Adventures in Netflix #4-Gabriel Ricard
Adventures in Netflix-#4
By Gabriel Ricard
Another one?
Yeah. Contrary to rumors that didn’t exist in the first place, I’m still kicking around these parts, hoping like hell that at twenty-two, there’s still a good chance of a last second comeback in the great game of unrealistic expectations.
We are indeed still open for business.
And eventually, I feel very confident that I’ll get over the disbelief about that.
The Trial (1962)
Directed by: Orson Welles
Starring: Anthony Perkins, Orson Welles, Jeanne Moreau
Though this one’s a little under the radar in the canon of Orson Welles’ powerful body of work, it’s notable for a couple reasons. One, it came out two years after Anthony Perkins legendary performance as Norman Bates in Psycho. Two, it was one of the very few films in Orson Welles’ career in which he had complete creative control and definitive final cut of the film itself. And really, it’s Orson Welles interpreting Kafka. At the very least, it’s going to be interesting as hell. Though again, this is not one of his most well known films, it’s definitely one of his best. Perkins, with that desperate, overwhelmed and terrified look he did so well almost permanently plastered to his face, is flawless as Joseph K, whose bureaucratic surrealist nightmare begins the moment the film opens. From the moment Joseph awakens to be charged with a crime that is never explained to him, we understand that it’s only going to get worse from there. And indeed it does, as Joseph’s obsession with proving himself innocent in spite of never really understanding what he’s done wrong to begin with consumes him and his journey through the terrifying and darkly comical world of labyrinth-esque judicial process and nightmarish social and political values. Welles considered this his most autobiographical work, and it’s not hard to pick that up. Better than most, Welles understood the tumor-twitching insanity of red tape and men in suits dictating the fate and daily lives of the supposed lower class. By 1962, Welles had very few films that he could truly call his own. Most of them were edited into oblivion by a panel of cold, calculated businessmen and accountants who understood very little beyond the memo immediately in front of them. And for the rest of us, we only have to think of experiences at the local hospital or DMV. You can bust yourself open from banging your head against the wall, and Welles wraps us up in that sentiment throughout the entire two-hour run of the film. Through gray, bleak surroundings, dead-eyed, soulless zombie citizens, and claustrophobia in even the most open spaces, Welles crafts a lonely, brutally gripping account on the consequences of hope and the sin of failing to justify ones existence in the world. Made even better by Welles putting his own personal twist on Kafka’s story, rather than just laying out a note-for-note film version of the book itself. He considered this his best film ever. With his usual brilliance behind the camera and great performances from every single member of the cast (Welles himself turns in a great part as The Advocate), it’s not a complete leap to agree with him. It’s a strange, experimental piece of filmmaking, but under the direction of one of the greats, it has the punch and focus that many other films in this category lack. It’s further proof of his brilliance, and strong evidence that Mr. Anthony Perkins was more than just a one-note guy. This isn’t the best place to start with Orson Welles, but if you’re a couple of movies in (start with something a little more accessible perhaps), and you want to keep it going, then this absolutely essential viewing.
The Cheerleaders (1973)
Directed by: Paul Glickler
Starring: Stephanie Fondue, Denise Dillaway, Jovita Bush
It’s possible that I’m being too nice to this 70’s exploitation sex comedy. It’s true that there isn’t much to it. The plot, about a girl getting on the cheerleading squad at her local high school and all the hilarious sexual escapades that such a thing apparently creates, although nothing special still has a weird charm that’s hard to get mad at. And you’ve got some good, enthusiastic performances from a mostly amateur cast (Stephanie Fondue is a particular stand-out). And then the direction from Paul Glickler, who didn’t really make a whole lot else after this, keeps things moving along. Even the softcore porn sex scenes, which are exactly as you’d imagine that kind of thing to be in the 70’s has a kitschy appeal to it. This is the perfect movie for some alcohol and a handful of friends who might fall under the headline of having a weird sense of humor. But why the generous rating? In the end, it’s still just an old drive-in movie from the 70’s about cheerleaders banging everyone within a twenty-mile radius. If you like this sort of thing, if Russ Meyer is amongst your favorite filmmakers, then this should be nothing short of a decent way to kill ninety minutes. But if you’re not or have no idea who that is, then you have two options. You can either go into this movie knowing it’s pretty much what the term “Stupid fun” was invented for. Or you can walk away and never look back. It’s your call. I got through it just fine because I happen to have a place in my heart for bad sex comedies. Especially bad sex comedies from the 70’s/80’s. That’s when the genre at least had a personality of some kind. But that’s all just me. There’s no middle ground to a movie like this. You either love it or you don’t. Though one thing you can say about this film is that it’s a good way to test the waters and see if you can get a night’s entertainment out of these things. Without question, it’s one of the better ones in the field. Just don’t expect any kind of masterpiece. Expect that concept I mentioned before of stupid fun, and you’ll be in a much better position to judge its merits and continued popularity over thirty years later.
