Why I Love Movies: The Chronicles of Riddick Edition

The internet is both the most dispiriting and the most invigorating invention of all time. I don't need to lecture here about the relative merits and demerits of this most pervasive of all technologies. The point is, as a passionate film fan who frequents movie nerd sites, the fires of my enthusiasm are in a constant state of being fanned one moment and doused the next. I choose to focus primarily on the positives and have sought out and follow the work of a great many online scribes I perceive as like minded in their upbeat appraisal of the state of cinema. Nothing exhausts and irritates me more than the baleful trolls that populate message boards and comments sections spewing preemptive hate and Monday morning quarterbacking every plot point in every movie. That's why the only thing more magical than FILMCRITHULK's recent Why You Love Movies article, is the outpouring of support and similar exhortations that have cropped up in its inspirational wake.

I have been moved to draft my own mission statement on the magic of the movies, but I want to put a personal spin on it. People have been making great lists that span the history of the medium. One of my most favorite things about Cinema and our relationship with it is how it affords us the opportunity to champion pictures others choose to ignore or revile. Movies that we find joy in and are flabbergasted that get run down so relentlessly by the bulk of cinephiles. So, my contribution to this ongoing discussion will be a list focusing exclusively on the reasons why I love one such film in Particular. The Chronicles of Riddick.

Because you keep what you kill.

Because of the bicep vein, latex scar and vocal delivery on Nick Chinlund.

Because Vin Diesel and David Twohy clearly love the Riddick character and genuinely seem to have been compelled to craft this sequel more out of a desire to expand his universe than to expand their pocketbooks.

Because of Karl Urban's breathtaking mullet.

Because of how glorious Diesel's voice is to listen to, no matter how ridiculous the one liners. Scratch that, BECAUSE of the ridiculous one liners.

Because Keith David is always reason enough to love a film.

Because of how fully realized the Necromonger world is. From the clothes to the headdresses to the armor to the weapons to the ships to the turns of phrase and religious mythology, I love everything about it wholly and unreservedly.

Because of Lord Marshall's throne room. They built that shit and it still drops my jaw each and every time I watch it.

Because the entire Crematoria prison planet section reminds me of using my imagination while playing on a playground as a child.

Because of that teacup.

Because it's an animal thing.

Because of that sweet, snow encrusted beard Riddick rocks in the opening.

Because of that awesome thing Colm Feore as Lord Marshall the holy half dead does with his hands while savoring the moment before he thinks he's going to finally dispose of the last Furian.

Because Dame Judi Dench floats around as she phones it in.

Because of Thandie Newton's outrageously melodramatic, yet totally appropriate eyebrow acting. It gives a whole new meaning to arch.

Because of the sound when Riddick breaks the knife off in Lord Marshall's dome.

Because of those radical, greasy Eastern Bloc dudes running the prison.

Because of the smoke rising off Riddick after he saves Kera.

Because I hoped and prayed that a third entry would get greenlit despite Chronicle's box office failure. Now, thanks to Vin Diesel's perseverance, dedication to his fanbase and success with Fast Five, it is currently being shot. I get happy and smile inside every time I remember I am going to be watching a new Riddick film on the big screen before too long.

Because when that moment comes, it will truly be a day of days.

2nd Rondo Nomination!

I have once again been nominated for a Rondo award in the category of best blog of 2011! It is an honor and I would greatly appreciate it if folks could vote for ShloggsHorrorBlog for #17 and my good friends Profondo Cinema for #22! Thanks again to the Rondo awards and to all my readers!

Chronicle

When I first caught wind of the set up for Chronicle, my retinas completely detached so as to facilitate some seriously Herculean eye rolling. I am beyond spent of any interest or enthusiasm for the found footage genre. Sure, I've seen some films where the conceit worked for me such as Cloverfield, Quarantine or Cannibal Holocaust, but even these instances turned out to be one time viewings. There's something about the visceral immediacy and feigned realism of the format that doesn't lend itself to repeated viewings. The endings of these films tend to be abrupt, unsatisfying affairs necessitated by the last cameraman standing trope, and that usually culminates with that man falling over. The Paranormal Activity series and its progenitor The Blair Witch Project are, to my eyes and sensibilities, veritable crimes against the art of cinema. Throw non franchise teenager superheros into the mix, and you have a volatile cocktail teeming with my most hated ingredients.

The strange thing is, I ended up loving this film. That's not surprising in and of itself considering how much I enjoy the theatrical experience, but this movie was much more than a fun time at the picture show. It is an overwhelming emotional experience. It feels vastly more epic than its slim 80 minute run time would suggest. I felt exhausted at the end, wrung out and spent. This film takes you to many places, emotionally and intellectually, and with very few exceptions, justifies the trip. This isn't simply a hackneyed set up to utilize the found footage aesthetic to legitimize its low budget effects, this is a dark, involved story with fleshed out, sympathetic characters. Characters who all have complete arcs and whose interactions bear the weight of the films thematic implications.

