Home Alone 2: Lost in New York

365 Films

Entry #16

Home Alone 2: Lost in New York (1992)

Directed by Chris Columbus

I need to tread very delicately over this next entry because I have come very close to losing a lot of friendships over my opinions on this film and the one that preceded it.  On second thought, forget it, I fucking hate Home Alone and Home Alone 2.  Admittedly I said that just to see if I still had your attention, so I wouldn’t say that statement signifies the entirety of complicated emotions that these films inspire.  That is the reason why I am including this film (and I guess, by association the first one) on my 365 list; I wish to point out what happens when a film doesn’t grow up with you.  Don’t get me wrong; I loved Home Alone just as much as the next kid in 1990.  The child-hood fantasy of getting the house all to yourself, coupled with the kid-power-friendly annihilation of two nefarious burglars (all with home-made booby traps no less) was completely irresistible to me.   Next up was Home Alone 2 and the filmmakers pulled off quite a clever ruse in delivering the exact same movie dressed up like the city of New York.  They even have the resourceful Kevin McAllister find an apartment in the middle of renovation just to spring more booby-traps on the (apparently) amnesiac, (definitely) moronic criminals.  Then I spent another ten to fifteen years watching and re-watching the movies on video and something clicked along the way.  The “Old Man Marley” subplot always bugged me in Home Alone.  I never understood why it was necessary.  Is it to prove that you shouldn’t judge people, no matter how scary they look, or what rumors you’ve heard about them? That’s all well and good, except for the fact that it rings totally false when you consider the movie spends the last thirty minutes pummeling two hapless, small-time burglars into a near death stupor.  Shouldn’t Kevin have instead welcomed Harry and Marv into his house with open arms and seek conference with them on why they have chosen a life of crime? The same thing happens in Home Alone 2 when Kevin meets the Bird Lady of central park.  Only this time it’s somehow even more offensive.  A good portion of the narrative is dedicated to Kevin learning about her life, about the pain she experienced because of certain choices she made.  The filmmakers are asking us (again) to look past the surface and see the true nature of people.  Why then, at the rousing finale of the film, does Kevin merely wave to her from his penthouse at the plaza hotel? Shouldn’t the Christmas spirit have compelled him to, I don’t know, fucking invite her upstairs instead of banishing her to the bitter cold of Central Park?  This is a long-winded way of saying that these movies are complete and utter horseshit.  They want to pluck our heart-strings by a mother and son reuniting while laughing uproariously at two men getting shot, stabbed, set on fire, crushed from above, and left for dead by a sadistic ten-year-old.  Then again, the movie made 800 billion dollars so what the hell do I know.  And to be perfectly honest, I watch the fucking thing every time it’s on TV at Christmas.  Don’t listen to me.  Gremlins 2 still kicks its ass as far as childhood memories of New York on film go.  We all have those, right?

The Last of the Mohicans

365 Films

Entry #15

The Last of the Mohicans (1992)

Directed by: Michael Mann

The Last of the Mohicans was a landmark movie for me.  The circumstances under which I saw this film will remain forever in the annals of Ethan lore.  This was the first R-rated movie I ever had the pleasure of seeing at the tender age of 8.  Here’s what I remember: it was a Monday and we went to the Christiana Mall specifically to see it.  This raises many intriguing questions.  Why wasn’t I in school on a Monday? It’s possible that it was a holiday weekend, I was sick, or I faked an illness.  That last one doesn’t sound like me so I’m going to go with holiday.  The odd part is that I specifically remember being aware of the fact that I should have been in school on that day.  If that’s the case, it’s most likely that I was sick.  But if I was sick, why was I going on a field trip to a mall to see a two-hour long epic romance about the French and Indian war?  There are so many tantalizing possibilities about which, I’m sure none of you give even the faintest possibility of a shit.  Regardless of what actually happened, I remember the experience of watching the movie so vividly.  I remember that this theater was the first time I saw a woman with a shaved head.  I remember the feeling of being let into an exclusive club and the unbearable anticipation of seeing the film and subsequently reporting back to my friends about it.  I don’t think I had quite grasped the notion of how much I loved movies at age eight.  This film kick started the entire process if that was the case.  It doesn’t matter that I barely retained any of the actual film, does it?  Being an eight-year-old boy, the most memorable images of the film were of a man being scalped, a man having his still-beating heart ripped out, and a man being burned alive at the stake.  It was frightening, it was exhilarating, but most of all, it was new!  I got to be the toast of my third grade class for about five minutes.  At which point they got bored of my temporary visit to the adult world and moved on to something far more interesting, a kickball game maybe.  I, on the other hand, was not ready to move on and like a hungry, hungry hippo I only wanted more.  I suppose I was quite lucky to get Mohicans to pop my R-rated cherry.  The movie has remained a perennial favorite in our household due to my Mom’s open obsession with it.  Later in life, I grew into a Michael Mann obsession that began with Heat (the project after Mohicans) and has continued with each subsequent film.  The fact that Daniel Day Lewis has grown in stature to an actor of unfathomable talents and gifts probably doesn’t hurt either.  So while the film itself may not have set my particular world on fire, every time I get the chance to revisit (Mann practically puts out a new cut every month) I am reminded of why it has remained so firmly etched in my subconscious all these years.  Mann’s thematic fascination with loners hacking a life out of the frontier (be it a city or the actual wilderness), the exhilarating and visceral action sequences, and the fact that the final thirty minutes of this movie may be the best final thirty minutes of any movie in the history of filmmaking make this a pretty fantastic introduction into the world of Restricted Cinema.  