Venus (2006)
Directed by: Roger Michell
Starring: Peter O’Toole, Jodie Whittaker, Leslie Phillips
As big a fan as I am of Forest Whitaker and as happy I was to see him score a well-deserved Best Actor Oscar for The Last King of Scotland, I have to admit that after seeing Peter O’Toole in Venus, that maybe it should’ve gone in a different direction. O’Toole is one of the greatest actors of this or any other generation. His work as an actor is staggering in its variety and testament to the power of a brilliant performance - but he’s never won Best Actor. And it’s a decent chance that he probably never will. It’s a shame. Even his worst movies are generally packed with great performances. As for his best movies, well, then you’re really in good shape for something that represents everything we love about performance-driven films. Venus is in the second category, alongside such other O’Toole classics as Lawrence of Arabia and Stunt Man. It’s got last stand mentality all over it, although personally, I don’t think we’ve seen O’Toole’s last legendary film. The story has O’Toole as Maurice, an aging actor in the twilight of a once-great career, whose life of routine and waiting quietly for the end is brought to a sudden halt when he meets up with Jessie (the excellent Jodie Whittaker), a beautiful, arrogant young girl. A strange relationship develops between them. It’s almost co-dependent, in a way, though for entirely different reasons. Jessie wants Maurice for the attention he gives her, not to mention the gifts and career opportunities he throws her way. Maurice wants Jessie for the last chance at a moment of youth that she can offer him. They’re not stupid. There’s no illusion of what one wants from the other. But somehow, they develop feelings for each other anyway. There’s nothing sentimental about it, but it’s obvious that as time goes on, the idea of using each other for whatever they need becomes just an excuse to be around each other. There’s a genuine love and affection that comes to dominate the original nature of their relationship. Very few films walk this line without going over into being overly bleak or reminding us over and over again of how “unconventional” the whole thing is. Venus, thanks in large part to the actors, walks that line from beginning to end and almost never wavers. Roger Michell has tried this before over the course of a directing career that’s been erratic at best, and in my own opinion, he’s failed more times than he’s succeeded. Venus not only belongs in the successes category, but it’s easily Michell’s best film to date. It’s a film that is supported on the weight of our interest in Maurice and Jessie’s relationship, and Michell keeps us interested from start to finish. The direction never loses its focus. It keeps moving at a perfect speed to let this movie sink in and do its work on us. In Venus, Michell has crafted a movie that somehow manages to be both bleak and warm at the same time. All without falling into the usual traps. It’s a good achievement as a filmmaker. But in the end, this is O’Toole’s movie. It’s his brilliant performance that makes everything else shine a little brighter. An actor in his prime can only dream of a moment like that. O’Toole in his own prime had several, but to accomplish such a thing at seventy-plus is an achievement that should be seen and applauded as much as possible. In the end, he may not have a Best Actor, but he will have a legacy that virtually no one will ever be able to come close to, let alone touch.
