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Bubba Ho-Tep (2002)
Good Mockin' Tonight
Any long-time sufferers of the Herz/Kaufman trenches knows that crafting a 'cult' film is a helluva lot harder than taking a loopy high-concept and grafting on an outrageous title: hands up, how many of you have ever actually finished 'Fat Guy Goes Nutzoid' ? So when I first read of the title 'Bubba Ho Tep" some time ago, and its premise involving an aging Elvis and a mummy, I was prepared for more witless tedium classed up with a very funny conceit--too slick for Something Weird Video and too self-consciously 'hip' for 'Mystery Science Theater 3000'.
But a closer look revealed that the pedigree of talent involved here is higher than usual: 'Ash' himself, Bruce Campbell, headlines as 'The King', joined by respected stage/screen veteran Ossie Davis, in story conceived by the superb Texas-based 'mojo' storyteller Joe R. Lansdale, under the direction of Don Coscarelli, the creator of The Tall Man! Of course, Campbell has also starred in unexceptional dreck like 'Moontrap', writers like Lansdale regularly have their prose butchered for the screen, Coscarelli DID direct 'The Beastmaster' and has produced largely nothing but 'Phantasm' films for the last twelve straight years, and Ossie Davis-well, this man delivered the eulogy for Malcolm X, just what the hell is he doing in this anyway?
Rejoice in the news is that, IMHO, 'Bubba Ho Tep' takes care of business. And with this premise, it had damn well better: Elvis Aron Presley had apparently switched identities with an Elvis impersonator ('Sebastian Haff') shortly after his 1968 comeback special and had lived in anonymity until falling off the stage and breaking his hip. Of course, it was Haff who really died in 1977 and Presley got stuck in his Mud Creek, Texas rest home. Now nearly seventy and pining over a lifetime lost with his daughter, Elvis finds purpose in his humdrum routine when an evil, soul-sucking Egyptian mummy invades the facility. Jack, a fellow resident convinced that he is former President John F. Kennedy, is entirely convinced of the presence of this menace and joins The King's crusade.
Campbell, not exactly the 'shy' type, takes his cues from Kurt Russell's 1979 incarnation and devours the role under fake jowls and a paunch gut that suggests 'Mr. Saturday Night Travels 3000 Miles To Graceland'. And Ossie Davis makes for the perfect, serene foil as JFK, none too shocked by the presence of a mummy considering the elaborate conspiracy theory he's cooked up explaining how an assassinated Irishman from Massachusetts ended up very much alive, black, and possessing a sack of sand where his brain used to be. Ho-Tep himself amounts to little more than his poster image-a swaggering, frayed silhouette in a cowboy hat and boots that materializes here and there in the rest home to cause havoc. Of course, this being a low-budget production (still seeking a distributor, at the time of this writing), actual Elvis songs were beyond Coscarelli's budget, instead, Bryan Tyler (of 'Six String Samurai's Red Elvises) underscores the absurdity effectively with a rousing rockabilly anthem (Campbell's white jumpsuit, on the other hand, is the real deal!).
'Bubba Ho Tep' provides its heroes with only two real encounters with their foe and ends abruptly, thus disappointing as a monster movie (though, to Coscarelli's credit, there are moments of genuine, 'Phantasm' worthy atmosphere and dread). But perhaps that's not necessarily a flaw, given that this is one of the rare 'quirky' character-based films that manage to evoke some pathos and even downright legit drama between the dream sequences and freaky scarab beetles. And considering that 'Bubba' more or less occupies a genre vilified for its celebration of square-jawed heroes and nubile females, when was the last time you saw a film, of this or any type, that championed two enfeebled seniors (admittedly, one with a rather prominent square jaw) as saviors of the world?