Death Becomes Her

365 Films

Entry #14

Death Becomes Her (1992)

Directed by Robert Zemeckis

Let’s see how I can pull this one out of my ass.  I haven’t seen Death Becomes Her in well over a decade.  I have some thoughts about it, but they are based mostly on vague recollections and quasi-remembered ramblings.  I had to do a quick wikipedia recap to even remember what the fuck happens in this movie.  That reminds me, is wikipedia interested in being a sponsor of this blog?  I feel like I plug them enough to be worthy of a few kick-backs.  I’m not actually sure how they’d pay me, but that doesn’t matter, we’ll figure something out.  Death Becomes Her is about a past-her-prime actress and her life rival ingesting some sort of vitality potion that makes them immortal.  The main object of their rivalry is a nebbish-y plastic surgeon who ultimately chooses a life that ends over spending an eternity with these two nattering nabobs.  If that description sounds horribly misogynistic, I’d have to plead the fifth on that one, but if anybody wishes to chime in with a comment feel free.  The reason I am including this film on my 365 list is because it was the first time a casual film-going experience filled me with a verifiable amount of dread.  I feel like if I ever get the chance to meet Mr. Zemeckis, my line to him would be identical to that of Homer’s when he met Mel Brooks. I love that movie "Young Frankenstein"... scared the hell out of me.  I have an incredibly specific memory, not of the movie, but of the ride home through the dark back roads of Wilmington, Delaware.  The radio was blasting Haddaway’s What is Love and all I could think about was, “one day, I am going to die.”  Even the lyrics to the song itself sounded like the ghostly echo of a spirit from the other side.  The idea haunted me, and the fact that the movie treated the concept of death with such blithe cynicism was even more distressing.  On second thought, maybe it wasn’t What is Love? it could have been CeCe Peniston’s Finally. Does it really make a difference?  I have no idea how Death Becomes Her has aged in the past twenty-one years; according to the wikipedia page it was not a financial windfall for all concerned parties.  I can’t imagine introspective thoughts of one’s own mortality were the desired reaction by the filmmakers.  Wow, that’s kind of a bummer, let me see if I can wrap this up on a lighter note.  If this helps, just imagine eight-year-old Ethan sitting in the theater watching Death Becomes Her.  Instead of laughing at the cgi-enhanced-black-comedy-mayhem like everybody else, he is cowering in his seat, hiding his eyes with his hands from the images.  If that doesn’t inspire guffaws, I don’t know what will. 

Bebe's Kids

365 Films

Entry #13

Bebe’s Kids (1992)

Directed by Bruce W. Smith

My first encounter with Bebe’s Kids came from copious amounts of HBO watching that occupied the majority of my youthful idle.  The situation in my household growing up was one of extreme liberalism regarding the content to which I subject my young, impressionable eyes.  I saw Last of the Mohicans and Schindler’s List, and Pulp Fiction when I was nine and subsequently ten years old.  Ratings didn’t mean a whole lot to my parents and I am incredibly grateful to them for that.  As a result, the ascendance of HBO meant plentiful access to all kinds of scandalous material.  I’ll let you make your skinemax joke on your own time…have you made it yet? Good. Let’s move on.  As far as I can remember, I’ve always had a fascination with “subversive” animation.  Who Framed Roger Rabbit (Entry #1), The Simpsons, Cool World (1992, NOT on this blog), Beavis and Butthead, Ren and Stimpy, the list goes on and on.  And I don’t mean subversive in the literal sense (none of these things were that offensive, for fuck’s sake), just in the idea that they broke from the conventions of children’s animation in very explicit and gleeful ways.  Ten-year-old Ethan felt like he was getting away with something watching Bebe’s Kids (felt like being the key operative phrase there).  I haven’t seen the film in god knows how many years and I’m sure it is incredibly tame compared to an equivocal episode of South Park.  Thinking back on it, what’s most shocking is the fact that an animated film, which was based on the stand-up routine of a successful (but not earth-shatteringly so) black comedian eventually got made at all, let alone into a theatrical release by Paramount Pictures.  Did I mention it was also the first animated film to have an all-black cast?  Bebe’s Kids remains, to this day, a fascinating oddity.  The grotesqueries of the more extreme moments clash with the blandness of the overall design of the animation.  This is by no means intended to be a slight, for I think it represents what is unique about the entire film in and of itself.  It’s an anecdote stretched out to feature length, but infused with the radiant life of Mr. Harris’ wit and the collective aspiration to finally get away with something bold, innovative, and new.

