Science Fiction Meets Comedy!

 

Science Fiction meets Comedy

by Kristin Battestella

From all out parody to quirkiness and cosmic puns, each of these retro, recent, or blockbuster science fiction tales provide an element of humorous entertainment.

Return of the Killer Tomatoes – It's tomato prohibition in this 1988 sequel to Attack of the Killer Tomatoes starring Anthony Starke (The Magnificent Seven), George Clooney (Michael Clayton), and John Astin (The Addams Family). Self-aware late night movie hosts almost air Big Breasted Girls Go to the Beach and Take Their Tops Off instead, adding then PG-13 saucy to the MST3King itself meta before it was meta. The secret word of the day is “the,” creating an impossible drinking game to match the preposterous Professor Gangreen mad science, lab experiments, tomato tests, and pizzas with some, umm, interesting topping combinations sans tomatoes. The younger generation rolls their eyes at elders treating The Great Tomato war as some St. Crispin's Day glory, flashbacks captioned as “New York City” have San Francisco trolley cars, and call ins ask why they keep showing scenes from the first movie. There are world domination plans to place plants from within the police right up to president, and bad special effects, red lights, green glows, a fuzzy friendly tomato, and a snake named Larry join the handsome assistant Igor. Reporters shame and berate witnesses on the air yet everyone wants to be on camera, and romantic interludes on the beach get ruined by a mime as the fourth wall is often broken thanks to tomato bootleggers, Valerian root powder, and inquires on if it's too late to have a movie chase. Let's yell “Tomato!” in a crowded restaurant and point at the “tomato lover” because tomatoes are evil – a good tomato is a squashed tomato! The within within life imitating art comes to a head with behind the scenes interruptions; they are out of money so the cast and crew are now incorporating product placement right down to the cereal box between the two shot conversation. Rednecks with beer, ninjas in black fighting cowboys in white hats, and “Vigilance is the Price of Freedom. Report any suspicious vegetable activity.” Uncle Sam posters escalate to luxury construction at the toxic waste dump, prison escapes for golfing White House aides, Soylent Green homages, and an interactive Frankenstein. Once the stars ask if they have enough money to finish this turkey, the product placement begats celebrity spoofs, music knockoffs, and killer countdowns with a scoreboard and referee. Fortunately, a page from the script is handy to write a note on asking for help and shootouts result in ketchup. Layered dialogue and visual gags send up everything possible in every scene, requiring multiple viewings for all the laugh at its corny self in on the joke ridiculous. While certainly endearing for those who loved this then, today this remains an enjoyable eighties comedy that's surprisingly intelligent and ahead of its time.

Space Station 76 – Patrick Wilson (Bone Tomahawk), Liv Tyler (Lord of the Rings), Matt Bomer (White Collar), and more are all aboard for this 2014 retro futuristic seventies wink, and we immediately feel the groovy thanks to the deliberately old fashioned space shuttles, colorful special effects, bright white corridors, and spinning station design. Rather than psychedelic in your face weird, the flashing lights, lasers, and saucy visions are pleasing to today's HD eye. Vintage panels, knobs, analog gizmos, mid century plastics, viewfinders, cigarettes, ash trays, wild wallpaper, and roller skates accent the rec room luaus and awkward cafeterias as the interconnected relationships, hidden sexuality, and affairs leave plenty of foots in people's mouths. Between the undefined jobs the crew does poorly, bored housewives, lingering hippie mentalities, waterbeds, and confined interiors a lot can happen. Our incoming career oriented female officer doesn't fit in and can see the going through the motions situations. There are children on board, however the vain and manipulative parents are more interested in Valium, porn magazines, and robots because it's easier to interact with machinery and automation than build healthy relationships. Some remember growing up on earth and doing things for oneself versus space-bound reliance, but the should be idyllic futuristic bliss only creates an inability to cope. One can't even kill himself by dropping the retro radio into the bathtub because the system corrects the overloaded circuits. Naturalistic conversations provide annoyed, off the cuff sardonic socializing attempts while subtle humor – like using the arboretum to grow pot and a robotic hand getting stuck gripping a boob – alleviates any potential tenderness. The ironic, feel good classic soundtrack matches anti-gravity moments enjoying the space faring circumstances, but arguments and lies lead to contrived Christmas parties, stranded consequences, and embarrassing secrets. They are stuck with where and who they are, and somehow have to make the best of it. Although this might have been interesting as a series, the refreshing R zany but not laugh out loud doesn't overstay its welcome. I'm surprised this movie isn't more popular, as other comedy science fiction shows are full blown sends ups, but here the quirky framework anchors serious, well done characterizations. Rather than making fun of the era, the kitschy innuendo helps create a façade for the interpersonal issues, jobs over emotions, and loneliness. This is a touching little film with bemusing nostalgia and social commentary, but labeling this a comedy isn't quite fair once the drama hits too close to home, for we too have technology replacing human interaction and it is far from perfect.

