Able Edwards (USA 2004) (4): In the near future the earth’s population is decimated by a “biological contaminant”. The few remaining survivors flee to the safety of a large orbiting space habitat controlled by the powerful Edwards corporation whose charismatic founder Able Edwards, obviously based on Walt Disney, made his fortune creating cute cartoon characters and fantasy theme parks. When the company begins experiencing financial difficulties they decide to clone their namesake in the hopes he can turn things around. They soon find out that the man behind the legends left much to be desired... This movie’s one claim to fame is that it was the first feature to be filmed entirely against a green screen…all the sets and backgrounds either created digitally or lifted from stock photos and tacked on in postproduction. While that may impress some technophiles the film itself is a forgettable rip-off of  Citizen Kane that looks like it was pieced together on a Sony Playstation. The backgrounds are mostly unimpressive (and unconvincing) while the wooden acting fails to deliver any emotional impact. Despite some effective gothic imagery…Edwards' return to his ancestral home is particularly well done…and some nice retro touches that look great in B&W I can’t find much here to recommend. To see this technique used to much greater effect check out  Sky Captain and the World of Tomorrow and give this one a miss.

A Canterbury Tale (UK 1944) (7): At the height of WWII three strangers cross paths in a small English village; an easygoing American soldier, his British counterpart, and a young shop girl assigned to agricultural duty by the home office. Even though they’ve just met it soon becomes apparent they have a few things in common; two are nursing broken hearts while the third still regrets an unrealized childhood dream. Despite the bucolic comforts of their surroundings, this is a village where the realities of war are confined to a troop barracks on the outskirts of town and the occasional childhood game of “soldier”, they nevertheless find themselves drawn to the nearby cathedral in Canterbury where, like the medieval pilgrims in Chaucer’s tales, blessings and a few everyday miracles await them. With it’s unapologetic romanticism and a script that often veers dangerously close to schmaltzy excess there are at least a dozen reasons I should trash this movie. Yet, in spite of these glaring faults, there is a marvelous sense of innocence and wonder here which defies all attempts to discredit it. Perhaps it’s the lyrical cinematography teeming with windswept clouds and sunny fields, or the sympathetic performances that cut through much of the film’s more syrupy elements. The seemingly strict and inflexible nature of a local magistrate provides some astute social criticism, especially when he confesses his own inner fears, and the directors’ attempt to draw comparisons between these modern pilgrims and those of old is intriguing if ultimately weak. A bizarre storyline involving a mysterious man who assaults women by pouring glue on their heads proves to be an unnecessary plot device however and only hampers the film’s pastoral charms. Hard to recommend, but harder yet to simply dismiss. Note: this review is based on the UK version of the film.

The Acid Eaters  (USA 1965) (5):  When the workday is over there's nothing these big-haired office temps like more than to grab their creepy middle-aged boyfriends and hit the road in search of that elusive pyramid of acid-laced Lego blocks. Eschewing repressive societal demands.....like driving on the right side of the road or developing a dramatic narrative.....these rebel receptionists prefer to spend their drug-crazed off-hours painting each other's breasts and faking orgasms. But when they enter the Styrofoam gates of hell and meet Satan himself (in his ill-fitting devil's outfit) the party REALLY gets going. Far out!

Across the Universe  (USA 2007) (8):  What starts out looking like an amateur high school operetta gradually builds into an unexpectedly  mature piece of cinema with strong performances throughout and a soundtrack that makes clever use of all those classic Beatles songs.  The musical numbers may not always work but when they do they are bang on thanks in large part to some dazzling visuals and Taymor’s overall sense of artistic restraint.  No, there are no amazing plot twists and you can guess how it will all end within the first 15 minutes but it’s the journey  itself that is so appealing.  For those who would accuse this film of being shallow and dull, may I remind you of that other musical based on the Beatles’ music, 1978’s vomit-inducing “Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band” featuring the Bee Gees.  ‘Nuff said.

A Day At The Beach (UK 1970) (7): Penned, but not directed, by Roman Polanski and then “lost” in a bureaucratic shuffle, this grim little arthouse oddity sticks with you even though it has not aged well. You know it’s going to be a bad day when Uncle Bernie swings by his brother and sister-in-law’s place to pick up his adorable little niece, Winnie, for a day at the beach. Not only is it pouring rain outside, but he manages to knock back a couple of vodka shooters before the little girl has even put her raincoat on. Stumbling from one seaside tavern to another, Bernie becomes increasingly intoxicated while Winnie tries to eke out what little enjoyment she can, comforting her uncle with a gentle forbearance that goes far beyond her single-digit age. An angry and self-loathing alcoholic, Bernie carries on an internal monologue as grey and cynical as the stormy weather around him. Not content to simply voice his rage to a deserted beach of seagulls and empty cabana chairs he begins to lash out at anyone who crosses his path, from a crusty old beach vendor to a soft-spoken gay cougar (Peter Sellers in an eye-popping cameo). Even a chance encounter with an old friend, now married and gainfully employed, turns into an afternoon of binge drinking and listless cheating. But as night descends and the shop lights wink out, Bernie’s self-destructive odyssey reaches its inevitable conclusion leaving a frightened Winnie cold and bewildered. In the role of Bernie, the late Mark Burns turns in a phenomenal performance as a man whose demons tarnish everything he touches. Although his character is a loud-mouthed intellectual prick he nevertheless manages to elicit some degree of sympathy even if it’s only a sense of sadness over a life wasted. But it is the diminutive Beatrice Eddy as Winnie who carries the most weight. Seeing everything, yet judging no one, her unaffected innocence and childish wisdom provide a beautiful counterpoint to the film’s glaring nihilism. Lastly, Taylor’s widescreen shots of bleak seascapes and slate-coloured clouds are balanced by a melancholic, almost wistful, score of flutes and harpsichord. But, although it aims for social realism the film often lapses into dramatic overkill thick with angry shouting and jarring close-ups that threaten to alienate an audience already averse to its bridge-burning protagonist. And what’s with the Danish signage in a supposedly English seaside resort? Vague artsiness? Deliberate quirkiness? Or cheaper production costs?

The Decameron (Italy 1971) (7): Based on the 14th century writings of Boccaccio this series of ribald tales is crammed full of lusty nuns, murderous saints and adulterous housewives, all tied together with director Pier Paolo Pasolini's signature penchant for the scatological and the blasphemous. But, like an Italian take on "The Canterbury Tales", there is a finely honed satire at work beneath all the tasteless jokes and ample nudity. Pasolini's cast of unwashed amateurs lend an air of authenticity to the period sets, looking as if they just stepped out of Boccaccio's manuscript with all their warts and rotten teeth intact. Not for those with delicate sensibilities.

A Dirty Shame  (USA 2004) (6):  It's a film about sex addicts that take over a sedate Baltimore neighbourhood. It stars Mink Stole and Johnny Knoxville (as the charismatic sex guru with the golden tongue). There's a cameo by David Hassellhoff taking a poop. It's directed by John Waters. That's really all you need to know. Choose wisely.

A Free Soul (USA 1931) (5): Jan Ashe, attractive debutante and daughter to celebrated lawyer Stephen Ashe whose career is on a downhill slide thanks to rampant alcoholism, is engaged to be married to Dwight Winthrop, a man even wimpier than his name (did Leslie Howard ever play anything but spineless mouseburgers?) Enter the criminally dashing Ace Wilfong (Clark Gable, oh swoon!), a notorious racketeer being defended against murder charges by Ashe Sr. When society deb and rakish mobster lock gazes it’s lust at first sight as Jan turns her back on all things decent in order to enjoy Wilfong’s indecent attentions, much to her class-conscious father’s horror. It isn’t long however before Jan’s walk on the wild side begins to take its toll. With Wilfong’s increasing possessiveness threatening to destroy her nice girl image and her mortified father crawling further into the bottle Jan strikes a bargain with the old man; she’ll give up her Ace in the hole if he’ll stay on the wagon. But can father and daughter overcome their individual addictions or will vodka martinis and freaky gangster sex prove too alluring? And what of Dwight, Jan’s milky former fiancé? Will he sit idly by while the girl of his prim and proper dreams is transformed into some ruffian’s sluttish moll? With a stellar cast rounded out by Norma Shearer and Lionel Barrymore I expected more but aside from some implied raciness this is pretty standard melodramatic fare with all the usual ingredients; fallen woman, guilt-addled parent, and one erotically-charged bad boy who, if this were filmed today, would probably be cast as a sexy misunderstood vampire.

The African Queen (USA 1951) (8): In east Africa, circa 1914, a somewhat priggish missionary and her equally dour minister brother have devoted their lives to converting the local natives. Unfortunately WWI is looming on the horizon and their backwater idyll is soon beset upon by the advancing German infantry who leave a swath of devastation and burning villages in their wake. With her brother dead and the locals rounded up for military duty Rose Sayer has no choice but to escape downriver with Chris Allnut, the scruffy yet amiable captain of a ramshackle steamboat. Braving rapids, wild animals and sniper attacks they not only hatch an ingenious scheme to thwart the German high command but slowly discover they like each other more than they thought. Unique for it’s use of actual African locations (though much filming was also done on British sound stages) this is one of Hollywood’s most iconic romantic adventure stories. If the plot is somewhat facile and the ending wholly contrived, director John Huston more than makes up for it with gorgeous technicolour cinematography and a brilliant script by the late James Agee. Furthermore, the combined star power of Katherine Hepburn and Humphrey Bogart ensures The African Queen a permanent place in the realm of cinema classics.

After the Wedding (Denmark 2006) (6): Jacob, a Danish man running an orphanage in India, is promised a large donation from a wealthy businessman providing he returns to Denmark to receive it personally. Upon his arrival the tycoon invites him to his daughter’s wedding and before you can say “Skoal” skeletons begin flying out of closets and hidden agendas are laid bare. Jacob is disgusted by the lies and subterfuge he encounters but before he can return to India the businessman makes him one final offer he can’t refuse... Bier deftly contrasts the material poverty of an Indian slum with the emotional poverty of an upper class family half a world away. She doesn’t judge her characters too harshly, after all everyone has a reason for being dishonest, but neither does she excuse them. In the end we are left watching a group of bumbling adults tripping over their own good intentions as they try to make peace with one another. There is a good premise here and some good performances. Furthermore the camerawork has a refreshingly natural feel to it that gives the story a sense of immediacy. I also appreciated Bier’s occasional use of wry humour…..the drunken billionaire sitting in his office surrounded by trophy heads was especially effective. Unfortunately she asks us to accept too much on faith…..some aspects of the story are not credible and some of the “coincidences” are a bit contrived. She puts too much on one plate when a minimalist approach would have proven more effective. Alas, this is the type of crowd-pleasing soap opera that is always credited with being far more profound than it really is.

The Age of Stupid (UK 2009) (8): Set on a pollution-ravaged Earth circa 2065 this quasi-documentary/sci-fi hybrid stars Pete Postlethwaite as the embittered curator of the "Global Archives"; a stronghold off the coast of Norway built to house the last remnants of terrestrial life as well as the bulk of human knowledge. Looking back on the "Age of Stupid" (1950 - present) he pieces together what led up to the world's ecological and social collapse; a mixture of short-sightedness, corporate greed and unchecked consumerism. In the words of one 80-year old mountain guide, filmed as he gazed upon a shrinking glacier, “We knew how to profit but not how to protect...” A winning combination of actual news and documentary footage coupled with comic book effects which, unfortunately, will only be seen by those who already believe its dire message. Unsettling.

Agnes and His Brothers (Germany 2004) (6):  Oskar Roehler’s overly ambitious family drama follows the separate stories of three adult siblings from the highly dysfunctional Tschirner clan.  Eldest brother Werner, a successful politician, is slowly going mad thanks in large part to his emotionally frigid wife and loveless marriage.  To make matters worse his snotty son, who seems uncomfortably close to mom, is not only videotaping his mental unraveling but growing a healthy crop of pot in the couple’s front yard to boot.  Middle brother Hans-Jörg is an alcoholic sex addict and chronic masturbator whose monomaniacal obsession with women causes him to lose his job, his dignity, and  quite possibly his sanity.  Lastly there is little brother “Agnes”, now a marginalized transsexual involved in a violent relationship who may or may not be harbouring a traumatic secret from her childhood.  Their unhappy adulthoods seem to be related to their slovenly hippy of a father and his child-rearing practices which left much to be desired.  With resentments all around and tensions becoming unbearable, the only pressing question is who will snap first.  This is a dark bit of filmmaking whose occasional flashes of weak sunlight do little to dispel the gloom.  Although the main performances are uniformly excellent the script is woefully short on substance, as if loud histrionics and thumbnail characterizations should be enough to carry us along.  Roehler asks us to fill in too many narrative gaps and leaves the role of the father, which is pivotal to an understanding of the story, weak and poorly developed.  Furthermore, the siblings’ unique tales fail to overlap but run parallel to each other instead.  This lack of a group dynamic robs the film of much of its power and leaves the characters' final scenes, involving tragedy, hope, and reconciliation, flat and unmoving.  Agnes fails to earn the dramatic impact it was aiming for, leaving us with little more than a handsome ragbag of missed potential.  Nice soundtrack though.

Alien Vs. Predator Requiem (USA 2007) (3):  When a mob of fertile Aliens go tusk to tusk with one very pissed off Predator in a small Colorado town (apparently located just outside of Vancouver) the local townsfolk wind up with two new career options......egg basket or lunch.  There are so many awful things about this film that it is easier to list the things I actually liked:  some of the creature effects were cool, the exploding heads were funny, and the “maternity ward massacre” was just plain wrong on so many levels.  Lastly, despite all the hype on the box the gore factor in this “unrated” version was not only disappointingly tame but poorly lit as well.  A real cinematic stink bomb.

A Little Princess (USA 1995) (6): It’s 1914 and ten-year-old Sara lives on a lavish Indian estate with her widowed father, the dashing army officer and wealthy entrepreneur Captain Crewe. When the captain is called to Europe to fight in the great war he sends his daughter to the exclusive “Miss Minchin’s Seminary for Girls” in New York City; an opulent boarding school run by a dour old spinster with no time for Sara’s romantic notions of magic and make-believe. Despite their stern headmistress it isn’t long before she has the other girls caught up in her colourful stories, even Becky the little black servant who lives in the attic finds some degree of solace in Sara’s fiery accounts of Prince Rama and his lover Sita. But when Captain Crewe is killed in action and the British government seizes his properties little Sara suddenly finds herself alone and penniless. Reduced to the level of scullery maid in order to pay for her keep, she soon gives in to despair despite a growing friendship with Becky. There is magic in the air however, and Sara quickly discovers that the world is every bit as wonderful and mysterious as she once imagined. With it’s glorious fairytale cinematography and evocative soundtrack of children’s choral music Princess is sure to enchant little girls everywhere; I even found my own cynical old eyes growing a bit misty towards the end. Still, it’s one thing to be gently manipulated by a director, and quite another to be gripped in a headlock and beaten with fairy wings and pixie dust. In the end, the film’s cloying mix of wistful close-ups and syrupy performances proved to be too much for me. If I had only been a few decades younger...

All That Heaven Allows  (USA 1955) (8):  Pretty controversial for its time, this film by Douglas Sirk revolves around a mature woman who falls in love with a much younger man.  It proves to be yet another magnificent over-the-top technicolour melodrama from the master of the genre. As always the pretty colours and beautiful white people are merely props used to illustrate darker truths......middle class conformity, xenophobia, materialism, alienation, and the social isolation that awaits those who dare to think outside the pack mentality. Don't dismiss this film based on its soap opera appearance.....it's a bitter pill wrapped with a candy coating.

An American in Paris (USA 1951) (6): An ex-GI decides to follow his dream of becoming a famous artist while living in the fabled City of Lights. Along the way he is wooed by a rich cougar, falls in love with his friend’s fiancee, and finds ample opportunities to sing and dance. This is certainly a technicolor delight filled with postcard cinematography and a famous soundtrack of hummable Gershwin tunes. Some highlights include a one-man orchestra performance by Oscar Levant, a sequence of whirling solos by Leslie Caron, and an extended dance routine played out against vibrant cardboard cut-outs of Paris complete with misty fountains and glowing archways. Unfortunately it soon becomes apparent that Caron and Kelly are performers, not actors. While the choreography is technically on the mark and the vocals are pitch-perfect, there is no chemistry between the two leads and therefore no depth to the story itself. Their tearful romance is little more than a colourful prop meant to bridge the gaps between song and dance numbers. Worth a look, but file it under “light entertainment”.

The Angry Red Planet (USA 1959) (2): Retro sci-fi for people who know jack shit about science fiction. Absolutely awful story of the first manned trip to Mars where three virile astronauts and one token female scientist (who also doubles as nurse and housewife...I guess her PhD simply stands for Pretty Hot Dame) must face down a giant rat-spider with lobster claws, a carnivorous play-doh bush and a huge "bacterium" filled with psychedelic scrub brushes. Presented through the miracle of "CineMagic" which simply means actors are filmed in a monochromatic shade of lurid crimson as they cavort in front of cheesy painted backgrounds (I've seen better artwork taped to refrigerator doors). And of course it ends with the cliched “Earthlings beware...” speech delivered by some rather uppity Martians resembling three-eyed samurai grasshoppers. It’s enough to make Ed Wood lose his lunch. (Score 2/10 for sheer campiness and some atmospheric music).

The Antichrist (Italy 1974) (4):  Poor little Ippolita; as if being confined to a wheelchair is not bad enough, her father’s impending marriage is now throwing her Electra complex into a tailspin.  But when she wakes up one morning with a frog in her throat and goat on her breath all hell breaks loose...  This little Italian cheese ball manages to be bad in so many awful and imaginative ways that it would be a shame to simply dismiss it as another “Exorcist” rip-off.  The dinner scene is priceless and the final exorcism deserves a very special Oscar all its own (keep an eye out for the black clad stagehands crouching behind the dresser as its drawers “mysteriously” pop out).  Put this one on your cult classics list

Apartment Zero (UK 1988) (8): Adrian LeDuc is an introverted neurotic living in Buenos Aires who divides his time between managing a ramshackle repertory cinema and an equally ramshackle residential complex filled with delightful eccentrics. Shunning all human contact during his off-hours, he retreats to his dingy apartment where he finds some degree of solace amongst the movie posters and framed photos of dead matinee idols which adorn the walls. With his mentally ill mother locked away in a sanitarium and theatre revenues taking a nosedive he is eventually forced to seek a roommate in order to cut costs. After interviewing a string of increasingly bizarre applicants he eventually settles for a darkly handsome American expat. Jack seems to be Adrian’s opposite in every way; he’s outgoing, bold, and has no problem voicing an opinion; but behind the smoldering eyes and vaguely threatening smirk there is an unsettling intensity that hints of unspoken secrets. Donovan wastes no time ratcheting up the homoerotic tension as Adrian begins to obsess over his new lodger. At first content to simply do his laundry and make him breakfast every morning, Adrian gradually begins to question Jack’s suspicious behaviour especially after a series of mysterious murders begin to rock the city… Colin Firth brings a manic energy to the role of Adrian, a man who seems to have trouble distinguishing reality from a movie script. Indeed, there is a definite aura of Hollywood artifice to the entire film with its beautifully overdone dramatics and noirish dialogue. With Apartment Zero Donovan first delivers a winning combination of cerebral humour, ambiguous sexuality and paranoid suspense which makes full use of the subdued lighting and cleverly placed movie memorabilia. He then executes a brilliant segue from camp mystery to psychological horror before bringing it all to a suitably outrageous ending. A dark and disturbing treat.

The Art of Love (France 1983) (1): The final instalment in Borowczyk’s “Immoral Trilogy” and supposedly based on the work of Ovid. It is 8 A.D. and in one wealthy Roman household it’s adulterous liaisons and tepid orgies all around. Before the day is over a tumescent statue will receive some oral service, a man in bull drag will mate with an ersatz cow and a lethargic maiden will loll about in a fish tank with all the erotic conviction of someone who’s just fallen into a toilet. From the ludicrous script (badly dubbed) to the glaring soundtrack of singing centurions and disco muzak there is nothing even remotely titillating going on here. And, as a final insult to his audience, Borowczyk ends this gobbler with one of the lamest “twists” I’ve seen in some time. It’s a good thing Ovid is already dead because this turd sandwich would have killed him for sure.