              PS: My two favorite sentences from the wikipedia plot summary of Bebe’s Kids

 “…Meanwhile, Dorthea and her food-loving friend, Vivian, attempt to sabotage the growing relationship between Robin and Jamika, but are thwarted by Robin's mother insults…”

And

…”The kids win their freedom through the power of rap, then celebrate their victory by stealing a pirate ship and crashing it into an ocean liner…”

Wayne's World

365 Films

Entry #12

Wayne’s World (1992)

Directed by Penelope Spheeris

Believe it or not loyal reader(s?), there was a time when the prospect of a Mike Myers comedy didn’t fill audiences with a collective sense of dread.  There was a time when we used to sit on the edges of our seats, chewing our nails down to the nub with eager anticipation for whatever comedic capering Mr. Myers was cooking up his sleeve.  Wayne’s World is a perfect example of such a project.  Endlessly quotable, not afraid to take a dip into the warm springs of absurdity, and featuring a game ensemble that possesses the rare of gift of seeming to be making up the comedy as they go along, Wayne’s World stands alone.  That this also came from a recurring SNL sketch makes the accomplishment all the more remarkable.  Perhaps time has been kind to Wayne’s World in more than one way.  The most obvious being that it is genuinely funny and aside from the occasional dated reference here and there (they actually are few and far between), the humor is essentially timeless.  The second being that compared to the toxic-trash-burning-wasteland that is every other SNL sketch-to-film adaptations, it is hard to disagree with Wayne’s World being the “Citizen Kane” of SNL movies.  Sure, Coneheads had its moments (on second thought, maybe it didn’t), but Wayne’s World easily claims supremacy for its perfect distillation of the cultural moment.  At a time when the carpet bagging of the alternative/”grunge” scene had reached its saturation level in terms of mainstream domination, here comes Wayne’s World warning of the dangers of corporate usurpation of public access television.  I don’t think I’m grasping at straws here because looking at the film’s box office gross; clearly it connected with the general public.  The fact that it accomplished all this along with a throw-away reference to the movie Scanners, a generous amount of screen time devoted to Ed O’Neil’s intensely personal confessions of creepy and potentially threatening sentiments, and a police officer obsessed with full body cavity searches makes this film a treasure to be passed on from generation to generation. 

Aladdin

365 Films

 Entry #11

Aladdin (1992)

Directed by Ron Clements, and John Musker

Here we come to a tricky proposition.  I’d be lying if I said I was the number one Aladdin super fan.  Hell, I’d be lying if I said I’ve even seen Aladdin within the last seven years.  I think I caught it on TV one random night a few years ago, actually.  The reason I am including it in this blog is because it is the first movie I can remember that produced tears of laughter from me.  In another of my “someone needs to write a dissertation about this incredibly useless subject” ideas, I propose that the ebb and flow of Robin Williams’ career from Aladdin to Patch Adams would make for a fascinating subject.  If you were of a certain age range when Aladdin came out, everything Robin Williams did was catnip for your funny bone.  Even a truly wretched, cloying, and manipulative piece of garbage like Mrs. Doubtfire became incredibly popular thanks to Mr. Williams’ antics (just ask Nate Carota).  Upon writing that last sentence, it occurred to me that a dissertation is not needed to trace the trajectory of Mr. Williams’ career. He is only following in a long line of promising stand-up comedians who eventually tumble down the “family film” rabbit hole, never to be seen again.  The reason I seem to be stuck on an infinite loop of analysis and then dis-crediting the analysis of Mr. Williams’ career is because his performance in Aladdin was revelatory to my young eyes.  All of it has kind of become standard boilerplate for Mr. Williams and animation voice-overs in general But! (Warning: I’m about to pull a fact straight out of my ass) I believe this was one of the first “celebrity” voice-over performances in the history of animation.  The first time that an actor in animation was asked to bring his previously established cinematic personality into the life of a character.  The Genie is what would happen if Robin Williams suddenly morphed into an animated version of himself.  From that point of view, it’s a fascinating and groundbreaking performance.  The argument can be made that this was not necessarily a good thing.  Animation was long the safe-haven for hard working, relatively anonymous voice-over artists, who bust their ass for an art form very few took seriously.  Robin Williams ushered in the era of lazy, paycheck cashing dub-work from a laundry list of actors whose names I won’t bother to mention here. This is all a roundabout way of saying that while I’ve retained little of Aladdin, (which I’m sure is blasphemy to some of my Disneyphiile friends, sorry!).  Robin Williams still makes me laugh my ass of when I watch it.  In hindsight, maybe this is a poor excuse for a 365 entry.  Then again, if I’m flipping around one day in the near future and Aladdin pops on, you can bet your magic carpet I’ll stick with it.  