Thor: Ragnarok – Taika Waititi (What We Do in the Shadows) directs the titular Chris Hemsworth, Tom Hiddleston (Only Lovers Left Alive), and Tessa Thompson (Westworld) in this 2017 Marvel sequel exploding with eighties sci-fi homage, edgy rock tunes, retro video tours, Willy Wonka notes, flashy colors, and intergalactic flair. Unlike the morose fantasy of Thor: The Dark World; industrial trash, damaged spaceships, and beer are rough and wild – matching the caged and chained Thor as he waxes on his heroic status, the new lack thereof, fiery attacks, and lightning displays. Asgard is in peril, but dramatic choirs and rewritten odes starring Matt Damon (Interstellar) and the delightful Anthony Hopkins (Hannibal) as Loki pretending to be Odin lead to Norway goodbyes, somber conversations, and family regrets. Thanks to trailer giveaways and obvious foreshadowing, there aren't many surprises, but the locales proceed quest-style with friends or enemies along the way including Benedict Cumberbatch's (Sherlock) Doctor Strange and the scene chewing Cate Blanchett (Elizabeth) as the unleashed Hela, Goddess of Death. Visual tricks, sight gags, and umbrella disguises accent the superhero send up as Thor is dragged by his cape and put in his place. Mark Ruffalo's (The Normal Heart) gladiator Hulk and the campy Grandmaster Jeff Goldblum (Independence Day) add personal banter, self-aware charm, and even flirtatiousness thanks to hot tubs and green butt shots. The battle action CGI can be busy, herky jerky messy where you can't see anything, however unique Valkyrie flashbacks, mystical elements, and slow motion superhero cool moments set off the hidden Asgard history, giant wolves, and undead lairs. Unfortunately, it gets a little old when there's a quip, humorous aside, and lighthearted tension breaker interrupting every serious scene. Asgardians are literally being butchered while we're being told to laugh with distracting, gif-able wisecracks. This uneven back and forth between the violence and the refreshing reboot undercuts Hela's threats – leaving us to wonder if we even need the eponymous destruction when this could just be about The Revengers and their baggage escaping Sakaar, cool cool. After spending most of the time here mocking the previous Thor films, the end heroics are ironically played straight and the characters remain more important than the action. While the irreverent attitudes and flippant comedy in the wrong places could have chilled, this doesn't follow typical Marvel patterns. Thor needed to change it up, and the entertainment moves fast for fans as well as viewers looking for something different.

For some ~ serious science fiction discussion ~ also consider two Great Courses programs How Science Shapes Science Fiction and How Great Science Fiction Works. I was too busy paying attention and didn't take notes!

Pandemic Horror Pros and Cons

Pandemic Horror Pros and Cons

by Kristin Battestella

Being at home during the Coronavirus outbreak has led to new viewing opportunities and plenty of time to watch them. Unfortunately, that doesn't mean that these recent famous monsters, demon films, supernatural tales, and ghostly terrors are going to be all quality.

These were Good...

Frankenstein – Jonny Lee Miller (Elementary) and Benedict Cumberbatch (Sherlock) alternate as the Doctor and His Monster for director Danny Boyle (Shallow Grave) in these two, two hour performances presented by National Theatre Live. Tolling bells, heartbeats, billowing backdrops, red lighting, and shadows invoke membranes and tissue for the monstrous birth while circular staging, mechanical floor changes, and electricity crackle with smoke and sound effects. Sweeping camerawork and overhead views add a surreal, looking down on high symbolism as locomotives, goggles, and top hats create an industrial, steampunk mood. Well done scarring, stitching, and bald, pasty looks match the pulsing nerves and body contortions which, though melodramatic for the back row to some, are realistic discoveries. This performance requires a certain agility and flexibility – Cumberbatch shows range in the ugly, yet his portrayal is more childlike or simpleton compared to Miller's guttural cries and visceral physicality. Our Creature begins helpless, unable to control his limbs amid confusion, laughter, and pain. With no dialogue in the first ten minutes, the audience is expected to be familiar with the story, leaving the doctor's abandonment, sing song rowdy, and horrified crowds to speak for themselves alongside young innocence and an emotional score. Some viewers may find the interpretive almost performance art bemusing at first, however the beatings on the street lead to a humble homestead and a blind man unafraid of kindness, and the drama gets better as it goes on with lessons on God, sin, tenderness, and paradise. Men are hungry, thirsty for food and knowledge – asking big questions on existence, friendship, and philosophy while conflict and tragedy mount. Dreams of a female creature come to life are an unexpected but welcome ballet before fire, screams, fear, and revenge. Fiancee Naomi Harris (Skyfall) is sublime in modern regency looks, but her grace and compassion aren't what Victor wants thanks to fatal lakeside encounters and vengeful confrontations. He despises his Creation but is proud of him because The Monster proves Victor could, and superb intellectual debates on who's the hardened murderer or justified and wronged lonely are really about conquering death rather than scientific experimentation. Reasoning like men falls prey to grave robbing and aggression, and though appalled at a second, surely wicked creation, Victor delights in the female challenge. Cumberbatch is more in his element reveling in the mad science as nightmares and ghosts create a sounding board in lieu of showing laboratory wonders. This perfect woman, however, needs a man not a monster, and the conflict doesn't shy away from the marital bed. Our impotent, stitching perfection together doctor won't procreate with his wife, but the females here are objects of desire solely for the violence of men, never appreciated for their goodness and unnecessarily assaulted as father doctor and creation son each learn to lie and best each other for their own gain. Although unnecessary extras and a slow, uneven start may feel off putting or overlong to some, the action and dramatic pace increase in the second half. I personally preferred the Miller as the Creature version, but thanks to National Theatre At Home Options, this dual told story remains entertaining with some great one on one segments for an interactive classroom reading and viewing comparison.

