that he was not playing the Peter Bagge comics character of the same name. Instead, the future Governor of California plays a gynaecological scientist (check) who specializes in fertilization medication (double check) who, in order to draw attention to the effectiveness of his new super-drug, doses himself with progesterone, estrogen, and his own meds, has an egg that's been fertilized with his own sperm implanted in his abdominal cavity, and conceives a child which he then decides to carry to term, because it will make him a better person (with you so far), much as cross-dressing did for Dustin Hoffman. The fellow scientist who anonymously supplies the egg is played by Emma Thompson, who comes to love Arnold and looks forward to raising the child with him — and that's where I get off the boat. It should be noted that Schwarzenegger was not the first man to give birth in a Hollywood comedy; the same thing happened to Billy Crystal in the 1977 Rabbit Test which comprises the entirety of Joan Rivers's directing career. But that movie made no attempt to explain or justify its plot scientifically: Crystal's pregnancy was best explained as a miracle, though Crystal probably thinks that the only miracle related to Rabbit Test is the fact that he was ever able to find work again.

THEY SAVED HITLER’S BRAIN (1963)

If saving the brain of a man widely considered to be history’s greatest monster doesn’t count as the very definition of a bad application of medical technology. Worse still, they don’t just save Hitler’s brain — they save his whole head, so we don’t even get any respite from that annoying push-broom ‘stache of his. No, he just sits there, looking as evil as a stand-in who doesn’t actually look all that much like Hitler can possibly look, burbling around in his jar, waiting for someone to invent Futurama and hatching many a nefarious scheme. By the time this movie came out, Hitler was well on his way to becoming less a sinister historical figure and more of a Dr. Octopus type, a comic-opera supervillain trotted out every time someone wrote a cheap take-over-the-world screenplay. And screenplays don’t come any cheaper than the one in this doozy, which is actually two almost completely unrelated movies (check out the different hairstyles, car models, even film stock from scene to scene) crammed together and broadcast more or less as a TV timefiller in the mid-‘60s. Not since the Golden Age of Ed Wood have there been so many bad special effects, so much terrible acting, so many egregious continuity errors. We here at the Screengrab don’t pretend to be experts on the psychology of Adolf Hitler, and we certainly don’t say this to excuse the man or his lifetime of evil deeds, but we feel quite certain that if someone did bring his head back to life in the confines of an electrified jar, that disembodied, unholy head in a jar could make a better movie than this.

FLATLINERS (1990)

Flatliners was meant to be an intelligent, provocative, moody thriller that blurred the line between good and evil. Unfortunately, they gave it to Joel Schumacher to direct, and so it instead turned out to be yet another object lesson in the ongoing saga of Schumacher’s incredible ability to destroy anything with which he is even remotely involved. In the film, a bunch of medical students decide to take a break from getting drunk and complaining to subject themselves to clinical death in order to determine if stories of what lie beyond the veil of mortality are really true. Each time, they experience more and more of the other side before being resuscitated; and each time, they become whinier and poutier until Kevin Bacon, In his most Judd Nelsonish performance to date, starts bitching and moaning to a stained glass window like it was his mom and it had just told him he was grounded on prom night. Indeed, while the characters in the film channel the eerie experiences of a world beyond death, the actors who play them – including Bacon, Julia Roberts, and a delightfully pissy Kiefer Sutherland – do an amazing job of channeling the relentless unpleasantness of the Brat Pack. We won’t give anything away for those who have yet to see this misbegotten pile of Schumakings, but rest assured, it won’t be long that you’ll be praying for the entire cast to die for real.

UNIVERSAL SOLDIER (1992)

It is a little-known but nonetheless completely true fact that sometime after the Vietnam War, the United States military developed secret technology that would allow them to bring dead people back to life and turn them into ultra-efficient, superhuman robotic killing machines. Unfortunately, the technology only seemed to work on heavily muscled men of northern European origin, which is how we ended up sending both Dolph Lundgren and Jean-Claude Van Damme to the Persian Gulf to blow up terrorists. There were practical reasons not to use these two (they are both terribly bad actors, and at times, the screen threatens to fold in on itself like a quantum singularity at the sheer blankness of their personalities) as well as psychological ones (if you’re going to send two ultra-efficient, superhuman robotic killing machines on a top secret mission together, why would you pick two guys who hated each other so much that they essentially murdered each other the last time they were paired up), but none of that makes any difference when there’s towelhead ass to be kicked, so off they go on one of the most overblown, ridiculous 1980s action movies to not actually be made in the 1980s. Apparently, the medical technology that allows people to be brought back from the dead and turned into murderous cyborgs can do nothing to prevent their tendency to smirk, pose shirtless, and make terrible puns at the drop of a hat, which is probably why the program was ultimately abandoned. This rank cheeseball of a picture was directed by Roland Emmerich, who would later inflict such god-awful stinkbombs as Independence Day and the 1999 Godzilla remake on the world. How anyone could sit through Universal Soldier and come out of it thinking “You know what that guy needs is a MUCH BIGGER BUDGET” is itself a medical miracle.