Batman Returns

365 Films

Entry #10

Batman Returns (1992)

Directed by Tim Burton

        If you’re beginning to notice a pattern regarding my lack of ability to catch first entries in movie trilogies, trust me, you’re not alone.  There isn’t any kind of “sexy” reason behind this, save for the fact that I was probably far too young to see the first Batman upon its original theatrical release.  I do not regret this turn of events in any way, shape, or form because Batman Returns was, and remains my favorite Batman movie to date.  Batman Returns contains one of the most disturbing opening sequences ever for a child to see in a comic book movie.  It begins innocently enough with a well-off Gothamite family living out a fairy tale existence in their snow-covered mansion of cavernous proportions.  From that point on, everything proceeds to fall completely the fuck apart with tragic consequences.  A baby is born, it makes horrible squawking sounds from its crib, and it possesses a pair of flippers instead of digits on its hand.  So far, so fucked up.  It gets worse.  The family reasons that it can’t bear the thought of a mutant-flipper baby and proceeds to drop it in the river as it sets sail for a new life in the comforting filth and waste of the sewer.  In what is perhaps Mr. Burton’s most diabolical twist of all; he casts Pee-Wee Herman as the patriarch of this cursed family.  Allow me to pepper a little context here into these next few sentences.  Batman Returns was released in June of 1992.  In July of 1991, Paul Reubens was arrested for public masturbation in a movie theater in Florida.  The point of all of this is to convey the sheer mind-blowing power of seeing Pee-Wee-Herman in a movie at all, let alone one where he plays a guy who drops his baby into the river. Granted, he wasn’t paying Pee-Wee, but I can still remember the reveal of his characters face as vividly as anything else in the movie.  So if I may step out of that bit of contextual table setting for a moment, the reason I have elaborated so specifically on the opening five minutes of Batman Returns is because this is one miserable super-hero movie.  If memory serves, Roger Ebert’s review of the film finds tremendous fault in this attribute.  I’ll have to respectfully disagree with Mr. Ebert because it is for this fact that I find Batman Returns to be the most satisfying of the entire series.  Batman Returns is the equivalent of a party populated by all of the weird, lonely, and off-putting characters from Mr. Burton’s entire career.  Only, the party sucks because the sense of community just makes everybody feel worse.  The characters in Batman Returns need to be in therapy followed by heavy doses of medication.  The word downer doesn’t even come close to adequately describing the grim specter of loss that cloaks this film.  Desires are suppressed until they not only rot the insides of the doomed individuals, but also destroy any chance of a genuine connection when they are finally released.  It’s grim, but in Burton’s hands also genuinely thrilling and alive.   

Malcolm X

365 Films

Entry #9

Malcolm X (1992)

Directed by Spike Lee

             This one is a doozy.  I have literally no idea where to begin with it.  If memory serves, the impetus for me to rent Malcolm X (I definitely did not see this in a theater) was based on research for a school biography paper of Malcolm X.  If that is any indication of what kind of student I was, then so be it.  From a young age I consistently maintained a strong predilection for the civil rights movement.  It’s kind of difficult to go to a Quaker school and not be somewhat enraptured by the speeches of King.  It’s only natural to assume that reading about the life of King and the actions of the SCLC would eventually lead me to the fascinating life story of Malcolm X.  In my movie-obsessed adolescent mind, I figured I could kill two birds with one stone by watching a movie and simultaneously absorb an incredible amount of research.  I got way more than I bargained for.  I have no idea what kind of paper I wrote based on that film (I’m sure it was terrible).  I have a very specific memory of my Mom and Brother purposefully keeping me from working on this paper because they wanted to go see some Brad Pitt snooze-fest called “Legends of the Fall.” I have never forgiven them for obstructing my studies.  Spike Lee has said in subsequent interviews that Malcolm X was a dream project for himself and cinematographer Ernest Dickerson when they met as graduate students in film school.  It is obvious from frame one that this film was made with fire in the belly.  It hits the ground running with an astonishingly vivid opening shot of  “Boston: The War Years” and never looks back.  Influenced by the opulent epics of Lean, Coppola, and Selznick, Spike Lee made what would become (and eventually bastardized) the new standard for the epic biographical film.  It’s well over three hours in length, spanning nearly the entirety of the first half of the twentieth century.  It features an incredibly deep bench of amazing performers in wonderfully nuanced roles, an unbelievable performance by Denzel Washington, and perhaps most memorably, an actual trip to Mecca.  Malcolm X is as captivating a piece of cinema that Hollywood has ever produced.  The film, of course, has its detractors who slam Mr. Lee with the usual pejoratives that he is sloppy, one-sided, and merely pushing a race-baiting agenda. Malcolm X is the perfect example of the kind of filmmaker Mr. Lee actually is as opposed to the angry ideologue he is most often painted as.  Malcolm X is a fascinating and complex portrait of a flawed, heroic human being that never forgets to be a gripping and dazzlingly cinematic story of America.  

