Month: October 2020

Underwater (2020)

Underwater (2020)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) I’m not the world’s biggest Kirsten Stewart fan (and even less, if you want to be superficial about it, of short-haired blonde Kirsten Stewart, although that’s briefly eclipsed here by bespectacled-in-sports-underwear Kirsten Stewart), but even I have to admit that she’s the linchpin of mean-lean-B-movie thrill machine Underwater. The premise takes us deep on the ocean floor, where a research and drilling facility is severely damaged by mysterious earthquakes and, later, many slimy creatures. As the characters try to escape to safety, the film clearly establishes what it wants to be: a no-nonsense monster movie set in the claustrophobic confines of a deep-sea station. Director William Eubank cleanly juggles the aspects of a special-effects-heavy production, and the script eventually has the heroine punching Cthulhu in the face, which is really all the justification you need to see this film. Steward does pretty well here, and having Vincent Cassel as a grizzled veteran doesn’t hurt. Some great production design subtly highlights the science-fictional nature of the film (wow, those suits!), and there are plenty of suspense sequences to make this one of the best underwater horror movies since The Abyss. It pleasantly reminded me of those almost-extinct 1980s B-movies that weren’t meant to be masterpieces or blockbusters, but were designed to be fun films for a very specific crowd of fans. I’m a bit surprised at how well Underwater works, but it does work.

Hail to the Deadites (2020)

Hail to the Deadites (2020)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) As some of you may guess from the title alone, Hail to the Deadites is a documentary celebration of Evil Dead fans, either in appreciating the film trilogy (the series wasn’t yet broadcast during the making of the film), weaving it into their lives or creating derivative works. It’s… either endearing or embarrassing. Part of the problem is that the documentary refuses to engage critically with the franchise—there’s not much discussion of what it means (perhaps because it’s fun enough that it doesn’t need to mean anything) and perilously little discussion of where the series may have done better (the tree sexual assault scene is mentioned, and then forgotten). Writer-director Steve Villeneuve focuses on fans instead and the result can be uneven: excessive fandom is more concerning than impressive (in my own cosmology, being an outspoken fan of a genre or medium is fine, but being an outspoken fan of a specific work is more troublesome) and the examples unearthed by the series often cross the endearing/embarrassing boundary. But what’s more frustrating is that, aside from having Bruce Campbell turn up for a typically charismatic interview, there isn’t a whole lot here that distinguishes Evil Dead fandom from just about any other horror franchise fandom: Any similar film about, say, the Nightmare on Elm Street series would have felt much like the same, with superfans obsessed by the series in mostly the same ways. I don’t really want to rain on those fans’ parade, though: they’re having fun, so let’s just embrace that fun. Hail to the Deadites, in that lens, feels like the kind of “extra DVD” documentary that you’d include in a series box set: Entertaining, but not essential.

Anything for Jackson (2020)

Anything for Jackson (2020)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) Low-budget Canadian Horror is often a hard sell, but there’s enough going on in Anything for Jackson to rival higher-profile filmmaking. The premise does play with genre expectations a bit, as it features elderly villains trying to resurrect their dead grandson through a reverse exorcism. To do so, they kidnap a pregnant woman in order to put the soul of their grandson (the titular Jackson) into her soon-to-be-born child, but, being silly Satanists, they get it wrong and, well, what happens next is the third act of the film. For a prototypical suburban horror film shot in the screenwriter’s own house, there’s quite a lot of imagination and genre savvy on display here. It certainly helps to have the memorably lugubrious Julian Richings as a co-lead. Otherwise, the digital cinematography is crisp, the acting is decent and there’s enough plot in the narrative tank to get us coasting to the end despite a third act that doesn’t quite come up to the expectations left by the earlier sections of the film. Nonetheless, Anything for Jackson is pretty good, and not only by Canadian-horror standards.

