Embracing the Melodrama Part II #7: Of Human Bondage (dir by John Cromwell)

Posted on April 7, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

“I don’t mind.”

— Mildred Rogers (Bette Davis) in Of Human Bondage (1934)

For the next three weeks, I will reviewing, in chronological order, 126 cinematic melodramas. It’s a little something that I like to call Embracing the Melodrama Part II. We started things off yesterday by taking a look at the silent classic Sunrise. Today, we continue with a quick look at the 1934 literary adaptation, Of Human Bondage.

Of Human Bondage opens with Philip Carey (Leslie Howard) living in Paris and struggling to make a living as a painter. The son of a prominent doctor, Philip is self-conscious about both his club foot and his abilities as an artist. When he invited an older artist to take a look at his work, Philip is informed, “There is no talent here. You will be nothing but mediocre.” Philip gives up his artistic ambitions and instead enters medical school.

Philip turns out to be just as miserable and moody as a medical student as he was when he was a painter. (Indeed, Philip may be one of the most miserable characters in cinematic history.) However, he does meet and becomes rather obsessed with a waitress named Mildred (Bette Davis). For her part, Mildred has little use for Philip or any of the other men who are constantly hitting on her. Whenever Philip asks her out, Mildred replies, “I don’t mind.” When Philip asks if he might kiss her goodnight, Mildred coolly replies, “No.”

Philip remains obsessed with Mildred, to the extent that he nearly flunks out of medical school because he can’t stop thinking about her. Mildred, however, eventually leaves Philip for the far more wealthy Emil Miller (Alan Hale). Eventually, Philip meets Norah (Kay Johnson), a romance novelist who falls as deeply in love with Philip as he did with Mildred. However, when the now pregnant Mildred reenters his life, Philip abandons Norah and goes back to her.

And so it goes for the next few years. Philip obsesses over Mildred. Mildred abandons Philip. Philip moves on. Mildred reenters Philip’s life. With each reappearance, Mildred appears to be growing weaker and sicker but she’s never so weak that she can’t yell at Philip and ridicule him for having a club foot…

It’s a little bit strange to admit to enjoying a film like Of Human Bondage because, when you get right down to it, it’s an unpleasant story about an unlikable man being manipulated by a heartless woman. But, interestingly enough, it’s Mildred’s unapologetic anger that make her such a compelling character. If Philip was in any way a sympathetic character, the film would be almost unbearably grim. But since Philip is such a weak-willed character and is so full of self-pity, you can’t help but be happy that Mildred is around to call him out on his bullshit. Everyone else in the film is so awful and boring, that you can’t help but appreciate the fact that Mildred never holds back.

Have you ever wondered why, every Oscar telecast, the Academy makes a point of letting us know that an independent accounting firm counted all of the ballots? Well, it’s because of this film. Or, more specifically, it’s because of Bette Davis’s ferocious performance. In 1935, when Davis somehow failed to be nominated for best actress, there was such outrage and so many people assumed that the nomination process had been rigged that the Academy actually allowed people to write in her name on their ballots. (Davis still lost to Claudette Colbert.) In order to avoid any future controversy, the Academy hired a private accounting firm to count and hold onto the ballots. (And if you’re curious about how that desire to avoid controversy is working out for the Academy, I was one words for you: Selma.) When, the next year, Bette Davis won the Oscar for best actress, it was widely assumed that it was largely to make up for being snubbed for Of Human Bondage.

If you want to see a good Leslie Howard film, go with Berkeley Square. But if you want to see a great Bette Davis film, watch Of Human Bondage.

Embracing the Melodrama Part II #6: Berkeley Square (dir by Frank Lloyd)

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

For today’s final entry in Embracing the Melodrama Part II, we take a look at the 1933 film, Berkeley Square.

Berkeley Square opens in 1784. An American named Peter Sandish (Leslie Howard) has come from New York to England. Stopping off at an inn, he explains that he’s on his way to London. He has distant relations who live in a mansion located in Berkeley Square and it’s been arranged that Peter is going to marry his cousin, Kate Pettigrew (Valerie Taylor). As Standish talks, he’s interrupted by another man who excitedly announces that a Frenchman has flown across the English Channel in something called a “balloon.”