The Naked Gun 2 1/2: The Smell of Fear

365 Films

 Entry #8

The Naked Gun 2 ½ The Smell of Fear (1991)

Directed by David Zucker

You might wonder why I have selected the second Naked Gun film for inclusion on my 365 blog as opposed to the first.  In fact, I am wondering the exact same thing myself.  If my memory serves, the introduction I received to the Naked Gun films was through the second installment.  If I am mixing up the chronology here then this entire blog is essentially useless and for that, I apologize.  This film and the entirety of the Naked Gun series symbolize a bygone era of studio comedy.  If you’ll allow me to wax nostalgic for a moment, this was a sub-genre combining elements of screwball, slapstick, satire, silliness, and spoofing.  It was comedy as a perpetual joke machine with no larger purpose or genuine interest in telling a coherent story.  This kind of comedy obviously had it precedents (I hope nobody wants to tar and feather me for mentioning the Marx Brothers and Naked Gun in the same sentence), but something happened to it in the late 90’s/early 00’s.  It’s easy to pinpoint the exact film that made the entire genre collapse in on itself like a dying star (Scary Movie, cough).  Nowadays I can’t think of a more detested type of movie than the “spoof-everything-that-breathes” mutant bastard child of the Zucker-Abrahams-Zucker offspring. Epic Movie, Date Movie, Meet the Spartans, Vampires Suck, ugh, I’m pissing myself off just thinking about these ungodly pieces of shit.  In any event, Naked Gun is the apex of the genre and I am forever grateful to it for introducing me to the likes of Leslie Nielsen, George Kennedy, Robert Goulet, Priscilla Presley, Richard Griffits, and Orenthal the Murderin’ Bus Driver.  If I may also proceed with some dime-store psychoanalysis twenty-one years after the fact, Naked Gun 2 also contains some pretty strong progressive observations on the environment, the military-industrial complex, capitalism, and the American political system in general.  In fact, Naked Gun 2 began my long-running hatred of then Chief of Staff John Sununu.  That guy sucks.  I think it’s safe to say that the Naked Gun 2 ½ made me the man I am today. (Note to future DVD releases of the Naked Gun 2 1/2: please put that pull-quote on your DVD. Thank you.)  Cut to: 15 years later and the Zucker brothers have become 9/11-converted conservatives.  Go watch their coming-out party: “An American Carol”, or if you have eyeballs and a brain, don’t. 

“This is Frank Drebin, Police Squad. Throw down your guns, and come on out with your hands up. Or come on out, then throw down your guns, whichever way you wanna do it. Just remember the two key elements here: one, guns to be thrown down; two, come on out!”

JFK

365 Films

 Entry #7

JFK (1991)