This story is about what happens when kids grow up without caregivers they can trust and who show them love. It is about how emotional neglect renders people wary of the fidelity of any affection. It is a tragedy that builds and builds from fun loving exploration to a deafening crescendo of explosive violence. The last 10 minute action set piece of Chronicle was to me, infinitely more powerful than any of the Marvel superhero films. I had tears brimming in my eyes, I wanted to talk characters down, save them from harm and stop them from inflicting it. It's potent stuff, and if the characters and story hadn't been built so masterfully, It would have been a jarring departure from the light-hearted moments that preceded it.

The cast is uniformly excellent, especially Dane DeHaan as the tortured Andrew. His evolution from meek whipping boy to caustic Apex Predator is tremendous to behold. He makes you care for him, even as he turns his back on everyone and lets the darkness swallow him whole. He's a stunning character, one that is remarkably resonant for the times we live in. A cautionary reminder to treat people better and learn to listen when they cry for help. Michael Kelly gives some shading to the role of Alexander's drunken lout of a father with a complicated performance. I've liked this dude since The Dawn of the Dead remake and he's been great in everything I've seen him in. The other supporting leads gel excellently, creating a believable group, all the more upsetting when they are fractured.

The effects are passable for this fare. The emphasis is more on discovery and mastery, which perfectly represents these characters growing as individuals and growing apart, becoming who they were always going to be, albeit on a grander, more destructive or more heroic scale. The found footage angle starts off as creepy, develops brilliantly in the middle section with Andrew's powers, then devolves somewhat in the final act, at times even being ignored altogether. That middle segment does contain some beautifully realized, evocative usages of the concept though. It definitely expands the trendy mediums cinematic language a great deal and points the way out of the insulting security camera bullshit quagmire of the Paranormal Activity series. Overall, it's more than a gimmick and less than a total success.

The film isn't without its flaws and occasional wonky mechanics. The camera explanations get a bit tedious toward the end, almost making me wish they hadn't bothered with the conceit at all. There's a couple of "off" scenes that struck me as incongruous and icky (you'll know what I mean when you see it) and momentarily took me out of it, but it would quickly right itself and confidently reestablish its groove. The tacked on coda seemed extremely unnecessary to me and the rare instance where I wish a film like this hewed to the established smash cut ending. In any case, something from a 26 year old, first time film maker has no business being this good and assuredly realized. Josh Trank has a bright future, as does Max Landis (yes, his dad is John Landis), whose airtight screenplay is surely responsible for a large percentage of the films success. It's rare that I'm rewarded this handsomely for stepping out of my comfort zone, perhaps I should make a habit of it.

The Woman In Black

I saw a trailer for The Woman In Black a couple months back and thought it looked interesting, if a little staid. I forgot all about it until seeing commercials on the net last week trumpeting its release. Since I am a 73 year old man, I caught a solo 9:45 AM Saturday morning show today and am proud to report that with this and the blissfully idiotic Underworld:Awakening under its belt, 2012 is off to a solid start for horror films. The Woman in Black's cut rate elegance and grim ponderousness stands in stark contrast to the explosive insanity of 20 foot tall werewolves throwing cars and eating silver bullets for breakfast. It's a testament to the elasticity of the genre that two such varied approaches can call its heading home. Sure, there are some qualifying sub categories to add to each respective appellation, but we're still talking about werewolves, ghosts and vampires here.

The Woman in Black comically presents us with a startlingly diminutive Daniel Radcliffe as a widower and father to a young son. After a chilling, wordless opening sequence, there is some awkward business establishing Radcliffe as said widower, father and apparently lawyer (?!), being sent by his heartless firm to settle an estate in some mysterious small town in turn of the century England. Once we do away with this faltering handling of exposition, the film settles into a nice groove as Radcliffe travels to this eerie town. A melancholy village crushed by sadness and full of secrets. I don't do plot synopsis, so suffice to say, the tragic back story that is glacially doled out serves its purpose without drawing attention to itself or breaking any ground. Rather, it is how well this film tells its story, with such choking atmosphere I felt like I was slowly being suffocated in my seat. For a film like this, that's a good thing.

The attention to period detail, the costuming and the set design elevate this from brain dead found footage chair jumper fare to lovingly crafted genre exercise. Care was put into this film, it feels part of a rich tradition (it was produced by the legendary Hammer studios) instead of shortsightedly designed to callously cash in on current trends. Effort was involved in the production of this film and it shows. It's nice to be treated like a connoisseur instead of a consumer, even if I'm turning up to the earliest matinee possible to only pay 5$ for my ticket.