A Stolen Life (1946)

A Stolen Life (1946)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) All Bette Davis fans get twice as much for their money in A Stolen Life, considering that Davis here plays twins—a shy quiet artist and a gold-digging firebrand. The sisters don’t get along in the first place, but things get even worse with the shy one falls for a man, and the gold-digger moves in to steal the new guy. The film’s title finds its meaning when a horrible accident kills one sister and allows the second one to step into the other one’s life. As a romantic melodrama, it’s not bad—mostly thanks to Davis acting up a storm for two. In comparison, Glenn Ford merely does fine as the third point in this love triangle. The special effects really aren’t bad at all for a mid-1940s film. The narrative is a bit less impressive, though: Some subplots don’t go anywhere, and the ending is a drawn-out affair. Still, if you’re willing to swallow a few implausibilities, then A Stolen Life is quite entertaining. Davis apparently liked playing herself twice because she did so again twenty years later in Dead Ringer.

Carry on Screaming! (1966)

Carry on Screaming! (1966)

(On TV, October 2020) While Carry on Screaming! is the twelfth of the very silly British comedy film series, you don’t really need to have seen any of the preceding ones to make sense of this—just a passing acquaintance with Hammer-style horror films should be enough to get the low-brow gags that populate the film. The plot is a shrug-inducing bunch of nonsense about mad scientists transforming people into mannequins, but the bulk of the film’s appeal is in the sight gags, double entendres, physical comedy and actors mugging for the camera—this is really not meant to be sophisticated or subtle, even if there’s some canniness in the way the film is overloaded with comic material. It’s funny because of its relentlessness—even if you go into the film unamused, sooner or later a stupid joke will get to you. The Hammer recreation is low-budget, obviously, but Carry on Screaming! occasionally scores a point or two of atmosphere. The lead actors were, by this point of the series, attuned to the effect they were looking for, but there are highlights—if you’re a fan of vampish Morticia Adams (who isn’t?), then Fenella Fielding is nothing short of amazing here. Despite its broad nature, Carry on Screaming! is close to a double must see—for seeing what the Carry on series was all about, for one thing, and then as an affectionate parody of Hammer Horror. Plus, the jokes and Fielding—I mean, why wait any longer?

Innerspace (1987)

Innerspace (1987)

(Second Viewing, In French, On TV, October 2020) I first saw Innerspace on VHS at the end of the 1980s, and it was a lot to take in: A scientist, reduced to microscopic size, and being injected into the body of someone else? Wow, those special effects! Of course, I didn’t know about Fantastic Voyage at the time, and it was easier to be amazed in a pre-CGI age. Still, revisiting this amiable Science Fiction comedy remains quite a bit of fun today: Under Joe Dante’s deft direction, the film breezily switches between SF, thriller, romance and comedy (a lot of comedy) as a daredevil test pilot (Dennis Quaid) is injected inside a meek hypochondriac (Martin Short) and a rival organization causes trouble for everyone. What’s more fun than expected here is how the film doesn’t just take the ludicrous premise from Fantastic Voyage, but doubles down on the preposterousness of it all. It’s not enough for an entire exploration craft to be shrunk down and somehow injected—no, in this film the pilot can tap into the optic nerve to see what’s going on, link to the ear to give instructions to the body’s owner, and control his host’s face muscles to impersonate someone else. Sure, why not? Nothing makes scientific sense, but it makes for a full four-quadrant thrill ride—with even some wonder thrown in at the sight of a fetus. Even with such heady concepts, Innerspace never quite loses touch with recognizable reality, as many stunts and comic sequences squarely depend on Short’s physical comedy and the growth of the characters. (Amusingly, Quaid and Meg Ryan met on this film by playing boyfriend-girlfriend, and later married.) The Oscar-winning special effects generally remain convincing today, and even thirty years later, it’s clear that Innerspace still has no equivalent. It’s still well worth a watch, or a re-watch.