It's been well documented that the real Elvis Presley hated almost all the vehicles he appeared in until his last in1969, but I'll bet he would've wagered a year of peanut-butter-and-banana sandwiches for the chance to fight an Egyptian mummy (JFK's 'Profiles In Courage' was a favorite book, too) instead of lip-synching through another role as a singing racing champ. During their intro, Campbell and Coscarelli said they'd sought to eradicate the image of Presley dying bloated and drug-ridden and give him a proper hero's send-off. Considering their film's surprising heart, I almost buy it.
Hearts in Atlantis (2001)
A Life Too Ordinary
William Goldman ("Butch Cassidy And The Sundance Kid") returns to do Stephen King justice once again, after his acclaimed adaptation of "Misery" ten years ago. Streamlining two of the novel's stories, "Low Men in Yellow Coats" and "Why We're In Vietnam" into a sweet, if a tad too-low-key, reminiscence of childhood innocence lost (and sage-like wisdom achieved supernaturally), "Hearts In Atlantis" seems so determined to avoid any chance of a "schlock" label that it floats along prettily, inoffensively, from trailer moment to trailer moment.
Successful photographer Robert Garfield (David Morse) returns to his hometown of Harwich, Connecticut to attend the funeral of his childhood friend killed in combat. He flashes back to the summer of 1960, when he was 11 years old (now played by Anton Yelchin) and living with his bitter widowed mother Elizabeth (Hope Davis) hand-to-mouth in a run-down boarding house. A charming stranger, Ted Brautigan (Anthony Hopkins), moves in upstairs for what he assures will be only a few weeks, and Elizabeth is immediately suspicious of the elderly man's relationship with her son, and his friends, including "Bobby"'s first love, Carol Gerber (Mika Borem). Under the auspices of hiring Bobby to read him the papers, Ted pays the boy a dollar a week to look out for the "low men", who are pursuing him for reasons he won't reveal. There's a little too much reliance on the convenient use of pop songs to evoke the period (Hicks seems content to follow Reiner's model with "Stand By Me"), and some of the golden-lit childhood romance strays dangerously close to saccharine "My Girl" territory, often at the expense of the stronger story of the relationship between Bobby and Ted. The otherworldly aspects of Ted's nature, and pursuit by the "Low Men" (here, sans "yellow coats") are downplayed to the point of non-existence, and in the end, it seems like old Ted is on the lam from irate bookies rather than the trans-dimensional bounty hunters of King's story.
In his 1986 essay "Why The Children Don't Look Like Their Parents" (his intro to the OOP book "Stephen King At The Movies"), concerning the then-abysmal state of King film adaptations, Harlan Ellison wrote that most of the films "look as if they'd been chiseled out of Silly Putty by escapees from the Home For The Terminally Inept". "He is writing more of shadow than substance", Ellison said of King, "he knows what makes us tremble. He knows about moonlight reflecting off the fangs. It isn't his plots that press against our chest, it is the impact of his allegory." Ellison suggested that filmmakers stop "dumbing down" the characters and obliterating allegory and subtext at the expense of FX and cheap shocks. In the 15 years since that article, someone must have listened, because the quality of King adaptations have certainly improved, witness the aforementioned "Misery", "The Shawshank Redemption", "The Green Mile", "Dolores Claiborne", and even the television adaptation of "The Stand".
It's a pity that with "Hearts In Atlantis", the filmmakers went too far the other way. In robbing "Low Men" of its fantasy elements, one of King's most moving fables has been re-rendered toothless and ordinary.
A Boy and His Dog (1975)
Blood's A Winner
1975's "A Boy And His Dog" defies categorization, much like the outspoken author who penned its Nebula-winning source novella. Harlan Ellison has resisted the genre label for his entire 900+ short story career ("call me a 'science fiction' writer, and I'll come to your house and nail your pet's head to the table", he's warned), and yet his collections are stacked alongside "Sliders" novelizations in most bookstores. With its multiple world wars, mutants, and robot assassins, "A Boy And His Dog" is superficially science fiction, but only in the service of aspiring to a level of satire a la "A Clockwork Orange" or "Slaughterhouse Five".