A Nightmare on Elm St. (1984)
Directed by: Wes Craven
Starring: Robert Englund, Heather Langenkamp, John Saxon
Without Freddy Krueger, it’s entirely possible that we would not have gotten The Lord of The Rings trilogy exactly as we wound up getting it. Before New Line Cinema agreed to back Wes Craven’s concept of a man with the power to murder his victims in their sleep, a story pitch that was rejected by every major studio in town, the company was known for its re-releasing films like Reefer Madness and not much else. It certainly wasn’t considered a company worth taking seriously. But A Nightmare on Elm St. changed that, giving the company a franchise that it could build on. And today, they’re one of the most successful studios in the world. It wouldn’t be that way though, without Freddy Krueger. This is where the whole thing gets going, and it’s a pretty damn good start. As Freddy Krueger, Robert Englund was and still is the closest our generation has come to a Vincent Price. Englund has the same sinister menace about him, the same murderous smirk to back up his gallows humor. It’s even apparent in the way he walks, swaggers with finger-knives raised towards the sky. As Freddy Krueger, he is a monster far more fascinating and terrifying than Jason, Michael, Chucky or any of the other icons from back in the day. The character would see some dilution as it went through the sequel game and moved further and further away from Wes Craven’s original vision, but it doesn’t change Kruger’s peculiar position of pop culture icon. It also doesn’t change how much this first film kicks ass. Everything about Kruger that brings horror movie fans back to his character again and again is not only here, but here in its best possible form. On a virtually non-existent budget, Craven utilizes certain strengths like a great cast (Langenkamp is terrific as Freddy’s first film adversary and veteran character John Saxon also excels as her father) and his usual attention to creating a relentless, well-paced assault of fear and violence in places we often expect the most safety from. The end result is one of the best horror films of the last thirty years. Certainly, something that stands up as well today as it did in 1984. Also notable, I suppose, is that it features the film debut of an obscure actor named Johnny Depp. Who, as we all know, hasn’t really gone on to anything since then.
Ghost Rider (2007)
Directed by: Mark Steven Johnson
Starring: Nicholas Cage, Eva Mendes, Sam Elliot
I wasn’t hoping for much out of this. I swear to God, my expectations for this Marvel Comics translation to the cinema were as minimum as could possibly be. Even then, this thing is pretty damn disappointing. It’s not that Nicholas Cage, a well-known comic book fanatic whose last name was in fact taken from that of a comic book character (Luke Cage) is poorly suited to the part. In fact, Cage is one of the only things about this film that comes across as something besides fundamentally awful. Even the basic plot, involving Cage as a motorcycle rider who agrees to destroy Mephistopheles’ son Blackheart in exchange for freedom from a wager the two had made earlier on, is fine in that comic book sort of way. As someone who has been reading these things for nearly twenty years, I certainly didn’t have a problem with it. So, where does it go wrong? Well, where did Daredevil go wrong? Or Fantastic Four? or The Punisher? Terrible scripts and shoddy direction would be the best way to sum it up. There’s really no excuse for it either. Sure, the ideas are kind of ridiculous, but it’s been proven a few times now that a good comic book movie can be done with any character under the right circumstances. There’s no excuse for the kind of writing, directing, and of course, in many cases, acting that gets attached to these projects. Ghost Rider had potential to be a good popcorn flick at the very least. But it doesn’t even work on that level. It relies on nothing beyond on the appeal of the Ghost Rider character and the promise of some shiny CGI effects. And again, there’s no excuse for that. Don’t waste your time on this. There are infinitely superior comic book films out there, and you can do better than this example of lazy directing and poor writing. That’s not even getting into a supporting cast that’s either decent, Sam Elliot (who’s terrific) or Peter Fonda (though really, wouldn’t Lance Henriksen have been a billion times better in the role?) or pathetically irritating, namely, the awful Wes Bentley and the grating Eva Mendes. And since this doesn’t even work as a “fun” bad movie (see The Cheerleaders), there’s really no one I can recommend this to. Well, I guess it might be worth a look if you did like Fantastic Four¸ Daredevil et al, or if you’re a fanatical devotee to either Nicholas Cage or the Ghost Rider character. But unless you’re in one of those three categories, you’re pretty better off just setting your own head on fire. Trust me, your future tale of action and adventure in your local emergency room will be a hell of a lot more interesting than anything this piece of crap dumps in your mouth at two in the morning.
And that’s going to just about do it for this latest edition. I apologize for not getting around to some anime or even a TV series. There should be something to that end when the next issue rolls around. So, take care of yourself, remember that medicinal marijuana is a beautiful thing, and try to have a good time as we shudder and die a couple hundred times over the course of this relentless, vicious winter.
Of course, I’m still looking for some feedback, and I welcome it on any level at magazine@feeltheword.net
Next week, I’ll explain why I’m too lazy to go into details on the DVD features of each film I review.
Copyright C 2007 Gabriel Ricard