The Heretics – Kidnappings, ritual symbols, altars, torches, and cults lead to freaky masks, chanting, demons, and sacrifices in this 2017 Canadian indie. The nightmares continue five years later despite group therapy, volunteer work, and an overprotective mother who won't let her daughter walk home alone. Assaulted and abused women are meek and apologetic, comforted by time heals all wounds hopeful, but others don't want to be touched, refusing to be victims and tired of lies that don't make it better. Would they go back and change their experience or seek revenge? Our female couple supports each other with realistic conversations and maturity – not horror's typical angry lez be friends titillation solely for the viewer gaze. Unfortunately, creepy campers, chains, and a scarred abductor ruin necklaces and birthday plans, leading to skull entrance markers, an isolated cabin, and flashbacks of the original attack with hooded dead, white robes, and flowery dresses marred in blood. Sunrise deadlines, whispers of angels, fitting Gloria names, and religious subtext balance faith, doubts, God, biblical aversions, and horns. What's a delusion and who's delusional? Who's right or wrong about what they believe? The multi-layered us versus them, who's really involved in what sinister, and what is truth or lies aren't clear amid threats, stabbings, whips, and history repeating itself. Men versus women innuendo and who needs saving attempts add to the less than forthcoming police, lack of answers, and obsessive searches. Who is trying to protect whom? Violence begets violence thanks to fanatical beliefs in the ritual and long awaited ceremonies. This demon is deceptive, growing stronger and more tantalizing despite a gross, uncomfortable sex scene. Occasionally the boo monster in your face jumps are forced, but the fine body horror, creaking wings breaking out the back, squishing sounds, and black sinews make up the differences. Fevers, convulsions, hairy clumps, and visions increase along with the realizations of what is happening before candles, pentagrams, burns, and one more final sacrifice. Viewers know where it all has to go, yet this remains entertaining getting there via escalating horror invasive, ritual complications, and one ready and waiting demon.

But Jinkies These were Stinky

Annabelle Comes Home – A middle of nowhere cemetery, foggy crossroads, engine trouble, and ghosts in the backseat open this 2019 entry in The Conjuring universe with creepy atmosphere and familiar faces as Ed and Lorraine Warren (Patrick Wilson, Vera Farmiga) bless and encase the titular doll in their demonic collection. Despite warnings on possession, crosses, and phantoms knocking at the door, the nowhere left to go timeline is backed into a confusing corner – we're after the prologue but before the main events of the First Film in an unseen in between home alone with The Warrens' daughter and her babysitter. Newspaper articles about The Warrens allow for mean jokes, bullies, and nasty neighbors, however it's tough to feel anything ominous when pesky folks deliberately go into the spooky vault and get what they deserve. Sixties music cues, record players, and period patterns are just window dressing as the teen sitter and her sassy BFF look too young and modern, and our charge also seems too old to be so childish. Thanks to contrived psychic encounters, terrible serenades, convenience, and more boy trouble, they all make stupid decisions just because the plot says so. Messing with the cursed items is merely an excuse for a variety of evil games, pointless evil wolf apparitions, and pianos playing by themselves. The random ghosts unnoticed in the background as if they are always among us are chilling and the rocking chair creaking by itself accents evil brides and decent individual scare vignettes. Unfortunately, the deflated Halloween horror feels tacked on in a bad coming of age movie sleepover complete with the cliché inhaler, and we never care about the people because viewers know nothing of consequence is going to happen to upset the canon. It turns out exploring The Warrens house while they are away for most of the film is derivative and boring, and this is more like a Conjuring for kids who shouldn't be watching the R rated flagship films. I zoned out after the first hour, only to be alerted by all the obnoxious phones ringing and incessant door bells – for the most frightening thing here is trite jump scare noise.

Demonic – Maria Bello (The Dark) and Frank Grillo (The Gates) lead this 2015 ghost hunters picture within a picture from producer James Wan (Insidious). Though brief, the opening credits are typical news reports and hyperbolic headlines of satanic rituals and brutal murders. Cell phone calls fill in exposition on the crime house, the sheriff's interrupted love life, and country town first name basis. Creepy dolls, fresh blood, and new bodies are at the scene of the original crime, but then we go back to the sunny one week earlier as our paranormal, passive aggressive yuppies have ominous chats about visions, dead mothers, and pregnancy giveaways in a weak connection to the past horrors. Via interrogations and corrupted cameras, the current investigation and the precipitating paranormal house attack unfold side by side. We just saw these people's dead bodies in the house, so it's not so much confusing as it is pointless and irritating to go back and forth. Viewers aren't seeing anything in the proper time solely to delay and distort the narrative with amateur intercuts and handy cams. For seemingly sophisticated equipment, all the innate herky jerky is cheap with off camera screams and attacks unseen not because that's scary, but because it was easier not to show what matters. We don't get to follow the police discovery trying to piece together the footage from their view because we're being subjected to in your face found footage fake outs that toy with what's in camera and out of the point of view. People are missing but apparently finding them isn't as important as perusing the lame footage complete with driving to the horror, useless store stops, trite introductions, and exposition not conversations. The present adults and whiny coeds going where they shouldn't are terribly disjointed, padding the two movies in one feeling with interrogation voiceovers such as “Let me get this straight....” Critical information is deliberately withheld until contrived car chases, convenient confrontations, easily deduced laptop clues, and occult research reiterate the absolutely not surprising possessions. Cliché ghosts, black ooze, and hackneyed open mouth roars can't disguise the jumbled mess, and it all insults the wise horror viewer – treating us as if we're as stupid as the people in the movie.