Phoenix, Arizona 2024 AD: nomadic hunter-gatherers roam the radioactive wastelands ravaged by World War Four. Libidinous Vic has managed to survive his eighteen years as a "Solo" thanks largely to the aide of his far more intelligent - not to mention telepathic - companion Blood, a "Rover" who searches out supplies, women, and enemies and provides the requisite witty repartee. A post-nuke buddy pic? Well, of sorts--you see, while most viewers will recognize recently-bankrupt "Nash Bridges" star Don Johnson as the very young solo, fewer will realize that Blood is portrayed by the same veteran who managed to avoid being stereotyped as "Tiger" on The Brady Bunch. That's right: "Rovers" are intelligent, telepathic dogs, bred for warfare. If you're thinking of tuning out--don't, because this film has a lot to offer beyond an outrageous premise. When Blood sniffs out a disguised Quilla June (Susanne Benton) at a desert camp, Vic is surprised that he won't have to force her to be his evening's bedmate. Fleeing scavengers and the dangerous "Screamers" (nocturnal mutants who roam the deserts), Quilla June convinces Vic to join her in her subterranean home "Topeka", leaving Blood behind. Quilla June's father and leader of "The Committee" Lou Craddock (Jason Robards) sent her above ground to lure Vic into impregnating Topeka's women and offers the boy all of the perks of this bizarre Our Town meets Body Snatchers hamlet. But Vic finds out that his stud service will be extremely brief if he doesn't play by the rules, and after escaping The Committee's robotic enforcer, he finds loyal Blood on the brink of death, awaiting his return. Luckily, Quilla June has tagged along, and will provide a restorative service that reinforces Vic's worldview that the only "true love" is the one between a boy and his dog...
Produced in the days when "indie" typically meant "exploitation", "A Boy And His Dog" was a guerilla project for several Hollywood veterans who craved to do something different outside of "The System". Ellison had turned down big studio offers from Warners and Universal and instead handed over screen rights to L.Q. Jones, who had best been known as a stuntman (and still appears to this day in such fare as The Edge and Walker, Texas Ranger) to write and direct. The late Alvy Moore, of television's Green Acres, produced the film and appeared as Robard's accomplice "Dr. Moore". Tim McIntyre provided the voice of Blood and composed the music. Ellison wasn't happy with the Topeka sequences (and blamed his own story for their shortcomings) and was even less pleased with the film's final spoken line (a morbid pun penned by Jones). He offered to re-loop the dialogue out of his own pocket, but audiences loved the line. Despite Ellison's protests, the film impressed his peers enough for them to award it the 1976 Hugo Award for Best Dramatic Presentation. Fourth-time director Jones displays such a gifted eye for widescreen compositions and maximizing limited resources, and propels the story forward so breezily with witty voice-overs and bouncy acoustic score that it's amazing that he's never directed another film. The assured depiction of difficult character "Blood" is a true revelation: as voiced by McIntyre, reading dialogue more or less verbatim from Ellison's prose, the shaggy Rover ranks as one of the most believable and three-dimensional non-human screen characters--ever. I never cried when Old Yeller got shot, but I still get moist-eyed when Blood and Vic part ways at the entrance to Topeka.
"A Boy And His Dog" regularly shows up on most lists of the Top 10 Science Fiction Films Of All Time, and I certainly rank it alongside another independent S.F. marvels like "Dark Star" and "THX 1138". So, do give the dog a chance; after all, Tiger won the 1975 "Patsy Award" for his performance <g> The Region 1 DVD contains audio commentary from L.Q. Jones and two trailers (the promised "liner notes" are nowhere in evidence in my version). But be warned, purists: worse than the shoddy packaging and frequent misspellings ("Harlen" Ellison?), is the print itself: marred by emulsion scratches, dirt, and missing frames throughout. Still, the cheap price, and the sad fact that this is the only version fans have to choose from until someone like Blue Underground comes to the rescue, makes this disc a Must Have.
