28 August 2023

Recent Jonathan Rhys Meyers Horrors

 

Recent Jonathan Rhys Meyers Horrors

by Kristin Battestella


Jonathan Rhys Meyers has been a fine actor with some excellent films and series in his filmography. Although he continues to work consistently, his well documented personal troubles have sent him to making mostly direct to streaming, low budget fare. Some of these are decent, others...not so much. Here is a quartet of recent horror thrillers featuring JRM's élan – if not much else thanks to the usual one and the same writer/director culprits with no second eye to polish these parables.


Dangerous Game: The Legacy Murders – Yes, this 2022 title is clearly intended for franchise potential with billionaire mogul Jon Voight (Midnight Cowboy) summoning his estranged family to the luxury manor for what turns into a murder mystery fight to the death. Certainly, the premise is familiar; the prologue and opening credits with fun house horrors and newspaper clippings are cliché. Papa Jon wants to cement his legacy, and the snobbish progeny arrive via helicopters and boats to their private island. Crabby banter and seeding dialogue establish who's money it is, who isn't speaking to their sister, and how Jonathan Rhys Meyers (The Tudors) put dad out of the company to save the big business. New girlfriends are nervous but wives and teen grandkids egg on the arguments. They are, however, all rightfully impressed with the old school gothic house's fine stone, wrought iron, woodwork, and chandeliers. Unfortunately, the drunken bonding is hampered by bad cat omens and the mysterious arrival of our titular gift complete with gory crime scene photos and suspicious case files. A distorted voice over the intercom demands they play the game, but the family points fingers over who's behind this sick joke until alarms, red lighting, automatic shutters, and locked gates further insist they play the laid out and ready co-op board. The house's control room bears a warning sign not to enter, but the explosive consequences didn't need such hokey, modern, bad special effects. The mechanical voice is also hackneyed and unnecessary when there are enough personality and problem solving within the familial confrontations. There's no landline or medical supplies, so they must use the fireplace to cauterize wounds between debating who is at fault. Some attempt to play the game, studying the vintage photos and cryptext puzzles while others explore the house amid crackling electricity, wheelchair perils, and gas chambers. Blueprints, secret passages, and Roman numerals lead to hidden journals, serial killers, booby traps in the floor, a mad scientist laboratory, carved bodies, and threats to be cooked alive. Increasing boiling and vomit at the gory sights subtly anchor the who is in on it or knows what family skeletons debates better than fake fiery effects. Breaking from the house for dog chases, perilous wells, shootouts, and eyeballs loses any taut as the cast somehow plays it seriously despite the increasingly preposterous turns and extremely over the top guts and gore. The canned voice and murder flashbacks are for the audience not the family, but this doesn't seem meant to be taken seriously. Every stupid twist becomes so damn goofy that I can't really hate the ludicrous laugh at the screen results.


Disquiet – Car accidents and narrations about choices give away the metaphors going into this eighty minute 2023 hospital thriller starring Jonathan Rhys Meyers. Rather than some grandiose opening family perfection and wild vehicular stunts, however; we get right to the gurney, hectic doctors, beeping equipment, bandages, and fear. There's little dialogue to start beyond unanswered calls for help as time is taken on the discomfort – pulling out tubes, gagging blood, no phone signals, and once bedridden now suddenly virile patients attacking others. Clattering hospital trays lead to scalpels, scissors, violent stabbings, and missing bodies as our victim asks WTF is happening. Even if the premise is obvious, the man alone paranoia and confined elevator perils invoke that out of our element hospital feeling. Sirens and accident flashes add to the delirium, but it's a mistake to cut away from this taut, isolated start to meet another patient awake during her plastic surgery. Demonic looking babes are holding her down when our Sam enters wielding an IV pole, but it's better when he follows the screams rather than the audience meeting new patients away from his perspective. Those demon babes were also barely needed once and flashing back to them for no reason looks tacky and feels amateur. Sudden staff who give clues or warnings and then turn monstrous are better chills, and memories of Sam's wife parallel the creepy encounters. Gunshots and random hospital noises remain startling while crackling bulbs and ominous purple lighting create immediate darkness and disappearances. Red elevator buttons, white skylights in the stairwell, dark windows, and smokey floors below add atmosphere while the maze-like floors, bricked shut doors, and empty nursery with baby cries acerbate the repeating wounds and dead that won't stay dead. Our trapped wonder if they were drugged, dead, in a shared nightmare, a zombie apocalypse, or figments of their imaginations. Sam is a decent leader diffusing situations and getting everyone to work together, but a doctor in red named Lilith and a man in a wheelchair named Virgil debate the hospital maps, going to the roof for a signal, or going down to the lobby exit. This devil or angel on the shoulder purgatory is apparent – as are revelations about Sam's previous texting and driving, will never happen again fooling around, and selfish state of mind. This is a cerebral characterization not an all out escape the hospital horror, but the preachy, trite allegories get repetitive with montages of what we already knew and previously saw padding to meet the runtime. Instead of staying in Sam's point of view as the in film logic demands, we erroneously break away from the primary motivations and mistakes learned with flashbacks of the other characters. Rather than trust Meyers' capability, the story hits the audience on the head with yet more montages impeding the race to the roof inevitable. Although the ambiguous imperfections are frustrating and run out of steam; the unreliable simplicity, detailed performance, and positive choices made make for an entertaining midnight movie.