Malevolent – Scamming medium Florence Pugh (The Falling) sees real ghosts in this 2018 British/Netflix original set in 1986 as indicated with old televisions, large equipment, tape decks, and microfilm. The neon discotheques, however, are unnecessary, and the trench coats, high ponytails, and stacked bangles look more like costumes than clothes. If one misses the onscreen date, you might not even notice this is meant to be a period piece especially thanks to modern dialogue and today's terribly young looking twenty-somethings who don't seem old enough to drive much less orchestrate eighties supernatural con jobs. Grandpa James Cosmo (Game of Thrones) provides classy poise, but he's embarrassingly only used in one scene loaded with family history before spooky phone calls and bizarre self help tape voiceovers. Maybe the smoking, drug references, and warped positivity are meant to be character layers – we can understand the stress her big brother has in taking on all the family responsibilities – but his shady dealings make him a real jerk and he bullies his sister and girlfriend into the haunt hoax before blaming them for thinking the scheme's gone too far when he's at fault. Schoolgirls were murdered at the eerie manor in their latest investigation, but the maze like rooms and falling through the floor injuries feel hollow because our jerk demands they continue the faux exorcising despite the risks so he can get paid. Nosebleeds to indicate when one really has a ghostly encounter become trite when they happen every time. Once is enough, but the audience is beat over the head with this minute detail rather than seeing more about the old lady who calls their showmanship bluff. There's no sense of scale or consequences when something we already know is revealed to a character just to move the plot elsewhere. Viewers are over the footage within footage camerawork, as if we don't look at devices enough and need any type of screen to look through rather than just see for ourselves. Sideways video from a dropped camera, creepy dolls, and sing song music are getting old, too when following a silent ghost is all we need. It's tough to appreciate sinister villains cutting people's tongues out when we don't care about the victim by time we get to the haunted house meets contemporary chop shop torture in the final act. Whether it's by human or supernatural means, there's never any doubt where the cliches are going.

More Writers in Peril!

More Writers in Peril

by Kristin Battestella

Once again it's time to ditch pen and paper as these vintage novelists, retro reporters, and contemporary screenwriters face murder, ghosts, aliens, and writer's block. You know, the usual.

Black Butterfly – This 2017 thriller opens with handcuffed to the chair foreshadowing before vintage typewriters and booze for bearded, graying, and stressed screenwriter Antonio Banderas (The Mask of Zorro). The picnics and missing women are a little piecemeal to start with a driving montage because of course, but the pleasing greenery, misty dew, aerial photography, and log cabin pans build the Denver outskirts, no reception isolation. This for sale but messy bachelor pad is in need of repair, our writer can't pay his tab at the country store, angry phone calls from his agent want him to go along with script changes or else, and Paul spends more time hunting – procrastinating since his wife left him in this secluded writing retreat. The fifteen year age difference between our leading man and lady is cliché, but lunch with realtor Piper Perabo (Coyote Ugly) strikes out before radio reports of murdered women and unexpected road rage. Instead, Paul offers mysterious drifter Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors) a hot shower for his act of kindness, lulling the viewer into a casual tour of the home amid older jadedness versus young cynicism quiet burn chats. Our guest cooks, cleans, and makes repairs for free, but saws, axes, and guns suggest an ominous – Jack swims in the cold pond, his tattoos are part of the plot, and Meyers is always at his best in such ambiguous, half-crazed roles. The camera moves with the cast rather than creating an unneeded, false hectic, but the outdoors are traded for increasingly congested interiors with filming through railings, windows, and doors questioning who is on which side of the threats, slaps, or paranoia. We're suspicious but this handyman is actually helpful in telling Paul to pour out the bottle and write – a well cast irony with Meyers' past addiction problems adding to the meta instead of trite twenty-somethings battling unrealistic frights. This frank play within a play addresses how dismissed writers often are with only the title kept as their story changes into cinematic veneer, winking but not underestimating the audience as our drifter suggests Paul's write their story with the regrets, embellishments, and surprises needed of course. Was their meeting pre-planned or are these hostage threats merely script fodder? Where does what's suppose to be on the page and the secrets we see diverge? It's just a story and nothing happens unless the writer says so, right? The ending is what you make it, isn't it? Natural sounds, blank laptop screen glows, gunshots, and failed escapes play into the jokes on film fakery – the ease in hot wiring a car, the time people have to plead for their lives, inconvenient deliverymen arrivals, or a girl hurting her ankle on the run. That broken glass to cut those binds is certainly convenient, and the pieces keep us guessing with attacks behind closed doors, screams we thought we heard, and gunshots we thought we saw. The upfront twists don't pull the rug out from under the audience yet we're invested in the game being played. It's sad that this impressive cast and its winking frights need a dozen different film by who, production of, in association with titles at the beginning because such small thrillers are so financially strapped when they are often better than mainstream releases. Some things here may be obvious to shout at the television viewers, but that overkill is part of the dark satire, keeping this an entertaining thriller on the art of deception and that onscreen hiding in plain sight we love so much.

The Nesting – A mystery writer moves into the spooky mansion of her titular novel with cluttered bookcases, a typewriter, and tea on the balcony but this 1981 psychological slow burn lays on the fearful staircases, distorted city streets, paranoia, and agoraphobia. Up close camerawork and out of body overlays reflect tense therapy and warped dreams as relaxation cassettes don't help against visions of glam parties, saucy soldiers, boas, long stem cigarettes, shattering beads, sweet jazz, and gunshots. Are the familiar mirrors, candlesticks, verandas, perfumes, and visions just deja vu or something more? Phantoms bangs, noisy pipes, no phone, and electricity in only one room add to the stunning architecture alongside ominous orange lights, great silhouettes, and maybe maybe not outside looking in windows. There are vintage station wagons and roadside perils, too. You gotta roll up the car window faster, girl! Storms, flashlights, old fashioned lamps, and four poster beds make the patina tangible as objects dreamed of are found thanks to attic footsteps, dangerous spires, superb rooftop suspense, and fatal twists. Morbid birds, quality shocks, and lighthearted jokes alleviate the simmering mood with a cranky handyman and kooky grandpa John Carradine (Bluebeard), and there's nudity of course – a lady has to feel herself up in front of the bureau you know! Unfortunately, Robin Groves' (Silver Bullet) therapist thinks ghosts and any quantum physics versus paranormal debates are a bunch of hooey. Is this hysteria or an interconnected phenomena? Although the phantom whooshing, stereotypical town creeps, and fiery ghost fake outs can be laughable amid evident brothel history and old people who were there scoops; the rough assaults, bloody surprises, and lakeside terrors invoke wicked ghostly responses. This won't be anything new for old school horror viewers, but the now doubled nostalgia accents the eerie mystery atmosphere. The ghostly ladies of ill repute are out for revenge, and all kinds of shady pieces in this sleepy inlet puzzle are brought to light. Lengthy chases lead to creepy farm buildings, pitchforks, sickles, and impressive gore with freaky spectral revelations coming full circle for a violent finish.