The Ascent (Russia 1977) (9): As the film begins we are faced with an arctic vista of sleet and ice when suddenly, out of a snowbank, a ragtag group of Russian partisans slowly rise like dispirited wraiths amongst the bare trees and frozen earth. Thus begins Larisa Shepitko’s grueling story of two soldiers struggling to stay alive in WWII Russia while still remaining true to their principles. The two men, Kolya and Sotnikov, are sent on a quest by the partisan commander to try and procure much needed food and supplies for the suffering troop. Their journey quickly becomes an odyssey as they encounter the many faces of war; from an elderly collaborator to a struggling widow with three young children to feed. But it is when they are captured by German forces that they face their greatest challenge in the form of a Russian Nazi interrogator who offers them life in exchange for denouncing their beliefs and betraying their comrades. As one man steadfastly refuses to break faith with his cause, even unto death, the other begins to waiver in his convictions, terrified at the prospect of torture and execution. This is when the film takes an unexpected spiritual turn as events in the German detention centre begin to mirror the Passion of Christ complete with temptations, betrayals, and the long march to Calvary. Rife with religious imagery played out against bleak winter landscapes, Shepitko uses B&W cinematography to wring every nuance out of a fall of snow or a trembling shadow. She shifts effortlessly between a handheld verité style and long dreamlike passages which are visually arresting yet do not weaken the film’s underlying gravity. The final scenes of salvation and damnation are delivered with such overpowering intensity I was tempted to hit the pause button just to catch my breath. A classic whose influence can be seen in later films such as Come and See and Aleksei German’s The Last Train.

A Star is Born  (USA 1976) (2):  Truly one of the great bad movies from the 70's. With its cornball script and awful soundtrack (I've heard supermarket muzak with more energy) it never misses an opportunity to appall. Streisand delivers her lines as if she were the only person in the room and Kristofferson just looks bored. Mind you, anyone who could actually do a passionate love scene with Babs without losing his lunch deserves not only an Oscar but a purple heart as well. Yecch!

Audrey Rose (USA 1977) (3):  John Beck’s gorgeous blue eyes and tight butt are the main attractions in this tepid spin on an “Exorcist” theme in which the only mystery is not the existence of reincarnation but rather how a group of seasoned actors managed to wade through such a corny script without giggling.  The story opens with little Audrey Rose dying in a fiery car crash.  Cut to Manhattan 11 years later where Ivy, the googly-eyed daughter of  upper-class parents, is having disturbing nightmares of being burned alive.  When Audrey’s dad (a distracted Anthony Hopkins) shows up on the scene claiming Ivy is really his reincarnated daughter and demanding visitation rights all hell should break loose.  But it doesn’t.  What follows is a lot of spiritual mumbo-jumbo, 70’s style, culminating in a ludicrous court trial and an ending that is unexpectedly bleak though equally ludicrous.  The director could at least have had Beck take his shirt off just once, dammit...

Au Revoir Les Enfants  (France 1988 ) (9):  In WWII France a privileged young boy becomes separated from his classmates during a school outing. He suddenly realizes that outside the walls of his comfortable Catholic boarding school lies a dark and threatening forest filled with wild animals.....some of which walk on two legs. This is perhaps the defining scene in Louis Malle's beautifully understated opus about the loss of childhood innocence amidst the horrors of war. Malle imbues his film with a sense of tragic irony.....children play silly war-like games while real atrocities occur a few miles away; images of Christ and the Virgin look down helplessly upon scenes of petty theft and everyday cruelty; and betrayal comes in the form of an innocent glance. A sad, gentle film free of artifice and bombast, which makes the final farewell all the more tragic.

Autopsy (USA 2008) (2): Part of the After Dark Horrorfest’s 8 Films to Die For this little stink bomb has neither the wit nor the humour to raise it above the level of juvenile trash. A car load of hysterical teenage archetypes end up in a creepy hospital run by a staff of kooky horror film clichés who view their patients as being somewhat less than the sum of their parts. Here they must endure the usual cheap shocks and gratuitous gore until the only one left standing is the one you predicted would survive at the film's outset. The carnage is about what you’d expect although the “hanging guts” scene had a certain nasty charm and the “girl gone wild” twist at the end was mercifully brief. Has the genre really sunk this low?

A Warm December (USA 1973) (7): While vacationing in London with his overly-precious (and overly-coiffed) daughter, a recently widowed American doctor becomes smitten with the beautiful vivacious niece of a visiting African diplomat and before you can say “emerging third world economy” she’s seeing stars & stripes while he explores her dark continent. But alas, fate is not kind to these two lovebirds for it seems the young woman is harboring a terrible secret which threatens their romance before it can even begin. With its soundtrack of sentimental muzak and cloying camerawork that never misses an opportunity to remind us of how sad we’re going to feel at the end, this is the kind of cliché-riddled weeper that usually has me growing new sets of fangs and claws. So why the relatively high score? Chemistry! As the star-crossed lovers Esther Anderson and Sidney Poitier (who also directed) are the epitome of class and sophistication. They take a pretty generic script and inject it with enough flair and sincerity to make all but the most jaded moviegoer reach for the kleenex box or, as in my case, at least mark its location. Without their powerful onscreen presence, December would be nothing more than Love Story with an afro.

Away From Her (Canada 2006) (8):  A soft, gentle film about a couple coming undone due to Alzheimer’s disease.  As Grant enters his autumn years, Fiona slowly retreats into an eternal springtime of sunshine and fading memories.  Pinsent plays the husband with great restraint, often using nothing more than a glance to convey the depths of the man’s despair while Christie brings a sense of graceful dignity to Fiona, holding her head high even as she fades away.  But it is Dukakis’ crusty yet practical Marian that keeps the film firmly anchored and prevents it from slipping into maudlin sentimentality.  Polley accents the film with subtle shifts of timelines, a keen eye for visuals....blue shadows in a wintry wood, delicate wildflowers covered in frost.....and a few sly elements of pure Canadiana that let you know this film belongs north of the 49th.  A remarkable achievement.

A Woman Under the Influence  (USA 1974) (9):  How can a person function in a society where the rules of proper behaviour often appear mystifying and at odds with one another?  How can a person function in a relationship filled with double bind messages and contradictory demands?  Rowlands brings a tragic authenticity to her portrayal of the beleaguered Mabel, trying in vain to juggle all the various roles expected of her and receiving nothing but criticism and scornful stares in return.  Falk excels as the boorish husband.....at once denouncing Mabel’s bizarre behaviour and yet secretly encouraging it.  Cassavetes deftly moves his characters towards a painful finale that practically explodes with suppressed rage....and then ends the film with a sadly ironic scene of domestic banality.  An American masterpiece that is perhaps more relevant today than it was 30 years ago.

The Baba Best of Baba Alla (Russia 2006) (2): With her toothless grimace, sagging breasts and fat unwiped ass, Baba Alla has certainly earned the title of world’s oldest and ugliest whore. In Yakov Levi’s collection of juvenile short films we see the shambling grotesque as she squeezes her fungus-yellowed toes into a pair of disco pumps, waves a crusted feminine pad at passing teenagers, and cleans cockroaches out of her vagina with a toilet brush. Aided by Penisella (the chick with a dick) and Dinkerbell the Cock Fairy, Levi’s theatre of disgust is a mostly unfunny mishmash of flabby guts, tonsillar close-ups and grossly exaggerated faux cumshots which make the works of John Waters seem like pure genius. Add to that a pair of completely gratuitous asides involving haunted matroshka dolls and a trio of busty co-eds who raise the ghost of the Marquis de Sade and you are left with two good laughs, a few groans, and a whole lot of blank staring.

Baby Blood (France 1990) (5):  When a malevolent pork sausage makes a home for itself in an unsuspecting woman’s uterus, “female empowerment” takes on a whole new meaning in this French splatter film.  It isn’t long before the little cocktail weenie has her chugging back the gallons of fresh human blood it needs in order to survive and grow into the  big bad monster it always wanted to be...think of a phlegmy calzone designed by H. P. Lovecraft.  Despite the poor editing, bad performances, and lackluster script there are still some admirable elements here.  For one thing, the ongoing telepathic dialogue between woman and worm has a certain wry wit to it and some of the underlying humour manages to hit the mark, although the sandwich board advertising “Baby Blood 2” was a bit obvious.  Lastly, the gore effects are a pretty cool mixture of George Romero and Monty Python.  I’ve seen worse.

The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer (USA 1947) (7): Buoyed by an Oscar-winning screenplay and an all-star cast (Cary Grant, Myrna Loy, Shirley Temple) this screwball comedy of misunderstandings and misplaced affections is sure to make you smile, if not exactly laugh out loud. When a roguish artist is put in a precarious position by a lovestruck teenager her older sister, a circuit court judge, makes him an offer he can't refuse; pretend to date the young girl until she can get over her infatuation or else face a number of trumped up charges. Things get complicated however when the judge begins to have romantic feelings of her own and her wannabe boyfriend, an assistant D.A., decides enough is enough. A final showdown in a swank nightclub involving shouting matches and birthday cakes is truly funny!

Baron Blood  (Italy 1972) (2):  A little slice of fromage from Mario Bava about a stupid tourist visiting the family estate in Austria who unwittingly raises his evil ancestor from the dead.  Naturally the reanimated Baron goes on a killing spree and it’s up to the idiot and his bimbo sidekick to have him put down....again. I remember seeing this film as a child and it scared the HELL out of me.  Thirty-five years later and it all looks so corny.....from the uneven editing and poor continuity (it’s daytime.... no, it’s nighttime ....no wait, it’s daytime) to the awful acting and mediocre effects nothing seems to work.  Add to that a paint-by-number script and a musical score that sounds like it belongs in a stag film and you have all the makings of a bad movie.  Sadly, it’s not quite bad enough to be good.

Battle in Heaven (Mexico 2005) (5): Pudgy, middle-aged chauffeur Marcos has a few things on his mind. Not only is he having an affair with Ana, his wealthy employer’s rebellious daughter, but he and his wife have accidentally killed their friend’s baby in a botched kidnapping attempt; a murder he casually mentions to Ana one day while visiting her at the brothel where she moonlights as a prostitute. With his wife urging him to keep his mouth shut and his young lover insisting he turn himself in, a moral tug-of-war takes place in Marcos’ head with a guilty conscience waging war against self-preservation. His inner turmoil begins to colour the world around him as Mexico City suddenly teems with portentous images both sacred and grotesque; an impatient mother manhandles her child, a procession of pilgrims file past singing hymns, and a subway passenger sports a devilish mask. Things finally come to a head inside a suitably grand cathedral as Marcos makes his ultimate decision... Reygadas’ strange aesthetic (a poor attempt to emulate Gus van Sant?) is evident in every frame of this bombastic mishmash of half-baked ideas; there are long takes including a 360° pan off a balcony, annoying sound effects with ticking clocks and oddly placed classical music figuring prominently, and some explicitly carnal non-sequiturs featuring chubby bums and sweaty genitals. Images of conflict abound, whether its a cadre of armed guards or a spirited soccer game, and there are more than a few subtle digs at both religious fervour and blind nationalism. The overall effect may be disquieting but any attempts at achieving greater depth are ruined by the flat and lifeless performances of his hopelessly amateur cast. Despite its grandiose title and some dazzling visuals, Battle in Heaven comes across as an experimental film gone terribly awry. Shallow, indulgent and emotionally sterile.

Becket (UK 1964) (6):  Lackluster historical soap opera recounting the tempestuous relationship between Henry II and Thomas Becket.  Gross historical inaccuracies and artistic license aside, the film is just plain dull.  Burton delivers his lines in a flat monotone as if he were nursing a perpetual hangover (which he probably was), and O’Toole portrays the young king as if he were a bitchy old queen.....although he would do a better job of it a few years later in “The Lion In Winter”.  The rest of the talented cast is pretty much wasted, except for John Gielgud’s feisty turn as King Louis of France.  Even though some of the sets are impressive and the cinematography appropriately grandiose it was still a royal letdown.

Beefcake (USA 1999) (6): Want to see what your bachelor uncle used to look at behind a locked bathroom door back before you were born? "Beefcake" is an occasionally funny, always campy look at the heyday of the "physique" magazine, those softcore, homoerotic publications that claimed to be nothing more than manuals for fitness fanatics. The performances are generally convincing, the guys are easy on the eyes and the clever melding of old B&W stock footage with the contemporary actors is almost seamless. Unfortunately it suffers from a great deal of uneven editing and the talking head cameos seem superfluous. A good effort that doesn't quite hit the mark.

Before Night Falls (USA 2000) (7): Schnabel’s ambitious biopic traces the life of Cuban poet Reinaldo Arenas from the dire poverty of his early years in Cuba to the dire poverty of his final years in America. Born into a household of “unhappy women”, the young Reinaldo quickly learned to equate having nothing with having absolute freedom. Chastised by his grandfather for writing poetry and seeing no hope for gainful employment in his future, the young writer ran off to join the revolution at the age of fifteen. After Castro came into power Arenas, like his fellow writers, enjoyed a brief revival of the arts before the new government clamped down on certain key freedoms. “People who make art are dangerous to any dictatorship...” states his benefactor at one point, “...artists are escapists and therefore counter-revolutionaries.” Jailed for his defiance of Castro’s regime and harassed for his homosexuality, Reinaldo spent a year in one of Cuba’s most notorious prisons before finally receiving permission to emigrate to the United States, along with Cuba’s other “undesirables”. In the meantime his major oeuvre, written while incarcerated and smuggled out chapter by chapter, won a prestigious literary award in Europe. Schnabel’s film is saturated with brilliant colours and a mesmerizing score composed of classical piano, mellow strings and hot Latin beats. He combines straightforward narrative with languorous passages of visual poetry which takes the viewer from sun-washed beaches to the dimly lit filth of a stone cell to a freezing tenement in New York. Using old newsreels and contemporary Mexican locations, he recreates post-revolutionary Cuba and shows it to be a contradictory mix of kinetic energy and spiritual torpor laced with an edgy sexuality. Being openly gay, it seems, was both an attempt to integrate into the fledgling society and an act of political defiance which was not limited to those living on the fringe as a naked nighttime romp with a cadre of horny soldiers attests. Unfortunately, the last half of the film gets stalled by repetitious scenes and a final coda that seems to go on far longer than it should. Furthermore, although Javier Bardem’s powerhouse performance shines throughout, the bizarre cameos by Sean Penn and Johnny Depp come across as superfluous and gimmicky. Despite its flaws, Before Night Falls remains an honest and respectful tribute.

Before the Rain (Macedonia 1994) (7):  A young monk undergoes a crisis of faith when a Moslem girl, wanted for murder, seeks refuge in his cell.  A married woman must make a painful decision whether to continue her comfortable existence in London or follow Aleksander, her Macedonian lover, back to his homeland.  Her lover, meanwhile, seeking a return to a simpler past finds the village he grew up in transformed by ethnic hatred into something terrible.  These are the stories that make up Manchevski’s circular triptych on the many casualties of war in which blood begets blood, brother turns against brother and the innocent are often caught in the crosshairs.  As a successful photojournalist Aleksander traveled the globe documenting the horrors man inflicts upon his fellow man.  But when the violence comes to his doorstep he realizes that there is no such thing as a neutral observer and his silence equals tacit consent.  Manchevski presents us with a parched desert landscape where goodness is often overwhelmed by vindictiveness and a simple gesture of compassion can lead to tragedy.  When the rain finally does come however, it is not the healing shower we expect but rather a torrent of bitter tears.  Before the Rain is visually gorgeous employing a series of highly stylized painterly tableaux that seem almost impressionistic.  Some scenes are perhaps a bit too composed, as if the film were staggering under the weight of its own portents, and the use of narrative symmetry, wherein certain lines and situations are repeated, seems forced at times.  Still a beautiful and heartfelt work that deserves to be seen...and heard; the music is wonderful.

Begotten (USA 1989) (3): Christianity and paganism go mud wrestling as E. Elias Merhige shits out his very own Creation Myth and presents it in glorious monochromatic Snuff-O-Rama. Opening with a sombre warning advising “language bearers, photographers and diary makers” to forsake their “frozen memories” and pay heed to the “incantation of matter” (translation: if you don’t understand my film it’s because I’m way too clever for you) we see a bound and hooded creature spastically disembowel itself; according to the closing credits, God has just committed suicide. But from the dripping offal emerges Mother Earth, suitably clad in a Lone Ranger mask and hula skirt. Digitally inseminating herself from Jehovah’s phallus (ewww!) she proceeds to give birth to a writhing humanoid who is immediately beset upon by a group of cowled savages. And the evening and the morning are the second day. On the third day mother and son are both subjected to all sorts of poorly focused atrocities with a salacious emphasis on genital mutilation and dismemberment eventually leading to a montage of seedlings emerging from the ground; the earth is reborn. Merhige uses a series of post production techniques which not only give the film a grainy, under-exposed look but add a jerkiness to the characters’ movements. Coupled with a voiceless soundscape of dripping faucets, surgical suction and incidental noises the overall effect is of a silent movie filmed in Hell; which is probably where it should have remained. Grotesque, macabre, and excessively repellent, but not without a certain pathological charm. No wonder Marilyn Manson cannibalized parts of it for one of his music videos.

Be Kind Rewind (USA 2007) (4):  When the owner of a ramshackle video rental outlet goes on a short vacation he leaves his inexperienced assistant in charge of the business.  The boss is only gone a few hours when the assistant’s schizoid friend accidentally erases all the VHS tapes in the store (he was apparently “magnetized” while trying to blow up a power plant or something.  Never mind, it’s not important).  Anyway.  Rather than toss out the store’s entire inventory the two men decide to use the erased cassettes to tape their own versions of the lost  films.  Unbelievably their cheap amateur 20-minute remakes prove to be very popular and business is soon booming with eager customers lining up to buy the “sweded” versions of everything from “Driving Miss Daisy” to “Last Tango in Paris”.  It doesn’t take long for the bubble to burst however. Not only are the men slapped with a series of copyright infringement lawsuits from the major studios but the city serves notice that they intend to demolish the building in which the store is located unless the owner can come up with sixty thousand dollars for repairs.  Their solution?  Make an original movie starring everyone in the neighbourhood to try and raise the necessary cash before the bulldozers move in.  I really wanted to like this film....not only does it satirize America’s “Blockbuster” mentality but it also throws a few well placed jabs at corporate Hollywood in the process.  Unfortunately it is just not that good.  Gondry often sacrifices logic for a silly gag or mawkish sentimentality and Jack Black joins Adam Sandler and Jim Carrey on my list of extremely annoying character actors.  In it’s own strange way though it is a love letter of sorts to the magic of cinema......a poorly worded letter with lots of spelling errors and written in crayon.......but sincere nonetheless.

The Bells of St. Mary's  (USA 1945) (9):  “The Bells of St. Mary’s” is one of those timeless movies that seem to exist in a bubble.  If it had been made at another time, with different actors it would have been just so much corny sentimentality and sugary sweetness.  Luckily for us it was made at just the right time with the perfect cast.  Bergman is positively luminous in her role as Sister Benedict, and only Bing Crosby could have reprised the role of Fr. O’Malley with such effortless grace.  We can forgive the film’s wide-eyed naiveté because it is just so well done, from the warm and cozy sets to the rich B&W cinematography.  And that final scene has got to be among Hollywood’s top 100 tearjerkers.

The Belly of an Architect (UK 1987) (6): The emblematic belly in question belongs to Stourley Kracklite, a husky, overbearing American architect who, along with his nasally-voiced trophy wife, makes a pilgrimage to Rome. Supposedly hired to oversee the construction of an exhibition honoring obscure 18th century French architect Etienne Boullée, his personal hero and a man with whom he shares more than a few things in common, Stourley instead finds himself embroiled in a power struggle with a wealthy Italian upstart and a host of strangely hostile officials. As deadlines loom and his wife’s behaviour becomes increasingly suspicious, Kracklite begins to suffer vague abdominal symptoms coupled with an odd temporal dislocation wherein the intrigues of long-dead Roman emperors begin to mirror events in his own life. Concerned about his failing health, and plagued with doubts regarding his wife’s fidelity and his own self-worth, Stourley’s initial sense of unease threatens to turn into absolute paranoia...but is it completely unfounded? As with all of Greenaway’s projects, Belly of an Architect unfolds with a cinematic bravura that takes full advantage of Rome’s magnificent scenery. Blowing drapes, piercing stares, and ancient artifacts compete with the film’s pounding score while the director’s penchant for stark symmetries and puzzling allegory is evident throughout. Unfortunately, the rich visuals are not always supported by a leaden script that too often wallows in abstruse references and arty chinwagging. The film’s cast is hopelessly uneven as well. Brian Dennehy is perfect in the role of the titular antihero; his larger-than-life frame and booming voice give him the appearance of an imperial statue come to life. He dominates each scene both physically and emotionally at the expense of the other, less talented, actors whose characters become little more than a pallid backdrop. Finally, Greenaway’s preoccupation with birth, death and decay once again takes centre stage but, unlike the cleverly engaging twists and turns of his previous films, Architect comes across as a colourful cerebral exercise with a disappointingly poor payoff in the end.