Split Decision


The Survivalist – I could do without a 2021 movie being post-apocalyptic due to COVID, but amateur radio broadcasts set the scenario amid bleak aerial shots, fallen infrastructure, and quarantine chaos as miraculous survivor John Malkovich (Shadow of the Vampire) pursues an immune girl to former FBI agent turned doomsday prepper JRM's isolated ranch. The back and forth start is unnecessary, but flashbacks of our Ben remembering his dad Julian Sands (Tale of the Vampire) ground the solitude. The audience sympathizes with Ben as he takes care of the girl and recalls cleaning up his dad's gambling debts that almost cost them their land. Their arguments about who had to work or who turned his back on the family could have been its own turbulent father/son drama filled with regrets and tough love – complete with fascinating role reversals and relatable performances from the responsible Meyers and late too soon Sands. The drama is better than the apocalypse try hard with weak devotees allegedly cured by the resurrected Aaron desperate to stay in his favor. They threaten Ben's fortifications, but all of their dialogue should have been given to the much more charismatic Malkovich. He won't take no for an answer and does seem to have a mystical obsession with the girl, for he has been ordained to save the world. One on one standoffs let the leads handle the who's outnumbered and bullets are precious tension. Wounds, empty handguns, out of breath runs between buildings – Ben was actually a mere mapmaker agent not some expert hero, and he is fed up with the barn confrontations, battles in his home, and being forced to kill in self-defense. Rather than have Aaron's menacing speeches following Ben at every encounter, Malkovich is erroneously reduced to sitting back while the inferior lackeys do the dirty work. Not a lot happens because of the divided focus between the man alone regrets and the would be raid action, and this picture seems changed from a drama to an action movie with the who's infected or a COVID carrier bookends generally being a non-factor. Instead of this uneven tone, a linear telling would have made more impact: all the tough love family flashbacks with worsening television and radio updates, the isolation preparation, then the girl appearing in the barn, and ultimately deluded messianic Malkovich knocking on the door. Ben gives each fanatical chance after chance – he didn't want to do any of this and finally snaps upon realizing it's all been for someone else's lies and consequences. Though watchable for the cast with interesting dramatic possibilities, the rushed virus connections fall back on generic weaknesses instead of maximizing the ensemble's potential for more.


Skip It


Hide and Seek – Joe Pantoliano (Memento) joins wealthy businessman JRM in this 2021 American remake of an Asian film complete with the obligatory creepy little kid. Our swanky, pretentious family even has matching outfits, but our dad Noah doesn't like the spilled syrup at breakfast and vehemently scrubs a mark on his cuff. Cleaning ladies come to their immaculate penthouse, too, but they have nothing to do. The rich scenes and high rise windows are well lit; however the downtrodden architecture, poor slums, and empty Art Deco pool scheduled for demolition are not. An interview with a crusty reporter shrewdly spills the family dirt about his cast out brother, and Noah looks for him amid the abandoned trash, creepy bums, crazy old ladies, and poor people just trying to survive. He doesn't want to touch anything in his brother's filthy apartment, and the angry neighbors are not forthcoming to the rich white guy asking questions. Decoy open doors force viewers to pay attention to what may be hiding in the dark, and Noah studies the vintage blueprints for secret closets and apartment connections. Bloody bathtubs, suicide notes, similar graffiti, flashlights, dirty waters, and distorted bathroom moments are well edited eerie. Holes in the sheet rock mar their once pristine penthouse; creepy noises in the walls and clanking pipes suggest someone else is at home. A stranger banging to be let in and a hand reaching in the mail slot provide our breach of home fears as the kids hide in the closet and footsteps roam the apartment. Unfortunately, today we would be immediately suspicious of someone who never takes off his motorcycle helmet. Building security saves the day but then there's no explanation how others evade the cameras and evidence that aren't used until convenient. Nightmare flashes of our crazy brother are laughable, and this can't decide if it's a stereotypical horror movie or just a straight thriller. One wonders if the story should have focused on either the upscale family fear or stayed in the dilapidated mystery rather than going back and forth between them. Noah's compulsive cleanliness is also dropped instead of escalating as his unwashed explorations increase. The resolution unravels in the final act with montages, deceased and lookalike confusion, and questions about what anybody really had to do with anything. Though somewhat surprising, the killer reveal feels racist, as if crazy poor minority folk are coming to steal your penthouse – squatting uptown fresh groceries and all. Meyers is believable as the family man under pressure and while decent entertainment up until the end, the contrived finale leaves viewers feeling like our time has been wasted. Pity.


17 August 2023

1940s Melodramas!

 

A Trio of 1940s Melodramas!

by Kristin Battestella


Be it well known stars or obscure gems, these black and white melodramas toe the scandals and suspense with mid century silver screen saucy, captivating performances, and attention to gothic detail.


Corridor of Mirrors – Melodramatic “strong serious music” captions and crescendos open this 1948 Terence Young (From Russia with Love) directorial debut with a blink and you miss him baby Christopher Lee (Horror of Dracula) amid the titular doors, picturesque frames, and gothic drama. Cackling nightmares, mysterious telegrams, and wax museum eerie disrupt the idyllic country manor; but veiled hats, stoles, and cigarette cases match the illicit London meetings, jazzy flashbacks, and hypnotic waltzes. Our cosmopolitan, unconventional lover Eric Portman (49th Parallel) wears a cape and top hat and rides in a carriage – whisking writer and star Edana Romney (East of Piccadilly) to his antique-laden “atmosphere of the past” lair. It's surprisingly mature, sophisticated, and even risque tit for tat dialogue for the time when he asks if she is inclined to continue the adventure at his marble mansion with the grand staircase, crystal chandeliers, and fun house rooms full of mirrors, mannequins, and historical costumes. Candles, old fashioned mannerisms, tiaras, billowing curtains, and flowing frocks further the period piece feeling as Mifanwy becomes drawn to the past, dressed up in glimmering gowns as he chooses and allowing herself to be his nothing to live for without you obsession. A supernatural whiff disguises the predatory gaslighting – our society girl is molded from father to lover to husband as dictated. Previous women made dowdy are tossed aside, pitiful and pathetic amid arguments of who is really his prisoner or came of her free will. Lookalike portraits of lost Venetian lovers, medieval ballads, and alluring costume balls sweep us up in the back and forth vanity, spoiled rich girl games, red flag complications, and reincarnation hyperbole. Though visually innocent with nary a kiss, fade ins and outs as drunken ladies are carried to the bedroom suggest what's happening behind the bed curtains. Strong lighting schemes, daylight streaks, nighttime mists, and black and white patterns accent early uses of double perspective, deep focus, reflective camera shots, and mirrors filming multiple actions in one frame. However, the opening framework and voiceovers instead of sounding boards are unnecessary. No introductions, nondescript husbands, and out of viewpoint asides with redundant secondary characters can be confusing. Jail cell confessions and murder trials are rushed in the final fifteen minutes with plot points excused away easily. Fortunately, the sophisticated stylings, complex story, and full of themselves lovers culminate in chilling disturbia and screaming toppers.