“It’s beginning,” Peter says, “A new age of speed and innovation…”

Suddenly, the film jumps forward over a hundred years. In 1933, Standish’s descendant — also named Peter and also played by Leslie Howard — has inherited the family’s old house at Berkeley Square. He’s spent several days locked away in the mansion, obsessively reading the first Peter’s diary and refusing to see his fiancée, Marjorie (Betty Lawford).

It turns out that Peter — much like Owen Wilson in Midnight in Paris — is frustrated with the modern world and desperately wants to live in the past. He believes that if he continues to stay in the house, he will eventually be transported back to 1784. When a friend points out that, even if time travel was possible, Peter would end up changing the past, Peter explains that he’s memorized the first Peter’s diary and, therefore, he knows everything that he needs to say and do.

And then, one night, Peter suddenly does find himself in 1784. Having taken his ancestor’s place, he meets the Pettigrews, makes plans to marry Kate, and attempts to adapt to 18th century London society.

Unfortunately, this turns out to be not as easy as he thought. Despite his best efforts, Peter keeps using 1930s slang and alluding to events that will happen in the future. At first, he explains away his habit of using modern phrases by saying that he’s using common New York expressions. However, the increasingly suspicious Kate takes a list of Peter’s phrases to the U.S. Ambassador (who is none other than future President John Adams) and is informed that nobody in New York speaks that way. As well, Peter’s insistence on regular bathing is viewed as odd by the members of upper class London society. (“I heard he used three buckets of water,” someone accusingly whispers.) Soon, Kate is convinced that Peter has been possessed by a demon.

An even bigger problem for Peter is that he’s not in love with Kate. Instead, he’s fallen in love with Kate’s headstrong younger sister, Helen (Heather Angel). When Helen discovers that Peter is from the future, Peter is forced to decide whether to continue to stay among the “living ghosts” or whether to return to his own time.

Berkeley Square shows on up on TCM fairly frequently and I absolutely love it. To a certain extent, of course, this is because I’m a secret history nerd and there’s a part of me that will always wish that I could travel in time and experience the past firsthand. (That said, after watching Berkeley Square, I don’t think I could handle 18th century hygiene. Agck!) But the main reason that I love Berkeley Square is because I love a good romance. And this is such a romantic film! Heather Angel and Leslie Howard have a really sweet and likable chemistry and, with his performance here, Howard shows why he would be the perfect choice to play the earnest, well-meaning, and ultimately tragic Ashley Wilkes in Gone With The Wind.

Keep an eye out for Berkeley Square. You won’t be sorry.

Embracing the Melodrama Part II #5: Damaged Lives (dir by Edgar G. Ulmer)

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

First released in 1933, Damaged Lives is a prototypical example of the social issue exploitation film. These were films that managed to escape the wrath of the censor by claiming to be an “educational” film that was specifically made to tell the public about a pressing social problem. As a result, audiences could go to a movie like Damaged Lives and see all of the innuendo (and occasionally even a hint of forbidden nudity) that were censored out of mainstream films. In return, the audience would have to spend five minutes or so listening to an authority figure talk about the dangers of juvenile delinquency, drug use, unplanned pregnancy, or venereal disease.

Damaged Lives deals with syphilis. Young executive Donald Bradley (Lyman Williams) has been dating Joan (Diane Sinclair) for a long time but she is hesitant to get married. This, despite the fact that she tells her best girlfriend that “I want a baby more than anything else in the world!” and, since this film is from 1933, good girls were apparently not allowed to have sex until getting married.

“Time for you two to get married!” another friend announces.

“What difference does it make?” Joan asks.

“A lot!” comes the reply.

“We should have been married a long time ago!” a bitter Donald exclaims.

Anyway, while waiting for Joan to finally be ready for marriage, Donald meets Elsie (Charlotte Merriam) and discovers that while good girls don’t have sex, bad girls do. And they give you syphilis! Unfortunately, Donald does not find out about the syphilis until after he and Joan have finally gotten married and Elsie has committed suicide.

What comes next? Scandal, of course! Suddenly, newsboys are screaming, “Extra! Extra!” and everyone in town knows that Elsie had syphilis. Donald doesn’t want to tell Joan that he slept with Elsie but then he’s taken on a tour through a hospital that’s full of people suffering from syphilis. We’re told that the first two people who Donald meets are “innocent.” They contracted syphilis accidentally, one by simply smoking a pipe after it had been used by an infected person. Then Donald sees a man who is in the final stages of illness.