DEEP BLUE SEA (1999)

Many of the medical breakthroughs on this list are included because they're just plain inexplicable. After all, who in his right mind would think grafting a second head onto a human body constitutes scientific progress? But there is a different strain of movies of this sort, in which the researchers' goals are admirable but the experiments themselves are misguided at best. Perhaps the best example of this kind of movie is Renny Harlin's Deep Blue Sea. Now, anyone who has ever lost a loved one to Alzheimer's Disease will be sympathetic to the aims of the project headed by Saffron Burrows' Dr. Susan McCallister. But when she discovers that sharks maintain a constant level of brain activity even in advanced age, she hits upon the brilliant crazy-ass idea of creating giant mutant sharks with giant mutated brains that she can harvest in the hope of finding a cure. Trouble is, she neglects to give the sharks a healthy, socially productive outlet for their increased mental capacities, no doubt because with all the time her research demands, she has no time left to teach her subjects underwater chess or to translate Proust into shark language. So the giant mutant geniussharks do what giant mutant genius sharks are prone to doing- they escape and chow down on all nearby humans, most memorably the project's chief investor, played by Samuel L. Jackson. Happily, the sharks go down in the end, a setback for Alzheimer's research but a victory for human mental superiority. How else to explain the genius-fish being vanquished by the likes of LL Cool J and the future star of Homeless Dad?

— Paul Clark, Phil Nugent, Leonard Pierce

Click here for Part 2!

Akira Kurosawa Drops the Bomb

Phil Nugent — Wed, 30 Jan 2008 19:00:00 GMT

Everyone knows that Godzilla was, in its original context, a metaphor for the atomic bombs dropped on Japan, and by now a number of commentators have made the leap of seeing Cloverfield, whose advance publicity cited the veteran thunder lizard as some kind of role model, as either addressing or exploiting the memory of 9/11. Actually, American filmmakers have been trying, in one way or another, to deal with 9/11 in movies ranging from Oliver Stone's World Trade Center to Spielberg's The War of the Worlds to such indies as The Great New Wonderful. And Japanese filmmakers, including some of the greatest, took their best shot at dealing with the bomb and its aftermath, often in movies without rubber monster suits. Writing in Slate, Fred Kaplan argues that "If someone should feel compelled to make a film about 9/11 — specifically, about the social and psychic toll that the attacks have and haven't taken — a good model would be Akira Kurosawa's I Live in Fear, a relatively little-known film by perhaps the most revered of all Japanese filmmakers that's just been issued on DVD as part of the Criterion Collection's Eclipse series. The movie stars Toshiro Mifune as an industrialist who becomes obsessed with protecting himself from the bomb and from radioactive fallout. His solution is to sell his company and move himself and his entire family to Brazil — a plan that inspires his three sons to try to get him declared nuts so that they won't lose their share of the family business. (Kurosawa often openly ransacked Shakespeare for his movies, and this thread of the plot suggests King Lear turned inside out for the nuclear age.)