The Red House – The golly gee quaint, twee love triangles, and intrusive crescendos in this 1947 mystery interfere with the ominous woods and suspicious gossip about reclusive Edward G. Robinson (The Omega Man), his sister Judith Anderson (Rebecca), and their innocent teenage adoptee Allene Roberts (Knock on Any Door). Farm boy Lon McCallister (Stage Door Canteen) is warned not to take the shortcut through the woods thanks to howling winds, hooting owls, dark trees, perilous wooden bridges, and the said to be cursed eponymous haunt. Despite no trespassing signs and dead end trails, all seems safe in the daytime – but young Meg is forbidden from going into the woods and asking grown up questions her guardians don't want to answer. She feels drawn there as if she has been to the Red House before and its discovery is treated as enchanting despite dangerous terrain, broken limbs, and shooting at trespassers. Bad boy Rory Calhoun (How to Marry a Millionaire) wants a favor from bad girl Julie London (Emergency!), and the tawdry kisses by the lake detract from the lingering secrets and older regrets. Spinster Judith says it is no one's fault but their own that they gave up their lives to protect Meg – while she looks longingly out the window at her one time doctor beau. Though he blames the first boy to come along for his daughter slipping away, our father figure lingers at the bedroom door and watches her swimming. A mother leaves her grown son to marry her new man, too – but not before a suspiciously long goodbye kiss on the mouth with her boy. O _o The creepy innuendo increases with whispers of previous love triangles as men are driven crazy by making their women understand. Past guilt escalates to burning down the house attempts and fatal shootouts as Robinson carries the pain and violent events repeat. The overlong scenic montages and outsider tangents create unevenness and the ominous history is pretty easy for the audience to put together. However, the performances anchor the truth will out climatic sacrifices.



The Strange Woman – Hedy Lamarr (Samson and Delilah) scandalizes 1830s New England in this 1946 yarn opening with our young Jenny already pushing a little boy who can't swim and then pretending to rescue him before growing up and pinching her cheeks to snag the richest sailor on the dock. Men say she is too beautiful for her own good, and Jenny seems to enjoy when her creepy drunk dad whips her – because now she has an excuse to marry wealthy old Gene Lockhart (Joan of Arc). Other ministers or lawyers offer to take her in, but their daughters dislike her and their wives are unsympathetic. The sweeping over the top score, however, lays on the sympathy thick because Jenny's only options are to go from father to husband. She learns how to be a lady, volunteers at church, and helps the poor – gaining favor to use or betray people later. Of course, while playing nursemaid to her ill husband, she writes to her young stepson Louis Hayward (And Then There Were None) as “your loving mother” and ends up kisses him, kissing him good in scenes later recounting how she made him love her all night long. Jenny manipulates her stepson by playing mother and lover before pursuing miscast George Sanders (All About Eve) as the suavest ruffian lumberjack ever. She meddles in business and elevates him to supervisor while she laments how long her husband must live and come between her and the next man. Unfortunately, despite the scandalous encounters, suicides, and caught in a storm seductions, today's viewers will expect more. There's no real ominous feeling or danger as we wait for something more dramatic to happen. The narrative is overlong and uneven – wasting time on lesser plots before rushing the final fifteen minutes with barrenness revelations and preachers suddenly moving Jenny to confess. The need to redeem our vixen with an outside morality undercuts all her deceit yet foolishly in love men still defend her to the end. Then again, you can't really blame them. Lamarr captivates the screen in divine if anachronistic frocks, feigning charm and innocence or tasting her forbidden as each scheme needs. Even her voice is hypnotic, telling men what to say and do to get her way. Although this picture pretends at an epic era the likes of Gone with the Wind, it suffers from poor pacing, weak action filming, and low production values. Everything else away from Jenny's fatal allure is just plain silly, for the true worth here is gazing at Lamarr.


30 May 2023

More from InSession Film!

 

More InSession Film Action! 


It's been awhile since we've done an update on our moonlighting at InSessionFilm.com, and there's much to share – including film reviews, podcasting, and merchandise!


First, here are some of our horror essays and retro lists at the new look InSession website:




She Will

Cool Eighties Comedies

The Banishing

Kick Ass Women's Comedies

The Underseen Rachel Weisz


Speaking of Women, don't forget you can hear our analysis on classic actors, film directors, and more on the Women InSession Podcast:




Favorite Films of the 1940s

John Huston

Musicians Turned Actors

Cate Blanchett

Adventures and Swashbucklers

Our Cinematic Blind Spots

Sydney Pollack

William Holden

Top 5 Worst Best Picture Nominees

Julianne Moore

Robert Mitchum


It's been such a blessing to be part of the InSessionFilm Family, and you can show your love, too, by checking out some of the InSession Merchandise – including Women InSession T-shirts!