Beowulf  (USA 2007) ( 8 ):  Surprisingly literate adult fantasy that looks like a cross between a playstation game and a Waterhouse painting.  Everything here is presented in heroic proportions from the imposing soundtrack to the elaborate action sequences, which must have looked spectacular in IMAX 3D.  And let’s not forget the hunky protagonists......Ray Winstone and Angelina Jolie never looked so sexy in their computer-generated bods, it’s a shame the technical crew forgot to give them genitalia.  Be sure and check out the “making of” short in the extras section....very interesting.

Big Bad Mama (USA 1974) (7): Angie Dickinson (and her breasts) star as Wilma McClatchie, a dirt poor single mother in Depression era Texas who finds herself even more destitute when her bootlegging boyfriend is killed by the cops. Packing up her two sex-obsessed daughters she decides to hit the road in search of infamy and fortune. At first content to simply deliver moonshine to the local hicks, a few twists of fate land her in the company of a machine gun-toting bank robber and suave con artist who introduce her and the girls to the lucrative world of armed robbery. Slowly making their way to California where Wilma hopes to use her ill-gotten lucre to open a legit business, the gang decides to pull one more outrageous stunt guaranteed to make them all filthy rich. Although Dickinson doesn’t quite convince us she’s a hard-edged desperado and William Shatner’s faux southern drawl is cringe-worthy, this is still one of the more entertaining B-Movies to emerge from the 70s; think slapstick version of Bonnie & Clyde with the sleaze factor turned up half a notch. Carver, under the tutelage of the great Roger Corman, keeps things buoyed with plenty of frantic shoot-outs and steamy bed-hopping as mother and daughters take their male accomplices for a few test spins; Shatner and co-star Tom Skerritt even manage to show off some of their assets in a few (almost) nude scenes. Like a string of dirty jokes with some occasionally funny punchlines the humour is decidedly low-brow but the pacing is tight and a supporting cast of dumb sheriffs, horny yokels and religious swindlers keep things interesting. Even the oddly incongruous ending seems more of a sly wink than a glib cop-out.

The Big One  (USA 1998 ) (1):  Typically self-promoting and hopelessly biased series of hissy fits from the uber-liberals' slovenly poster child. It's amazing how Michael Moore can uncover the sordid underbelly of corporate America just by interviewing a few high school dropouts in a dark parking lot. Perhaps he can take some of the MILLIONS of dollars he's made condemning capitalism and use it to put himself through film school.

The Black Hole (USA 1979) (5): While combing the galaxy in search of “habitable life” [sic], the crew of the starship Palomino happen upon a huge derelict ship orbiting the fringes of a black hole. Identifying it as the USS Cygnus which disappeared mysteriously 20 years previous, they decide to investigate further. Upon entering the Cygnus they discover the entire complex is now being run by the eccentric, and possibly mad, Dr. Reinhardt along with a silent crew of homemade androids. It is Reinhardt’s dream to plunge the Cygnus into the heart of the black hole in order to discover what lay on the other side, and he quickly recruits the reluctant crew of the Palomino to help him. But all is not as it seems, for the wild-eyed genius has a few dark secrets he’d rather not reveal. Disney’s box office flop is a weak hybrid of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea and Star Wars, but does justice to neither one. Although impressive for the time, the special effects are now hopelessly dated consisting mainly of bad matte paintings, plastic models and lots of visible wires. Coupled with that is some ludicrous techno jargon (it’s not a searchlight, it's a micro beam!), garish sets awash in plaid-coloured lights, and enough scientific faux pas to make Stephen Hawking run out of the theatre. And of course, being Disney, there is a pair of adorable robots; one with a Slim Pickens drawl and one sounding like Roddy McDowall huffing helium (neither actor is credited). Still, despite its many drawbacks, there is an aura of childlike wonder to the film which renders it more of an outer space fairytale than a bona fide work of science fiction. Furthermore, the unexpectedly operatic ending was impressive; a kind of last minute collaboration between Stanley Kubrick and Dante Alighieri. Not good enough to be taken seriously, yet not quite bad enough to achieve cult status.

Blackmail Boy (Greece 2003) (7):  While watching this Olympian soap opera with its frenzied bitch fights and gender-bending bed-hopping one can’t help but be reminded of the early works of Almodovar.  The directors employ the same black comedy and broad farce to skewer contemporary Hellenic society while their sly allusions to classical mythology give the movie a dramatic formality that belies its essentially outrageous storyline.  Unlike Almodovar, however, they do nothing to elicit sympathy for the film’s main characters and instead we are left watching a handful of urban pigs wallow in their own muck.  The film does end in a wonderfully overdone tragedy of.....well......Greek proportions though, and that alone was worth the preceding 90 minutes.

Black Night (Belgium 2005) (8):  Oscar inhabits a Kafkaesque world of dark streets and menacing shadows where the sun makes a weak appearance for only fifteen seconds every afternoon. During the day he works at the Natural History Museum collecting and cataloguing exotic insects; a passionate hobby that carries over into his private life. But at night he has troubling dreams triggered by vague memories of a childhood tragedy involving a young girl who may have been his sister. Then one day his insular world is suddenly breached when he comes home to discover a seriously ill African woman dying in his bed… Oliver Smolders has described “Black Night” as a film reflected in a broken mirror where the onus is on the viewer to glean some sense from the fractured, non-linear narrative. He has certainly produced an elaborate psychodrama to challenge our sense of what is real and what is metaphor utilizing a bleak fairytale aesthetic that mesmerizes even as it confounds. He does drop tantalizing clues along the way though: Oscar’s memories are presented as grainy 8mm loops played against a toy stage; there is an emphasis on duality (or disassociation)…mysterious twins, night/day, black/white; and strong references are made to Belgium’s history of colonialism in Africa. And then there are the omnipresent insects whose combination of beauty and savagery seem to reflect our protagonist’s own contradictory emotions, their silent gaze forever following him. They thrive on death and decay yet carry the ability to morph into something greater; a theme which the movie explores in unflinching detail. “Black Night” finally ends as enigmatically as it began, with two children on a dimly lit stage acting out the final scene of an ongoing film-within-a-film. An elegantly crafted nightmare whose cryptic imagery taps into our most primitive fears even as it teases our intellect.

Black Orpheus (Brazil 1958) (9):  The sad tale of Orpheus and Eurydice is played out against Rio’s Carnival in this gorgeous technicolour explosion of music and dancing.  In this version we see Orpheus as a handsome carefree streetcar conductor forsaking his spoiled fiancée for Eurydice, an ingénue from the country who is convinced a murderous stranger is stalking her.  As the jilted woman and skull-masked stalker close in on the two lovers events come to a tragic climax amidst the swirling dancers and colourful costumes of a Carnival parade.  Orpheus’ subsequent search for his lost love is filmed with a classic solemnity that contrasts sharply with the sunny spontaneity of the movie’s first half thereby heightening the sense of grief and despair.  Camus manages to remain faithful to the original Greek tragedy while at the same time making it seem as if it was written for the favelas of Brazil.  I especially enjoyed his sly references to  mythological names and images:  Orpheus’ fellow conductor and guiding force is named Hermes; a guard dog named Cerebus; and Eurydice’s scarf covered in zodiac signs are but a few examples.  Lastly, he brings the whole story to a sad yet hopeful conclusion.  Amazing!

Blind Chance (Poland 1981) (6): “Every generation needs light...a belief that life can be better”. So states an elderly professor in Kieslowski’s rambling circuitous story in which coincidence, fate, and divine intervention go up against each other with no clear winner. The film is presented as a trio of short films each beginning with the same introduction; Witek, a promising young medical student, is running to catch a train. In two scenarios he misses the train, in one he does not, yet in each case there are subtle differences in the sequence of events which drastically alter Witek’s life. In one timeline he becomes a tentative Catholic whose only desire is for God to be, in another he becomes an anti-government activist, and in the third he puts his faith in neither God nor Man and instead chooses political and spiritual apathy. But the Fates, presented here in various female guises, are a fickle bunch and the film’s ultimate finale is either a scathing look at God’s “mysterious ways” or simply another example of mordant Eastern European nihilism. Questions of free will, idealism and individual choice abound in what is arguably Kieslowski’s most overtly political film; uncomfortable questions which caused the film to be held in limbo for six years by Poland’s communist censors. There is much to chew on here, but the glacial pacing and preachy dialogue had me squirming more often than not, while the unsympathetic characters kept me at arm’s length. Definitely not one of his better films.

Blossoms in the Dust (USA 1941) (7): “To a world wracked with desolation and despair...” proclaims the theatrical trailer, “...comes a warm human story of a quiet lady who devoted her life to the nameless, the homeless, and the friendless...” Thus begins this fanciful biopic of Edna Gladney, a former Wisconsin debutante who not only became a champion for the rights of orphaned and unwanted children but a driving political force in eliminating the term “illegitimate” from their birth records; a stigma that often branded them for life. Moving to Fort Worth with her wealthy Texan husband at the turn of the century Edna led the carefree life of the upwardly mobile until a series of personal tragedies changed her life forever. Unable to have a family of her own she eventually turned her attention to the plight of children condemned to “poor farms” where substandard care and social disgrace were the norm. Despite financial setbacks and community pressure her “Texas Children’s Home and Aid Society” was soon placing these unfortunate kids into the arms of loving parents almost as fast as they showed up on the doorstep. There is a wonderful film here if you can get past a few glaring flaws. To begin with, the director chooses to gild Edna’s story with unwarranted amounts of cloying sentimentality and spun sugar; all those lingering shots of rosy-cheeked cherubs and dewy eyelashes set to soaring strings simply get in the way. Secondly, despite their admiral performances Greer Garson is simply too old for the part (she was 37 when she played the part of an 18-year old deb) and Walter Pidgeon, as her one and only love, comes across as neither romantic nor Texan. And lastly, even though I tried to view the whole production from an historical perspective, the cast of yassuh-spouting black domestics began to grate on my nerves anyway. A shamelessly manipulative technicolor tearjerker that nevertheless manages to captivate and entertain. “It’s aimed at your heart...” concludes the trailer, “...and it hits the mark.” No wonder I was pulling arrows out of my chest all night.

Bombon: El Perro (Argentina 2004) (6): Ever since losing his job as a gas station mechanic, kindhearted fifty-something Juan finds himself living on his daughter’s couch while trying to eke out a living selling handmade knives from the back of his truck. One day, as payment for helping a stranded motorist, he is given a fully grown purebred dogo Argentino; a large hunting dog looking like a cross between a pit bull and a boxer. Before long he forms a partnership with a professional dog promoter and in a montage of scenes reminiscent of a canine Rocky, “Lechien” is being trained as a champion show dog; a future which could prove very lucrative for Juan. It all comes crashing down however when it is discovered that Lechien is unable (or unwilling) to mate with other dogs thereby ruining Juan’s chances to profit by hiring him out for stud service. It would appear that Lechien and Juan have one thing in common...in the eyes of the world they are both seen as lacking any intrinsic worth; Juan because of his age, and the dog because of his lack of marketable assets. As this revelation dawns on both man and beast the beginning of a new partnership slowly emerges... Despite it’s open-faced sincerity Bombon suffers from an acute lack of chemistry. Neither actor nor dog radiate any charisma; Lechien dutifully barks and whines on command while Juan’s permanently baffled expression makes him look as if someone dropped a few xanax in his yerba mate. Despite the inspirational soundtrack and long symbolic shots of dusty deserts this remains a road movie forever stuck in neutral.

The Boss of it All  (Denmark 2006) (7):  While watching this caustic corporate satire It’s difficult to tell exactly who Von Trier holds in deeper contempt.  Lawyers?  CEOs?  Thespians?  Danes?  Icelanders?  Anyone who isn’t Lars Von Trier?  He seems to have a knack for thinking up ideas for edgy and intelligent films then ruining them by being stupid.  This time around he delivers a brilliantly funny, if typically mean-spirited, comedy revolving around the unethical and cowardly owner of an IT company......think of a dark Danish version of “The Office”.  He then proceeds to mar the proceedings with cheap gimmicks like stopping the action in order to lecture the audience and using some silly computer program to determine camera angles resulting in a nauseating blend of jarring cuts and off-centre framing.  Great idea for a film though, too bad someone else didn’t think of it.

The Boston Strangler (USA 1968) (8): Between 1962 and 1964 as many as 13 women in the Boston area were found strangled and sexually mutilated. The resulting police investigation eventually led detectives to Albert DeSalvo, a local furnace repairman and father of two small children. Although he was never formally convicted in any of the murders he would end up spending the rest of his life incarcerated for lesser crimes; first in a state mental hospital and finally in a maximum security prison. Fleischer’s engrossing drama features a cast of seasoned actors headlined by Tony Curtis as the deeply troubled strangler and Henry Fonda as John Bottomly, the reluctant law professor charged with hunting him down. Controversial for 1968, the film doesn’t shy away from the more troubling aspects of the case; DeSalvo’s sexual aberrations are alluded to (Curtis’ facial expressions during the assaults speak volumes) and his victims are portrayed with a blunt realism that deepens the sense of tragedy while keeping the grislier details tastefully off camera. Some homophobic slurs do prove troublesome, even when you consider the time and place in which the story unfolds, and it’s difficult to assess whether Bottomly’s overly respectful approach to a gay suspect constitutes genuine sympathy or condescension. What won me over in the end however was the film’s highly innovative camerawork. Fleischer’s frequent use of multiple frames and overlapping dialogue is brilliant; the separate frames sometimes appearing as pieces of a puzzle while at other times forming a mosaic of fear and suspicion as we see images of women locking doors and peering nervously over their shoulders. Furthermore, Bottomly’s tense interrogations of an increasingly psychotic DeSalvo are beautifully enhanced when the killer’s disjointed memories suddenly become interactive with both men moving in and out of reality. Despite some glaring factual omissions, DeSalvo was definitely not the innocuous family man portrayed here, this still remains a highly polished and riveting piece of pseudo-fiction.

The Boys in the Band (USA 1970) (9): As storm clouds gather overhead a group of men, all gay, gather in a modest New York apartment for a birthday party in honour of their mutual friend, Harold, who has chosen to be fashionably late. There’s the usual generic queer dishing and camping as they await his arrival but when the host’s very conservative and questionably straight college buddy shows up unexpectedly with emotional baggage in tow, a slow fuse is lit that burns brighter and hotter as the evening wears on. When Harold eventually does show up, stoned and uncaring, the stage is set for a series of emotional showdowns. Easy banter soon gives way to some rather sharp and nasty barbs; jealousies and resentments begin to surface and the host’s buddy throws a homosexual panic that almost brings the house down. With a tempest raging outside, the men retreat to the living-room where a cruel game of “Truth or Dare” takes place which strips away defenses and lays bare some painful truths. Based on Mart Crowley’s play, Boys in the Band uses a party as an ironic metaphor to illustrate the realities of being gay in 1970. If you can look past the gucci bags, fruity poodles and chintz curtains you’ll see that he has incorporated a rich variety of sentiments into just a few characters. While the host is poisoned by internalized homophobia one guest acts out his gayness almost as a challenge to the world; while another man risks everything for the sake of love, his partner finds himself terrified at the prospect of intimacy. Even Harold, world-weary and cynical, finds some solace in the hustler hired to be his “gift” for the night; a naive and refreshingly untainted young man who remains immune to the poison darts flying over his head. It would be easy to dismiss this film as just so much homo nihilism, but one must take it in historical context. Released just one year after the Stonewall Riots, it was the first film to show gay men as more than just comedy relief. It came out at a time when being gay was sufficient grounds for losing your job, your home, your family, and your freedom. I see this brilliant film as both a dark celebration and an angry rebuke to society at large. As one character put it, “If we could just learn not to hate ourselves quite so much...” As true today as it was back then. As a sad footnote, five of the original cast members have since died of AIDS.

The Brave Little Toaster (USA 1987) (6): Disney takes anthropomorphism to a new level in this animated tale of five abandoned appliances who take to the road in search of their beloved pint-sized master after his family moves to the big city. Along the way they discover an enchanted pond, spend a night in a scary forest and do battle with a malevolent junkyard magnet....only to discover that their master's new appliances aren't exactly pleased to see them. Featuring good old-fashioned animation and some lively musical numbers including a macabre stint in a used appliance store and a death row dirge played amongst rusting heaps of condemned cars. I suppose one could see a subtle jab at our consumer mentality but for the most part it's a lesson on the importance of respect, cooperation and self-sacrifice aimed squarely at the preschool crowd. Jon Lovitz and Phil Hartman lend their voices.

The Brides of Dracula (UK 1960) (6): En route to a private girls’ school in Transylvania, French teacher Marianne Danielle’s coach makes an unexpected stop at a country inn where it appears the local patrons have been doing double-espresso shooters all morning. Between jumping at shadows and giving each other quick nervous glances they try to convince her that a hasty return to Paris would be in her best interest. But when the elderly dowager, Baroness Meinster, enters the tavern and convinces Marianne to spend the night at her estate, the innkeeper and his wife bid her farewell with all the finality of a march to the gallows. Living alone with Greta, her butch maid, the Baroness seems content simply to have another live body gracing her table until Marianne makes a startling discovery...the old gal’s son is being kept prisoner in a separate wing of the castle, presumably so she can rule in his stead. Swayed by his oily charms, Marianne helps the Baron escape and before you can say “Nosferatu” young girls are dropping dead with peculiar bite marks on their necks and furry rubber bats are winging their way on not-so-hidden wires. Enter the cadaverous Dr. Van Helsing (horror mainstay Peter Cushing). Armed with a satchel of wooden stakes and a lot of pseudo-religious babble he sets out to defeat the fanged villain before Marianne becomes his next victim. With its glorious overacting and sumptuous colours, this is one of Hammer Studios’ B-movie gems. The wistful recreation of 19th century Transylvania is a curious blend of Bavarian beer gardens and Cockney accents while Castle Meinster embodies the term “gothic camp”. And the cast is almost perfect, from the gruff local priest to Marianne’s wide-eyed innocence, but David Peel’s GQ looks don’t quite fit the role of a bloodsucking fiend. With his poofy blonde wig and lisping accent he approaches his character with all the conviction of a hairdresser on steroids; perhaps they should have renamed it The Beards of Dracula. Great fun anyway!

The Bridge (USA 2006) (6): Eric Steel’s controversial documentary on those who choose to commit suicide by jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge poses an ethical dilemma which I find impossible to resolve.  He spent months filming the bridge in order to capture footage of actual jumpers, then interviewed some of their family and friends afterwards.  Is this artistic expression or simply cold exploitation, good intentions or not?  The video clips are definitely gut wrenching and the subsequent interviews are tactfully done.  Steel allows his subjects to speak without hindrance, the result is a heartfelt testament to the memory of those that died....but was it necessary to show the fatal leaps themselves?  Watching these troubled people in their last moments of life certainly added to the film’s impact.  It’s the question of whether or not “dramatic impact” is sufficient justification that troubles me.  There seems to be no higher purpose to this film other than documenting a year’s worth of suicides.  Then, as if to add some artistic integrity to the proceedings, Steel intercuts the various stories with time-lapsed images of the bridge shrouded in fog.  The result is a false romanticism that is cheap and repetitive.  As a journalistic endeavour it has its moments, I’ll even accept Steel’s claim that he tried to intervene whenever he could, but there remains a morbidly voyeuristic component to this documentary that I find unsettling.

The Bridge to Terabithia  (USA 2005) (3):  When the school loner teams up with the quiet new girl in class a peculiar friendship develops.  Soon they are playing deep in the woods where they imagine themselves to be king and queen of an imaginary realm. This movie had lots of promise but unfortunately Csupo gave it a double dose of Disney syrup and turned it into a sappy melodrama for preteens. In choosing to smother audiences with schmaltz and shallow pathos he missed an opportunity to really delve into the dark fantasy world of children....a theme explored with greater effect in films such as "Tideland" and "Pan's Labyrinth". Everything about this film is over-the-top from the ponderous soundtrack to Anna Sophia Robb's cloying little saucer-eyed waif. Not recommended for diabetics.

Brief Encounter (UK 1945) (5): When an emotionally frustrated housewife bumps into an equally desperate married doctor at a railway station a spark is lit that threatens to overwhelm them both. Soon Laura and Alec are frolicking in a rowboat, holding hands over dinner and staring into each other’s eyes at the cinema; but when the opportunity to go all the way finally presents itself the two are forced to examine the path their lives are taking. Told mainly in flashback as Laura composes a fictitious confession to her conservative fossil of a husband David Lean’s three-hanky weeper, based on Noel Coward’s play, is chockfull of the usual cinematic metaphors: trains pass each other in the night, a stone bridge is somehow never crossed, and a furtive pat on the shoulder conveys all the heartache in the world. Sadly, although the film is replete with emotional credibility (it’s sympathetic portrayal of spouses on the brink earned the wrath of Irish censors) it suffers from some terribly florid dialogue and overblown performances which render it more soap than substance. The final obligatory scene of syrupy reconciliation while Rachmaninov plays in the background reduced us to a round of groans and winces.