Directed by Oliver Stone

Holy mother of god is this movie fantastic and I have no shame in making such a statement. Nor do I have any problem admitting that movie is perhaps 99.9% bullshit, or that it might as well be the ravings of an ill-informed tea party-truther standing on a street corner.  I simply do not give a shit about any of that. This is one of the most ambitious, massively scaled, and flat out enthralling studio films ever made. I have heard the film referred to as a big budget experimental avant-garde art project and I would not disagree. The arsenal of cinematic tricks that Oliver Stone has at his disposal has never been put to better use (by him or maybe any director attempting something similar). What Stone has done here, with a merciless skill for presentation, is put you in the mindset of a conspiracy theorist. It’s a maddening place full of swirling, contradictory ideas and often-hallucinatory conclusions as the end result.  It’s intoxicating and no matter what you believe, by the end of JFK, Stone has convinced you of something. You might call that propaganda, but since the film pushes no clear solution, I find that to be a dubious charge. I think what Stone is getting at here is a generational disillusionment that kicked in after the most turbulent events of the 1960’s. The kind of disillusionment that produces far-flung, wacked-out theories about 11 dimensional chess moves being operated by all sectors of the government that act as a protective blanket for most rational explanations for real world horrors.  If you read about any man made or natural disaster in the last 30 years, you will also read about a guy who knows “the truth.” JFK documents the beginning of that collective agreement to live in denial.  But it's also about the noble pursuit of truth and justice in the face of incredible bureaucratic obstruction.  Where do you draw the line between obsession and what's really there in front of you?  Much to the contrary of the film's detractors, I believe Stone is asking a question, not making any kind of black and white case.  If this all sounds like a big dose of downer, fear not, for Stone had made an absolutely entertaining movie.  One could argue that beneath all the rage and rants, Stone has actually made a Frank Capra movie.  Watch Costner do his best Jimmy Stewart impression in the closing arguments as the prosecution for the trial.  As a result, the film never tastes like bitter medicine, just look at the parade of amazing character actors popping in and out of the film. Try not to watch the Mr. X monologue without your jaw dropping to the floor.  The amount of visual material with which the film arms itself is head spinning.  This is the kind of film where one sits back and marvels at a group of incredibly talented craftsmen working in harmonious synchronicity, as they produce with effortless grace what can only be described as a masterpiece.  

Terminator 2: Judgment Day

365 Films 

Entry #6

Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

Directed by James Cameron

The raison d’être, as it were, for my formative cinephile years could be broken down to an oft-quoted prognosis of the inner workings of my mind. “Ethan will only see things with explosions in them.” “You wouldn’t have like it Ethan, there weren’t any explosions in it.” Such small-minded criteria haunted me for years, well into my teens as a matter of fact. It would be dishonest to deny these charges so I will use this as an entry to point to perhaps the most explosion-y of all action movies: Terminator 2. Being that I was only 7 when this came out, I can’t speak with 100% accuracy to the pure cultural phenomenon of the film. It’s safe to argue that this was perhaps my gateway drug to the idea of a “summer movie.” This shit was everywhere and astonishingly enough, incredibly accessible to mature young boys and girls of all ages even though it was a R-rated movie. Why? I have absolutely no idea. I chalk this up to writer/director James Cameron’s astonishingly innate ability to create pure pop culture events out of his cinematic ass. The idea of a new film by James Cameron now fills me with dread for that very reason.  Every film since T2 just irritates me more and more upon initial viewing and subsequent reflection (about which I’m sure he’s heartbroken, sleeping on a pile of money with many beautiful ladies).  There’s no denying that he’s a scarily talented craftsmen, I just feel like the entire success of the second Terminator film is due to the fact that it played incredibly well to a group of people who just wanted to see shit blow up (i.e. me). I watch T2 and I cringe at his awkward, horribly on-the-nose dialogue (something George Lucas is regularly raked over the coals for yet Cameron remains relatively unscathed).  The T2 screenplay is like an automaton trying to approximate human speech. Which, in all fairness, doesn’t really detract too much from the quality of the film. More to the point, it’s his simplistic view of human relationships and human nature that ultimately make the film a hollow experience. With all that being said, shit blows up real good in this movie and that car chase in the beginning is spectacular. The shoot out at sky-net is a terrific set piece. Linda Hamilton busts her ass to make Sarah Connor a compelling human being. And dammit, it is impossible not to be moved by the John and the Terminator’s goodbye scene. Ah fuck it, Cameron; you’ve done it again.  

Edward Scissorhands

365 Films

 Entry #5

Edward Scissorhands (1990)

Directed by Tim Burton

Unfortunately, these days one has to adopt an apologist stance when discussing the works of Tim Burton. 2012 was particularly rough on him when Dark Shadows and Frankenweenie were unfairly maligned by the fickle tastes of popular consensus. And that’s failing to mention the fact that his previous film was Alice in Wonderland. Enough said. This wasn’t always the case though, for throughout the late 80’s and into the 90’s he was the goth golden boy. And for my money, there aren’t many other films I can think of that demonstrate his wide array of talents as much as Edward Scissorhands. You’ll have to forgive me because my memory is failing me at the moment. I can’t remember if this was the first Burton I saw in theaters or if it was Batman. Nor can I remember if I had seen the immortal Pee Wee’s Big Adventure of Beetlejuice prior to this. Point being, this entry is of dubious origins, however, Edward Scissorhands is so good it doesn’t matter if I can’t come up with an interesting story behind it.  Scissorhands is perhaps Burton’s most successful modern day fairy tale in that it showcases an astonishing array of iconic moments that are steeped in genuine emotion. It’s a very rare thing for a film to achieve such a combination but Scissorhands makes it look effortless. As an introduction to the world of Burton, it is invaluable.  It’s also important to remember that this was a major career stepping-stone for the relatively new filmmaker. Up to this point his resume only included the previously mentioned films (and yes, yes the shorts and all those years he spent as a Disney animator. What am I, his biographer?) What those titles indicated was someone closer in spirit to a cinematic prankster than a genuine storyteller.  In the case of Batman, he was a spirited protector and tour guide of the public’s collective imagination. It was with Edward Scissorhands that all the pieces came together with the utmost eloquence. The production design, Danny Elfman’s score, the oddball comedic bits, and the immaculate performances under Burton’s visionary direction tell a story that is simply put: beautiful. 