 

25 May 2023

The PHWA Should Not Award the Masterson Trophy

 

Why the PHWA should not award the Masterson Trophy

A Sports Review by Kristin Battestella


Big things have been happening here at home, and outside of my Women's Hockey feature in Search Magazine, I haven't done sports reporting since I first started writing decades ago. However, this year's Bill Masterson Trophy has been weighing on my mind.


Simply put: I do not think the PHWA should award the Masterson this NHL season.


Awarded by the Professional Hockey Writers Association since 1968, the Bill Masterson Memorial Trophy is given to the NHLer who exemplifies dedication, sportsmanship, and perseverance. Unfortunately, numerous individual players making controversial statements and organizations who did the bare minimum during NHL Pride Nights have put a damper on the NHL's attempted “Hockey is for everyone” celebrations. Certainly there are larger personal, professional, political, and PR issues at play and the NHL's Pride events have been overall positively received. However, overshadowing, negative noisemakers resulted in a cruel slap in the face to rainbow hockey fans. When young LGBTQIA+ athletes are looking to the game they love for sportsmanship, receiving hate that goes directly against the NHL's supposedly inclusive policy is unacceptable. The NHL didn't persevere by riding the fence when it came to gay, women, minority, indigenous, and other marginalized fans. As this season went on, it seemed like certain teams were dreading their Pride Nights, and some organizations barely acknowledge support for fans facing strife with little more than warm up rainbow stick tape.


The NHL let the negative voices dominate the Pride narrative, unsportsmanly looking the other way while detractors talked of dismissing Pride Nights altogether. The world's top hockey league showed no dedication to their fans with a weak response to the negative criticism and no apparent anti-hate policy. The NHL cannot merely dismiss cruelty because it was only at the hands of a few players and teams. A player doesn't want to support Pride Night? Scratch him. Oh, these star players can't be scratched for an important game because of an off ice initiative! Then he should realize his beliefs have nothing to do with the sexuality of the season ticket holders that pay his millions. Maybe the NHL should distribute rainbow helmet stickers for every player to wear all season? Don't let teams feign support for one night! Players choosing not to adorn love for their fans every game show their true colors, don't they? What if these players lacking compassion and contributing to the suffering of others could learn that hockey is a chance to bring people together because who you love has nothing to do with how you play on the ice.


Yes, this is a terribly idealistic view. However, the NHL needs to accept that doing business in non-traditional cold rich white men locales means embracing women, minorities, rainbow, and diverse fans. Masterson winners are often players who overcome personal strife or support charity and community initiatives, and the NHL needs to take a stand in supporting the entire hockey community. The PHWA should not look the other way but hold the NHL accountable for its poorly handled Pride, unacceptable abuses, hatred, and scandals by only awarding the Masterson Trophy when it is deserved.


When will that be?

When every team has no naysayers for Pride?

When Chicago answers for its assault crimes instead of being awarded with a Number 1 pick to make their scandals disappear?


Dedicating yourself to perseverance and sportsmanship means not hurting your fellow teammates and hockey fans or telling others hockey is not for them. This season, the NHL was not worthy of what the Masterson trophy represents.



16 May 2023

License to Drive

 

License to Drive is a Rite of Passage Time Capsule

by Kristin Battestella


Colorful neon road signs and fast moving opening credits set the 1988 mood of License to Drive before cool cars in dangerous chases and a cackling bus driver a la A Nightmare on Elm Street as Corey Haim's (The Lost Boys) Les Anderson sleeps thru the Driver's Ed video. After writing “I will drive safely” on the chalkboard as punishment from a teacher who hopes he never succeeds, Les does indeed fail to get his license. Naturally, he goes out on the town anyway to impress his crush Mercedes (Heather Graham), but sneaking out in his grandfather's Cadillac leads to a disastrous if memorable night for Les and his friends – wannabe cool Dean (Corey Feldman) and nerdy Charles (Michael Manasseri) – thanks to the numerous mishaps befalling Grandpa's precious Caddy.

Debut director Greg Beeman (Smallville) has ninety minutes in License to Drive and establishes the premise immediately with double duty dialogue on crushes, crusty teachers, and the generation gap. Older dudes with cool cars woo the popular girls, and the sophisticated, wealthy divides leave our boys riding double on the bicycle and embarrassed to have their parents drive them anywhere. Bullies want to play chicken,“living time bomb” Helen Hanft (Moonstruck) warns teens not to “fuck with the Department of Motor Vehicles,” and Fresh Prince's Uncle James Avery measures an uphill driving test with his perilous cup of hot coffee. The rebellious, youthful lies seem so innocent until Les says he's only going around the block but instead leaves his dad stranded in the street carrying the diapers. The boys are desperate to achieve access to forbidden hang outs and quad roller skating babes but the BMW hat is too big for the grounded sixteen year old. His mother's false labor pains, running over the hedge, and not having a license are the least of Les' problems when the police find a drunk girl in the Caddy trunk! Small scratches and dents escalate to vomit in the backseat and a drunk who thinks he's found a Maserati, yet there's a certain effortlessness and nonchalant irony while casually backing out with a maniac on the hood of the car. The camera knows when to speed up with fun point of view action and well edited cuts keep up the humorous pacing. Unlike today's superfluous drone shots or bogged down special effects, in camera actions and movements are used for scene transitions – keeping License to Drive swift and snappy as no sequence overstays its welcome. Although License to Drive does rely on convenient timing for some of its comedy and plot advances, the self-aware, winking attitude is part of the movie magic suspension of disbelief. In scene action allows punchlines to fully play out before callbacks to that hot cup of coffee and Driver's Ed being one hell of a crash course send the golf clubs flying out the broken rear windshield. Our little brother exclaims “Son of a bitch!” as a ridiculous in labor race to the hospital via a falling apart Caddy culminates in driving backwards the wrong way on the sidewalk.