Britannia Hospital  (UK 1982) (7):  Too bitter to be dismissed as mere farce, too blunt to be simple satire, this final installment in Lindsay Anderson’s trilogy on the decline of the British Empire is equal parts sitcom and social diatribe.  Like the boarding school in “If...” we once again see a public institution standing in for the country itself.  This time around it’s a hospital under siege.  As the privileged elite go head to head with unionized labour on the eve of a royal visit, a lone doctor quietly creates a super being meant to replace vastly inferior homo sapiens.  Absurd, angry, and filled with despair, the film ends with a darkly prophetic monologue and a chilling demonstration of man’s “successor”.  Unsettling.

The Broadway Melody (aka The Broadway Melody of 1929) (USA 1929) (5): Catfights and heartbreak abound in this roaring twenties fairytale which follows the trials and tribulations of two naïve sisters from the American heartland as they vie for fame and romance on New York’s “Great White Way”. This early talkie boasts some terribly camp song & dance numbers along with enough bitchy humour and racy lingerie to keep modern audiences mildly amused. There’s even a mincing homo costumer to show us just how far Hollywood’s gay stereotypes haven’t come in the intervening eighty years. The glitzy deco sets are wonderful but the blatant overacting and mortuary make-up hearken back to the worst days of silent films. A frothy little melodrama that’s as shallow as a producer’s soul.

The Broken (UK 2008) (6): "Through the looking glass" takes on a whole new meaning when a woman begins to suspect she is being replaced by a malevolent doppelganger from the other side of the mirror. Awash in menacing shadows and claustrophobic camerawork The Broken is certainly stylish. Add to that some great performances, taut direction and a fiendish sense of paranoia and you have all the makings of a great thriller-cum-psychodrama. Too bad it all peters out in the end with a lukewarm twist and a distinct lack of resolution one way or the other. It's the horror equivalent of a shaggy dog story; lots of buildup with a disappointingly bland finale.

Broken Wings (Israel 2002) (9):  Beautifully realized film about one family’s disintegration following the sudden death of the husband and father.  While the eldest daughter watches her dreams of becoming a recording artist slip away due to the new domestic responsibilities thrust upon her, the eldest son turns his back on the world and adopts an angry cynicism that keeps everyone at arm’s length.  The two youngest children, perhaps sensing the crippling grief  in the home, develop a sullen petulance composed of tantrums and life-threatening stunts.  And all the while their mother sleepwalks through her day oblivious of the pain around her.  There is an aura of barely suppressed rage and guilt in the Ulman household that seems to poison everything it comes in contact with.  It finally takes another crisis to jolt the older members of the family out of their self-pitying ruts and begin to work towards healing the rift left by the husband’s death.  It’s difficult to believe that this remarkably mature and assured work is Nil Bergman’s first feature film.  He brings a depth of characterization to his movie that is usually associated with far more experienced directors.  Furthermore he realizes that the tiniest of details can be tremendously important to a story’s narrative....whether it’s a honeybee buzzing against a pane of glass or faded murals of happy children surrounding an empty pool.  A wonderfully understated film with natural performances and an ending that is both upbeat and believable.

The Browning Version (UK 1951) (7): Michael Redgrave brings a remarkable depth to the role of a public school teacher whose ill health is forcing him to give up his tenure at an upper class boys’ school in favour of a less lucrative position at an institution for troubled teens. Mr. Crocker-Harris, grim and unsmiling, looks back over his 18 years as a professor of Latin and Greek with bitterness and regret. Once a promising young scholar, he slowly let his dreams die one by one until, approaching middle age, he realizes his life is as dead as the languages he teaches. He is pitied by the faculty, scorned by his students, and trapped in a loveless marriage to a woman who views him with contempt even as she flaunts her affairs in his face. Yet there remains one student who seems to sense the old man’s inherent worth, a bright young boy who tries to tap into his fragile humanity and whose farewell gift, from which the movie gets its title, opens a floodgate of repressed emotion. Asquith presents Terence Rattigan’s painfully honest play with great subtlety aided in large part by Dickinson’s poignant B&W cinematography. It’s all so very British, with the characters’ impeccable diction and well-mannered facades barely concealing their underlying anger and despair. Harris’ emotional showdown with his wife, a victim in her own rights, is brilliantly downplayed even as the sky above them explodes with fireworks. Perhaps the film relies too heavily on melodrama at times with its drawn out stares and well-choreographed anguish; and perhaps the allusion to the classical tragedy of Agamemnon, which Harris is teaching his class, doesn’t quite hit the ironic mark it was aimed at. But these are minor drawbacks for a film that many critics hail as a small masterpiece.

The Burning  (USA 1981) (6):  A cantankerous camp caretaker is horribly burned when a practical joke goes awry.  Five years later, armed with an unusually sharp pair of garden shears, he returns to wreak his revenge on a new generation of stupid kids.  Big hair!  Gratuitous breasts!  Naked shower scene!  Horny teenagers!  Dead teenagers!  Ridiculous bogeyman plot!  Annoying POV camerawork!  Cheap shocks!  Yes kids, this is what used to make your parents scream on a Saturday night.  Now wipe that smirk off your face and pay attention, the 80’s were nothing to laugh at.

The Buttercup Chain (UK 1970) (6): Since they were kids Margaret and France have always had the hots for each other but since their mothers were identical twins the spectre of incest has prevented them from pursuing their mutual attraction to its logical conclusion. As a consolation prize they enter into a 4-way relationship with tourists Fred and Manny, an arrangement which allows them to air their angst all over Sweden, Italy and Spain as the quartet embarks upon an endless summer holiday. But "free love" can sometimes come with a terrible price including a tragic funeral followed by a hot-blooded showdown on a disco dance floor. I'm sure there's a mature and insightful film here somewhere beneath all the artsy hysterics and counter-culture claptrap but I found myself settling for some gorgeous scenery and soaring strings instead.

Caprice  (USA 1967) (4):  Doris Day excels at many things......playing a sexy secret agent is not one of them.  This little nugget is too silly even for her, perhaps that’s why the supporting cast deliver their lines with just a hint of self-conscious embarrassment.  Okay, the movie theatre scene was colourful but the rest was just colourfully dull.  A good film to have on in the background while you do your housework.  Or maybe you could just fire up iTunes instead.

Captains Courageous (USA 1937) (5): Forced pathos and a glib sentimentality abound in this watery tale of a spoiled rich kid from New York who becomes an insufferably contrite wuss after he accidentally falls off a luxury liner and is rescued by a gruff old mariner. Miles from land and with no hope of returning home until the cod season is over several weeks hence, little Harvey Cheyne (Freddie Bartholomew, not even trying to attempt an American accent) finds himself adopted by Captain Troop and his salty crew of clichéd sea dogs including Manuel Fidello the Portuguese fisherman who pulled him out of the sea (Spencer Tracy sporting a ridiculous accent that makes him sound more like a missing Marx Brother). Under Manuel’s fatherly guidance and the stern yet harmless camaraderie of his new shipmates Harvey undergoes a sea change (bwahahaha!!) in which brattiness is replaced by a sense of conscience and a predictable tragedy leads to a greater appreciation of all things pure and spiritual. Despite an impressive cast of Hollywood A-listers who bravely deliver their hackneyed lines with the utmost sincerity everyone ends up going down with the ship anyway.

Carousel (USA 1956) (3): Billy Bigelow, former carnival gigolo now deceased and working in a heavenly sweatshop polishing stars, is granted a request to return to earth for one day to help sort things out with his widow, Julie, and the daughter who was born after he died. In flashback we see how the gruff and virile Billy swept Julie off her naive young feet one evening, married her in haste, then turned into a lazy abusive lout while she strove to be the most lovable doormat 1870s Maine had ever seen. But once he found out she was pregnant he decided to become a responsible breadwinner; starting with an ill-fated armed robbery. Returning to earth fifteen years later he sees that Julie has gotten along well without him, his adolescent daughter however is not only having boy trouble but has had to endure years of merciless taunting on account of her late father being a thief and wife-beater. How can Billy instill a sense of pride in his daughter and comfort Julie’s broken heart in the short time allotted him? Whisper yet another sappy song into their ears of course! God knows there’s no shortage of those floating around in this facile and sickeningly sentimental cinemascope weeper, along with some featherweight drama, ham-fisted performances and ridiculously affected New England accents. With the exception of a nicely fluid ballet sequence towards the end the dance routines are clunky and dull (despite the obvious physical prowess of all those twirling gay boys); a choreographed clambake is particularly painful especially when the overzealous cast of extras belt out an impassioned ditty about splitting lobsters in half and sending clams “galloping down their gullets”. Unfortunately the film’s only standout anthem, “You’ll Never Walk Alone” has been hijacked by so many telethons and schmaltzy Vegas acts in the intervening years that it now sounds even more trite than when it first debuted. Not even a feigned sense of nostalgia can excuse Carousel’s syrupy excesses; once around and you’ll be begging to get off.

Cemetery Man (Italy 1994) (5): Rupert Everett plays Francesco, the brooding live-in caretaker of a modest little graveyard which houses an awful secret. It seems the churchyard is cursed with a most inconvenient quirk which causes the newly departed to rise as flesh-eating zombies a few days after they’ve been buried. Afraid to alert the authorities lest he lose his job Francesco and his dull-witted assistant calmly do their nightly rounds, shovel and pistol in hand, dispatching the odd ghoul with a well-placed (and very messy) blow to the head. As a self-proclaimed guardian between the living and the dead, Francesco finds himself uncomfortably poised between both worlds; he can’t relate to the living, and the dead just piss him off. It all changes one day when he becomes infatuated with a voluptuous young widow and decides the living make much better company after all. But the dead, particularly the muppet-like Grim Reaper himself, are not so keen on letting him go. Soavi’s film is an inconsistent hodgpodge of gothic horror, bone-dry comedy, and macabre romance that too often spirals down into the absurd to be taken seriously. He does throw in some nice touches though; Francesco’s full name translates as “Francis of the Dead” (his mother’s maiden name being “of Love”) and his erratic relationship with the widow (she takes on a few incarnations along the way) is intriguing. Moreover, there are some exceptional visuals incorporating elements of the gruesome and the sublime; an erotic coupling takes place amongst the headstones, a fall of red silk brushes against a putrefying skull, and a tableaux of the earth and moon as seen from space resolves into something quite different as the camera pans around. Attempts are made to ruminate on both the relationship between love and death, and the paradox of free will vs. destiny. But, ultimately, the gory effects and twisted storyline (a French kiss with a severed head is particularly nasty) prove too distracting. Enjoyable for what it is, a failure for what it tries to become.

Children of Men  (UK 2006) (9):  In the near future the human race suddenly finds itself suffering from a plague of infertility.  With an aging population and zero birth rate society begins to come apart at the seams. Very well done.....excellent editing and sound effects, some remarkable performances and assured direction throughout. I was especially impressed with the undercurrent of dark satire that always seemed to be lurking just beneath the dramatics. I may disagree with some of the films rather facile politics but as a near-future thriller it succeeded admirably.

Christmas in July (USA 1940) (8):  Jimmy MacDonald is forever entering contests in the hopes of winning that elusive cash jackpot.  In the meantime he supports himself and his widowed  mother by working as an office drone in a nondescript company along with Betty, his fawning girlfriend.  Then one day his luck changes when he receives a telegram telling him he’s won the $25,000 grand prize in the Maxford House Coffee slogan contest and before you can say “money equals happiness” he’s off on a shopping spree buying gifts for the entire neighbourhood, including a diamond engagement ring.  “The terrible thing about being poor...”, gushes a magnanimous Betty sporting her new fur coat and shiny ring, “...is having to worry”.  And everyone’s worries appear to be solved...until the awful truth is revealed.  It seems the telegram was sent as a practical joke by some of his co-workers...  Preston Sturges delivers another sparkling spoof on capitalist manners and the cult of celebrity that packs more charm into 67 minutes than many feature-length films.  Much of the humour is derived from the way people’s perceptions of Jimmy change after he achieves notoriety;  he goes from a faceless employee to smoking cigars with the board of directors who hang on to his most innocuous comments as if they were Delphic proclamations of great import.  Retailers who wouldn’t have given him the time of day now fall over themselves trying to lick his boots, and the neighbours greet him as if he were the second coming of Christ.  Of course it all works out in the end, but not before Sturges throws a few well-aimed barbs at America’s corporate soul and Betty gives an uplifting sermon on the value of hope.  The black cat was cute too!

Cinema of Death (USA 2004) (6):  A collection of five “extreme” short films exploring obsession, madness and suffering.  In “Adoration” we see a young man’s pathological desire for a woman lead to an ultimate consume-ation.  It is cleverly presented as a film within a film in which we become both observers and observed.  “Dislandia”  has no overt narrative and is only loosely linear in that it has a beginning and an end.  Its sole character, a painfully reserved child whose face is covered by a grotesque mask, wanders despondently through a sepia-tinged landscape of muted images and discordant sounds.  You can interpret the ending as being happy, but the film’s macabre aura never completely dissipates.  “Pig”  is a short S&M mind-fuck involving a group of faceless people, an abandoned house in the desert, some surgical equipment and lots of gauze.  “Hollywood Babylon” spends four minutes looking at a wall of framed photos...oh joy.  “Le Poeme” is the most troubling for me.  The director films the dissection an actual cadaver while a voice-over reads a passionate poem by Rimbaud.  He claims he was trying to show how pain and joy exist side by side....joy being the exuberant imagery of the poem, pain being the autopsy I suppose.  He then tries to justify the needless disfigurement of the corpse (the eyelids are sliced off, the heart removed) by stating he gave the dead man “life” by casting him as the narrator.  The body was made available for anatomical study afterwards so no harm done, right?  I’m not so sure the deceased, or his family, would agree.  Art?  Or stylized desecration?  The latter I should think.

City of the Living Dead  (Italy 1980) (4):  With a title like "City of the Living Dead" AND a director like Lucio Fulci I was ready for a great zombie splatter flick. Wrong. A hackneyed script (the gates of hell have opened....oh my!!) some cheap dramatics and abysmal sfx all add up to mediocre late-night cable fare. Think of it as "gore lite" for the brain dead.

Cloverfield (USA 2008) (8): Godzilla meets the Blair Witch as a small handful of hapless yuppies record the ingestion of New York City while fleeing for their lives. It all begins at an upscale party where a loft-full of beautiful people have gathered to bid a fond farewell to the guest of honour. Walking among the clinking beer bottles and dazzling white smiles, video camera in hand, party animal Hud tries to capture every witty remark and drunken innuendo when suddenly...shit happens! There’s a mighty tremor, followed by a blackout and then another tremor. Rushing to the rooftop the partygoers witness an enormous explosion in the distance which fills the sky with flaming debris necessitating a hasty retreat to the sidewalk below. But once they join the crowds of dazed pedestrians things start to get really interesting with toppling skyscrapers, monstrous rumblings and tantalizingly brief glimpses of something huge and reptilian wreaking havoc in downtown Manhattan. When the head of the Statue of Liberty comes flying down the street however the gang decides it’s time to make their way across the river where things seem to be much calmer. As Hud tapes their every move they get hung up on the Brooklyn Bridge, run into trigger-happy national guardsmen, and do battle with some long-legged beasties in a rat-infested subway tunnel...but will they survive the night? Reeves has fashioned a fiendishly clever film that combines a good old-fashioned monster movie with a satirical critique on post 9-11 hysteria. The sound effects and CGI-generated mayhem are impeccable while the amateurish video footage maintains a state of claustrophobic panic. Of course there are some awkward plot devices; Reeves doesn’t explain why people who are running in terror would decide to record an ongoing documentary, and we are expected to believe it would take the army only 15 minutes to flood NYC with tanks and battalions. But with a movie so chockfull of awesome destruction and deliriously chaotic action sequences it is easy to forgive. Be forewarned though, Cloverfield’s jerky handheld camerawork is not for the weak of stomach.

Code Unknown (Germany 2000) (7):  On the streets of contemporary Paris a casually cruel gesture has an immediate affect on a disparate group of people and sends emotional ripples across half a continent.  This engaging film uses several cinematic styles to chronicle the stories of these people while underscoring its central theme.....the misery that results from our inability to truly communicate with one another.  This lack of empathy is demonstrated in various subtle ways; from the many instances of misunderstandings to the jarring use of quick cuts, often in the middle of a sentence, leaving the viewer to guess as to what was actually happening.  As usual Haneke’s style is maddeningly cryptic and he delivers his sermon with the customary amount of smugness.  But if you’ve seen enough of his films you already know what to expect.

Collision (USA 2008) (8): Is Christianity good for the world? Religious faith and secular humanism go toe to toe as “Anti-Theist” Christopher Hitchens squares off against evangelical theologian Douglas Wilson in Darren Doane’s gripping documentary. Doane follows the two men as they embark on a series of guest lectures promoting their collaborative book and engaging audiences in heated debates. While Wilson insists all things come from God including our fundamental concept of “right and wrong”, Hitchens steadfastly denies the idea of divine intervention in any aspect of the natural world instead referring to Christianity as a “wicked cult”. However, despite the often passionate verbal sparring onstage the two men share a surprisingly civil and respectful friendship behind the scenes as the camera catches them having a good-natured argument over coffee or exchanging favourite literary quotes in a smoky bar. Highly educated, scholarly, and possessing razor sharp wits, the two men raise the “Faith vs. Science” debate from the usual level of ignorant shouting match to an eloquent repartee which is both entertaining and intellectually challenging. Doane keeps the pace hectic with a choppy editing style, skewed camera angles and colour filtering which goes from harshly exaggerated reds to washed out blues although his MTV-style soundtrack of hip hop nonsense seems woefully out of place. “One of us has to lose the argument and admit moral defeat...” states Hitchens at one point and while viewers may disagree on who deserves the final trophy the arguments presented are fascinating to hear.

The Comedians (USA 1967) (3):  About a third of the way into this torturous mess you get the distinct impression that someone misplaced the script and rather than rewriting it the director simply told everyone to wing it.  Burton and Taylor are especially disappointing as they mumble non-sequiturs while sucking on each other’s faces and poor Lillian Gish seems to have trouble remembering she’s in a talkie.  It’s amazing that Graham Greene took his own novel about Duvalier’s bloody regime and turned it into a sitting room drama complete with insipid love affair.  It’s 150 minutes of pure tedium.....if it had run any slower it would have been going backwards.

Conquest of Space (USA 1955) (7): “This is a story of tomorrow...” intones the opening narrator, “...or the day after tomorrow.” Thus begins one of the more optimistic science fiction epics to emerge from the Cold War. After months spent training on “The Wheel”, a multinational space station orbiting Earth, a select crew of astronauts under the tutelage of hard-nosed military hero Colonel Sam Merritt and his dutiful son Captain Barney Merritt (blond hunk Eric Fleming) prepare for the human race’s greatest adventure; the first manned mission to Mars. Braving meteorites, privation, and their own personal demons the five plucky men finally set foot on the red planet only to experience a mixed bag of bitter disappointments and potential promise. Despite a few naive assumptions and forgivable scientific liberties, Conquest of Space features some great special effects for its time, a pinwheel space station whirling against a giant backdrop of Earth is quite well done especially when set to an original score faintly reminiscent of Holst’s “Neptune the Mystic.” Furthermore, director Byron Haskin demonstrates a sound understanding of what life in space might be like. “The Wheel’s” multiracial inhabitants must have been eye-opening for contemporary audiences and a couple of futuristic concepts are bang on; overpopulation, dwindling resources, big screen TVs, and the move towards one world government (“free trade” hadn’t been coined yet). But where the film excelled for me was when it explored the downside of space exploration; the longing for home, the interpersonal tensions, and the psychosis brought about by endless responsibilities and confined quarters here referred to as “space fatigue”. A colourful and visionary addition to the retro sci-fi genre.