The punchline is that Mifune's character really does go mad and winds up being institutionalized — in response to the shattering realization that even exile to Brazil wouldn't be enough to ensure his safety in the event of a nuclear war. The punchline to the punchline is that, in Kurosawa's vision of "a world in which the most dreadful dangers are shrugged off as routine", the man locked up as crazy is the only one who seems to have trouble simply adjusting to the ever-present danger of being wiped out at the touch of a button. ("Sirens wail in the background all through this film; it's not clear what kinds of sirens [police, ambulance, air-raid drills?], and nobody pays attention anyway." This is, as Kaplan points out, "a rather unsubtle message, but Kurosawa compensates with an understated visual style. According to his autobiography, he started using three cameras around this time, letting them all roll while the actors played the whole scene as if in a stage play, then choosing the best angles in the editing room. It gives the film a documentary feel — many scenes are shot from behind the characters — as if we're peeking in on a slice of life." It also captures something that Kurosawa himself must have felt to the marrow — though he may never have addressed the subject again so explicitly, he was playing with images of nuclear devastation as late as thirty-five years later, in the 1990 Dreams. As it happened, the idea of a man set apart from his society because of his inability to deal with the thought of its destruction turned out to be a pretty good metaphor for the movie itself. Made in 1955, it not only bombed in Japan but didn't play in the American until it was shown at the 1963 New York Film Festival; it received limited U.S. theatrical release in 1967. It was issued on VHS back in 2001, but at no point has it ever — you'll excuse the expression — set the world on fire.

Trailer Review: The Midnight Meat Train

John Constantine — Tue, 29 Jan 2008 23:30:00 GMT

Look at that title. Go ahead, you can laugh. Despite sounding like a budget-rate porno made in 1976, the first impression left by this trailer for The Midnight Meat Train is that Lionsgate is treating us to yet another westernized Japanese horror flick. This is only kind of true. MMT is being directed by Ryuhei Kitamura — Kitamura earned his J-cinema cred making cult fodder like Versus and Godzilla: Final Wars — but it’s actually based on a short story by Clive Barker. Looks like pretty standard stuff: guy uncovers/witnesses bizarre/supernatural killing, nobody believes him, he decides to solve it on his own, things get super scary. What’s interesting about Midnight Meat Train is that it’s got Bradley Cooper in the lead. The thirty-three year-old Cooper has been popping up all over television in the last seven years but has yet to make much of an impact on screen. The thing is, every time he’s played male lead on a show, it’s died. Just look at Kitchen Confidential and the truly awful Jack and Bobby. Somehow I doubt The Midnight Meat Train is going to be his big break.

Note: This is actually the Screengrab's second look at this trailer. You can check out Paul Clark's write up right here.

Attack of the Half-Assed Hollywood Remakes of Asian Horror Movies

Phil Nugent — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 21:00:00 GMT

With the new Hollywood remake of the Pang brothers' The Eye arriving in theaters this coming Friday — and with the new Hollywood remake of Takashi Miike's One Missed Call hustling out to make room for it — Terrence Rafferty ponders this thing called the glut of American remakes of recent Asian horror pictures. (Not everything gets a pithy term around here.) The success of Gore Verbinski's The Ring (based on the Japanese film Ringu, and Takashi Shimizu’s The Grudge, the director's English-language remake of his own Ju-On, guaranteed that there will many more films of this kind, even though, whether taken individually or as a singular continental phenomenon, adapting Asian horror movies for the Hollywood assembly line is a precarious business. Not that there aren't worse ways to go about it: as Rafferty notes, back in "the Stone Age of exploitation-movie history, shrewd Hollywood producers would simply have done what they did with the Japanese monster movies of that era: chop them up, hastily dub them into English and — if the repackagers were feeling particularly frisky — shoot a few minutes of new footage with a minor, familiar and presumably desperate American actor. Say what you will about remakes, they seem, all in all, a better option than Raymond Burr in Godzilla."

What neither remaking or recutting can easily finesse is the special mood — a haunting, eerie gloominess that seems to link a familiarity with ghosts to a lack of faith in any long-term future on this earth — that permeates so many of the original films. When Takashi Shimizu agreed to go through the chore of making Ju-On again — a task that he must have found to be a congenial one, since he's also made sequels to both the Japanese and American versions and is about to bring forth The Grudge 3 — he was canny enough to have Sarah Michelle Gellar, Bill Pullman, Clea DuVall and William Mapother come to Japan, rather than risk trying to make the story's underpinnings take root in, say, Boston. (Rafferty singles out Dark Water starring Jennifer Connelly and directed by Walter Salles, as a rare example of an uprooted Asian ghost story that works rather well in its new setting — a damp, crumbling fortress of an apartment complex on Roosevelt Island.) Then there are the special idiosyncrasies of some of the filmmakers who have been drawn to this material. There has to be an easier way to make a living than trying to render a Takashi Miike screenplay clear and understandable to a mass audience — didn't it ever occur to Eric Valete, the director of the American version of One Missed Call, that he might be happier walking through open fields in Eastern Europe, to see if there were still active land mines in the area? Nor is there any need to translate the remarkable work of the Japanese director Kiyoshi Kurosawa, who is less a formulaic genre filmmaker than a nightmare poet (and a disciple of Val Lewton) working out his own fantasies of isolation and apocalyptic loneliness, into incoherent junk like the recent Pulse, with Kristen Bell.