Of course, we don't want the ever adorable Corey Haim to get caught sneaking out of the house without a license! Viewers feel along for the ride as another vicarious friend, and questions on if he had mono making him sleep thru the entire driving course affirm the harmless shenanigans before Les' dream night is hampered by his cautious old lady driving and sixteen going on sixty worry over his classic ride. License to Drive lets the characters, performances, and deliveries carry the humor with a drunk driver slicing limes on the dashboard and taglines like “I'm so dead they'll have to bury me twice.” Numerous quips from Haim don't get their due justice in writing, such as his having to go home with a stolen Beetle and claim that “this piece of shit is my grandfather's Cadillac!” Superb parents Richard Masur (One Day at a Time) and the pregnant with every bizarre craving Carol Kane (Scrooged) likewise have memorable laughs, anger, and hysterics. Today Heather Graham's (Boogie Nights) pink dress and party attitude is almost demure – the popular girl accustomed to older men and fancy clubs who's looking for something more while Corey Feldman (the 'burbs) gives speeches about the American Dream being the license in your pocket to be free from the humiliation of riding the school bus. Michael Manasseri (Weird Science) may seem redundant in this The Two Coreys eighties heyday, however he has some fun moments as the geeky straight man alongside Les' bookish twin sister Nina Siemaszko (The West Wing) and her militant boyfriend Grant Heslov (Good Night and Good Luck). He's angry they are going to a protest against society's oppression and materialism in an “imperialist gas guzzler,” i.e. the family Audi.

From the juicy posters in the boys' rooms, “Grandpa” license plates, and a preposterous DOS computer glitch to the breaking the fourth wall asides and humorous actions in the background, there are lots of little things to see in License to Drive. Music cues, choice stings, and fatalistic echoes set off slow motion, wide lenses, zooms, and spin outs as film making touches mirror the teenage ups, downs, and permit torn in two. The boomboxes, chewed up mixed tapes, corded phones, flash bulb camera, big computers, and rolling up the windows invoke technological nostalgia, yet a parent's denying his son a $23,000 BMW remains relatable. The slim ties, blazers with rolled up sleeves, and acid wash jeans...not so much! Perfectly timed Frank Sinatra irony and carefree Billy Ocean tunes accent the likable characters and breezy joyride that aren't meant to be taken too seriously. License to Drive is silly and flawed, absolutely. Did you have to live in the eighties to fully appreciate its carefree adventure? Perhaps. Certainly there's something to be said for manual vehicles without computers and cameras that parallel park for you! Fortunately, License to Drive does what it sets out to do in creating a humorous night on the town. Thanks to today's over analytical cinematic dire and dark buzzkill; this slaphappy, all forgiven, consequence free, sunny escapade could not be made in the post-pandemic era. Get away from it all with License to Drive's charming time capsule and bemusing rite of passage.


12 April 2023

Falcon Crest

 

What Went Wrong with Falcon Crest 

by Kristin Battestella


As a kid growing up watching the CBS night time soap Falcon Crest, I never realized David Selby as the superbly scheming Richard Channing was also werewolf Quentin Collins on my beloved Dark Shadows. Obviously I loved corvette driving playboy grandson Lorenzo Lamas (Renegade), but I also didn't noticed that conniving matriarch Jane Wyman (Magnificent Obsession) as Angela Channing looked just like my evil grandmother and now it's tough to unsee. For a series about generations of immigrant winemakers and fictitious Tuscany Valley power shakers whose names end in vowels, no one on Falcon Crest is actually Italian, either. Although one can ignore these innocuous quibbles, in this rewatch it's apparent that the grape withers on the vine as the 227 episode Falcon Crest goes on twice as long as it should have.

An opening murder sets the episodic 1981 Debut Season in motion complete with affairs in the winery, inheritance trials, and crazed relatives on the witness stand. The backstabbing, conniving lawyers, arranged marriages, and blackmail continue in the Second Year thanks to scheming illegitimate sons and car bombs. Granted those vehicular perils, weddings, temporarily paralyzed plots, and miraculous comatose awakenings are par for the soap opera course. Falcon Crest is both over the top like it's fellow prime time eighties compatriots yet the scandalous twists and dramatic cliffhangers are not unlike today's so-called prestige television. The wild Season Three is ahead of its time with an evil Illuminati-esque cabal, Nazi roots, kidnapped babies, escaped mental patients, and all aboard plane crashes. Seasonal guests and recurring stars such as ruthless mother Lana Turner (Peyton Place), conflicted doctor Cliff Robertson (Charly), and dubious Sarah Douglas (The People That Time Forgot) hold critical secrets, but old men don't last long on Falcon Crest – bearing the brunt of convenient or not so convenient falls, murders, and more not so shocking deaths. Certainly there are useless relations that could have been written out much sooner. At times, the incestuous conflicts of interest between family, business, and publications all in bed with each other are ridiculous. Dire moments are resolved imminently then quickly forgotten due to the uneven passage of time on Falcon Crest. Some action is minute to minute while months are said to have past for other stories. Fortunately, viewers don't have to pay strict attention to such details or take the preposterous luxuries so seriously to appreciate the bed hopping sabotage. Eerie confessionals, chilling church chases, and murderers disguised as nuns provide taut intensity as lone real Italian Gina Lollobrigida (Beat the Devil) does the tarantella and tells all of Falcon Crest how poisonous they really are.