Continental, A Film Without Guns (Canada 2007) (9):  A middle-aged man on his way home from work falls asleep on the bus.  He wakes up to find the bus deserted in the middle of a deep dark forest.  With no clue as to where he is or where he’s going he sets out into the woods, apparently lured by some mysterious siren song.  This wonderfully understated opening sequence pretty much sets the tone for the rest of the story as we see a handful of characters trying to navigate through their own emotional wildernesses.  Contemporary themes of loneliness, isolation and regret are expertly weaved together, sometimes with deadpan humour, often with sharp poignancy.  There is the hotel clerk, desperate to be needed by another person, who manufactures ersatz relationships using her answering machine; the insurance salesman who “sells peace of mind” while his own life falls apart; the elderly shop owner facing his mortality with a mixture of weariness and despair; and lastly, the missing man’s wife who suddenly finds her well-defined life drastically altered by her husband’s disappearance.  LaFleur layers these stories in some beautiful and imaginative ways.  His juxtaposition of the mundane with the subtly absurd makes for a refreshing and unconventional look at life, which brings to mind the films of Roy Andersson.  He even manages a sly reference to Lamorisse’s “Le Ballon Rouge”.  The film ends on a more or less happy note, but LaFleur is quick to point out that “happiness” can be highly subjective and often comes at a cost.  One of the better films I’ve rented this year.

Control Alt Delete (Canada 2008) (4): Lewis is a chubby socially awkward cyber-geek working at a computer security firm on the eve of Y2K. Recently dumped by his girlfriend after she discovered his extensive cache of internet porn he finds himself becoming increasingly attracted to the one constant in his life that truly accepts him for what he is....computers. With the help of a drill, bubble wrap, some duct tape and a bottle of lube he's soon banging away at more than just keyboards, a clandestine habit that has his disgusted fellow employees searching for the mysterious "computer rapist". Against a backdrop of Y2K hysteria this dry satire tries to say something about being marginalized in an increasingly tech-obsessed society but its lightweight script and cartoonish characters produce little more than a vulgar sitcom. A subplot involving a co-worker gradually becoming numb from the feet up was a wasted metaphor that went nowhere and the "toilet cam" twist was just stupid. Good thing star Tyler Labine is just so damn huggable looking.

Coraline (USA 2009) (8): Good Mother versus Bad Mother when a neglected young girl finds a mysterious tunnel linking her new house (the aptly named “Pink Palace”) with its identical twin in an alternate reality. Constantly ignored by her yuppie parents and lost in a strange new neighbourhood, Coraline finds herself pretty much alone. She does manage to find some solace in visiting the wacky boarders living in her attic and basement but the only real friend she has is the decidedly geeky boy next door, Wyborne (pronounced “Why Born”...don’t you just love symbolism?) with whom she has a tentative relationship at best. Things change however when she discovers a small secret door hidden behind the wallpaper which leads to a much sunnier version of her own life complete with new and improved editions of her parents. In this happier world mom and dad are all good, completely attentive, and they let Coraline do whatever she wants. All they ask in return is that she become a little button-eyed dolly just like them; Good Mother, it seems, has a definite taste for young impressionable lives. Steeped in Freudian psychology and filled with appropriately macabre prepubescent imagery, Coraline is one of the more complex animated features I’ve seen thus far. As Coraline struggles to break free from the suffocating demands of her increasingly malevolent “other” mother an intense psychodrama unfolds in which childish fantasies give way to troubled nightmares; an adorable circus of dancing mice morphs into a pack of slinking rats, a childish snow globe turns into an icy prison, and an enchanted garden becomes a tangle of horrors. But, in keeping with the film’s underlying subtext of growth and maturation, a talking feline familiar will provide the clear voice of reason while a trio of unhappy ghosts will kindle a newfound sense of responsibility. Of course no work that offers more than a passing nod to Sigmund and Anna would be complete without a few sexual metaphors; an outrageous burlesque show staged by a pair of buxom grannies fits the bill perfectly and heralds our diminutive protagonist’s impending adolescence. The home 3D is pretty damn cool too!

La Coupure (Canada 2006) (3): As the film opens we’re treated to a lovely couple engaging in some hot and heavy lovemaking. It isn’t until later that we realize the woman is cheating on her husband, and later still we realize the “other man” is her brother. Christine and Christophe have been getting it on with each other since they were teenagers and twenty years later they still are, despite the fact she’s now married with two adolescent kids. Ignoring the dire warnings from their long-suffering mother and some suspicious queries from the husband, the two siblings go at it like dogs in heat whenever they get the chance. Afterwards they agonize and emote about what terrible people they are with flowing tears and heated recriminations flying indiscriminately; but try as they may they just can’t seem to stop loving each other. Things really get sticky however when Tamara, Christine’s pubescent daughter, develops a crush on her uncle sending Christine into an emotional tailspin. Chateauvert’s tawdry little bit of arthouse drivel is not even good enough to be accused of pretentiousness. It would appear everyone in this mess wants to be a victim as they glare accusingly at each other and speak in teary half sentences, but after watching the two leads spin their wheels and stare into each other’s navels for eighty minutes you realize that he’s simply taken 10 minutes of decent material and stretched it into a feature film. The result is stilted, repetitious and unconvincing. Despite Valerie Cantin’s noteworthy performance and a mercifully abrupt ending, it still wasn’t worth the three dollar rental fee.

The Cranes Are Flying  (Russia 1957) (9):  Striking use of light and composition coupled with an intelligent script lift this film far above the usual war-time weeper and turn it into a piercing study of the human heart.  Kalatozov uses the camera as an artist uses his brush, treating us to some of cinema’s more amazing sequences.....an attempted seduction during a night-time air raid; a dying soldier’s vision of the wedding he’ll never have; a woman quietly grieving her dead lover in the midst of a joyous crowd....the list continues, and it is impressive.  Free from the overt government propaganda of earlier Soviet films and staunchly avoiding maudlin sentimentality, “The Cranes are Flying” remains a powerful and mature work fifty years after it was first released.

Cria Cuervos (Spain 1977) (9): Made towards the end of Franco’s regime, Carlos Saura has crafted a brilliant film that is both political allegory and psychological essay. Little Ana, mysterious and taciturn, is still quietly grieving the the death of her mother when she witnesses her father’s demise in the arms of another woman. Left orphaned along with her two sisters she is placed in the care of her strict but well-meaning aunt who moves into the family home bringing the crippled grandmother with her. It is a confusing time for Ana where the magical thinking of childhood meets the harsher realities of the adult world with its contradictory messages and baffling behaviour. She is set adrift in the isolated old house which is haunted with memories of the past whether they be faded snapshots or imaginary visits from her dead mother which bring a smile but little solace. Torn between her authoritarian aunt, her uncommunicative grandmother, and the kind-hearted yet gossipy housekeeper, Ana lashes out with childish abandon at those she feels responsible for her loss of maternal love...an act which inadvertently marks the beginning of her maturation. Saura’s convoluted story moves fluidly between past, present and future aided in large part by the wonderfully understated performances of its two main leads; Ana Torrent as the troubled child and Geraldine Chaplin’s dual role as both mother and adult Ana. Although the ghost of Franco is never far away...military uniforms abound, an air of repression is everywhere, and the ending hints at monumental changes to come...this is also a study in memory. Do we recall memories, or do we manufacture them after the fact in order to justify our actions? By concentrating on Ana’s inner turmoil as she reluctantly lets go of the past and takes her first awkward steps towards adulthood Saura quietly illuminates the many pains of growing up in a way that is universal. Excellent!

The Curious Case of Benjamin Button (USA 2008 ) (5):  A sincere, though misguided attempt to give new meaning to the old saying, "Youth is wasted on the young".  Through a series of deathbed flashbacks it tells the story of Benjamin, who was born with the body of an old man but the mind of an infant.  As he grew older mentally, his body grew younger which led to a few romantic complications as there was only one brief span of time in which mind/body were in synch with one another.  A very interesting premise which this overly long and lightweight drama fails to explore adequately.  Fincher concentrates on the trimmings of the story.....lots of pastel sunrises, "homespun" wisdom, and Brad Pitt's pecs but fails to deliver any real substance, instead distracting the audience with superfluous asides involving blind clockmakers ('cause you never know what's coming for you); dubious hummingbirds (their wings trace the symbol for "eternity" don't you know); and a protracted sequence showing the power of coincidence which reminded me of the opening scenes of "Magnolia"..... (gee, if only her friend had bought a better pair of shoelaces Daisy would still be dancing.....)  This is the type of cloying Hollywood crowd pleaser which lulls you into believing you are watching something profoundly moving, but as the houselights come up you realize you've simply been sold a bottle of cinematic snake oil.

The Curse of the Werewolf (UK 1961) (6): Poor little Leon; it’s bad enough his conception was the result of his mother being raped by an insane dungeon inmate, but he was born (and orphaned) on Christmas Day to boot and according to the film’s screenwriter any unwanted child born on Jesus’ birthday is practically begging for some evil mojo. It appears he was invaded by an animal spirit when he drew his first breath and by the time he was old enough to talk he was already licking dead squirrels and growing an impressive pelt on his little palms much to his foster parents’ horror. Advised by their parish priest to shower the child with love and affection in order to thwart his lupine proclivities, Leon eventually grows up to be a happy well-adjusted adult until a visit to a local brothel once again awakens the hairy beast within. Will he be able to live happily ever after with the local vintner’s pouty-lipped daughter whom he’s been wooing on the sly, or will his newly acquired taste for dead hooker cast a pall on their planned nuptials? Oliver Reed obviously graduated from the William Shatner School of Dramatic Arts as he shamelessly shrieks and emotes his way through Hammer Films’ one and only werewolf flick. The rest of the cast is suitably overblown while the studio sets, meant to evoke 18th century Spain, are a soothing mishmash of bucolic clichés and peasant argot. When we finally do get to see Reed in wolfman drag however he looks more like Gary Glitter after a week’s bender; he even barks like a little shih-tzu when he should be howling. A wonderful Saturday afternoon monster movie.

Daisy Kenyon (USA 1947) (6): Although she was at least ten years too old for the part, Joan Crawford’s bigger-than-life features still manage to dominate the screen in this weepy love triangle. Daisy is a successful commercial artist involved in a tempestuous affair with Dan O’Mara, a brusque and very married attorney. Tired of always being the “other woman” she begins seeing the soft-spoken Peter Lapham, a disillusioned and recently widowed veteran who is Dan’s opposite in almost every way. After marrying Peter on a whim Daisy begins to have second thoughts about Dan, especially after he undergoes a messy divorce and comes sniffing around her door again. Bothered by Dan’s persistence and shocked by Peter’s seeming indifference, Daisy flees to her country cottage where she receives a life-altering epiphany on an icy road which leads to a final confrontation with the two men in her life. With its ridiculous plot, snappy dialogue and fluffy musical score it would be easy to dismiss this film as just another chick flick, but beneath the overly polished exterior Preminger touches upon some contentious topics. The very idea of a strong woman with a fulfilling life and professional career who was not dependent on a man was novel enough; allowing her to explore her sexuality, with a married man no less, was downright shocking. In addition, the issue of child abuse is addressed as Dan’s sexually frustrated trophy wife (brilliantly portrayed by Ruth Warrick) takes out her aggression on the couple’s two daughters. And even though the term Post Traumatic Stress Disorder hadn’t been coined yet Peter’s psychological wounds, supposedly due to his wife’s tragic death, are tied-in to some unspoken wartime experiences. Lastly, America’s simmering post-WWII racism is ridiculed as we hear of a Japanese-American veteran returning from Europe to discover his home has been sold from under him. Along the way there are some nice touches; the way Dan turns off the music every time he enters Daisy’s apartment for instance; and it is all filmed in beautifully shadowed B&W. Fun to watch if you can get past it’s sillier elements.

Dancing at the Blue Iguana (USA 2000) (3): Michael Radford's improvised ensemble piece follows the loves, losses and heartbreaks of a group of strippers working in a sleazy L.A. dive. Among the familiar names are Darryl Hannah playing a gullible airhead, Jennifer Tilley overacting her heart out as a histrionic party slut and Sandra Oh as the dancer with brains (she writes poetry in between lap dances). Radford's clumsy attempts to portray his female leads as more than just tits and a g-string simply downgrade them to a gaggle of neurotic stereotypes. The music is good, the dancing mechanical and the emotional depths shallow indeed. Robert Altman would not be impressed.

Dangerous Crossing (USA 1953) (8): Blushing newlyweds John and Ruth Bowman are taking a trans-Atlantic cruise for their honeymoon when John mysteriously vanishes just as the ship leaves dock. Ruth’s initial concern soon turns into full-blown panic however when she discovers all traces of her husband’s existence have been erased, their cabin has been changed and is now registered under her maiden name, and the crew denies ever having seen her in the company of a man. Are the hapless couple victims of a sinister plot? Or is Ruth carrying more baggage than meets the eye as her mental health is called into question? With a sea full of red herrings and a plot as murky as ocean fog this is a wonderful example of film noir excess. Newman never misses a chance for a shadowy close-up or sinister stare as he ratchets up the suspense, and Jeanne Crain plays the role of Ruth to perfection as a terribly naïve bride whose paranoia threatens to spiral out of control. The ending may be tied up a little too neatly but the pleasure lies in the journey itself, not its resolution.

Dante’s Inferno (USA 2007) (9): Sean Meredith’s outrageous little film uses meticulously drawn cardboard puppets on an elaborate toy stage to give the epic poem a very hip modern spin without losing any of its satirical wit. Dante, an unshaven twenty-something slacker, wakes up alone and disoriented in a decidedly low rent neighbourhood after pulling an all-night bender. He’s rescued from his predicament by the poet Virgil who proceeds to take him on a guided tour of the nearby city, which as luck would have it turns out to be Hell itself. What follows is a heady mix of camp horror and political satire as the two men journey deeper into a colourfully contemporary Hades where the souls of the damned suffer some updated punishments for age-old sins. The lustful are trapped in an endless red-light district; hypocrites are doomed to wander forever dressed up as corporate logos (Strom Thurmond in a Mrs. Butterworth outfit…priceless!); and in the infernal city of Dis, now a yuppie condo development, heretics such as L. Ron Hubbard and the Ayatollah Khomeini spend eternity immersed in boiling jacuzzis. It soon becomes clear where Meredith’s political sympathies lie as we see many of George Bush’s cronies suffering one indignity or another all under the malevolent eyes of a Fox News helicopter. This is a gorgeously executed work that incorporates low-tech effects and bright comic book action with an irrepressible energy that’s impossible to ignore. Meredith stays true to the original text while at the same time producing something highly original and fiercely intelligent. Two thumbs up!

The Dark Knight (USA 2008) (8):  I found this latest entry in the Batman series tackled some surprisingly complex philosophical arguments in between the obligatory car crashes and things blowing up.  When Bale’s honour-bound caped crusader goes up against Ledger’s malevolently anarchic Joker it is no longer a simple good guy vs. bad guy scenario but rather the timeless battle between order and chaos played out with comic book characters.  Nolan fleshes out the principal players, bringing home the point that good and evil are inherent in all people, in fact it is the constant interaction between these two forces that makes up “human nature”.  Since Batman and the Joker each represent one aspect of this duality they are, by definition, incompletely human.  Indeed they seem to form a tenuous dependency on one another, neither one able to quite bring himself to kill the other even when the opportunities present themselves.  This twofold aspect of existence is further brought out in Aaron Eckhart’s District Attorney character’s striking transformation following a deep personal tragedy.  Unfortunately Nolan abandons the earlier visions of Gotham City as being a labyrinthine maze of decaying warehouses and noirish art deco skyscrapers in favour of a sunnier steel and concrete metropolis looking very much like contemporary Chicago.  This doesn’t fit well with the story’s dark subject matter and makes some of the more outlandish special effects seem out of place.  It’s a small drawback though and one easily overlooked.  The Dark Knight is one of those rare gems...an action flick that relies as much on brains as it does on brawn.

The Dark Side of the Heart (Argentina 1992) (7):  A fascinating, if terribly uneven, piece of art house cinema about a frustrated poet’s search for his perfect Muse.  Oliverio is obsessed with finding the one woman who can satisfy his voracious appetites....for love, for sex, for inspiration....and he doesn’t give a damn who he steps on in order to do it.  Even Death herself is not spared his sarcastic barbs.  But when this brash, somewhat cocky artist finally does meet his match in the form of a beautiful yet shrewd hooker he suddenly finds himself outwitted and outclassed.  Subiela’s film possesses a rhapsodic beauty with some gorgeously surreal visuals paired with an eclectic soundtrack.  He surrounds Oliverio with images of both life-affirming carnality and sobering mortality, often with humourous intent, while a trio of topless cabaret performers provide a sporadic Greek chorus.  Unfortunately the film suffers from some muddled cinematography and erratic editing.  The dialogue often lapses into pretentious banter that may sound better in the original Spanish but makes for some pretty stilted subtitles.  Some glaring faults aside, it still managed to hold my attention to the very end.

Dark Waters (Italy 1989) (9):  Wonderful piece of gothic horror about the mysterious goings-on at an isolated convent that is all the more impressive when you consider it was made on a shoestring budget with a largely unprofessional cast.  Baino proves to be quite adept at maintaining a macabre atmosphere full of menace and decay helped in large part by amazing lighting and sound.  Whether it’s a stone tunnel lit by hundreds of softly glowing candles or the sound of raindrops hitting a crucifix, everything here seems a bit larger (and louder) than life.  While the final climax is a bit disappointing (you can hear about all the difficulties they encountered in the extras section), the film itself, taken as a whole, was amazing.  Lovecraft would have cheered.

Darkon (USA 2006) (6):  Ever wonder what happened to those math club nerds that used to get beaten up for lunch money?  Well, some went on to become mass murderers, some founded computer companies, and others became......live action role-playing gamers!  Sporting cardboard breastplates and armed with nerf bats and mom’s ironing board, these weekend warriors transform vacant lots and high school playing fields into fairy-tale battlegrounds as they live out their sword & sorcery fantasies.  Dragons will be slain, damsels will be rescued and mighty empires will be forged; at least until Monday when everyone goes back to their part-time jobs at Starbucks and 7-11.  I suppose one could view their play-acting as a microcosm of human history with its alliances and betrayals, kindnesses and atrocities, all in the name of God...or power...or both.  But that would require a monumental stretch.  Instead we are left watching a bunch of well-meaning uber geeks in colourful costumes posturing and proclaiming, often in an awkward approximation of “mythical” English.  It’s harmless fun for the most part although it is sad to see some of the more ardent players trying to use their fictitious personas as a panacea for some significant emotional problems in their actual life.  A classic case of arrested development on a grand scale that is alternately embarrassing and oddly captivating.  Frodo would have been mortified.

David Copperfield (USA 1935) (6):  Some glorious overacting by a very talented cast saves this rather flat and overly long production from being a total waste of time.  The characters are appropriately Dickensian as is the melodramatic tone.  Freddie Bartholomew’s portrayal of the young Copperfield as a fawning little milquetoast does get irritating pretty fast though. He pouts and whines with such shameless abandon that you want to whip a hairbrush at his head.  And I thought Dakota Fanning was the most annoying child actor to ever live.  I stand corrected.

Days of Darkness (Canada 2007) (9): Jean-Marc Leblanc is firmly ensconced in a soulless upper-class Montreal suburb; doomed to a sexless marriage with a high-powered realtor who treats him like an outdated accessory, and a complete stranger to his two daughters who’d rather interact with their iPods. At his low-level government job he is just another generic drone paid to listen to the tragic stories of clients as he automatically denies their applications for financial aid. His only escape is through a rich fantasy life where he is constantly the centre of attention, whether it be for winning a landslide election or authoring a bestseller based on his meaningless life. And of course there is a group of beautiful women eager to wait on him and fulfill his every sexual need. But reality has a way of intruding into even the most pleasant of reveries and it isn’t long before Jean-Marc must face the unhappy wreck his life has become. With it’s undercurrent of helpless rage, Denys Arcand’s follow-up to Decline of the American Empire and Barbarian Invasions goes beyond mere social satire; his bitter vision of a modern dystopia going down in flames is at once darkly comical and terribly unsettling. He populates his film with hordes of blank-faced commuters glued to their cellphones while the radio drones on about murder, plague and catastrophe. Meanwhile, the government is housed in a decaying concrete monstrosity (Montreal’s Olympic Boondoggle) where employees must dodge falling plaster while being harangued by pro-ministerial slogans. With nods to Brazil and 1984 (and a sly salute to Kill Bill ) Arcand uses fantasy and embellishment to draw attention to some troubling trends; from the sinister rise of political correctness to the crushing nightmare of government bureaucracy and the abysmal state of healthcare. But there is hope amidst the pessimism, for as his marriage disintegrates and his fantasy women grow tired of him Jean-Marc receives a delicate epiphany by the shores of a quiet lake. Aside from an overly long Renaissance Fair sequence which, while germane to the film’s central themes, strays into Woody Allen territory there is not much here that is less than brilliant. Very funny...and depressingly honest.