Could Be Better

A Kind of Murder – Fedoras, typewriters, newspapers, and record players invoke a seemingly classy mid century time for writer Patrick Wilson (The Conjuring) and his realtor wife Jessica Biel (The Sinner) in this 2016 Patricia Highsmith adaptation further accented with retro skyscrapers, vintage travel, neon lighting, and a sweet mod house. Unfortunately, there's talk of murders on the radio, the bookstore sells nefarious brown bag magazines, and back alley stairs lead to segregated jazz clubs. Cigarettes, swanky melodies, and husky mellow voices fittingly contrast the pearls, white gloves, pillbox hats, and concern about fancy shoes getting wet in the snow for an interesting mix of the changing times. Our would be novelist is feeling the new sixties with his mod turtlenecks and wanting to do it in every room in the house – but his cold, porcelain doll fifties wife won't see a therapist and belittles his stories in favor of his real architect job and Frank Lloyd Wright references. The Mrs. wears pink and white like a little girl, and Biel looks out of place in the fifties dress up, which may be intentional thanks to the character's diva fakery with a giant bun, false eyelashes, and making bitchy jealous accusations out of nothing in a rocky four year marriage. The colorful lighting, bright snow, and interior patinas are well done schemes reflecting each mood, but the choice reds to signify anything saucy or scandalous are a little too obvious. The tale also intercuts between an obsessive, Dragnet dry detective making us too aware we are watching a picture emulating a specific cinematic era and the more interesting writer using the wife killer crime in the news for inspiration. Is he fantasizing about how to kill his wife or just writing a story? Sleeping on the couch, suicide attempts, and divorce threats lead to guilt tripping traps, suspicious deaths, juicy alibis, lying phone calls, and too many did he or didn't he coincidences. Whom do we trust in this murder or suicide shady? Although the audience might enjoy figuring out how these crimes don't add up, the uneven pace plays it's hand by revealing the suspense and drawing out boring casework. The “they know that we know that they know that we know” yadda yadda loses viewer interest as our would be writer cum murder suspect chills with his martinis, lying to cover up his illicit and giving a different story every time he tells it. He'll act weird but won't get a lawyer because that would mean he has something to hide, and the cat and mouse drags on until everyone is chasing their tails. Just because he wanted his wife dead does that mean he killed her? Or if he walked away from helping her is her death his fault? The plodding speculation underestimates the audience, and the who killed their wives and why details, blackmail confrontations, and questions about whether it is proof or doubt that seals the deal build to a showdown that runs out of time. This has a fine noir mood complete with well filmed silhouettes in dark alleys and a Hitchcockian double chase finale raising tension. However, the mystery remains run of the mill despite the period flair, and the ending doesn't quite give viewers the finish needed.

An Unfortunate Skip

The Dark – Reporter Cathy Lee Crosby (Wonder Woman before Lynda Carter was even Wonder Woman) kind of sort of teams up with a psychic and a detective to solve some serial killer mutilations in this 1979 alien mishmash with a hokey opening scroll warning of animal defense mechanisms and extraterrestrial chameleons. Passe music, laser eye beams, and poor voice effects add a slow to get going old TV movie feeling while that titular near black screen makes it often impossible to see the back alley attacks. The gay jokes are lame, the case exposition's wooden, and a white bearded old boss jumps out shouting “Boo!” just to get his kicks by scaring our lady reporter. Old lights, green hues, and colorful skylines going dark build better ominous as a young girl is said to be beheaded in the creepy morgue as family gags over the unseen victim. Retro video designs, projectors, and forensic evidence accent elevator scares, flashlights, and zombie or vampire conjecture – but wow, fifteen cents for the newspaper and needing to put another quarter in the payphone before the operator interrupts! The streets and pool halls look even seedier because of the low budget Los Angeles realism, but white cops less interested in black crime with the jive and epitaphs to match their “38 caliber justice” is unfortunately not dated. One obnoxious ass asks if color can be told by the alien blood samples, and cranky cops disbelieve the medium even when they have nothing else. Today audiences are so accustomed to investigative dramas that this law enforcement seems particularly stupid – although a captain more worried about family pressure, public panic, and avoiding media scandal remains all too common. Wise people counter that obscuring such freedom of the press is wasting time while the killer strikes again, but the tacked on alien connection ruins any would be statements. Everyone is so dry and too much time is spent away from Cathy Lee when she should be our viewpoint anchor. Choppy editing doesn't know where it is going between attacks, culminating in a logistically nonsensical shootout. The fantastic clues and psychic visions are underutilized, and the drama is better when the spooky, journalism, and law come to a head. This had potential – I kept waiting for this ninety minutes to get going – but there's not enough science fiction, horror, or procedural actually happening.

Ghostly Frights Trio

More Ghostly Frights!

By Kristin Battestella

Be it continental classic, retro pastiche, or period made modern, here's a trio of phantasms, spirits, and hauntings that can be enjoyed any time of year. 