Buried treasure beneath our titular vineyard and new Nazi war criminals jammed into the main cast, however, come on a bit too strong in Year Four and Falcon Crest's continuity suffers. Instead of four or six episodes to start or end the season, the Nazi gold plot limps through most of Season Four until a one and done shootout spectacle. The international cartel terrorizing all behind the scenes is written out with a few mentions of Interpol arrests as if it were that easy all along. Who's hired, fired, making backdoor phone calls, wheeling and dealing, or vowing to “draw up the necessary papers” gets old, too. Today's knowledgeable viewers will be frustrated by trials refusing to change venues yet complaining about the tainted jury pool in the ever incestuous Tuscany Valley. There's never any libel or slander for radio stations and newspapers. Serious, devious crimes garner mere slaps on the wrist while leap frogging business coups and stolen shares are developed, rushed, or dropped as needed. Surrogacy according to Falcon Crest is when a man impregnates another woman and then pays her after taking their child in a storyline that should never have happened yet takes up much too much time before an even worse priest in love The Thorn Birds detour, Monte Carlo kidnappings, and wine shipment hijackings with no consequences. Even the credits design is increasingly crappy with garish reds, bubbling special effects, and poor editing as Falcon Crest loses luster with generic eighties Dynasty copying. Unabashedly big hats and bling fall to boxy sequin dresses and pantsuits with pizzazz while grand woodwork is painted white, the exclusive Tuscany Downs racetrack is ditched, and tacky pink carpeting abounds in the new Del Oro fitness spa. The overlong seasons have plenty of time to catch every teased hair and white leather trend, and the big earthquake is ultimately a lame excuse to redecorate.

Poor Susan Sullivan's (It's A Living) likable writer wife Maggie Gioberti suffers almost every episode indeed. If it's not a death in the family, it's repeated work/script/journalism/radio/freelance/book harassment, custody suits, her own adoption discovery, devious sisters, or more domestic strife. That's not to mention the mugging, assaults, falls down the stairs, blindness, and brain tumors. Or the illicit kisses, explosions, and amnesia. Maggie's kidnapping and assault halfway thru Season Five is enough for viewers to tune out thanks to doing nothing authorities and flat out bad storytelling trying to tack on suspense with an ambiguous pregnancy. Robert Foxworth's (Six Feet Under) husband Chase Gioberti is meant to be the underdog hero of Falcon Crest. Of course, he's a veteran New York pilot who inherits a fifty acre vineyard with a free and clear castle abode! Being a vintner, however, isn't good enough as Chase must always have a cause – taking on everybody and stepping on everyone until he gets his way. How many times does Chase have to be shocked and surprised by how deep his gangster mother's criminal ties go? Even when victorious, Chase vows to seek those who perjured and influenced at the expense of his family and businesses. He uses his local council position as his own personal vengeance committee yet claims there is no peace in Tuscany solely because of shady at Falcon Crest. Chase repeatedly plays spy, wearing a gun and stepping on the law as it suits him for he is never wrong but everyone else is. Nothing is ever his fault, and when Maggie asks him to drop being a jerk and suggests they flee the valley they never should have come to in the first place, Chase refuses and leaves her to bear the brunt of the consequences alone. It's terrible that he is the least sympathetic to her plight. Chase selfishly says Maggie's problems are a waste of his time – she needs to support him because her not helping his political campaign is like them both having been raped. WTF? Chase should have been killed off much sooner, for he becomes exactly like the people he hated when he initially came to the valley.


The shoehorned in comings and goings means dates, ages, and previously unknown relations don't make much sense. People who seem to be early twenties look over thirty, but fortysomethings are suddenly having more children and surprise siblings that logistically don't fit into the years given. Falcon Crest adds such classy guest stars because it can, not because it should, leaving ladies like Anne Archer (Patriot Games) and Morgan Fairchild (Flamingo Road) as if the series doesn't know what to do with them. Falcon Crest is either unable or not willing to elevate semi-regulars, resulting in unnecessarily drawn out less interesting storylines or underutilized and unceremonious write-outs in a bloated cast that adds more people rather than more character development. Though a provocative plot at the time, an abusive father is played for sympathy – blaming his victimized daughter because he's not in the wrong and deserves her understanding – and Fairchild deserved to have more focus in a crowded Fifth Season. Falcon Crest tries to be cool with singer Apollonia (Purple Rain), and while it's not her fault, it just doesn't belong on this show. Likewise the second generation Stavros kids are hollow scene stealers in the worst way, putting the writing on the wall for Falcon Crest while Kim Novak (Bell, Book, and Candle) and John Saxon (Black Christmas) are stuck going round and round in lengthy mobster back and forths. Some guests never interact with the main cast, and in the second half of the series, characters rarely stay for more than a season after their seemingly so important tangents are run into the ground. Suddenly critical, delicious people like Jane Badler (V) disappear before more contrived relations and retcons as if people or events never existed. Early on Falcon Crest cultivated a mature, classy gravitas, but it's easy to fast forward over Dana Sparks (Passions) as the newly returned Vicki Gioberti and Brett Cullen (The Young Riders) as Angela's would be reluctant ward Dan Fixx as they attempt to lure a younger audience with Fame-esque jazzercise montages.