The Witches

365 Films

Entry #4

The Witches (1990)

Directed by Nicholas Roeg

This entry might be on the tricky side considering I can’t even remember the last time I watched The Witches. The reason I’m including it in this blog compilation is because it marks two firsts for my blossoming cinephilia and me. The first being that it marks one of the earliest occasions of being aware that a book had been adapted to film. Not only was I aware that this title existed as a book, but that it was a book written by Roald Dahl (who was my Woodstock at the time). Secondly, as far as I can remember, my initial contact with The Witches came through home video. To this date, I don’t think I’ve ever seen the film in its entirety in a theater.  That’s a shame.  Massive VHS consumption was a large part of my movie watching diet. I can vividly remember the weekly trips we made to the video store as holding as much promise as recess in School. Somebody much smarter and much more thoughtful than I will have to write the definitive account of how VHS/Laserdisc/DVD ushered in all of these newfangled viewing habits we’re always obsessing over and how significantly it changed film. Come to think of it, I’m sure that piece has been written, probably thousands of times over too.  Whew. In any event, The Witches is remarkably frightening and purposefully off-putting for a children’s film.  The Jim Henson creature design certainly doesn’t skimp on the nasty. The fact that they let the guy who made Walkabout direct a mainstream family film certainly suggests a bygone era of courage in studio filmmaking. The Witches may not have defibrillated my nerve endings the way Willy Wonka did (more on that later). But it is certainly a worthy addition to the Roald Dahl film adaptation pantheon.

Update: I happened to catch the Witches on television a couple weekends ago and let me assure you, the grotesqueries in this film know no bounds.  It is every bit as horrifying as I remember, and aside from an unnecessary sub-plot involving the hot naked affairs of Rowan Atkinson with the hotel staff, it remains a satisfying experience.  Aside from the creature effects, Anjelica Huston is the MVP of the whole enterprise.  The emphatic visual choices also carry a lot of the weight in brining Dahl’s world to the screen, made all the more remarkable by a seemingly limited budget. 

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles

365 Films

Entry #3

Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990)

Directed by Steve Barron

Ah yes, my beloved turtles. In thinking about the best angle from which to approach this particular entry, I came up with a very simple observation: the teenage mutant ninja turtles owned all of my mental real estate for several years. If I wasn’t watching the animated series, I was watching the movies. If I wasn’t playing the video games, I was playing with the laundry bin full of action figures in my possession.  Yet, with all that immersion into Turtle paraphernalia, I don’t have the slightest idea what initiated my obsession. It must have been the cartoon, which premiered in 1987, and maybe the fact that they were green? (another one of my favorite colors). I remember an incredibly brief flirtation with karate around that time in my life (I think we’re talking about a lesson and a half, maybe less). And of course, like most children and adults, I gobbled up pizza without batting an eye. In that regard, The Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles could not have been MORE up my alley. I remember an incredibly fervent sense of excitement the day before the release of TMNT: The Movie. I was aware of what this movie was, I was aware of what I would mentally acquire by seeing it, and I was super pumped for it. Which, in hindsight, is interesting because it speaks more to the marketing power of the TMNT brand than the actual quality of the film. An adult at the time would have to confirm this for me but something tells me that if you were a boy between the ages of 6 and 12 around 1990, you couldn’t get away from the TMNT marketing bonanza being shoved down your throat. Anyway, what does this have to do with the movie? I guess it’s a rather round about way of saying that I remember the hype more than the movie. Or rather, I’m not sure if my fondness for the film stems from its quality or the excitement that surrounded it.  I remember responding to Raphael and his bad attitude constantly getting him into physical and emotional trouble (I had a bit of a temper problem myself, plus he had the red head band so he was instantly my favorite). I’m glad the movie introduced me to Elias Koteas at such a young age, one of those actors who brighten up any movie in which he appears. And the movie delivers exactly what it promises: wisecracking mutant turtles karate chopping a gang of masked, pajama-wearing runaway youth. What more could a six-year-old ask for? 