“He got it from a streetwalker!” a doctor barks out, “NOT SO INNOCENT!”

When Joan finds out that both she and Donald have been exposed and that she may have to wait to have a baby, she promptly makes plans to kill all of them…

It may not be obvious from the description above but Damaged Lives is actually rather subdued when compared to some other educational exploitation films. This is no Reefer Madness. In fact, the film’s final scenes — which involve Joan plotting a permanent end to her troubles — have a tragic sort of grandeur to them. Damaged Lives is hardly an overlooked masterpiece but, as far as these type of films go, it’s not bad.

Interestingly enough, Damaged Lives was the first film to be directed by the legendary low-budget filmmaker Edgar G. Ulmer. (Ulmer first came to Hollywood to work on F.W. Murnau’s Sunrise.) Ulmer went on to direct such classic B-movies as The Black Cat, Detour, and The Man From Planet X.

You can watch Damaged Lives below!

Embracing the Melodrama Part II #4: The Struggle (dir by D.W. Griffith)

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Like a lot of the films directed by cinematic pioneer D.W. Griffith, the 1931 film The Struggle is currently available on Netflix. As a result of his direction of the film Birth of the A Nation, Griffith is a controversial historical figure but it cannot be denied that he was one of the most ambitious, talented, and innovative of the silent filmmakers. Unfortunately, like a lot of the great figures of silent film, he did not survive the transition to sound. Griffith directed two sound films. Abraham Lincoln is overly theatrical while The Struggle … well, bleh.

The Struggle tells the story of a married couple whose marriage is threatened by the husband’s alcoholism. Florrie (Zita Johann) only agrees to marry Jimmie (Hal Skelly) on the condition that he stop drinking. And, for several years, Jimmie doesn’t touch a drop of liquor. But, under pressure at work and struggling to support his family, Jimmie finally breaks down, steps into a speakeasy (this film was made during prohibition), and has a drink. Soon, Jimmie is a full-blown alcoholic, wandering the streets of New York while little school children shout, “He’s a beggin’ bum!” at him. Will Jimmie’s life be turned around as the result of hearing a sermon the radio? Or will he just keep drinking himself to death?

This was the last film on which Griffith was credited as being director. (Reportedly, he was an uncredited co-director on San Francisco.) It’s obviously a heart-felt work but, outside of the harrowing shot-on-location scenes of the unshaven Jimmie stumbling down the streets of the Bronx, the film is too overly theatrical and the performances are too stiff and unconvincing to really work. Griffith was still a visual stylist but, watching The Struggle, it’s obvious that he never learned how to work with speaking actors. As well, dialogue that would have worked on a title card came across as being over-the-top and preachy when actually uttered aloud.

That said, The Struggle has some interesting historic value, especially for those of us who tend to take the Libertarian point of view when it comes to the war on drugs. The Struggle opens with a scene that is set at a garden party in 1911. We listen to various conversations being held at each table. Two people debate whether the Biograph Girl is named Mary Pickford or Mary Packard. A man declares that Woodrow Wilson will never be President because he’s a college professor. (This is all the 1931 equivalent of that scene in Titanic where Billy Zane says that a painting was done by “Somebody Picasso. I’m sure nothing will ever become of him….”) Suddenly, scandal hits the garden party as it’s discovered that a woman has had too much to drink and is now drunk. Everyone at the party, on their own, shuns the woman and she is properly shamed.

The film jumps forward to 1923. Prohibition is now the law of the land and we find ourselves in a speakeasy. The thing that we immediately notice is that there are a lot more people in the speakeasy than were at that garden party and every single one of them is drunk. And, since liquor in now illegal, it’s no longer being bought from safe and trustworthy sources. Instead, it’s now being brewed in a back room. One bootlegger holds up a bottle of prohibition liquor and announces it to be poison before then sending it out to be drunk by the Jimmies of the world.

The film’s point, of course, is that community is a lot better when it comes to policing itself than the government is. The Struggle may not be a great film but it certainly has the right message.