Auto Focus (2002)
Bob Le Pervo...
Few will admit it, but the evolution of any most enduring communications breakthroughs can be directly linked to the ability to provide consumers easy, discreet access to porn. The printing press, the motion picture loop, and yes, even the modern miracle that is currently allowing you to read these oh-so-insightful musings owe much of their staying power (sorry) to their transmission of nudie `art studies' and depictions of amorous acrobatics. But it was the VCR and the home video camera that took smut out of seedy grindhouse districts and put it in middle-class living rooms (seedy or otherwise). One of the early pioneers of homemade erotica was none other than vanilla sitcom star Bob Crane, best known for Disney's `Superdad' and of course, the recent TV Guide `Worst TV Show Of All Time' winner `Hogan's Heroes' (placing #5). Crane's bland, nice-guy exterior masked an unbridled sexual addiction that lead to his unsolved murder at the age of 47.
When Bob Crane (Kinnear), a successful DJ and devoted family man, is offered the pilot for `Hogan's Heroes' in 1964, he is initially troubled by the show's premise of POW's vs. `funny Nazis'. But his agent (Liebman) and wife (Wilson) echo his rationale that a network series would be a major career step, and he signs on. `Hogan' is an immediate, if controversial, success, and through costar Richard Dawson, Crane hooks up with video technician John Carpenter (Dafoe), an oily smooth-talker who claims to have outfitted the likes of Elvis with the latest in Japanese innovations, most notably, the reel-to-reel videotape recorder. Carpenter's persuasive nature leads the star from family dinners to drumming in strip joints, and when the ladies begin to notice blandly handsome and more importantly, famous, `Col. Hogan' out and about in LA's many happening nightspots, the actor conceives of another use for his latest toy, the portable video camera. Almost overnight, Crane becomes absorbed 24-7 in realizing his X-rated fantasies and after `Hogan's Heroes' gets canned, envisions a new career as a big-time porno film producer with Carpenter as his partner. Of course, as in `Boogie Nights', the party can't last forever.
Director Paul Schrader specializes in subjects of extreme male psychology -his screenplays for `Taxi Driver', `American Gigolo', `Affliction', `Raging Bull' each offering corrosive `Chicken Soup For The Misanthropic Soul'-but if `Auto Focus' fumbles as an examination of the Hefner Era alpha-male gone awry, it's only because Crane and Carpenter took their secrets to their respective graves, and on the surface, seem complete polar opposites. Schrader confessed in his intro that he sought to stick to the known facts, and admitted that while all evidence points to Carpenter as Crane's killer, because he was acquitted, it was necessary to keep murder unsolved. One does wish he and Gerbosi had shown the fearlessness in which Oliver Stone accused Clay Shaw of plotting Kennedy's assassination in `JFK', lawsuits be damned, in the service of a more dramatically-satisfying coda than the abrupt (if factually correct) rug-pull we're given here. Crane's `Sunset Boulevard' styled narration doesn't work at all, appearing randomly here and there to do little more than reinforce the actor's more-than-apparent cluelessness. It's only during the final, fatal act where vintage Schrader reappears to record Crane's downward spiral with desaturated colours and disorienting handheld camerawork
And while Schrader directed `Auto Focus', he did not write or conceive it, instead he sticks to a screenplay from newcomer Michael Gerbosi. Larry Karaszewski and Scott Alexander tutored Gerbosi, and as a result, his script closely echoes the duo's own breezy biopics of Ed Wood, Larry Flynt, and Andy Kaufman, rather than the ultra-gritty, often relentlessly bleak morality tales one expects from Schrader (whose first foray into the realm of pornography was the still-nightmarish `Hardcore' in 1978).
But overall, `Auto Focus' rewards with its vivid recreation of an era, disarming tone, and for providing its talent a chance to stretch. Schrader is required to incorporate a lighter touch than usual and handles the `Hogan's Heroes' recreations and Crane's deluded amiability well, thanks mostly to having the good sense to let Greg Kinnear, displaying remarkable range, carry the show.