The Secret Garden (1949)

The Secret Garden (1949)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) Much of The Secret Garden’s specific charm comes from twin accidents of history—having both Margaret O’Brien and Dean Stockwell being the right age to play the child characters essential to the story, for one; but also being at a stage of cinema’s technological development that you could still switch from normal black-and-white cinematography to a Technicolour segment and amaze audiences. This had only been possible for fifteen years at that point (and wasn’t that original, considering the use of a similar device in The Wizard of Oz), but more importantly, it would no longer be possible a few years later due to colour film becoming the standard for children’s movies. In any case—both the actors and the wow factor of a black-and-white film turning to colour remain essential elements in this gentle portal fantasy story, in troubled children discover a maybe-magical garden that eventually makes them better people. I wouldn’t want to discount the weight of the narrative here—adapted from a novel by Frances Hodgson Burnett, it has full redemption arcs for the characters, and even the switch to colour would not have been as effective without laying the groundwork for the garden to be perceived as more wondrous than the baseline black-and-white reality. The script also gives the material for the child actors to excel—the shouting match between the two is their showcase opportunity. All of this makes The Secret Garden an interesting film still. I can’t guess how it plays to the current generation, but it does remain a watchable part of cinema history.

The Stepfather (1987)

The Stepfather (1987)

(In French, On Cable TV, October 2020) Despite my overall loathing of slasher films, even I have to admit that The Stepfather is a little bit more insidious than the usual psycho-with-a-knife movie. The already-uncomfortable idea of a stepfather coming into a family is heightened until the antagonist becomes a ticking bomb of deadly violence just waiting to kill our heroine and the rest of the family. This is, thematically, pretty strong stuff, and the film is never quite as good as when it plays with those ideas from a psychological horror standpoint. I’m really not so fond of the various deaths that punctuate the film on the way to the face-off between psycho-stepdad and plucky teenage heroine—those feel too much like gratuitous kills before the main conflict is addressed. Still, it does end with a good climax, and the film’s pernicious plot drivers never quite stop working. Terry O’Quinn is quite good in the unenviable role of the titular stepfather. The Stepfather is not recommended to any child of recomposed families with a sudden new stepfather in the picture.

Scream and Scream Again (1970)

Scream and Scream Again (1970)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) I’d like to be kinder to Scream and Scream Again, but this horror film doesn’t make it easy on itself through false promises, mostly incoherent plotting, wasted opportunities and an indecisive finale. While it’s sort-of-interesting to see the film’s plot strands come together at what’s almost the last minute, it still makes much of the film a slog to get through, as stuff just happens for no reason—and the ending does not solidly tie up those strands. I’ll be more critical of the film’s loose adherence to genre—it feels like horror most of the time, blends in a bit of spy thriller and police action, then touches briefly upon science fiction in time for the hastily sketched ending. (You’ll understand if I don’t even bother with a plot summary.) More disappointment abounds if you pay attention to the cast and see that Vincent Price, Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing are in the film: their presences are short and largely disconnected: they are in no way leading roles, or even supporting characters. Add to that the lacklustre treatment of its 1970-ish London setting, and Scream and Scream Again doesn’t fulfill its potential. While it’s true that some of director Gordon Hessler’s execution can rise to the occasion, much of it still feels wasted on an empty, near-incoherent script.

The Deaths of Ian Stone (2007)

The Deaths of Ian Stone (2007)

(In French, On Cable TV, October 2020) Horror is a very peculiar movie genre in that you can have a rather wonderful first half of a horror film filled with mysteries, scares and plot hooks, only to lose it all when you actually start to tie together the plot strands. (Or worse, not tie them at all.) The Deaths of Ian Stone falls prey to this decades-old risk, sabotaging an intriguing beginning with a trite conclusion that sucks a lot of energy out of the film. The setup is more elegant than original, as a young man wakes up in a different body every day, and is inevitably killed at around 5 PM. It’s all quite serious and sombre (in keeping with the mid-2000s’ fondness for dark cinematography) and there are several interesting questions raised throughout this opening. But then, alas, come the explanations and while a film with a conclusion is infinitely preferable to one without, the one selected by screenwriter Brendan Hood isn’t quite as strong as it could have been. As The Deaths of Ian Stone sinks into love-conquers-all easiness, the film definitely loses an edge—and I say this as someone who generally prefers love-conquer-all movies. Too bad—director Dario Piana can create an atmosphere, and some of the initial ideas aren’t bad despite working in the overdone time-loop genre. But then there’s the rest…