The Conjuring 2 – Vera Farmiga and Patrick Wilson return as the Amityville investigating Ed and Lorraine Warren before crossing the pond to battle the Enfield Poltergeist in this 2016 sequel. Ouija, ticking clocks, errant toys, and strange noises in the UK parallel stateside séances, doppelgangers, violent trances, and out of body visions. At times however the Amityville shoehorning and “London Calling” scoring the trip to England feels cliché. The accents are also odd with Australian Frances O'Connor (Bedazzled) and Irish Maria Doyle Kennedy (The Tudors) putting on a faux pip pip cheerio – all these “me bloody brilliant” exclaims are clearly written by Americans. Fortunately, the 1977 period is felt via cars, classic ring ring phones, and a shabby house with ugly walls save for those attention to detail Starsky & Hutch posters. There's a giant remote clicker, too, and scary TV action like adjusting the antenna! The first half alternates between the Enfield scares and talk show hot water Warrens – bonus old reels and black and white screens let the frightening mood build with possessing voices and innate sound shocks rather than hollow jump scares. Not that there aren't recoiling moments, however, thanks to long camera shots allowing the viewer to creep over the shoulder of the victim. The younger cast looks genuinely terrified over flying furniture, phantom bite marks, evil nuns, and freaky paintings. Naturally, there's potential for fakery, but we're too caught up in the ghostly Q&A and faith building crosses, carols, and Christmas trees. Obviously, this is styled more for fear than The Enfield Haunting, but its interesting to see two such dramatizations. Both are good for different reasons despite neither being super accurate. Unfortunately, the practical effects here look like bad animation, and the Warrens facing their own demons (hee, pun) leaves mixed signals on what actually needs vanquishing. Is this about the nun, the old man, or the crooked man? Plumbing dangers, teleporting, levitating, knives, and lightning strikes add to the busyness, but tender family moments alleviate the scares amid the big final confrontation – letting the people rather than anything crass deliver the horror. And there's Bee Gees music! It's an out of context “I Started a Joke” but sixties pathos not disco glory. Yessss!

The Ghost – Skulls, storms, candles, deathbed cripples and melancholy music to match immediately set the Gothic mood and Scotland 1910 period stylings of this colorful 1963 Italian haunt starring Barbara Steele (Black Sunday). The dubbing is off kilter – the occasional dubbed Scottish accent is especially bemusing – and the innate video quality isn't the best. However, syringes, séances, poisons, and risky medical research mixed with black magic possibilities add to the up to no good atmosphere and twilight surreal. Illicit meetings, gin, revolvers, straight razors – the scheming lovers are getting desperate and antsy waiting for those in the way to die. Steele is divine in white furs and lace to start before switching to black mourning veils for the reading of the will. It's tough not to hear her voice, but some sensuous melodrama accents the suspenseful tone, tolling bells, howling dogs, and foreboding Psalm 23. Is the missing key to the safe in the dead and buried's coat pocket? Eerie sounds, shadows, and wheelchairs moving on their own escalate to ghostly callings and spooky music box playing while the hysterics, a suspect housekeeper, and creepy apparitions intensify the macabre treasure hunt even when there is only one person onscreen. Contemporary viewers may find the ninety-five minutes slow, and this is rough around the edges – a derivative scandal and haunting that should have been tighter. Too many late but wait there's more twists border on preposterous, yet the increasingly trippy specters do make for a few surprises. The audience dislikes the phantom, but turnabout upon the adulterers is fair play with chilling irony, mysticism, double crossings, crypts, and coffins. We know a set up is coming, but it's tense good fun in getting there thanks to some ambient captions such as “Sound of someone knocking,” “Creaking Door,” “Sound of Footsteps,” and “Clap of Thunder.” Oh yeah. 

 

Witchboard – A Ouija board and one bad yuppie party leads to the release of a malevolent spirit in this 1987 scarefest. Granted, it doesn't say much when Tawny Kitaen (The Perils of Gwendoline in the Land of Yik-Yak) does the best acting here as both her rival male suitors are lame and full of their own bromance, manpain, and perhaps a whiff of latent innuendo. There's unintentional comedy, too, with heaps of eighties fun including wild hair, punk styles, one earring, and waterbeds. I mean, you don't see rainbow colored mohawks every day! Old technology such as microfilm, payphones, and cool Cobra cars are pleasing as well despite a lingering hokey, dated Valley lingo, laughably bad special effects, and contrived leaps to advance the plot. Fortunately, eerie hospitals, cemeteries, and foggy dreams add atmosphere while askew wide lenses and overhead whooshes provide a poltergeist perspective. Creepy Ouija movements, solo reading sessions, and freaky séances build suspense alongside pregnancy twists, zany psychics, and violent ghostly attacks. Who knew just spelling out with the planchette was so intense! Lovely architecture and retro styles feel eighties does forties, and there's a reason for this throwback tone. The spirits also remain mostly unseen – except when the evil is ax happy that is. Because ghosts can wield axes, FYI. There is brief nudity and language, but this simple story does a lot without resorting to bimbo extremes or cheap fouls. Dockside mishaps and shower perils top of a goofy but fitting finale, and though of its time, this remains fun and entertaining.

Bone Tomahawk

Bone Tomahawk is a Wonderfully Horrific Western Road Trip

by Kristin Battestella

For audiences that don't like westerns or straight, terse drama, the opening half of the 2015 genre bender Bone Tomahawk will be too slow. However, for viewers seeking gritty period pictures and horror films set in unique places, this is definite yes!