Sweet Porsches, Rolls Royces, and a Lamborghini with classic scissor doors can't save Falcon Crest once Robert Stack arrives whispering in the shadows like this is an Unsolved Mysteries crossover. A cigar chomping hackneyed district attorney also plays wannabe Dragnet as characters are mocked and humiliated in laughably bad plans contrasting traumatic rape flashbacks. Falcon Crest's writing is terribly uneven with no thematic cohesion and no idea how to maximize the house players. Every person who joins the credits after shipping magnate Cesar Romero (Batman) arrives is terrible – cluttering, annoying regulars frustratingly taking time away from recurring players appearing in better plots. Angela Channing being sentenced to community service and meddling as she volunteers at the hospital could have been a new fun element, too. Instead, Maggie's delivery is turned into a family farce with Angela complaining about the damage to her $10,000 rug, and the mismatched tone plays more like a meandering daytime soap. Personal slights, double crosses, assaults, and kidnappings are treated the same in scale when convoluted who owns what winery switcharoos get repetitive and in the end don't even matter that much. Abundant nonsensical relations are piled on with Ana Alicia's (Ryan's Hope) crazy Melissa Agretti singing in the 1940s night club and whodunit murder mystery parties despite the seemingly more important stolen babies. A brief Black adoptee is presented as a streetwise, precocious child who can't be kept despite all the Channing money and power, and it's quite racist alongside acupuncture that's treated as mysticism instead of alternative medicine. Once the faithfully long serving majordomo Chao-Li Chi (The Prestige) is eventually elevated to the main credits – after potentially deserving storylines with his daughter Rosalind Chao (Deep Space Nine) disappear – the characters themselves joke that Year Six seems like a bad dream. Hot damn, if they had copied Dallas' Bobby in the Shower erasure, Falcon Crest may have been better.


After barely paying attention to it, a cruel storyline featuring Margaret Ladd's (Mozart in the Jungle) Emma Channing being left at the altar is played for laughs with numerous women chasing said bigamist through the church. Such isolated, tonally off tangents never intersect with bigger events, leaving threads that go on and on everywhere. Try hard synth music that can't compare to the original Bill Conti (North and South) theme suggests this is a low budget sleazy cop show rather than a premium melodrama, and when Richard and Maggie finally happen, it's just a music video montage. Threats to jump off the roof, injuries, and water rescues that deserve their own time are overwhelming yet undercooked as guest stars take up too much time playing at Casablanca with fog, fedoras, and airplanes. Dreamy flashbacks and courtroom farce run Falcon Crest into the ground and off the pier – literally. Multiple seasons worth of twists are treated as intercut shockers thrown at the screen to open Year Seven. Even Maggie calls the whole thing one bad sick joke and slaps her selfish adult daughter, and by that point, Maggie, same. After skipping around to ignore the revolving cast door and catching a few more weddings and fires, reading the episode summaries is enough to bounce through the limping Season Nine and its reduced Angela Channing thanks to Wyman's ill health. Unfortunately, the Final 89-90 Season's preposterous theme music, dark lighting, and attempted edgy action acerbate the rapid child aging and claims that Richard has never been involved in the wine business nor taking over Falcon Crest – when that was his main motivation for most of the series. Rather than any proper tribute or legacy, a voiceover toast sends Falcon Crest out with an unrecognizably bad whimper.


02 April 2023

The Streaming Bubble Has Already Burst

 

The Streaming Bubble has Already Burst

by Kristin Battestella


There's much discourse on when the streaming bubble will burst, but it already has and we didn't even realize it.


Let's be honest. Exclusive content meant to lure viewers to individual platforms is out of control. Each streamer rushes to release new films that no one sees. Shows that don't trend are immediately canceled in favor of the next program. Where premium networks used to rotate four shows a year, today streamers release exclusives monthly, weekly, or even faster. Prestige names and networks flounder with projects falling through, selling off properties, pulling under watched content, or writing off completed projects. There is no content security, yet streamers are chasing audiences week to week to make sure we don't unsubscribe. Viewers, however, have gotten wise, tuning in for free trials or bundle sales to watch what we want before ditching a platform as needed. In today's post pandemic world, it's unrealistic to expedite content as if households can have every streaming service all at once. With such a topsy turvy supply and demand, the industry simply cannot sustain so many streaming services. It's not as dire as the Big Three networks in the pre-digital decades of old, but many streaming services won't survive in the current a la cart but may as well be cable model.


This lack of longevity is also not a recent problem. For all the millions invested in chasing content, no streamer has found the perfect interface style, structure, or support. How many apps have you ditched because the outdated navigation sucked and it repeatedly crashed? Technological troubleshooting makes viewers leave just as fast as the omnipresent price hikes whether we desire the latest hot content or not. Combining or die streamers repeatedly shuffle free tiers, ad tiers, and premiums in increasingly frustrating packages with unjustifiable fees compared to all the confusion. Besides, what are no ad viewers really paying for when every provider shows their own commercials before a movie and automated over the end credits anyway? Hundreds of free ad supported livestream channels have blank logo countdowns and two minute animations because they have allotted advertising space that no one has filled. When there aren't even enough commercials to keep up with our streaming demands, it really shows how out of control our 24/7 content has become.


Unfortunately, it is the niche markets that suffer most – buried in merged catalogs or disappeared altogether. Not because there wasn't an audience for it, but because the cost, technology, and limited timing leaves audiences jumping through hoops to find it. Around 10 streaming platforms is really all viewers can sustain. Even long steady platforms like Hulu or prestige networks like HBO are in jeopardy thanks to corporate wheeling and dealing that is what's business best for Disney or Warners not for what their customers want. It would be foolish for any new streamer with no name recognition or larger backing to enter the arena in 2023. Platforms thinking their original content makes them stand apart or conglomerates that pull their legacy IPs from other services for their own exclusivity are in for a consolidating collapse.


No one wants to be an add on to someone else's storefront, but can any one platform stand alone?


Amazon? Interface and originals are all over the place.

Netflix? For the price their originals are ridiculous.

Who only has ESPN+ because it's included with Disney?


Roku has original shows and Apple TV has their own hardware, but for all the Walking Dead hype, the AMC package has less than 1 million subscribers!


Who can afford the cable-like bill for all of these? You?

Who has the time to watch it all? Not I.


The dust needs to settle on who combines, falls, or survives, but right now the air is thick.