I was quite impressed with Radcliffe. He isn't given a great deal to do, but he anchors the film admirably. Considering large swaths of the movie are primarily comprised of him wandering alone around a dark, creepy mansion holding a candle aloft, that he keeps the audience invested is no small feat. He carries the picture on the strength of his delicate features, expressive eyes and abundant, unruly hair. The stubble and sideburns help a little to separate him from the boy wizard we've spent the last decade watching come of age, but a train car sequence opposite Ciaran Hinds early on is a blatant reminder of how minuscule this fellow is.

The scares are well done, if telegraphed and a tad conventional. The tension level doesn't reach heart stopping Insidious levels, but that isn't exactly called for here. It's more about the slow burn, the ever tightening vise grip of ghastly, ghostly vengeance. The inescapable and ever escalating dread leading to an unexpectedly dark denouement. I thoroughly enjoyed seeing this film. I doubt it will stick with me past next weekend, but it entertained and involved me. It features several strong performances, spectacular production design and stately imagery (the standout being a winding road leading to the haunted mansion submerged each day by high tide). It's a pleasantly morose tale, well told and well made. What more can you ask for from this sort of film?

Underworld: Awakening

I guess it would be fair to say I found the first 2 Underworld films detestable. They struck me as joyless, plodding affairs with a suffocatingly monochromatic aesthetic. Mechanical, calculating films more intent on franchise building than entertaining. I caught the third film on home video and recall not being infuriated by it, but if any specific laudable aspect exists, it seems to have escaped me. When I first saw the trailer for what I then referred to as Underworld: Whatevering, I distinctly remember reminding myself not to be fooled by the shiny baubles it promised for the previous three had yielded only gun flint blue lumps of cinematic coal. Today however, I found myself in a crummy mood with free time and the requisite spare 11$, so, big surprise, I took in an IMAX 3-D presentation of the latest Lycan escapade.

Whether by dint of lowered expectations or a strong desire to indulge in mindless escapism is irrelevant, the bottom line is I can't remember the last time I had this much damn fun sitting in a theater by myself in the middle of the afternoon. With a king sized soda and a bag of my favorite candy by my side, I guffawed with moronic glee at the incomprehensible bombast. The plot is a serviceable stew of worn out tropes and exhausted contrivances, but who cares? I sat down looking to be transported out of my grey life into a blue/grey life. With machine guns! And 20 foot tall CGI werewolves! A mincing Charles Dance and a disinterested Stephen Rea! This movie has it all! Not really, but it had exactly everything I needed it to have at the exact moment I saw it.

Most of all though, this movie is LOUD. I mean impossibly loud. So overpoweringly loud, the aural experience teeters on the precipice betwixt excruciating and ecstasy. Oh, the machine guns, the explosions, the roaring CGI werewolves! Cars thrown about like matchsticks and sonically careening about the theater, bludgeoning me into submission and pinning me to the back of my seat. When I see a brain dead pile of bologna like this, I need the sound design to seemingly be attempting to deafen me. When you lack in the story, acting and script departments this profoundly, a good audio visual presentation goes a long way toward compensating for the deficit.

Speaking of the visuals, the 3-D was fully realized without being intrusive as so many current attempts are. I'm assuming this was shot in the format as opposed to the dreaded post conversion, cause this thing looked fantastic and never dark, an astonishing fact when one considers the murky palette this film swims in. I really enjoyed the rustic sets of the coven's hideout and the monolithic, rushing damn that concealed it. There's some nice high definition photography going on here with the cinematography as exceedingly accomplished as the direction is admirably stylish. Pedestrian in regard to story, yet experimental and exacting in approach to look. This is that rare instance of style over substance where the inequality should be not only begrudgingly accepted, but enthusiastically applauded.

I'm certain, like the latest Resident Evil, it won't hold up at home on bluray. Movies like this need to be seen in the biggest theater you can find with sound that literally shakes your seat and occasions onset tinnitus. When you watch this, your eyes glaze and you breathe through your mouth, snorting smug, callous approval at the endless parade of decapitations and guttings. The vapors of this gloriously idiotic experience are already wafting into distant, hazy memory. The impact is not built to last, but was monumentally enjoyable while it was happening to me. I won't be mulling over the thematic implications, but I'll be first in line for the next one.

Shloggs Speaks: Arnold Edition

This time, I join Axl and briefly JScott to discuss the golden era of my greatest cinematic idol growing up, Arnold Schwarzenegger! This is a man who changed the course of my life and the course of action and sci-fi film, a true legend! As always, it was a joy to record this show with my good friends at Profondo Cinema, the best in the business!