The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959)

The Hound of the Baskervilles (1959)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) Hammer horror and Peter Cushing take a swing at Sherlock Holmes’ classic story in the 1959 version of The Hound of the Baskervilles… and generally succeeds. Making quite a few updates to the narrative, the film nonetheless lets Cushing realize a long-held dream of playing Holmes, bringing along an impeccable understanding of the character. At his side, André Morell plays Watson as a real, competent character. (And there’s Christopher Lee in a supporting role!) Compared to the Basil Rathbone films, the colour cinematography brings Holmes into a more modern era, with the patina of foggy horror that the Hammer films perfected. The least faithful aspect of the production is its lack of adherence to the original short story, but that’s absolutely not to the film’s detriment—in fact, the added attraction of having a little bit of Hammer Horror thrown into a Holmes story adds considerably to the film’s distinctiveness. It’s all quite watchable, although I would only recommend the result to those who are both Holmes and Hammer fans in order not to get false expectations. It’s a shame that the Holmes Hammer series did not continue beyond this initial instalment—Cushing is good, and the horror-infused take is distinctive.

The White Cliffs of Dover (1944)

The White Cliffs of Dover (1944)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) Well, I suppose you had to be there: MGM going wild to produce an Anglophile weepy drama adaptation of a book, doubling as propaganda picture hailing the courage of those sturdy British. It’s certainly worth noting that The White Cliffs of Dover was produced during the height of WW2, after the Americans joined the fight but before the invasion of Normandy—in other words, at a time when the fate of the war was still very much in the balance, and an extra dollop of home-front propaganda meant something. For modern viewers, it can be more interesting to note Irene Dunne’s performance, or that a very young Elizabeth Taylor shows up in a supporting role. The rest… is a slog. While The White Cliffs of Dover is not necessarily a bad film (MGM’s production values ensure that, if nothing else, the budget is shown on screen), but it is a plodding one with propagandist aims that aren’t so acceptable today. (Is dying for the country really that much better than going back home to Mom?)

Please Don’t Eat the Daisies (1960)

Please Don’t Eat the Daisies (1960)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) There’s a lot to like in Please Don’t Eat the Daisies, whether it’s the pairing of Doris Day and David Niven, the story of a Manhattanite family moving to a fixer-upper in the country, or a farce about a theatrical critic reaping the rewards (and perils) of fame. Combined with bright clean 1960s cinematography, the film becomes a solid comic hit—not quite a classic, but good enough to sustain amused viewing. Day not only gets to play comedy, but play and sing a little big (including a bit of “Que Sera, Sera”), while Niven is his usual unflappable self even when he’s being flapped. The multiple subplots (adapted from a book of comic essays by Jean Kerr) are enough to keep the film going through its running time, but there’s a lack of cohesion to the entire enterprise, with the spot light moving from one strand of narrative threads to another without quite bringing it together, either during the film itself, or in what’s supposed to be a big finale. Please Don’t Eat the Daisies could have been quite a bit better, but it’s rather charming in its current state, and not a bad moment in Day and Niven’s company.