Embracing the Melodrama Part II #3: The Big House (dir by George Hill)

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

The 1930 Best Picture nominee The Big House opens with a black Model T car slowly pulling up to the front of a large and imposing prison. Handcuffed in the back seat of the car is a handsome, nervous-looking young man named Kent (Robert Montgomery). Kent is led into the prison where he is forced to hand over all of his possessions to a grim-looking guard. We find out that Kent has been convicted of manslaughter, the result of hitting someone while driving drunk. For the next ten years, this prison (which, we’re told, was designed to house 1,800 but actually holds 3,000) will be Kent’s home.

Kent finds himself sharing a cell with two lifers. Butch (Wallace Beery) is a coolly manipulative sociopath who alternatively counsels and abuses Kent. Meanwhile, Morgan (Chester Morris) tries to protect Kent and even helps him get his cigarettes back from Butch. These three prisoners represent the three faces of prison: Butch is the unrepentant criminal who is actually more at home in prison than in the “real” world. Morgan is the former criminal who has changed his ways but who is apparently destined to spend the rest of his life paying for his poor decisions. And Kent is the young man who has to decide if he’s going to be like Butch or if he’s going to be like Morgan. The Big House makes the still-relevant argument that the American prison system is more likely to turn Kents into Butches than into Morgans.

When the film began, I assumed that Kent would be the main character but actually, he’s secondary to most of the action. From the moment he first shows up, Kent is not particularly sympathetic and he becomes steadily less likable as the film progresses. Instead, the film is more focused on the always-scheming Butch and the regretful Morgan. While Morgan makes plans to escape from captivity and ends up falling in love with Kent’s sister (Leila Hyams), Butch spends his time plotting ways to take over the prison. For his performance as Butch, Wallace Beery won an Oscar but, seen today, it’s obvious that the film’s heart and soul belongs to Chester Morris’s Morgan.

Like a lot of films from the period, The Big House feels undeniably creaky when viewed through modern eyes. The Big House was made at a time when Hollywood was still trying to make the transition from silent to sound films. As such, the film’s pacing is slower than what contemporary audiences are used to and a few of the performances are undeniably theatrical. I can honestly say that I’m never been more aware of how much I take for granted nonstop background music than when I watch a movie from the early 30s.

That said, once you’ve adapted to the different aesthetic, The Big House holds up fairly well. Director George Hill films the prison like a town in a German expressionist horror film and Chester Morris’s performance remains sympathetic and compelling. If the plot seems familiar, it’s important to remember that The Big House is the film first introduced a lot of the clichés that we now take for granted.

The film’s best moments are the ones that deal not with Kent, Butch, and Morgan but instead just the ones that show hordes of prisoners — all anonymous and forgotten men — going about their daily life. It’s during those scenes that you realize just how many people have been crammed into one tiny space and why that makes it impossible for prison to reform the Kents of the world.

Gandhi once said that the true value of any society can be determined by how that society treats its prisoners and The Big House certainly makes that case.

Embracing the Melodrama, Part II: Wings (dir by William Wellman)

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

As I mentioned in my previous review, Sunrise may have won the 1927 Oscar for Unique and Artistic Production but the official winner of the first Academy Award for Best Picture was the silent World War I romantic melodrama, Wings. Wings is one of those films that doesn’t seem to get much respect from contemporary critics, many of whom are quick to dismiss the film as being corny and clichéd. It’s not unusual to see Wings cited as being the first example of the Academy honoring the wrong film.

Wings tells the story of David Armstrong (Richard Arlen) and Jack Powell (Charles “Buddy” Rogers), who both live in the same small town and who are both in love with the pretty but self-centered Sylvia (Jobyna Ralston). Sylvia, meanwhile, is in love with the wealthy David but, when Jack asks for a picture of her, she gives him one that she had been planning to eventually give to David. Meanwhile, Mary (Clara Bow), who is literally the girl next door, pines for Jack.

When World War I breaks out, both Jack and David join the Air Force. At first they’re rivals but, under the pressure of combat and the threat of constant death, they become friends. When David flies, he has a tiny teddy bear to bring him luck. Jack, meanwhile, has Sylvia’s picture. Meanwhile, their tentmate — Cadet White (Gary Cooper) — insists that he doesn’t need any good luck charms and promptly suffers the consequences for upsetting God.