Deadfall (UK 1968) (2):  A mysterious woman and her elderly gay husband join forces with an ace jewel thief in order to pull off an elaborate heist.  That’s about it.  Whatever action the film contains lasts 10 minutes; the rest is bogged down by a stupid ponderous script filled with pointless musings, ridiculous plot twists and ominously screeching seagulls.  Then there’s the obligatory love affair between thief and wife, which robs the film of any credibility it may have had.  The character of the gay husband was handled very poorly of course, he is presented as a pathetic object of scorn....or pity, which is even more insulting.....and made the butt of some derisive “queer” comments.  The actual robbery is intercut with scenes of a wonderful classical guitar concert; the music is nice, the rest is just so much pretentious garbage.

The Dead Girl (USA 2006) (8):  When the mutilated body of a young woman is found in a field the discovery serves as a catalyst of sorts in the lives of four different people.  There’s the spinster living with her controlling bitch of a mother who finds the courage to start a life of her own; the med student working at the local morgue who believes the murdered woman is her long-lost sister and hopes the discovery will bring her family some closure; the bitter neglected wife who suspects her husband may have had something to do with the killing;  and, finally, the mother of the dead girl who ends up making some startling discoveries about her daughter’s secret life.  Each story is presented as a separate vignette tied to the others by the barest of threads. The film then ends with a final chapter in which we follow the victim herself in the last hours of her life.  Even though they are not related, these women share one thing in common; each one is emotionally frozen as they struggle to deal with issues of unresolved grief.  Moncrieff makes excellent use of colour and composition with scenes going from sharp-edged reality to softly shaded reverie and the downbeat musical score keeps it together.  Unfortunately,  even though each story would make a fantastic short on its own, strung together they threaten to sink the film under the weight of their combined misery.  But thanks to an extremely talented cast and her own tight direction Moncrieff manages to keep things afloat.  This technique of storytelling may have been used before with greater effect, but The Dead Girl remains a decent drama that is both tragic and compelling.

Dear Zachary: A Letter to a Son About His Father (USA 2008) (9): In the Fall of 2005, 32-year old Dr. Andrew Bagby was found murdered in a Pennsylvania state park. The prime suspect Dr. Shirley Turner, his estranged girlfriend, promptly fled to Canada. While his parents fought for her extradition back to the USA Turner stunned everyone by claiming she was pregnant with Andrew's child...a boy she named Zachary. In this amazing documentary, Andrew's childhood friend Kurt Kuenne prepares a time capsule of sorts for Zachary so the child will know something of his father when he grows up. Following Andrew's grimly determined parents as they fight for custody of their only grandson, Kuenne casts a disparaging eye on Canada's pathetically outdated judicial system as it forces the grieving couple to jump through endless hoops. But he saves the final insult for last. The film's frantic editing style, composed of jump cuts and overlapping dialogue, is problematic at first but once the story really starts you will be glued to your seats.

Death at a Funeral (USA 2007) (6½):  A generic “Dysfunctional Family Reunion” movie that delivers more smiles than outright laughs.  When the patriarch of an upper middle class family passes away his relatives gather at the estate for the funeral service.  As is typical in this type of comedy things don’t go exactly as planned.....long-held resentments come to the surface, bodies get misplaced and skeletons fly out of closets.....but when a malicious dwarf and a few tabs of acid get thrown in the mix all hell breaks loose.  The characters are pretty much two-dimensional cutouts and the humour lacks any real wit relying instead on funny faces and broad hysterics.  Still, there is a certain good-natured charm to the proceedings, which made for an enjoyable popcorn night on the sofa.

Defenceless:  A Blood Symphony (Australia 2004) (3):  When a woman refuses to sign over her beachfront property to a trio of ruthless developers they decide to teach her a lesson by killing her husband.  Naturally this causes her to abandon her child, take an overdose and become a lesbian.  When they rape and murder her lover however, she decides to put the past behind her and reunite with her child for a picnic on the beach.  But when they finally hit upon the idea of raping and murdering her (after an all-night brainstorming session perhaps?) things get really dicey.  Nine months later...get the symbolism?...she emerges from the sea a veritable juggernaut of divine retribution, a castrating goddess determined to send those three nasty creeps to hell in a hand basket.  But first she befriends a precocious young girl who is being abused by her stepfather...  I really wanted to like this movie, after all it does have some clever moments.  By presenting it as a silent film with a post-production soundtrack of classical music and natural sounds Savage attempts to give it the theatrical feel of an opera...or highly eclectic interpretive dance.  Furthermore he drenches each scene with bright primary colours and highly composed mise en scènes as if to exaggerate the film’s mythological elements.  Unfortunately, despite his efforts, it ends up being just so much bad art.  With it’s overstated symbolism, terrible performances, and self-conscious attempts to gross out the audience Defenceless is ultimately little more than a splatter flick with attitude.

Demons 3: The Ogre (Italy 1988) (7): As a little girl growing up in Oregon Cheryl was troubled by awful nightmares. In her dreams she would find herself in a vast cellar where she’d witness a grotesque monster hatching from a giant cocoon suspended from the ceiling. Despite her attempts to escape the ogre would always catch her in the end and she’d wake up screaming. Twenty years later she is a famous horror writer vacationing in northern Italy with her husband and young son when her life takes a sudden macabre turn. It seems the abandoned castle they’re renting contains a cellar exactly like the one in her childhood dreams and before you can yell “déjà vu” doors are rattling, green goop is dripping from the ceiling and babysitters are being consumed. According to the creepy locals there is a legend associated with the old fortress which states it is inhabited by an ogre who is driven mad with lust whenever it smells the wild orchids that grow in the local countryside; and after 200 years it has one very nasty case of blue balls. Despite the terrible acting and hackneyed script there is a refreshingly childlike quality to this film, as if it were penned by a particularly vicious ten-year old. Bava also throws in an unexpected psychosexual dimension as events in the castle begin to mirror the steamy plot of Cheryl’s latest book. Does the horny beast really exist or is it merely the “sexual fantasies of a bored frustrated housewife” as her increasingly annoyed husband maintains? It’s this odd little twist, which is never truly resolved, that saves the film from total obscurity.

The Descent (UK 2005) (8½):  Neil Marshall trades in the testosterone-drenched machismo of “Dog Soldiers” for a double dose of kick-ass estrogen in this shockingly effective horror thriller.  When a group of female spelunkers get trapped in a series of subterranean caves they soon discover that they are being stalked by some very nasty creatures with little brains and great big teeth.  But even as they desperately search for a way out the “crawlers” always seem to be just one step ahead.  It’s all here...claustrophobic spaces, creepy monsters, and a pervasive darkness that weighs on our protagonists as much as the tons of earth and rock above their heads.  Marshall’s underground world is a dimly lit succession of nightmare landscapes and bottomless chasms where any shadow could hide a pile of whitewashed bones or a pair of malevolently glowing eyes.  As friend turns against friend and reality becomes questionable a psychological dimension emerges that culminates in a bleakly enigmatic final scene.  A true “chick flick” in every good sense, from the cast of strong yet believable women to the prevalence of psychosexual imagery (despite Marshall’s statement to the contrary sometimes a cave is not just a cave).  If you’re looking for a film with shocks, gore, AND brains you need look no further.

The Devil's Backbone  (Spain 2001) (8):  During the Spanish Civil War a group of abandoned orphans witness firsthand man's propensity to inflict suffering upon others. Nightmare visions of a ghostly child compete with macabre images of violence and death......an unexploded bomb in a playground, a dead fetus in a jar, burned bodies covered in rubble. The film seems balanced on the edge of a spiritual abyss and even the faint glint of humanity at the end does little to dispel the darkness. "The Devil's Backbone" is both haunted and haunting.....well worth seeing.

The Divorcee (USA 1930) (6): Norma Shearer stars as the sweet and effervescent Jerry, a “great girl with a man’s point of view” engaged to Ted, an equally doe-eyed and doting newspaper reporter. Three years into their blissful marriage however it all comes crashing down when Jerry learns of her husband’s one night stand with whore-du-jour Janice whose mouth is even bigger than her ample hips. Lamely trying to convince her that it didn’t mean a thing and suggesting she “snap out of it” Ted tries to carry on as if nothing happened, but Jerry is not so easily convinced. Angry and depressed, she winds up evening the score one night with Ted’s best friend. With the tables suddenly turned Ted’s reaction is anything but understanding; apparently a casual affair is okay as long as no male egos are harmed in the process. With her husband strutting around like a wounded peacock stubbornly refusing to demonstrate the same leniency that was expected of her, Jerry becomes all too aware of the double standard which permeates society and decides to rebel against it. One quickie divorce later and he’s a drunken boor while she reinvents herself as a born again party girl. An amazingly enlightened story for such an early film, The Divorcee crackles with some smart dialogue and over-the-top acting (it’s an early talkie after all). Unfortunately this is still 1930 and people weren’t ready for independent, sexually aggressive women who held their heads high while the final credits rolled. But while the ending may be a disappointing cop-out, at least Ms. Shearer’s character managed to rattle the cage a bit.

Don’t Drink the Water (USA 1969) (3): Jackie Gleason plays the stereotypical ugly American as he scowls, grimaces and grinds his teeth in this bland Cold War sitcom that’s heavy on the one-liners but woefully light on wit. He plays New Jersey caterer Walter Hollander (the “Potato Salad Picasso” ) returning from a European holiday with his shrill air-headed wife (an under-utilized Estelle Parsons) and oversexed daughter. En route their flight is hijacked to the Eastern Bloc country of Vulgaria (ha ha)...a dismal place filled with phony Cyrillic signs and even phonier accents. Mistaken for spies, the family takes refuge in the American embassy which, as luck would have it, is currently being overseen by the absent ambassador’s inept son. What follows is a series of lame sketches involving riots, bombs, an irate oil sheik and a zany Italian priest. As the Hollanders throw half-hearted barbs at each other and their daughter begins an affair with the ambassador’s son, an escape plan is eventually hatched which leads to a painfully unfunny chase sequence and stupid finale. Despite some last minute yankee doodle sermonizing towards the end, the movie utterly fails to deliver any satirical bite. What we are left with instead is a 100 minute joke with no punch line.

Doubt (USA 2008) (9): “What do you do when you’re not sure…” intones Fr. Flynn during a Sunday sermon, “…doubt can be a bond as powerful as certainty.” This pretty much sets the tone for Shanley’s brilliantly executed drama about an embittered mother superior who accuses Flynn of molesting a child at the school where she resides as principal. Armed only with a misguided sense of righteousness, Sr. Beauvier begins a one-woman witch hunt designed to make her unfounded suspicions a reality, even violating her own moral code in order to do so…“In the presence of wrongdoing, one steps away from God” being her only justification. In order to truly appreciate what Shanley has done we must look at the period in which the film takes place, the early ‘60s. The nation was still reeling from the assassination of Kennedy, cold war paranoia was in full swing, and Pope John XXIII was trying to drag Catholics into the 20th century with the Second Vatican Council. While Fr. Flynn openly embraces the spirit of change sweeping the church Sr. Beauvier remains dour and rigid, not even allowing ballpoint pens into the classroom. Torn between these two extremes is Sr. James, a young novice who teaches history. Possessed of a certain naiveté, or maybe just a greater faith in the basic goodness of people, she is at first drawn into Beauvier’s web of suspicion then later horrified by the old woman’s monomaniacal crusade. Shanley’s use of natural elements to provide counterpoint to the film’s narrative is superb; storms and tempests battle overhead while a mighty wind buffets the church doors. He also employs subtler imagery to great effect whether it be the stained glass eye of God or a statue of the Virgin casting a shadow on a garden wall; and a simple burnt light bulb has never held such import. Lastly, despite all the empty hearsay and innuendo, he introduces just enough doubt into the story to make us question our own convictions as to what really happened. A completely engrossing drama highlighted by some magnificent performances including Viola Davis’ turn as the young boy’s mother whose reaction to the accusations took me completely off guard. Bravo!

The Draughtsman's Contract  (UK 1982) (9):  Rarely has the English language sounded so beautiful in a film as it does in this lavish period piece. From the sumptuous cinematography and exaggerated costumes to the razor sharp script it provides a sensuous feast for both eye and ear. Greenaway presents us with a seemingly straightforward murder mystery on a country estate then proceeds to obscure the proceedings with allegorical clues, enigmatic dialogue and the occasional red herring. Solving the crime, however, takes a back seat to the simple pleasure of watching a cinematic artist at work. Brilliant!

Duck (USA 2005) (2): Full of mawkish sentimentality, mangled metaphors and a soundtrack overflowing with sugary folk ballads, this lightweight road movie-cum-social critique manages to lay one rotten egg after another. Set in a dystopian 2009 (Jeb Bush is president, recycling has been abolished and social security is bankrupt), it revolves around sixty-six year old Arthur, a newly widowed retiree who finds himself alone and penniless in a hostile world. After scattering his wife’s ashes in the park where they used to court; now the garbage-strewn site of a future shopping mall, he decides to end it all with a handful of prescription drugs when he is saved by the timely arrival of an orphaned duckling. Soon man and bird are inseparable buddies; sharing the bathtub, cuddling in bed and exchanging little gems of feathered wisdom. But when Arthur’s neurotic asshole of a landlord evicts the pair they suddenly find themselves on a long (so very very long) journey of the soul as they slowly make their way to the coast. Crossing the dirty concrete wasteland of Los Angeles they meet up with the usual assortment of one-dimensional stock characters one expects in these schmaltzy knee-jerk sagas; the heartless authorities, the panhandler with a heart of gold, the blind vagrant who sees all, and the deeply philosophical immigrant (Amy Hill overdoing it with an insultingly fake Asian accent). Eventually Arthur and his little winged alter ego do make it to the shores of the sunlit Pacific just in time for the film’s sickeningly sweet finale and a mercifully quick fade to black. With its corny dialogue and clumsy attempts at eliciting sympathy this little turkey should never have been hatched. I must admit that the duck was kind of cute though, especially when it took an unscripted shit on the picnic table.

Duck Soup  (USA 1933) (4):  I suppose when it was fresh in theatres the humour in “Duck Soup” was considered innovative and risqué.  In the years since then however the Marx Brothers’ brand of Vaudevillian comedy has been emulated so many times that the original routines now seem very tired and very dated.  That said, Groucho’s witty ripostes can still make me smile and Margaret Dumont plays the perfect foil.  The antics of his partners however do get monotonous after a while, especially Harpo’s hyperactive idiocy.  A sterling example of slapstick comedy at its finest but definitely not for everyone, myself included.

Eastern Promises (UK 2007) (7):  A dark and dismal glimpse into the inner world of the Russian mafia seen through the eyes of one of its soldiers is juxtaposed with the story of a young nurse trying to find the family of a newborn foundling.  Generally good performances all around further enhanced by a subtle soundtrack, tight editing, and a dark palette of colours ranging from blood reds to shadowy blues.  But while I did appreciate the fact that Cronenberg used the story of the baby as a counterpoint to that of the Russian protagonist....her final scene is awash with sunlight while he retreats further into darkness....the two tales did not fit together well.  The film was further weakened by an implausible Hollywood-style ending.  Despite these drawbacks I still found much to be admired here.

Ebola Syndrome (Hong Kong 1996) (5): Kai is a unrepentant psychopath. After murdering his lover and her husband, he flees to South Africa where he lands a job cooking at a Chinese restaurant. Being hypersensitive to even the most innocuous criticisms, it isn’t long before he develops an enormous grudge against the restaurant’s overbearing owner and his spoiled harpy of a wife; but how will he exact his revenge? Then one day, while driving home with a shipment of meat, he spies a semi-conscious African woman lying by the side of the road. Being the disgusting slimeball that he is, Kai naturally decides to drop his drawers in order to take advantage of the situation. Just as he’s finishing up however, the woman has a sudden violent seizure and dies; but not before spraying him in the face with copious amounts of white mucus. It seems the hapless native was infected with the dreaded Ebola virus which is 99.9% fatal with Kai being in the lucky 0.1% who simply become active carriers able to infect others. This is when the party shifts to high gear! Returning to the restaurant, Kai begins to unknowingly infect others especially when he grinds up the owners and serves them as “African buns”. Escaping back to Hong Kong he eventually learns the truth about his viral status and sets about infecting as many people as he can in a non-stop orgy of festering pustules, spraying blood and screaming hysterics. Playing like a weak Chinese giallo, Ebola Syndrome revels in its many excesses whether it’s a graphic dismemberment or violent rape. Unfortunately the special effects are below par, the editing weak, and Yau’s clumsy attempts at humour fail to survive the inept subtitling; “My sperm is spilling out from my mouth...” says a sexually frustrated Kai at one point. Furthermore, the character of Kai is so patently awful (he’s not above sucking out a woman’s eyeball or masturbating into a customer’s pork chop) that his gross-out behaviour actually becomes tiresome. An unimpressive splatter flick overdone in every way.

Electra Glide in Blue (USA 1973) (5):  Diminutive trooper John Wintergreen patrols the lonely stretches of highway that wind through the Arizona desert ticketing hippies and off-duty police officers alike.  He’s an honest cop who manages to avoid the petty corruption around him as he pursues his dream of becoming a homicide detective.  When he’s called upon to assist in the investigation of a suspicious suicide it appears his wish is about to be granted but it isn’t long before he realizes that not everyone shares his sense of honour.  Guercio’s simple film employs some beautiful imagery and imaginative camerawork; lots of wide-angle shots of mesas framed against brilliant blue skies and closer, intimate shots sometimes reflected in a mirror as if to challenge our sense of reality.  He also uses some clever cinematic allusions, which lend depth to the narrative.  In one scene Wintergreen uses a poster of Easy Rider for target practice, a segment  that  later injects a tragic irony to the movie’s finale.  In another scene reminiscent of Dr. Strangelove, he begins to suspect his new boss may be a bit crazy. Finally, the film ends with a highly effective tracking shot enhanced by a soulful closing song.  Where it ultimately failed for me however was in the weak script which often lapsed into tired genre clichés, and the blatant overacting; whether it was the local floozy delivering a histrionic monologue, the town schizoid’s wild-eyed ramblings, or John’s lunatic police partner having a monumental meltdown.  What could have been a richly textured study of one man’s noble struggle to achieve greatness without sacrificing his integrity winds up being a nicely filmed TV cop drama instead.

Enchanted (USA 2007) (8):  Disney pokes fun at its own cutesy reputation in this playful satire on the fairytale formula.  The story concerns Giselle, a cartoon maiden in the animated land of Andalasia, who is about to marry Prince Edward, her one true love.  Edward’s wicked stepmother meanwhile, the evil sorceress Queen Narissa, schemes to block the marriage in order to keep the throne for herself.  To this end she banishes Giselle to the world of reality, namely New York City, where the winsome naïf must contend with muggers, freaks, and a cynical population that no longer believes in happily ever after.  It isn’t long before Giselle becomes entangled in the lives of a skeptical divorcee, his 8-year old daughter and his jealous fiancée; but when Prince Edward and his little chipmunk sidekick come looking for her things go from simply confusing to complete pandemonium...  Despite the sheer absurdity of the movie’s premise there is a seductive quality to the comical proceedings that caught me off guard and had me smiling like a kid.  The musical numbers are bright and lively, the allusions to Snow White and Cinderella are cleverly done, and the CGI effects are amazing....rats and cockroaches have never looked so darn cute!  And yes, there is a very happy ending for all.  Enchanted doesn’t try to be anything than what it is, a light and fluffy little treat.  It succeeds admirably.