As for The Eye, Rafferty detects "a half-detectable increase in optimism" in the new version, which means that the haunted quality that makes the original so hard to shake off may have been lost in translation: "That stranger-in-a-strange-land feeling might be induced by, say, the production values of the American version of The Eye, which, in their relative luxuriousness, suggest a happier, more hopeful view of the world than the starker sets of the Pang brothers do; or by the casting of sunny-looking Jessica Alba as the heroine, played in the original by the beautiful but grim-faced Lee Sin-je. The role is essentially the same: A young blind woman has her vision restored by cornea transplants and begins to see, along with the ordinary sights of everyday life, disturbing, unaccountable visions of shadowy afterlives. Ms. Alba looks unpleasantly surprised; Ms. Lee looks shaken to her core (though somehow less surprised)."

Separated at Birth: "Cloverfield" and "Miracle Mile"

Phil Nugent — Mon, 28 Jan 2008 19:00:00 GMT

The apocalyptic monster movie Cloverfield, with its Camcorder-eye view of Manhattan being flattened by an aggrieved, bellowing beastie from the sea, was already well defined in the public mind as "Godzilla meets The Blair Witch Project" long before it opened. It used to be that this kind of mixed-marriage pitch was a staple of Hollywood satire, an easy laugh at the industry's blatant embrace of unoriginality. By now, after a few decades of Entertainment Tonight and Entertainment Weekly teaching lay people to think of movies in terms of grosses and big weekend openings, even ticket buyers are conditioned to think of a movie's resemblance to other movies as some kind of come-on. J. J. Abrams, whose Bad Robot company produced Cloverfield (and who is probably the creator most strongly associated with it, even though he neither wrote nor directed it), has also taken credit, in a roundabout way, for the most striking image featured in its trailer, that of the head of the Statue of Liberty being used as a bowling ball, by saying that he'd always felt gypped that there was no such image in John Carpenter's Escape from New York, even though that movie's poster showed the Statue's head lying discarded in the street. But there's another movie that in its structure bears a striking resemblance to Cloverfield: Miracle Mile, written and directed by Steve De Jarnatt and released to nothing better than mildly cultish appreciation back in 1989. The fact that a moviemaking team that takes so much pride in its influences has not — to my knowledge, anyway — done much to advertise their debt to De Jarnatt's film may indicate that the similarities are coincidental, or it may just prove that nobody wants to brag about building their hit on the bones of an underappreciated, semi-forgotten (and better) picture.

[Please Note: Spoilers to Follow. You have been warned]

CLOVERFIELD: The movie opens with the information that Beth (played by a very pretty young woman) and Rob (played by an even prettier young man) have fallen in love, but due to some miscommunication for which they both may be to blame, they quarrel and split acrimoniously on the evening of Rob's big going-away party. At that ill-timed moment, the apocalypse shows up, in the form of a giant, rampaging monster, and Rob tears through the increasingly chaotic metropolis that is Manhattan in a state of nocturnal panic, to be with the woman he loves. Thanks to his gallant heroism, which is depicted in something close to real time, they manage to reconnect, but an attempt to flee by government helicopter fails. The movie concludes with Beth and Rob dying in the rubble of Central Park, but their end is at least a small triumph of the heart: they have the chance to die together with the words "I love you" on their lips. Immortalized in the home-video footage collected and preserved by the government, they will live on in memory as a testament to the tender emotions of those lost in the monster's attack.

MIRACLE MILE: The movie opens with the information that Harry (played by Anthony Edwards in engaging, likable-geek mode) and Julie (played by Mare Winningham as a lovable geekette) have fallen in love, but Harry is reluctant to tell Julie that he loves her because he has commitment problems. He resolves to take the plunge when he and Julie are set to meet one night, but due to some miscommunication for which a power outage and malfunctioning alarm clock are to blame, he fails to show up. Wandering the nocturnal city alone, Harry learns that the apocalypse is coming in on the next train, in the form of a nuclear attack. Harry tears through the increasingly chaotic metropolis that is Los Angeles in a state of panic, to be with the woman he loves. Thanks to his gallant heroism, which is depicted in something close to real time, they manage to reconnect, but an attempt to flee by government helicopter fails. The movie concludes with Harry and Julie dying in the mire of the La Brea Tar Pits, but their end is at least a small triumph of the heart: they have the chance to die together with the words "I love you" on their lips. Like the dinosaurs, they will join the fossil record, living on in memory as a testament to man's folly.