(On Cable TV, January 2021) A second look at Please Don’t Eat the Daisies with a few added months’ worth of Doris Day appreciations means that the focus of the film shifts a bit—While it’s always fun to see David Niven as a pompous theatrical critic experience various issues at a critical junction in his life, a second viewing is free to go past the obvious showmanship of Niven’s performance to dwell on Day’s solid turn and help distinguish the very different halves of the film’s structure. Much of the fun of the film remains intact, having to do with a Manhattan-based theatrical critic (Niven) who finds himself forced to move out in the far suburbs ninety minutes away from Manhattan and face a few professional challenges while that’s going on. The film somewhat changes gears halfway through, and while that initially feels like a let-down of sorts if the urban lifestyle drew you in, it works a little bit better when you expect it the second time around. What’s clearer as well is how this second half suits Day’s character: The film is clearly meant to be a vehicle of sorts for her as well: while the role first highlights her innocuous domesticity as it begins in the city (where her husband is the toast of the town), the last half of the film gets more and more focused on her strengths—keeping house and playing with kids, yes, but also dancing and singing as only a popular singer could do. (Her rendition of “Que Sera Sera” is even featured.)  Meanwhile, the lack of judgment from Niven’s character gets harder to ignore or dismiss: Never mind the pompous mannerism that the film associates with the profession of a critic, it’s his entire behaviour that becomes suspect the moment he steps away from Manhattan, getting in a pointless argument at his kids’ school and playing with matrimonial fire with a once-criticized actress. I can appreciate the parallels with Mr. Blandings Build his Dream House as well—but I’ve long been fascinated with the idea of renouncing to live in Manhattan.

Innocent Blood (1992)

Innocent Blood (1992)

(In French, On TV, October 2020) I’m maybe halfway done seeing the John Landis filmography, but what’s left is clearly getting more and more esoteric—documentaries, juvenilia and feature films that have been overlooked next to some of his all-time classics. Innocent Blood dates from the two-third mark of his career, after That Accident and the peak of his fame, but before the steady slide in mediocrity that marked most of his last phase. It certainly feels like such a film—it’s not that good, but it shows flashes of dark humour, wit and confident use of genre elements. Anne Parillaud (then red-hot from her performance in La Femme Nikita) stars as a French vampire living in Pittsburgh and limiting her blood feasts to the undesirable elements of the city. A gang war gives her an excuse to feast (“go for Italian”), but she quickly earns the attention of mobsters and cops alike, accidentally creating a group of vampiric mobsters and falling for a likable policeman (Anthony LaPaglia). Before long, we get a vampire/mobster mashup with a bit of comedy and some romance to top it off. Landis boasted of shooting “A Hammer film as if it was directed by Scorsese” and that’s a fair assessment of the result, although it does fall short of what Scorsese would have done. Still, the rain-slicked city streets of the Pittsburgh downtown core look good, and the film does have its good moments. The usual group of Italian-American actors is there to portray the mob (including a few who would later star in many more mob movies), but the real fun begins once the mobsters turn into vampires and start making plans of their own. Parillaud is slightly stiff but LaPaglia is not bad, and Robert Loggia does bite into his role as an undead godfather. The script could have been streamlined, made funnier and slightly more compelling, but Innocent Blood is still an odd, entertaining film even for those who are jaded about vampire movies.

The Bobo (1967)

The Bobo (1967)

(On Cable TV, October 2020) Any film starring Peter Sellers starts at a disadvantage with me, and The Bobo further compounds the issues by not being a very good film. A comedy about a singing matador seducing a near-professional gold-digger, it takes place in Barcelona and, if nothing else, does feature some nice 1960s eurochic period detail. Alas, it also features Sellers at his most irritating, playing up a character with plenty of quirks and, eventually, blue-dyed skin. Opposite him is then-wife Britt Ekland, looking pretty good but stuck in a not-very-good film. The Bobo tries a few things, but getting a laugh isn’t one of those. The result is overlong and tedious—no amount of period atmosphere eventually overcomes the film’s lack of reason for existing. There are times when I question whether I’m being overly harsh on Sellers due to having read his biography. Then comes along The Bobo to reassure me that I’m not.