31 March 2023

1 Good, 1 Bad House Horrors

 

1 Good, 1 Bad House Horrors

by Kristin Battestella


For every good house horror movie, there are certainly bad house horrors! Here is an exercise in what one haunt does wrong for its women in peril – and what another gets right about feminine horrors.


Skip It!

Treehouse – An infamous chef retreats to his estranged family's vacation home in this 2019 Hulu/Blumhouse Into The Dark entry. Our gourmet is angry at the wannabe chefs on his cooking show, and he can't give his undivided attention to his young daughter – sending her off with an assistant on the weekend of his ex-wife's remarriage. Oversharing dialogue, cars full of chicks, hip music, and creepy convenience store stops pile on the horror cliches alongside unnecessary pop culture platitudes that get old very fast. Every introduction is awkward and each sentence is littered with a tiresome joke or attempted cool reference in this frustrating script. The old family maid at their grand villa says it's the things she can't unsee that keep her up at night, but weird portraits of his father looming over the bedroom, bugs in the kitchen, and bloody gunk in the toilet don't amount to anything. Our chef thinks he is too cool for school, we get it, and helping the ladies next door with flashlights and candles after their generator fails leads to his offering to cook dinner for their bachelorette party. The women, however, are also obnoxious – rude, sassy, diverse yet checking every stereotype amid the self-referential Hulu quips and acoustic ballads by the fire pit. Lilith names, conversations about birth, and Celtic sister tattoos contrast his drunken foot in the mouth flirtations. Unfortunately, statements on women not having a voice and being forced to live with the terrible things that happen to them come off terribly tone deaf before for the sake of it weirdness, peacocks, distorted angles, mirrors, red flashes, and creepy tongues. The overgrown spooky and titular echoes are never used to full advantage despite twig effigies, freaky wooden masks, and a wild mushroom lady knocking at the door. Rather than playing sarcastic and coy, this should have gotten to the horror much sooner, but alas, paralysis and bound to the bed fears leads to bloody lips and ladies in lingerie because our sleazy cook still finds the seemingly evil women “would do” hot. They each re-enacted his past harassments with pentagrams, spells, nail clippings, snakes, and voodoo contortions. Of course, he thinks he can talk his way out of their revenge – taking pot shots with self-esteem insults, insisting a woman's suicide was not his fault, disbelieving his inferior position, and cracking jokes until the crossbows are aimed at his crotch. Escape attempts, aimless twists, family connections, and obvious secrets should be better than this rushed first draft lip service, and it all comes off as girl power turned nasty bully bitches as written by a man. It's such an elaborate set up for what isn't a surprise, and the lesson should have been from the women's point of view. He continues making excuses that there are two sides to every flirtation and he was a drunk teenager so the word “rape” doesn't apply. Instead of provocative commentary, this distasteful, erroneous, hollow, flat perspective misses the point entirely.



Well Done!

The Night House – A drifting boat, swaying wind chimes, as is rooms, and friends offering help left on the doorstep greet widow Rebecca Hall (The Awakening) in this 2020 study on deception and grief. The custom built, isolated lake house reiterates the home alone emptiness, wine, sad songs, chairs for two, and his bare side of the bed before alarm clocks, coffee, and other teachers whispering at school. The dialogue comes naturally – no one would blame her for taking time off, she's not sleeping well, she should get away from the house that her husband built. Beth is frank with a pissy parent, for her husband shot himself in the head so what do grades matter? The radio playing by itself, knocks at the door with no one there, unlocked gates, and muddy footprints create ominous as happy construction videos contrast the loneliness. These home videos aren't found footage for the viewer but Beth watching, crying, and packing away her husband's things. His journals are full of intriguing design configurations, reverse floor plans, symbols, and notes to trick it with puzzles and decoys but not trust it. The character focused horror drama comes in the uncomfortable conversational backstory – teenage Beth was dead for four minutes after car accident and only her husband knew she saw nothing but an empty tunnel. She was the depressing one but now she keeps his nonsensical suicide note in her purse while the sleep paralysis, sleepwalking, nightmares, and ghosts escalate. Rather than repeated scares going round and round for the audience, Beth uncovers evidence of more secrets. Chiming texts apparently from her husband are disturbing enough, but she dials his cell and someone answers. Her agitated, on edge frazzled increases thanks to distorted voices, duplicate images, other women seemingly in the house, and seeing herself sleeping on the sofa. The zigzagging dock stairs lead to bloody boats, red smoke across the lake, caressing winds, and swooning levitation in well done hazy transitions. Flashlight beams reveal women running in the dark, abandoned buildings in the woods, tarps, unfinished construction, and effigies. Bookstore clues and relatable confrontations only lead to more questions as the wronged Mrs. gets carried away in the false floors and gory discoveries. Creaking noises, clutter, and altered house perspectives force us to pay attention and see what may be there. The camera accentuates duality with twofer shots, lookalikes, and similar dreams, and the happy memories disappear once we realize our husband and wife didn't know each other as well as they thought. Friends tell Beth to leave the house, move on with her life and not fall into dark despair, but she mocks the idea before sobbing on the shower floor. The hard bitch solving the mystery attitude drops as the grief finally come forth. Ghostly writings, mirrors, reverse reflections, eerie voices, and distorted visuals accent spooky encounters, visions of past violence, and creepy maze-like attacks. Invisible whooshes and fights with oneself in the last half hour are a little odd. Some metaphors are obvious yet others are unclear and questions on who did what and why remain. However the Final Destination maturity doesn't overstay its welcome. My husband saw this before me, and he says seeing it a second time explains everything. Rather than in your face horror typical; crescendos, editing, and neon lighting punctuate the body contortions, multi level purgatory planes, and dual culmination.