Gremlins 2: The New Batch

365 Films

Entry #2

Gremlins 2: The New Batch (1990)

Directed by Joe Dante

I consider this phase in my cinematic upbringing to be the Looney Tunes period. Gremlins 2 and Who Framed Roger Rabbit both revel in the anarchic spirit of that wonderful animated enterprise. Gremlins 2: The New Batch is basically a live action series of Looney Tunes shorts wrapped around a barely-there wisp of a plot. That’s not meant to be a put-down, in fact, one of Gremlins 2’s most successful feats is the coup it stages at the palace of mainstream commercial cinema. The movie is so devoid of purpose and so full of mindless self-indulgence that it could really stand in as a “fuck you” to almost any sequel ever made. What sets Gremlins 2 apart is that it is deliriously funny. Again, it probably goes without saying, that none of this made any sense to me at the time of my initial viewing. I missed maybe 80% of the jokes, I didn’t get the satire at work (particularly the take down of Donald Trump’s New York), and in all honesty, I only went to see it because the lobby display had a cardboard animatronic gremlin popping in an out of a desk. That shit was cool. So while my abilities to absorb and understand the cultural critique were limited, the sense of fun the movie possesses was undeniably contagious. The movie breaks the fourth wall at the drop of a hat, and instead of feeling distanced; you feel like you are in on the joke. Perhaps that is because the movie itself can’t believe it’s getting away with half of the shit it does. I have to be totally honest here and admit my preference for Gremlins 2 as opposed to the original. I’m pretty sure I had seen Gremlins before seeing the sequel but my memory could be mixed up about that. It’s not that Gremlins is entirely inferior to its follow-up, but it’s certainly a lot grimmer and with a shockingly high body count for a movie of its type. All of these attributes could describe the far more impressive film. But for me being the age that I was and my then state of mind (Looney Tunes), I guess I wasn’t in the mood for mean and nasty.  And this was my cinematic introduction to New York City (more on that later), I’m sure that didn’t hurt. 

Who Framed Roger Rabbit?

365 Films

Entry #1

Who Framed Roger Rabbit (1988)

Directed by Robert Zemeckis

We kick off my “knock-off” 365 blog with the granddaddy of them all, Who Framed Roger Rabbit. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t mean to imply that WFRR is the granddaddy of all cinema, just my perspective of it. This was the first film I remember seeing in theaters that actually registered with me on an image to eyeball producing pleasurable neurological connections level. This was also the film during which the infamous “skittle vomit” incident occurred. I feel that I can best sum up that story with a simple math equation: (Large bag of skittles+full dinner+2 Chocolate Milkshakes=Rainbow colored vomit all over the floor of the ladies room). I can’t quite remember what compelled me to want to see WFRR, I have a vague notion of liking the name Roger when I was four-years-old. It’s possible that an animated talking rabbit that dressed in red over-alls (one of my favorite colors) just really tickled my fancy. I don’t remember being aware of the fact that this was the first time that two titans of animation: Bugs Bunny and Mickey Mouse, had dropped their corporate entanglements and appeared on screen together. Nor do I remember being aware of the fact that basically every major character from the history of animation has at least a cameo in the film.  I especially don’t remember being aware of the fact that the film itself is a groundbreaking work in the history of cinema, seamlessly melding state of the art animation with live-action filmmaking. I think it was the rabbit in red-overalls that really did it for me. That being said, WFRR is an irreverent, eye-popping, whacked-out, screwball take on the Los Angeles noir genre. To my eyes at the time, I just liked watching that damn rabbit bumble around and fuck things up only to miraculously save the day at the end.  It’s been a while since I’ve re-visited WFRR. I remember my most recent viewing of it to be a little dis-heartening in that certain moments came off unnecessarily lecherous and creepy. So as to not end the first entry on a downer note, I will say that I look forward to introducing future generations to the exciting, pervy fun of Who Framed Roger Rabbit.  And to scare the living shit out of them with the concept of “dip.” 

A New Blog From A Stolen Idea.

Hello again,

       I know I've asked to go on many adventures with me here at anti-fanboy industries.  I hope you'll agree to join me for one more.  This time the adventure you seek will not be fraught with quoted song lyrics or frothing anticipation over a new Star Wars movie (again).  This time I wish to take you on a journey through 365 films that have defined the very man whose words you are reading at this very moment as we speak.  That's right, each day, you'll get a new blog entry of monumental importance about a movie I watched this one time.  There are some you might agree with, some you might disagree with, or the most likely option: you won't even have read the entry at all.  So sit back, read for a few minutes (seriously, each entry is just a paragraph long. what could you possibly have better to do), and then dive into the list of your own 365 films.

In closing, gentle reader, I'd like to thank you.`What's that?' you say? Me thanking you? No, it's not a misprint, for you see, I enjoyed writing this blog as much as you enjoyed reading it. The End.

I'll see you after the movie.