The End of Suburbia: Oil Depletion and the Collapse of the American Dream (Canada 2004) (7): There is a coming energy crisis, according to Gregory Greene’s cortège of solemn talking heads, which will make the shortages of the 70’s look like a golden age and the Iraqi war a minor skirmish. Gone are the days where oil and natural gas gushed out of wells and into our bottomless gas tanks and water heaters. As the earth’s supply of crude is used up it will become increasingly difficult...read expensive...to coax the black gold out of the ground necessitating deeper wells that produce fewer barrels. This law of diminishing returns is bad news to an America whose addiction to cheap energy and, by association, cheap prices on everything from food to detached bungalows has been nurtured by years of corporate propaganda and social manipulation. As the supply of oil slides down the wrong side of the bell curve, people will be forced to downscale their energy-dependent lifestyles and work/shop/play closer to home while economies become increasingly localized. And nowhere will this pinch be felt more than in those sprawling concrete salutes to conformity, the suburbs. At one time the pastoral retreat of the wealthy wishing to escape the industrial reek of crowded cities, the advent of cheap automobiles quickly opened up these hinterlands to the hordes of rat racers eager to hit the new super-freeways in search of their own piece of the American dream. “The ‘suburbia project’...” laments one author, “...was the greatest misallocation of resources in the history of the world...a living arrangement with no future”. Indeed, with energy prices predicted to skyrocket there will be a domino effect which will render the suburban dream unsustainable before Generation X gets its first gray hair. So where’s the upside? According to Greene there isn’t one unless you commit to the idea of “New Urbanism” which is essentially a nostalgic return to the livable urban environments of yesteryear where parks, specialty stores, apartment buildings and transit routes could all be found within walking distance of each other. Furthermore, although research into alternate energy sources should have begun 50 years earlier one cannot discount the ability of human ingenuity to overcome the obstacles it created in the first place. The only question seems to be, will people leave their obsolete suburban “McHouses” willingly or be dragged out kicking and screaming? Bleak and unsettling, Greene’s glimpse into our future history makes you feel as if you’ve been kicked out of bed right in the middle of a pleasant dream. But is his cast of interviewees simply a pack of gloomy naysayers, or true prophets of doom? I guess time will tell. *Gulp*

End of Summer  (Japan 1961) (9):  When you watch enough Ozu you realize a few things: all his movies revolve around the same themes.....the transitory nature of life/love/happiness and the identity crisis of post WWII Japan; he uses the same ensemble cast; he uses the same images (smoke, trains, tombstones); and he uses the same sets (same house, same tavern). However, his mastery of these elements make each film a separate joy to watch. "The End of Summer" tends to be a bit heavy-handed in it's symbolism but I still found it entertaining. It's a pleasure to see a true artist at work.....even if you are already familiar with his palette.

Enter the Void (France 2009) (8): Gaspar Noe, the bad boy of French cinema, assaults our senses once more with this acid-tinged karmic mindfuck which makes up for its weak narrative with some dazzling visuals. Orphaned at an early age and then raised in separate foster homes, Linda and Oscar eventually find themselves sharing an apartment in a seedy section of Tokyo where they eke out an existence stripping and dealing narcotics respectively. But when Oscar is killed in a botched drug bust his sister's already unstable life takes a nosedive while Oscar's detached spirit embarks on a meandering tour through the now ethereal streets of downtown Tokyo which suddenly bear an uncanny resemblance to the netherworld described in his tattered copy of "The Tibetan Book of the Dead". Noe pulls all the usual tricks out of his sleeve for this one; vertiginous camerawork spins and loops seemingly at random, pulsating bass beats keep things anchored and everything is awash in lurid shades of neon light. There's the usual transgressive scenes one expects from Gaspar...a thrusting dildo here, an aborted fetus there...but a rough-edged lyricism slowly emerges as we see Oscar's soul buffeted between past and present aided by ubiquitous "portals" as it searches for its next destination. The ending is wholly predictable for anyone able to follow the clues (cryptic signage and artwork abound), but at 160 minutes the journey is breathtaking.

Eugénie de Sade (France 1970) (4): A tawdry bit of “amour fou” originally written by the Marquis de Sade, overhauled by Spanish sleaze auteur Jesus Franco, and set in contemporary Berlin. As she lay bleeding in her hospital bed, Eugénie Radeck de Franval takes time out from dying to make a breathless confession to prying journalist Attilla Tanner (Franco, showing that he can act about as well as he can direct). Raised by her stepfather Albert, a frustrated author with a weakness for violent erotica, Eugénie led a fairly normal life until the day she came upon a very dirty book hidden in Albert’s study and was “jolted into another level of reality” much to her stepdad’s delight. Quickly indoctrinating his daughter into the joys of sadistic sex, Albert and the impressionable Eugénie embarked upon a series of conquests involving rape, murder and, of course, incest. But when Eugénie became smitten with Paul, a local jazz musician, Albert was thrown into a jealous rage. Armed only with a pocket knife, a pair of scissors and a hara kiri blade he ultimately succeeded in destroying Eugénie’s one shot at true love. I’m sure Franco’s legions of fans will see all manner of deep psychosexual nonsense at work in this panty parade; the ruinous effects of obsessive love, the complicity of the voyeur, and the arbitrary line separating pleasure from pain for instance. He certainly does try to inject an arty sensibility to the proceedings with bleak urban skylines and wintry landscapes set to a soundtrack of pretentious violins and warbling divas. However, despite the postcard visuals and inflated dialogue it all falls flat; a grandiose vision served up by a limited talent. Not enough flesh for the pervs, not enough meat for the rest of us.

Excellent Cadavers (Italy 2005) (6):  Bleak and pessimistic look at the Sicilian mafia and its intimate relationship with Italy’s corrupt political system.  It would appear that the Cosa Nostra is so firmly entrenched in that country’s governmental affairs that any attempt to root it out results in bureaucratic stonewalling and a rash of cold-blooded assassinations.  The mafia itself is presented as a highly structured and ruthless organization that maintains its economic stranglehold through a mixture of intimidation, bribes, and murder.  Turco recounts the story of two brave magistrates who painstakingly gathered evidence in order to bring hundreds of Mafiosi to justice in Italy’s trial of the century.  They later paid for their honesty with their lives and most of the convictions they won were overturned.  He uses a combination of grainy news footage and still photos to give his documentary a gritty realism that is complimented by a handful of articulate talking heads.  Technically, it appears a bit disjointed in places and the narration is occasionally  choppy, furthermore it could certainly use some tighter editing.  Despite these flaws however it remains a fine example of objective journalism.

The Exterminating Angel (Mexico 1962) (8): As Señor Nobile and his lovely wife prepare for a lavish dinner party at their mansion they are somewhat perturbed when the servants decide to beat a hasty retreat before the guests have even come through the front door. Keeping a stiff upper lip, the wealthy couple decide to wing it anyway with the aid of their chief Steward. Aside from some flying hors d’oeuvres things go splendidly until the guests retire to the living room and suddenly find themselves unable (or unwilling) to leave. There are no locked doors or physical barriers but an unexplained physical malaise keeps them rooted in the salon and try as they may they just can’t seem to make it past the threshold. As crowds gather outside the estate, equally unable to walk past the open gate, the dinner guests slide into a type of bourgeois savagery; angry recriminations are leveled at their hosts, adulterous urges are acted upon and a messy meal is made of a hapless flock of sheep that just happen to wander by. As their isolation drags on the affluent partygoers, desperate for material comfort and helpless without their maids and butlers to wait on them, begin to despair. Walls are ripped apart in search of water, rare Ming vases become toilets and, as a last ditch effort, a seemingly absent God is called upon. Once again Luis Buñuel takes aim at the pettiness of the upper class and scores a bullseye. By combining fierce wit with a parade of increasingly absurd plot twists he delivers a cruel satire that has you laughing even as you cringe. The mundane qualities of his subjects are brought out in some very clever ways with individual lines (and one entire scene) being repeated and an acid-tongued script laced with disparaging remarks about class and patriotism. Furthermore, aside from their all-consuming lethargy, there exists a spiritual paralysis with some guests taking cold comfort in meaningless ritual; as one woman offers up a showy prayer to the Virgin, another practices voodoo with the chicken feet and feathers stashed in her purse and a couple of well-dressed dandies eagerly exchange secret Masonic handshakes. Ever the atheist, Buñuel adorns the salon walls with faded religious icons, including one prominent painting of St. Michael battling the dragon which graces the makeshift latrine’s outer door. But his final jab at both church and aristocracy is saved for a deliciously irreverent ending involving raucous bells and a few persistent sheep. Wonderfully layered and impossible to pigeonhole.

The Eyes of Laura Mars (USA 1978) (6): Laura Mars is a celebrated New York photographer whose provocative fashion lay-outs involving scantily clad lingerie models in scenes of murder and mayhem raise the ire of feminists and social conservatives alike. But when she begins having psychic visions of close friends being killed by a mad stalker, murders that become all too real, she finds herself gaining a notoriety she hadn’t bargained on. With the killer on her tail and a romance blossoming with the rugged detective assigned to her case (Tommy Lee Jones with big poofy hair and bell bottoms!) Laura finds her personal and professional lives thrown into a tailspin. Kershner poses some tough questions about the role of art in society; does it simply reflect a reality that already exists, or does it play an integral role in shaping that reality? In our media-obsessed culture should artists be held accountable for their creations, or does “freedom of expression” trump all even if it’s solely for monetary gain? Laura stages mock tragedies as part of her work, but at night she retreats to a posh penthouse appointed with serene statuary and calming earth tones where she can detach herself from the chaos far below. “Murder exists already...” she protests, “...physical, spiritual, moral...I just show it...”. And as an ironic rebuke sales of her photographs skyrocket after news of the killings become public. There are a few such clever touches throughout the film; Laura’s bedroom is lined with floor to ceiling mirrors which offer fractured illusory images of her, several of her more controversial spreads bear an eerie resemblance to actual crime scene photos, and her “visions” are presented as grainy commercial video footage. Is art imitating life, or have the roles reversed? Unfortunately Kershner is too busy throwing red herrings at us to explore these tantalizing questions in any depth and we are left with an above average police thriller with extraneous love story instead. Faye Dunaway is certainly radiant in the title role, and the film’s colourful blend of 70s fashion, bad hairdos and disco snippets is effective. But it could have been so much more.

Faces (USA 1968) (7): The war between the sexes is a bleak battlefield indeed in this early experimental work by John Cassavetes. As his marriage deteriorates into a series of angry clashes, Richard Forst tries to seek some comfort in the arms of Jeannie, a prostitute half his age. His wife Maria, meanwhile, has her own disastrous fling with Chet, a young dance floor gigolo. But with the morning light fantasies give way to cold reality and each partner is forced to confront the loveless mess their relationship has become. Themes of alienation and illusion run strongly throughout Cassavetes’ film as characters gasp for air between bouts of loneliness and rage; each one bearing the scars of living yet none capable of sharing their pain openly. Drunken banality and sexual games replace actual communication, and as the night wears on both become increasingly destructive. While one of Jeannie’s intoxicated clients proudly declares his love for “Aesop’s fables and Walt Disney”, one of Maria’s elderly friends, terrified of her own mortality, makes a pathetic fool of herself fawning over a blond youth. Even the Forst’s own adulterous transgressions are shown for the desperate acts of denial they are; in trying to ignore their marriage’s impending demise they form the most tenuous of bonds with people who are essentially idealized strangers. As Chet sagely observes, “Nobody has the time to be vulnerable to each other...” Cassavetes’ use of B&W coupled with severe camera angles which pit foreground against background, often across a table or flight of stairs, highlights the movie’s confrontational tone. Furthermore, as characters go from room to room flicking switches on and off, shifting panels of light and darkness are created which offset the film’s heavy realist approach. Lastly, the use of artwork is both subtle and powerful; while Jeannie’s apartment is decorated with images of solitary nymphs, the Forst’s have a painting of a couple playing an intense game of chess and a photo of multiple streams flowing aimlessly over a barren landscape. If the drama is a wee bit overdone in parts the powerful performances almost make up for it.

Factotum (USA 2005) (8): Hank Chinaski is your typical “beat generation” antihero; a frustrated street-level poet drifting from one dead end job to another, broke, angry and perpetually hung over. His brutally honest essays about life on the edge are filled with rage and despair yet even as he shakes his fist at the world he seems forever destined to stagger in its shadow. One could almost see him as a tragic martyr to his art if it were not for the fact his stigmata are entirely self-inflicted; between the alcoholic benders and destructive love affairs he manages to sabotage every chance he gets to rise above the gutters and dives that seem to demarcate his life. But even as the piles of rejected manuscripts and empty beer bottles get higher, he doggedly pursues his only dream; to be a published author. The film ends much as it begins with Hank, down but not quite defeated, drawn towards yet another elusive muse as she saunters seductively across a smoky bar... Matt Dillon is superb; he brings a complex intensity to the role of Hank that is further enhanced by strong supporting performances from Lili Taylor and Marisa Tomei. His character may not elicit much sympathy but his passion is unmistakable. Ultimately it’s Hamer’s assured direction that manages to keep things gritty and believable; his portrayal of a life set to slow burn is at once wholly captivating and oddly inspiring. Well done.

The Fall (UK 2008) (8): While languishing in a Los Angeles hospital circa 1915 a suicidal Hollywood stuntman passes the time entertaining a little girl with tall tales regarding the evil Governor Odious and the five eccentric bandits who've sworn to kill him. Presented from a child's point of view this is one of the most beautifully visual films I've ever seen; amazingly surreal sets (it was filmed in 18 countries) bathed in rich primary colours and framed with the eye of a poet. As man and girl enter into the story's narrative an unexpected psychological depth emerges that sets this one head and shoulders above the pack. A few melodramatic lapses are easily overlooked and the little actress is just too cute for words.

Family Nest (Hungary 1979)(7): Due to a chronic housing shortage a young couple is forced to live with the husband's overbearing authoritarian father; a move that proves to be their undoing. Using a stark verite style composed of long intimate close-ups and heated monologues Bela Tarr uses the petty lies and everyday hypocrisies of one extended family to cast a jaundiced eye on life under Communist rule. The acting is flawless and despite some muddled subtitles the characters' underlying frustrations ring loud and clear.

The Fantasticks (USA 1995) (6): Even though the off-Broadway mainstay loses much of its small stage charm in this silver screen adaptation, there is still enough here to elicit a few wistful smiles. Two neighbouring widowers will stop at nothing to foster a romance between their teenaged children, Matt and Louisa. The desperate fathers even feign an ongoing feud and forbid the two youngsters from seeing each other in the hope that “kids will always do what they’re told not to do”. But when a mysterious carnival blows into town the two men decide to enlist the aid of its dashing, and decidedly devilish, proprietor El Gallo whose elaborate business cards promise to make “dreams come true”. Hatching an outrageous plan involving kidnapping and sword fights, El Gallo does manage to draw the fledgling sweethearts closer together until one of the dads accidentally spills the beans and the path of true love experiences its first big bump. As a disenchanted Matt is led astray by the temporal pleasures of the outside world, Louisa becomes seduced by El Gallo’s oily charms and the despairing fathers begin to lose hope. “Love Conquers All” however, and by the film’s end a contrite Matt and Louisa take their first tentative steps toward maturity. Teeming with bright candy colours and deliberately exaggerated performances, The Fantastick’s light fairytale feel belies its scholarly origins. Inspired by centuries of romantic tradition, from Roman mythology to Shakespeare and beyond, the play’s deceptively simple script is rife with literary archetypes that tickle the intellect while its unapologetic sentimentality appeals to the dreamer in all of us. Ritchie keeps the sets and effects simple enough, a giddy boat ride through the “Tunnel of Love” has a delightful vaudevillian edge to it, but the cast seems uncomfortable with the quirky dialogue and the widescreen cinematography dilutes much of the play’s more fanciful elements. Even so, the songs are just as wonderfully corny as ever and still manage to make us pause and remember that certain September...

Far From the Madding Crowd (UK 1967) (8): Julie Christe, Terence Stamp, Alan Bates and Peter Finch headline this gorgeous adaptation of Thomas Hardy's 19th century novel. Stubborn and headstrong Bathsheba, just recently come into a large inheritance, finds herself being pursued by three very different suitors; a dashing cavalry officer with a heart of ice, an aging landowner desperate for one last chance at love, and a simple shepherd who has all but given up on her. Aided by Nicholas Roeg's sumptuous widescreen vistas of the Dorset countryside this 3-hour epic practically drips tragedy, heartbreak and romance from every frame. It doesn't quite reach the level of passion it was aiming for but all is easily forgiven.

Fear(s) of the Dark (France 2007) (6): Four animated shorts from various directors take aim at all things creepy and unsettling with limited success. A college student plays reluctant nursemaid to a host of nasty bedbugs; a young girl has a questionable run-in with a vengeful spirit; a village is terrorized by something in the woods; and in the film’s best segment, a wayward traveller seeks refuge in a mysterious house with a murderous secret. Loosely tying the stories together are a series of vignettes involving a mad hatter and a pack of wild dogs with a taste for innocent flesh while a faceless narrator provides an endless litany of her many phobias, among them a fear of indigestion and becoming “irredeemably bourgeois”. Drawing artistic inspiration from a variety of sources including Japanese manga, Italian artist Giorgio de Chirico, and American illustrator Edward Gorey, the directors take us to places live actors simply cannot. There is a macabre, dreamlike feel to the primitive B&W animation which relies more on shadow and texture than graphic carnage yet, in the end, it ultimately fails to deliver the icy frissons it promises. Mildly unnerving and then easily forgotten, rather like an episode of Fear Factor for the terminally timid.

Fellini’s Roma (Italy 1972) (8):  Fellini’s decidedly skewed homage to the Eternal City  , circa WWII to 1972, is less a love letter than a collection of outrageous postcards.  Through a series of disjointed narratives and giddy flashbacks he presents us with a city full of spectacles and absurdities, where silent monuments to past glory stand cheek to jowl with raucous images of contemporary excess.  But even as Romans lose touch with their past they seem doomed to repeat it with images of “Il Duce” standing in for Julius Caesar and drunken revelers taking part in modern bacchanals.  In one sobering scene ancient frescoes in a newly discovered catacomb fade and disappear upon being exposed to “modern air”...but as the last painted face turns to dust we see that some of the ancient Romans bore an uncanny resemblance to their modern counterparts.  In another episode, my personal favourite, an ecclesiastical fashion show meant to highlight the latest in Vatican wardrobes begins as an hysterical satire on the church’s affluence but gradually turns into something far more caustic with the pope himself becoming an object of pagan idolatry.  There is no doubt that Fellini loves his city with all its illusions and chaos.  Scenes of debauchery and hedonism are offset by quiet moments of contemplation and innocent humour.  The final scene in which a mob of young people on motorcycles circle the city like a plague of locusts brings the whole work to a satisfying, if somewhat abrupt, conclusion.  Loud, crass and self-indulgent for sure, but an exhilarating trip nonetheless.

Female (USA 1933) (3): When Alison Drake inherits the family car company from her father she suddenly finds herself surrounded by hundreds of handsome male employees more than willing to grease her gears for the sake of a promotion. Not one to worry about other people’s opinions she eagerly takes them up on their offers but, after a vodka-fueled roll in the hay, unceremoniously dumps them back into the secretarial pool. “I’m merely treating men the same way they’ve always treated women” she admits to an old highschool girlfriend and one can’t help but marvel at such a frank and liberated attitude in 1933. However, upon meeting the cavalier and oh-so-manly engineer Jim Thorne she suddenly realizes that all she really wants is “...marriage.....love......and children, the things women were born for.” Boo! Hiss! The art deco sets, however, are beautiful.

Fermat’s Room (Spain 2007) (6): In response to a series of mysteriously enticing invitations, four brilliant mathematicians gather in an abandoned warehouse for a night of intellectual fun and games. But as the evening progresses they quickly realize they have been caught in a most ingenious trap involving hydraulic presses and moving walls; if they are to survive until dawn they will have to work together in order to solve a number of mathematical puzzles posed by their enigmatic host, Mr. Fermat. With time running out and tensions mounting it soon becomes clear that the four reluctant guests were not brought together randomly. The reason for their current predicament may very well lie in their past, but what are the common threads? And why does Fermat hold them in such low esteem? Interesting premise stylishly presented but it lacks both the wit and claustrophobic camerawork essential to make it work; I’m thinking of the brazen audacity of Saw or the Kafkaesque paranoia of Cube. Furthermore, in a vain attempt to repeatedly throw us off the trail the directors pile on so many red herrings and ludicrous plot twists that Fermat’s Room winds up being a victim of it’s own inflated sense of cleverness. The mathematical word problems are fun however and sure to be a hit at geeky dinner parties everywhere.

The Fifth Horseman is Fear (Czech 1964) (7): Dr. Braun is a Jewish physician living in Prague at the height of the Nazi occupation. Stripped of his right to practice medicine he is relegated to the role of inventory clerk, cataloguing the mountains of personal property confiscated from Czech Jews. Ignoring the suffering around him he diligently performs his repugnant task while downplaying his identity and claiming to be a “realist”. But when he is called upon to help an injured partisan hiding in his building he is faced with an ethical dilemma of monumental proportions which pits his desire to remain invisible against his growing need to take a stand. Brynych offers a scathing look at fascism and the fear and moral apathy which fuel it. He uses Braun’s apartment complex to give a cross sectional view of a totalitarian society; from it’s winding stairway filled with hushed whispers and suspicious stares to the endless repetition of rules and regulations punctuated by ringing bells and flickering lights. In one apartment an old woman mourns past glories; in another a self-obsessed housewife poses before a mirror while ignoring her crying child. Upstairs, a wealthy physician wrestles with his conscience while below him a collaborator convinces himself he’s just following orders. At one point Brynych makes ironic comparisons between the numbed alcohol-induced bonhomie of a local tavern and the drugged anarchy of an insane asylum. And when the police lock the building’s tenants in the cellar while their apartments are searched it quickly becomes a nightmare warren of shadowy corners as neighbour turns against neighbour in a frenzy of accusations, pleading and half-finished prayers. But as Braun alone is singled out for his role in aiding the criminal his altruism is ultimately rewarded with a strange mixture of sadness, fear, indifference and relief. With its jarring score of blaring horns and pounding pianos as well as some overly dramatic passages bordering on the absurd, this example of Czech “new wave” cinema is definitely an artistic challenge. There is great beauty here however; at one point as Braun moves through a warehouse packed with stolen goods he pauses by a wall of silent musical instruments and stopped clocks; in another scene his inner turmoil takes the form of a passionate soliloquy directed at the audience while in the distance we see a smokestack spewing out noxious black clouds. An acquired taste for sure, but one to savour slowly.