While tending to the crazed and wounded outlaw Purvis (David Arquette), Samantha O'Dwyer (Lili Simmons) is abducted by a mysterious, hear tell tribe of nameless, ruthless cave dwellers the local Native Americans fear and avoid. Nonetheless, Bright Hope Sheriff Franklin Hunt (Kurt Russell), his elderly deputy Chicory (Richard Jenkins), and local gunslinger John Brooder (Matthew Fox) mount a rescue. However, foreman Arthur O'Dwyer (Patrick Wilson) is also determined to join the mission to save his wife despite a broken leg that has kept him off the work trail. It's a dangerous ride with raiders, injuries, and rough terrain testing the posse's prayers, convictions, and mettle – yet more primitive, gruesome, bone chilling horrors are in store...

Not Your Average Western

“Flies buzzing” is the first caption of writer and director S. Craig Zahler's (The Incident) two hour and thirteen minute festival darling, and those words set the tone for the throat slicings, body crunching, and bleak western horrors viewers aren't supposed to see coming. This is just the lawless ways of the 1890s frontier – robberies and thieving never mind those skulls on torches and Indian burial grounds. The people in this era were gun belt wearing badasses, nothing more than the Wild West is supposed to be happening, right? Howling wolves and spooked horses invoke a western realism, and we expect to see this ironic but charming Old West gritty. The nearby Bright Hope pioneer town provides quaint Victorian interiors, polite men escorting women at night, and a laid back, boots up, playing checkers comfort. However, Bone Tomahawk has no rousing music and sweeping pans or thriving, progressive hustle and bustle to its town. Despite respectful and articulate mannerisms, there's a gruff to these voices. The empty edge of white civilization is relatively silent with no ritzy to its saloon and a drunken piano player in need of whiskey to finish his ten cent tunes. Although side actions are told rather than seen, that hearsay unreliability adds to the lack of knowing what really occurred, and excising this surplus action builds surprise for when abrupt shootouts and violent confrontations do happen. Suddenly, missing livestock, mysteriously empty jail cells, and torn up bodies add to this isolated town's crimes and scares.

Arrows in the dark and shadowy figures suggest Indian suspects to the frontier folk, but even friendly Native American scouts fear this no language, nameless troglodyte tribe with behaviors more beast-like than of men. Although everyone looks the part in Bone Tomahawk and we believe these rugged but civilized men forming a revenge posse can handle what's out there, these old fashioned heroes on white horses are facing some untold, cave dwelling ruthlessness. Bone Tomahawk is very well acted with quality players audiences may not expect would do this kind of seemingly smaller western or horror fair. Hopefully, one recognizes a good script when he sees it, for time is taken to get to know these excellent characters as individuals. Strong banter and a period sense of courage add dimension among the not so unblemished men before the primitive horrors add new terror to the traditional western rescue. Prayers about the campfire, dry humor, personality – viewers quickly come to like these boys, and we're rooting for them in a pursuit already struggling against the usual trail perils such as gangrene, raiders, and dead horses. There's a simmering, on edge at night when the posse bed downs. We don't know what's going to happen next any more than they know what awaits in the dark. Will such ongoing strain and the agony of travel get to one of them? The exhaustion and hopelessness add tension, arguing, pointing fingers – this is a terse, escalating journey whether the troglodyte horrors are ahead or not. Difficult group decisions must be made amid cynical thoughts and suspicions on what heavy tolls are inevitably happening to the captured. Of course, those horrors are worse than the rescuers of Bone Tomahawk could ever imagine. Survival is slim all around, yet they forge on to face the intense man versus man, man versus nature, and man versus himself battles.

Nail-biting pocket watch ticking and ominous horns blowing in the wind make the audience pay attention as Bone Tomahawk switches from bright tumbleweeds, dangerous expanse, and western perils to dark caves, trapped interiors, sudden sieges, otherworldly screeching, and harrowing wounds. Yes, there is an hour and a half onscreen before the film horrors arrive – that's the length of most quick horror productions. One could also argue there is no need for an entire movie's worth of western study ahead of such horror. Some viewers may want to see the western in itself alone without a horror finale or vice versa. There are several flaws in the final act regarding logistics and implausibilities as well, but the onscreen terrors in Bone Tomahawk forgive any contrivances. We appreciate the deaths, sacrifices, and final cigars before the goodbyes more because we are totally invested in seeing these characters through whatever comes at them in final forty minutes. All that has happened is summed up in few terrifying sentences – arousing all our fears of violation, injury, and desecration and leaving all the heroics we have previously seen for naught. The unpleasant nudity will not be soon forgotten by anyone who sees this movie, and a countdown of kills adds to the hopelessness. Who's next? The tedium of waiting is at times far worse, and silly discussions fill the interim between the unknown time when life and death is imminent. The horror and fantastics may be tough for the realistic western audiences to accept, however, Bone Tomahawk is a brilliant and complete before, during, and after emotional experience with rubber necking can't look away and a realistically cringe worthy not often seen in today's cinema.

A Fine Ensemble

Despite a calm exterior and seemingly quiet post, Sheriff Kurt Russell (Overboard) has the mustache to match the grit in Bone Tomahawk. Franklin Hunt is a wise, relaxed, old fashioned lawman who's good at his job but nonetheless indulges his old deputy when a stranger's manner is suspicious. Sheriff Hunt doesn't think there's much hope in rescuing those abducted, and his wife objects to the journey, too. However, he is going to see his mission through regardless. Hunt prepares as best possible – he knows they need to care for themselves, their horses, and keep their wits about them to trump any thieves or beasties and do what needs to be done. Polite even when the circumstances turn barbaric, Hunt also knows Arthur O'Dwyer shouldn't come on this rescue with a broken leg, yet he doesn't bother asking for the objection. Russell gives a wonderfully poignant performance, and it's bittersweet to see a man unchanged, doing what he sets out to do, and keeping his word whether the beholden are there to know his convictions or not. Likewise, Patrick Wilson (The Conjuring) has become a pleasing go to horror actor. Arthur's a strong foreman not used to being laid up at home thanks to injury – nor his doctor's assistant wife being on top in the bedroom. Arthur doesn't share his emotions well and has difficulty talking with her, but his love and tenderness are unquestionable. He rides on this mission, learning how to handle his broken leg and show his tears while on the move. Wilson brings to life Arthur's contradictory behaviors as the desperate husband comes to rely more on opium than prayer to go forward. How can he continue as his injury worsens? We may not think of such breaks, splints, and pain as being so difficult today, but in this wilderness, love is not enough to mount a rescue – or is it?