Spumco Toronto, ON
Intacto (2001)
The Spanish "Unbreakable"...
What is it with Spain and its seemingly inexhaustible supply of young filmmakers, all possessing an uncanny knack for crafting haunting and original thrillers that refresh even the hoariest of genre conventions? While nearly two decades pass in America between James Cameron and M. Night Shymalan, Spain has given us Guillermo Del Toro, Nacho Cerda, Alex de la Iglesia, Alejandro Amenabar, and now Juan Carlos Fresnadillo-it seems as if a new young turk comes along immediately on the heels of his predecessor marching off to Hollywood. This year's entry, `Intacto', is a stylish as a the best `X Files' episode, as tightly-paced as a Mamet noir, and features a conceit that probably has Stephen King kicking himself for squandering his talents on s*** weasels.
The film is set in one of those `another time, another place' parallel universes where `luck' is a tangible thing that can be absorbed and transferred from person to person, and found in great abundance in certain, select--and thus `lucky'--individuals. Samuel Berg (Von Sydow)-some sort of master/manipulator of `chance'--is upset when his right-hand man Frederico chooses to leave their compound-a casino built amidst a barren wasteland--to create a life for himself. Frederico possesses the same talent as his aging master, a gift that is stolen back from him during their farewell embrace. Years later, out in `the world', Frederico pays insurance investigators for tips towards miraculous survivors of accidents and natural disasters. He is seeking to train a student into mastering luck, and help him enact vengeance upon the powerful Berg. His rare candidate is a petty crook, Tomas, the lone survivor of an airplane crash. Frederico guides him through a subculture of luck-afflicted gamblers who challenge each other with dangerous stunts and treat regular human lives as poker chips. Pursuing them is tenacious Sara, a cop who is also an accident survivor, hoping to uncover a more logical explanation for a series of mysterious deaths and coincidences. Will Tomas accept Frederico's proposal and defeat Berg? Can Berg even be defeated? All will be revealed, but no so much that you won't still be thinking about this one for hours afterward. .
The considerable presence of Max Von Sydow (who also lent class to Dario Argento's underrated `Sleepless') brings his special brand of low-key gravity to the stylish and cryptic metaphysical musings, esp. his compelling, climactic monologue about discovering his `luck' as a child in a concentration camp (echoes of `X Men's Magento-genre fans will have fun with this film). `Intacto' may be enigmatic and cerebral, but it's never pretentious-I, for one, highly anticipate Fresnadillo's next turn at the table, in which we'll get to see if this outstanding debut was the sign of a player or just a lucky hand.
Spumco Toronto, Ontario
Career Opportunities (1991)
Misunderstood Picaresque Masterpiece!
"Career Opportunities" is not only one of the finest films of the Last Great Golden Age Of American Cinema--the early 1990s, specifically, 1991 ("Another You", "For The Boys", "Highlander 2: The Quickening"--do I have to list more?), it might just one day revered as the "O Lucky Man" of the post-Reagan "grunge" era. A surrealist, even MAGICAL REALIST parable/satire on American Consumerism and our collective enslavement to petty bourgeois dreams of success, with a touch of "La Dolce Vita" tossed in for added subtext, with the lovely OSCAR-NOMINATED Connelly as Anita Ekberg, representing the impossible female ideal that will remain forever out of reach until our hero, Whalley's milquetoast Candide, renounces the evils of capitalism. Connelly's ride atop a coin-operated pony is Hughes' nod to Sylvia's romp through the fountain in Rome, and his oft-misunderstood casting of the Mulroneys are a post-modern riff on Fellini's Virgin Mary thread, although instead, the brothers embody a different Biblical allusion--to that of the parable of Cain and Abel. Sigh--I'll be defending this one until the end of my autumn years.
But oh, that white tank top...