It goes without saying that the feel and texture of the two movies could hardly be more different, though there are traces in Cloverfield of a yearning to express something close to the romantic sweetness of Miracle Mile; it's outside the movie's range, partly because it would get in the way of the spectacle, partly because the characters lack the individual spark of the people in Miracle Mile. (On the other hand, they also lack the unpolished averageness of the people in The Blair Witch Project, a quality that made it easier to believe that movie might really be a record of something that had happened. If you think that the people onscreen count for more than your taste in gimmickry, Cloverfield is actually more like Godzilla meets Make Me a Supermodel.) It might be nice if some of the attention being paid to Cloverfield could be siphoned off in Miracle Mile's direction, assuming that the clock hasn't already completely run out on Cloverfield's fifteen minutes. Miracle Mile was in some ways its writer-director's real feature debut; the script was named one of the ten best unproduced screenplays by American Film magazine in 1983, the same year that De Jarnatt got his first screen credit for his work on the screenplay of Strange Brew, starring Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas as Bob and Doug Mackenzie. De Jarnatt had sold it to a studio that had no interest in letting him direct it; he was later able to buy it back, after working as a writer and director on the mid-1980s revival of the TV series Alfred Hitchcock Presents and writing and directing the straight-to-cable sci-fi romance Cherry 2000. Since then, he's done a lot of TV, and he had a hand in launching the offbeat horror series American Gothic and Kindred: The Embraced. But in the almost twenty years since Miracle Mile was completed, he hasn't made another movie.

Trailer Roundup: Cloverfield, Definitely Maybe, The Other Boleyn Girl

Peter Smith — Mon, 03 Dec 2007 18:00:00 GMT

Cloverfield

While the 1.18.08 teaser that played before Transformers this past summer appeared to simply be a brilliant piece of viral marketing, it now appears that the project, now titled Cloverfield, will actually be shot largely by characters wielding personal camcorders and camera phones, instead of in a conventional style. Frankly, I'm not sure how I feel about this. On the one hand, I think it's a good idea in theory to make a kind of Godzilla for the YouTube generation. But a movie like this is tricky to pull off. The Blair Witch Project worked because you always got a sense that there were really three people lost in the forest and beset by forces they couldn't explain, but it'll be much harder to get that same vibe with a project this large-scale and effects-intensive. I'm not sure the director of the 1996 David Schwimmer vehicle The Pallbearer is the man for the job. Regardless, I'm curious to find out.

Definitely, Maybe

About the best thing I can say about this trailer is that Ryan Reynolds doesn't look to be as insufferable as he usually is. Plus his three romantic partners — Elizabeth Banks, Rachel Weisz, and Isla Fisher — are all pretty smokin'. But otherwise, gag me. Much of the blame can be placed on little Abigail Breslin, who has taken over the mantle of Hollywood's go-to moppet from Dakota Fanning. Or maybe it's just that the character feels less like a precocious kid than a screenwriter's conception of same, a little girl who gives voice to all the clever, self-aware ideas on the scribe's oh-so-clever mind. How else to explain lines like "what's the male word for slut?" This is the kind of crappy Valentine's Day release that makes me glad to be single. And who signed off on that title?

The Other Boleyn Girl

Okay, who cast this thing? When your least problematic lead is Aussie Eric Bana (Henry the Eighth he ain't, he ain't), you know there's trouble. I'm not sure who's more ill-fitting in this story, emo pixie Natalie Portman as the defiant Anne Boleyn, or princess of pout Scarlett Johansson as her sister Mary. Based on her ignominious work in previous period films, I'm inclined to lean toward Johansson here, but it's a tough call. Either way, couldn't they find two English actresses who (a) suited their roles, and (b) were more convincing as sisters? With Elizabeth: The Golden Age and now this, Hollywood might want to consider laying off the British history for a while, lest our friends across the pond think we've got it in for them.

— Paul Clark