The Grey

I can think of few working film makers I am as simultaneously aware of and ambivalent toward as Joe Carnahan. I have never seen Narc, nor do I feel compelled to do so despite the generous kudos it has accumulated in some circles. Smoking Aces was stylish and intermittently entertaining, but primarily crude and pointless. The A-Team was just plain pointless, no qualifiers necessary. So, to be blunt, nothing about the man's oeuvre does much of anything for me. Liam Neeson however, has long been a favorite. Dating back to Krull and the Mission, but Darkman was what cemented his leading man persona for me. Wounded and soulful, yet imposing as hell and charming when he wants to be. Of more dynamic and multi talented leading men, there are few.

So, when I first saw the trailers for The Grey, I dismissed Carnahan's involvement as nothing more than apparent affinity developed between him and Neeson during production of The A-Team. Now I love a good man Vs. nature film, especially the sort that juxtaposes the two as iconic, existential rivals. Hope and eventuality. Faith and stone cold reality. The trailers and promotional materials did a fine job conveying this deadly serious thematic component as well as the striking, artistic element at play. I was prepared for that and avidly awaiting the challenging complexity inherent to the non commercial proposition watching tired, bloodied men mauled by wild animals and succumbing to the elements entails. On that level, the film succeeds wildly.

It is gorgeously shot, breathtaking even. I didn't know Carnahan had that sort of an eye. An eye that could distill every fascinating facet of his timeless story into the indelible, unforgettable image of a single file line of men struggling through a merciless blizzard with infinite whiteness swallowing them on all sides. The plane crash that strands them in this wasteland is as impressive as any I've yet seen conveyed on film, all the more impressive for how viscerally realized it is on such a clearly minuscule budget. Impeccable sound design and photography on all fronts coming together with assured direction and superlative performances to present a technical marvel of a film that manages to explore the weighty issues of faith, life and death. Aside from some minor quibbles with elastic notions of realism, most everything about this meat and potatoes effort worked for me.

There Be Spoilers Here:

Here's the problem. The aforementioned promotional material hinged largely on footage of Neeson strapping broken mini-liquor bottles to his knuckles with electrical tape and charging into the fray against a behemoth alpha male wolf to do bloody, chaotic battle. The way this footage was edited and scored implicitly promises the viewer that they will see the other side of that arresting notion once they plunk down their hard earned cash. The Grey does a beautiful job bringing you to this moment, then smash cuts to black at the exact moment the trailer did. Roll credits. As the scene was building, I began to get a queasy feeling this was going to be the case, but when it actually came to pass, I was shocked at how disappointed and frustrated I was. I (and clearly, vocally the audience I saw it with) felt betrayed and more than a little cheated. The movie the internet sold to me as Liam Neeson: Wolf Puncher gave me a little more of what I hoped was going to be there than I thought it would and absolutely nothing of what I was certain would be there.

I read here and there some people comparing this phenomena to the woman suing Drive for a misleading trailer. I don't buy that. I'm an intelligent film goer who educates himself before buying a ticket. I knew what I was getting into with Drive and felt the trailer effectively portrayed the film as arty, surreal and hyper violent. I've also read people saying that if you wanted to see that fight, then you are an idiot. That it would have been stupid and looked ridiculous. With this, I also disagree. The Grey is a story of a man grappling with his will to live and I desperately wanted to see him put everything he had into that fight once he made the decision to, against all odds and with no reason or faith, not go quietly into that night. If the film makers couldn't have figured a way to present this moment the entire film had been building to without it being laughable, then they just weren't trying hard enough.

While I do disagree with Carnahan's decision to not show that fight, I respect his right to make that choice. He is an artist, this film forcefully confirms that, and this film is indeed an important piece of art. Not necessarily for the story, performances or technical merits, all of which are solid and in some cases well above par, but for the strong reactions and lively discussion it has engendered among film fans. It has been of great interest to me to read the fallout today and see separate camps spring up on either side of the debate. So many nuanced positions being taken and passionately argued. It is irrelevant whether or not any is more right than the other. The meaningful thing is that this film has people talking, thinking and discussing a piece of cinematic art. Not to nitpick how faithful it was to some superhero's convoluted origin story or whether the two leads had an off screen liaison that destroyed one of their marriages. Nothing so trivial. The discussion is about what these characters lives and deaths meant and how it resonated or didn't with each individual. This film has moved people and made them contemplate their mortality, their mettle and what they love most and hold most dear. It is a somber, lofty exploration of weighty issues and should be regarded accordingly.

I appreciate a film that dares to be this bleak and still somehow reaches the multiplex. It was magnificent to see this on a huge screen with pristine projection and eardrum decimating sound. It upset me, it infuriated me, I laughed, I cried, I nodded approvingly at Neeson's bad ass antics. I was moved and felt strongly about it. That it has had this effect on most is undeniable and should be acknowledged. Even if it didn't play out exactly as some of us might have preferred, we should be grateful it has inspired thought and discussion that has engaged both the head and the heart.