The Final (USA 2010) (1): It’s the geeks vs. the jocks when a group of highschool misfits fed up with being constantly harassed devise an elaborate plan to even the score. Sending out anonymous invitations to a super hip costume party the nerdy underdogs manage to subdue their unwitting nemeses (and their totally hot stuck-up girlfriends) thanks to a bowl of drugged punch and several feet of leg irons. What follows is a study in psychotic overacting and insultingly gratuitous cruelty as each big bad bully is disfigured, maimed, tortured and crippled before the hero is finally able to escape and alert the authorities. One-dimensional stereotyped characters and a juvenile script obviously penned by a teenaged loner with rage issues are the least of this shit pile’s faults. While it’s no secret that I’m a fan of the “slasher” genre of film, those movies have always possessed a certain dark, tongue-in-cheek approach never meant to be taken seriously and easily brushed aside upon exiting the theatre. This smug little revenge piece however is not only terribly made but traverses some very dangerous ground, namely the justification of outrageous acts of murder and violence as an answer to classroom taunts. Of course the jocks and bitches are just so excessively awful that our little goth victims have no choice but to don nazi outfits and horror masks in order to sever their spines, burn their faces off and stick needles in their throats while spouting angry rebukes. “I’m the monster you made me!” emotes one little freak waving a machine gun in the head jock’s face and we’re supposed to....what? cheer the little fucker on because we all know what it’s like to be teased? The phenomenon of deadly violence in schools has been examined with far greater skill in movies such as the darkly satirical If... and Gus Van Sant’s disarmingly impassive Elephant. Joey Stewart’s sophomoric little foray into this most serious territory on the other hand plays more like a crack-fueled hissy fit which makes 1984’s Revenge of the Nerds look like a masterpiece.

Five Easy Pieces (USA 1970) (6):  Jack Nicholson takes his job and shoves it in this rather overrated character study released at the beginning of the “ME” generation.  Robert “Eroica” Dupea is not happy:  he hates his dead end job, he’s grown tired of his whiney girlfriend, and he looks upon his bourgeois family with arrogant contempt.  He’s forever running away from responsibilities yet, at the same time,  he’s searching for some sense of permanence.  Robert’s life seems to encapsulate the growing dissatisfaction and restlessness that ushered in the 70’s.  He doesn’t fit in with any crowd and society’s restrictions are a constant source of irritation for him.....hence the famous “diner scene” as well as an amusing interlude with an acid-tongued hitchhiker.  It’s when he reluctantly returns home to visit his ailing father and estranged sister that he receives an emotional comeuppance which forces him to face some uncomfortable truths about himself....but will the subsequent soul-searching be enough to make him change his ways?  There is some depth here with action taking place on more than one level.  The spare soundtrack (Tammy Wynette and Chopin?!) is effective as is the use of music to add definition to the key characters....the “five easy pieces” of the title.  The performances are impressive and the understated ending was perfect.  Unfortunately, this is a film that belongs in 1970....a true period piece.  Much of the initial impact it had 40 years ago has not withstood the test of time and even though I can appreciate what it said to a past generation I still found Nicholson’s character tedious and petty.  It was one of the defining films of its decade however, and that alone is worth the rental fee.

Flower Drum Song (USA 1961) (6):  When a young Chinese stowaway shows up in San Francisco’s Chinatown with her elderly father in tow she winds up complicating the lives of everyone she meets in this sparkling Rodgers & Hammerstein musical of romantic misunderstandings and happy endings.  Petite Mei Li originally came to meet nightclub owner Sammy Fong for a prearranged marriage masterminded by his mother.  But Sammy is already involved with his star performer so he tries to pawn her off to Mr. Wang, a staid businessman looking to pair his increasingly Americanized son with a traditional Chinese wife.  His son, meanwhile, is pining away for someone else...   Based on the novel (and subsequent stage play) by C. Y. Lee, Flower Drum Song takes a rather lighthearted look at the generation gaps and culture clashes in an immigrant Chinese community circa 1958.  From the bright colourful sets to the wonderfully camp songs and lively dance numbers this is one of the more striking widescreen musicals.  It also broke a lot of racial barriers for Asian-American actors who were no longer content playing stereotypical roles (never mind that many of the “Chinese” characters here are actually played by Japanese-Americans...and one African-American).  Unfortunately the film’s cloying sentimentality has not aged well in the 50 years since its release and what was once considered groundbreaking theatre now seems somewhat bland.  Still worth renting if only for the vibrant song and dance routines.

Forbidden Zone (USA 1980) (7): Alice in Wonderland meets Flesh Gordon and H. R. Pufnstuf for a week-long cocaine binge in this seriously fucked up performance piece penned by the founding members of Oingo Boingo. When the outrageously dysfunctional Hercules family enter a mysterious door in the basement of their new home they find themselves transported to the sixth dimension where diminutive King Fausto (Fantasy Island’s Herve Villechaize), his busty wife Queen Doris and their perpetually topless daughter are at constant odds with the fantastical denizens of their subterranean kingdom. Falling in love with young Frenchie Hercules, King Fausto tries to keep the jealous Doris from killing the entire clan until they have a chance to escape back to their own world. Or something like that. Among the many drug-fueled highlights are a frog-headed butler, a human chandelier, and a snappy Big Band number performed by Satan and his chorus of jazzy zombies. There’s also a machine-gun toting Sunday School teacher, cross-dressing twins, and a decapitated chicken boy whose chatty head flies around on little angel wings. Filmed in austere B&W with badly drawn cartoonish sets and cheap cardboard props Forbidden Zone has all the production values of a 70s porn film minus the porn but with lots of tits. The sheer audacity of it all proved irresistible however and some of the musical numbers (yes Virginia, it’s a musical) are pure camp delight. Lots of fun for those with a penchant for all things underground and cultish.

Forty Shades of Blue (USA 2005) (1):  An autocratic record executive, his neglected Russian mistress and his estranged son spend a few days staring at each other and biting their knuckles in this plodding overblown drama that attempts to say something meaningful about loneliness, alienation and the need to feel connected.  After 60 minutes of blank looks and lifeless dialogue I started hitting the fast-forward button hoping there would eventually be some point to the tedium.  Apparently there wasn’t.  Poorly made and boring beyond words.

Four Flies on Grey Velvet (Italy 1972) (8): When musician Roberto Tobias accidentally kills a man in self defense the entire confrontation is caught on film by an ominous stranger wearing a child’s mask. Putting the incident behind him Roberto tries to get on with his life but it isn’t long before incriminating photos begin popping up in his apartment and a series of late night visits from the masked psycho promise worse things to come. With a neighbourhood full of suspects and a wife becoming increasingly overwrought Tobias finally hires a private investigator (played with gay abandon by Jean-Pierre Marielle) to discover both the identity of his disguised tormentor and the motive behind the escalating harassment. With the body count rising however could it already be too late for Roberto? Teeming with claustrophobic spaces, hissing cats and eccentric characters set against an atmospheric score of hip 70s muzak and sinister strings, Dario Argento’s overplayed psychological suspense thriller is a sterling example of the Italian giallo style of filmmaking. There is a definite visual flair to his work with its exaggerated editing and menacing shadows which is reinforced, oddly enough, by a comparatively innocuous script. Although not as bloody as you’d expect from a work helmed by the great Italian goremeister the violence is still taut and believable while the film’s final death scene, an elaborately overdone slow motion sequence, is pure cheesy elegance. Lastly, as a means to solving the mystery (and provide his movie with a title), Argento introduces a plot device so outrageously macabre that I found myself laughing and cheering at the same time. It’s good bloody fun all around! NB: Unlike most foreign fare giallo films are best viewed in their English dubbed versions, it’s all part of the experience!

From Beyond  (USA 1986) (7):  Sinister things are happening at 666 Benevolent Lane. It seems the perpetually horny Dr. Pretorius has opened a doorway into an evil dimension using a machine he built by putting a gazing ball and some tuning forks on top of an old hot water heater.... Soon the air is filled with floating tapeworms and carnivorous jellyfish while the doctor himself is transformed into a giant play-doh phallus. Great campy fun full of bad acting and revolting special effects. Strictly B-movie fare but oddly watchable.

Frozen River (USA 2008) (7): Ray Eddy is barely able to support herself and her two kids on the part-time wages she earns working at a discount dollar store. But when her deadbeat husband takes off with the final down payment on their new double-wide mobile home her precarious financial position becomes downright disastrous. With mounting debts and nowhere to turn, the family’s outlook looks increasingly grim until a chance encounter with a young Mohawk woman provides Ray with an opportunity to make some much needed money smuggling illegal aliens across the border in the trunk of her car. Lila Littlewolf has been involved in the human trafficking business for some time, using the frozen St. Lawrence as a makeshift highway between her reservation and the one in Canada. Justifying her actions as being nothing more than “trade” between two Indian nations she offers Ray several hundred dollars for every successful drop-off providing she keeps her mouth shut. It isn’t long before their nighttime trips raise the suspicions of a state trooper however, leading to some complications neither woman is prepared to face. Hunt’s gripping indie film carries itself with a confidence that belies its modest budget. Her use of frozen landscapes highlight the protagonists’ own dilemma as they try to eke out an existence in a world which leaves little room for moral qualms. Each woman carries a heavy burden, whether it’s Ray worrying about where her children’s next meal is going to come from or Lila trying to regain the baby stolen by her mother-in-law. Some of the scenes may be a little contrived, a Christmas Eve miracle proves a tad too symbolic for my tastes, but for the most part Hunt keeps things grounded and credible. I especially admired the small touches she employed to convey the older woman’s quiet despair; her silent tears, the broken makeshift carousel in the front yard, or the unopened packet of “Romance” bath salts sitting next to a rusted tub. The dialogue is genuine and the powerfully downplayed performances, including Melissa Leo’s Oscar-nominated portrayal of Ray, turn an otherwise pat ending into something almost beautiful. Well done.

Gates of Heaven (USA 1978) (6):  An early documentary by Errol Morris covering the founding of the “Bubbling Well Memorial Park and Cemetery for Animals” in Napa, California.  Presented as a series of ongoing monologues in which grieving owners and dead animal entrepreneurs alike tell their stories to an unseen interviewer.  The results are sometimes amusing, sometimes sobering, and sometimes downright baffling.  Much of Morris’ signature style is evident here...the clever editing, the static camera that catches every subtle gesture, and an unobtrusive, non-judgmental approach that puts his subjects at ease and loosens their tongues.  What the film lacks though is the focus that is so evident in his later films.  There are several instances where people go off on tangents, like the two old dog owners having a catfight, or the grandmother grumbling about her ungrateful grandson and his sluttish ex-wife.    Furthermore many of the talking heads are just plain boring and add very little to the film’s narrative.  An interesting little oddity, but certainly not in the same league as “The Thin Blue Line” or “The Fog of War”.

The Glass Bottom Boat (USA 1966) (8):  I loved “The Glass Bottom Boat” when I first saw it at the age of ten.  This light and fluffy little confection is definitely one of the better Doris Day romantic comedies ever made.  It’s also the film that turned me gay.  I mean, really, with scenes featuring Rod Taylor’s hairy chest, Doris fawning over a cake, and Paul Lynde in drag I didn’t stand a chance.  Be sure and watch “Every Girl’s Dream” featuring the “Maid of Cotton” in the extras section....what a hoot!

Glass Lips (Poland 2007) (7): Like his earlier work, The Roe’s Room (also reviewed here) Lech Majewski’s painfully intimate account of one young man’s brush with mental illness refrains from simple linear narrative and instead presents us with a collage of impressions and highly symbolic tableaux. Opening with an austere landscape of jagged mountain peaks and rolling thunder the camera eventually settles on an abandoned child, bloody umbilical cord still hanging limply by his side, mewling piteously to an empty sky. Thus begins the sad story of our nameless protagonist, now a patient on a psychiatric unit, as he reflects upon his life. It was a childhood filled with humiliations and abuse at the hands of his domineering father while his sympathetic mother, still the object of an unresolved Oedipal complex, looked on helplessly. Of course, being a Polish film, religious tyranny and the rage it can beget figure prominently with Catholic metaphors popping up in every frame; a First Communion suit morphs into a straitjacket, women are seen as both Madonnas and temptresses, and the story of Abraham and Isaac is re-enacted atop a roadside shrine. The asylum itself comes to represent a warped view of the outside world as the young man’s fellow inmates play out events in his life with unsettling effect, in one instance they appear as patrons in an art gallery who suddenly don period costumes in order to mimic a painting of the crucifixion with the boy himself playing the role of Christ. Majewski’s visual poetry is a heady admixture of the miraculous and the sacrilegious. His images, at once breathtaking and visceral, expertly convey his subject’s sense of isolation and moral bewilderment without a single word being spoken. Not one to leave his audience without some sense of resolution however, he brings events to a beautifully enigmatic finale involving a pool bathed in golden light which not only alludes to the Christian promise of resurrection but a wholly secular healing of mind and spirit as well. Not as seamless as Roe’s Room (a deliberate attempt to mirror the protagonist’s chaotic mind?) but a mesmerizing experience all the same.

Going to Pieces: The Rise and Fall of the Slasher Film (USA 2006) (7): According to the talking heads in this nostalgic look back at the “dead teenager” films of the late 70’s and 80’s, man has always had a dark fascination for the violent and macabre. While I find it somewhat difficult to draw a straight line linking primitive cave paintings and gladiatorial spectacles to Freddy Krueger and Jason Voorhees, I must agree that these films did indeed strike a chord with a generation suddenly thrust from the breezy hedonism of the disco era into the conservative dictates of the Reagan years. With their strict, if somewhat warped, adherence to traditional moral values (past sins are punished, sluts are slaughtered and righteous virgins live to tell the tale) movies such as Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street moved horror from dusty Transylvanian castles and placed it squarely in the previously sacrosanct backyards and summer camps of middle class suburbia. No longer were America’s privileged children safe from the bogeyman; he stalked them in their homes, their private schools and even in their naughtier dreams. And, like all things truly evil, he was immortal and unstoppable. Heavily influenced by both the charnel excesses of Italian splatter films and the claustrophobic camerawork of Hitchcock, the American Slasher Film quickly became a genre unto itself until cheaply made knock-offs with increasingly formulaic scripts heralded its demise; or rather its descent into self-mockery and parody. Reviled by critics who branded them as gratuitous exercises in blood-drenched misogyny, defended by filmmakers who saw them as an artistic catharsis appealing to that “reptilian” part of the human psyche which delights in violence, and still adored by fans who just want some moist entrails to go with their T&A, these films continue to carve out a niche on late night cable and dusty VHS collections everywhere. Personally I just enjoy the cheesiness of it all as time and fashion slowly turn one-time ghouls into camp icons.

Goodbye Columbus  (USA 1969) (5):  Generic "anti-establishment" love story from the 60's. Young Neil is a man of great integrity.....we know this because he is inordinately proud of his dead-end nowhere job AND he talks respectfully to a black child. Brenda comes from a family of nouveau-riche boors....we know this because they have lots of money and they yell at their black maid. Seen in retrospect, the movie's somewhat smug sense of moral superiority seems ironic when you consider the audience of boomers it was aimed at went on to become the yuppies of the 70's. Still, the wedding banquet scene is pretty funny and the 60's fashions are fun to watch

Gospel According to Harry (Poland 1994) (5): Lech Majewski’s rather minimalist contemporary parable based loosely (very loosely) on writings from the old and new testament goes to great lengths to say relatively little. Karen and Wes are an emotionally estranged couple living, literally and metaphorically, in a desert; their small living space delineated by a few throw rugs and some furniture surrounded by endless dunes and a piercing blue sky. One gets a sense of post-apocalyptic disaster with images of half-buried lampposts and a vague reference to the Pacific ocean “drying up” but it is the couple’s growing malaise, that desert within, which proves to be the story’s focal point. The reason for their cooling relationship seems to be maternal; she wants a baby, he doesn’t. In fact he doesn’t seem to want to do much of anything aside from hitting golf balls and watching television while she whines to her mother and vainly attempts to keep the ever-present sand from encroaching into their personal space. Using this nuclear relationship as a vehicle Majewski attempts to critique a host of modern woes; from yuppie narcissism and TV culture to stifling governmental bureaucracy and spiritual angst. With his trademark gift for the obscure metaphor he treats us to some dazzling sequences: two corporate CEOs battle to the death; the president of the United States delivers a patriotic speech amidst so much wind and blowing sand; and a political dissident is crucified in the distance while a disinterested Wes and Karen host an impromptu brunch for some friends including the titular Harry, a heartless tax collector. In one scathing scene, my personal favourite, the cast ignore an apparent miraculous resurrection in order to prostrate themselves before an ersatz Liz Taylor seen wandering aimlessly amongst the dunes with her entourage in tow. There is definitely some meat here but, unfortunately, Majewski tells a tale best using nothing but sound and imagery (see my reviews for his later films, The Roe’s Room and Glass Lips). Harry’s script comes across as awkward and clunky, its beautifully enigmatic visuals seriously hampered by all attempts to force them into a linear storyline. It’s these narrative constraints that dam up what should have been a free-flowing stream of consciousness and turn a potential work of cinematic poetry into so much psychobabble. A real disappointment.

Grotesque(Japan 2009) (2): A pair of young twenty-somethings are returning from their first date when they're kidnapped by a maniacal doctor and taken to his secret torture chamber. Strung up and helpless they are told by the madman that only their "will to survive" will keep him from killing them outright. What follows is 60 minutes of nauseatingly graphic carnage which comes as close to a pornographic snuff film as I care to go. Limbs are hacked off, eyes gouged out and testicles are nailed to a tabletop. At one point his lower bowel is tied to a meat hook and he is forced to walk across the room while his intestines are slowly pulled out; later on she is sexually assaulted with a chainsaw. A macabre bond eventually forms between victims and tormentor but will it enough to save their lives? Unbelievably gruesome, sadistic and cruel this fucked-up mess is just one long train wreck. What's up with those Japanese anyway?

Guinea Pig 2: Flower of Flesh and Blood (Japan 1985) (5): As a rule, whenever I review a movie based on a manga comic I generally dismiss any notions of common sense or narrative logic. Case in point is this 45 minute exercise in poor taste, part grisly performance piece part misogynistic snuff film in which a bound woman is sliced, diced, and gutted like a trout by a psychopath in samurai drag. Supposedly based upon an 8 mm film sent to a famous cartoonist by an anonymous fan obsessed with “aesthetic paranoia” (huh?), this direct-to-video recreation begins with the late-night abduction of a young woman in an abandoned park. Waking up in a blood-spattered studio adorned with grotesque artwork the hapless victim is first anesthetized and then methodically divided into her various components, each series of chops filmed in a different coloured light. Starting with her hands and ending with her eyeballs, our ersatz butcher delivers a terse monologue on the artistic merits of his work; not only do the endless fountains of blood and torn flesh come to resemble graceful flowers to his sick mind, he also assures us that the woman is in a state of erotic ecstasy thanks to the narcotic he injected her with beforehand. Her dismemberment, then, becomes a consensual and highly sexualized sadistic ritual. Zoinks!! Flower lacks both the dark satire of Hostel and the playful stupidity of Saw. Director Hideshi Hino and his college buddies seem to have no higher purpose than to gross out their audience, a task they take to with enthusiastic abandon (the “making of” doc in the extras section is actually kind of cute). On that note it does feature several graphic, if relatively dated, special effects. The perverse visuals are further heightened by some nauseating acoustics; for every snapping tendon and disarticulated bone there is a wonderful soundtrack of dolby-enhanced pops and squishes. The final scene, in which we are given a V.I.P. tour of the madman’s maggot-ridden “collection” while he recites a perverted Buddhist mantra is pretty impressive and obviously a source of great pride for the fledgling film crew. Juvenile, gratuitous and devoid of any artistic value, Flower takes its rightful place atop my pile of oh-so-guilty pleasures.

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