Arrogant and vain but no less witty and likable gunslinger Matthew Fox (Lost) is the suave, white suit wearing sophisticate of Bone Tomahawk. John Brooder says he's the most intelligent man there and this rescue needs his smarts, fast shot, and fancy gunnery. Though not always as right as he thinks he is, there is a grain of truth to his tactics when it comes to making camp or taking defensive positions. Unfortunately, his suspicions on outsiders, potential theft, and his shoot first, ask questions later mentality doesn't always help. Eventually, there are consequences to this quick draw attitude, and while he has good reason to hate certain Indians, Brooder gains sad respect for his horse and learns to trust his compatriots. By contrast, aged deputy Richard Jenkins (Six Feet Under) is not on his game but Chicory will continue to do his duty nonetheless – even if he can't figure out something as simple as how to read a book in the bathtub without getting the paper wet. He talks too much, sometimes adding dry humor and reflection or philosophical speculation, but again, such seemingly random conversation helps fill the idle and take one's mind off the impending horrors. Chicory is slightly off his rocker yet remains the voice of reason and moral center of the group – a lovely audience anchor pondering what we too are thinking. Although their scenes may seem slightly out of place, humorous but ruthless and hands on killer David Arquette (Scream) and expert throat slitter Sid Haig (House of 1000 Corpses) have some warped fun to open Bone Tomahawk, and their offbeat charm bookends the horror.

Fine older white men though they are, Bone Tomahawk is unfortunately a picture populated with precious few women. Despite being a respectable wife and doctoring assistant named Sam, Lili Simmons (Banshee) is nude fifteen minutes into the movie and feels out of place compared to the more developed male characters. Broadly swinging the pendulum from tender wife to bitchy snob, Sean Young's (Blade Runner) uppity, domineering mayor's wife is addressed on the situation instead of her little husband. These frontier women are tough pioneers yet remain sickly or put in their place with sex from their man, and even with these injun abducting the womenfolk fears, the audience sees too little of them to feel a personal investment. Big shocker – the few African American stable hands and servants are killed early in Bone Tomahawk, and Mexican moments or brief Spanish words are treated with xenophobic suspicion. Horses are more important than questioning the death of foreigners, but there are onscreen arguments about whether such reactions are right or wrong, fortunately utilizing the ills of the time for layered social commentary. More importantly, Bone Tomahawk makes the distinction between its horror neanderthal savages and local Native Americans, recognizing this is not normal tribe behavior whilst also implying the Manifest Destiny trespassing of the so called Bright Hope should have left the area alone. Locals knew to steer clear, but did the supposedly smart and superior white man? Nope.

Must See Looks

Old fashioned suits, cowboy hats, and late Victorian décor add to the frontier town woodwork and simplicity in Bone Tomahawk. Proper beds and an oil lamp patina with quills, books, a magnify glass, and period ephemera create a would be civilized and golden interior. I almost wish this was a television series to revisit and explore! However, natural sounds, horses, creaking wood, and swinging saloon doors add a lawless atmosphere alongside the beautiful, but untamed outdoor scenery. Precious few weeping strings and fiddlery accent choice bittersweet moments and echoing gunshots. While animal action, well edited attacks, and on the move tracking shots do capture the restlessness when it happens, Bone Tomahawk is a simple tale simply shot with no need for the sweeping panoramas and whirlwind camerawork often seen in expansive westerns or period pieces going for scope rather than inward terror. Gruesome frontier surgeries, scalping, disemboweling or worse provide enough horror gore while the briefly see beastly men leave room for the audience to imagine more fears. Their natural camouflage, animal trophies, horned masks, and primal, swift moving resistance to bullet grazes completes the disorienting civilized versus uncivilized frights. Subtitles are necessary for any whispering, but the Bone Tomahawk blu-ray release also provides plenty of deleted scenes, featurettes, and film festival Q&As with cast and crew. Unfortunately, it is just baffling when finely crafted pictures such as this are overlooked by the major movie awards. Tsk tsk.

Though worth seeing for the uniqueness alone, this R/Unrated horror is not for everyone. Instead of a cheap slasher with teens in minimum Victorian dressings, this is a niche western brimming with scares we don't expect. Granted, Bone Tomahawk has many of the same flaws seen again and again with a one and the same writer/director who has no soundboard on what to do or not do. The lengthy run time could have been trimmed further and some scenes should have been more swiftly paced. Bone Tomahawk is also oddly structured as two halves of two different movies – leading with a western character study uninteresting to audiences expecting fast shootouts, boobs, and horror a minute. In fact, most viewers will be unaccustomed to having time dedicated to such full embodied and well developed characters. However, we should embrace this kind of ingenuity not bury it and push pictures like this to fringe audiences, and I would rather have a few slow scenes with extra time to achieve a cinematic vision than a butchered PG-13 picture sacrificing its meaty for maximum cinema screenings and more almighty millions. Despite a blink and you missed it limited box office release, Bone Tomahawk is currently available on several rental and streaming options. Go into Bone Tomahawk cold for full immersion into the fine performances, western drama, Deliverance effectiveness, and entertaining horror.