Meanwhile, Mary has joined the war effort and is driving an ambulance around Europe. Will Mary ever be able to convince Jack that they belong together? Will David ever catch the legendary German pilot, Kessler? Perhaps most importantly, will this new bromance be able to survive both war and the charms of Clara Bow? And finally, will anyone be surprised when all of this leads to a tragic conclusion with an ironic twist?

Wings has got such a bad reputation and is so frequently dismissed as being the first case of the Academy picking spectacle over quality that I was actually shocked when I watched it and discovered that Wings is actually a pretty good movie. Yes, it is totally predictable. Every possible war film cliche can be found in Wings. (From the minute that handsome and confident Gary Cooper announced that he didn’t need any lucky charms, I knew he was doomed.) And yes, the film does run long and it does feature a totally out-of-place subplot involving a character played by someone named El Brendel (who was apparently a popular comedian at the time). This is all true but, still, Wings works when taken on its own terms.

Here’s the thing with Wings: the aerial footage is still impressive (all the more so for being filmed without the benefit of CGI) and both Charles “Buddy” Rogers and Richard Arlen are handsome and appealing in a 1927 silent film sort of way. In fact, the entire film is appealing in a 1927 silent film sort of way. This is a time capsule, one that shows what films were like in the 20s and, as a result of the combat scenes, also provides a hint of what lay in the future for the film industry. Most importantly, Wings features Clara Bow, who has been my silent film girl crush ever since I first saw It. Whether she’s attempting to flirt with the clueless Rogers or hiding underneath her ambulance and shouting curses at the Germans flying above her, Clara brings a lot of life to every scene in which she appears.

If you’re a film historian, Wings is one of those films that you simply have to see and, fortunately for you, it’s actually better than you may have been led to think.

It’s currently available on Netflix.

Embracing the Melodrama, Part II: Sunrise (dir by F.W. Murnau)

Posted on April 6, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Last year, I published 60 film reviews under the heading of Embracing the Melodrama. Embracing the Melodrama was one of the first review series that I had ever done and I had so much fun doing it that I figured, “Why not try it again?”

In other words, welcome to Embracing the Melodrama, Part II!

Over the next three weeks, I will posting, in chronological order, 128 reviews of films that embrace the melodrama. As before, these reviews will be in chronological order and they will include everything from Oscar winners to grindhouse exploitation to made-for-television dramas. It should be fun!

And, considering that we’re talking about 128 reviews here, it should at least help me make a dent in my goal to see every single movie that has ever been made.

Let’s start things off by taking a quick look at the 1927 silent film, Sunrise. Directed by German expressionist F.W. Murnau, Sunrise is widely considered to be one of the greatest films ever made and for once, popular opinion is correct. The film tells a simple story. The Woman From The City (Margaret Livingston) takes a vacation out in the country. (We know she’s dangerous because she wears black lingerie.) She stands outside of a farmhouse and whistles. Soon, the Man (George O’Brien) steps out of the farmhouse and joins the Woman. Inside the farmhouse, the Wife (Janet Gaynor) can only dream of what life was like when she and the Man first fell in love.

The Man and the Woman meet at the edge of the lake and kiss as the moon shines down on them. They’re having an affair, though the film — in its dream-like way — leaves it ambiguous as to just how long the affair has been going on. (Indeed, the film almost seems to suggest that The Woman has sprung from the Man’s subconscious, a creation of his darkest desires.) The Woman wants the Man to murder his wife and come back to the city with her. At first, the Man refuses but, as the Woman talks to him, he starts to visualize the city. And, make no mistake about it — the city that the man visualizes is a scary place that resembles the dreamworld of The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. But, at the same time, it’s also a lot more fun than the farm.

Now, you may be wondering why this familiar sounding tale is considered to be one of the best films of all time. The story itself is simple and deliberately allegorical. The film is less about the story and more about how Murnau tells it. Murnau fills the screen with hauntingly surreal images that are both beautiful and frightening at the same time. When the title cards appear on-screen, the lettering literally fades in and out and adds to the entire movie’s dream-like feel. Watch the scene below where the Woman first suggests killing the Wife and the Man visualizes the city:

Infatuated with the Woman, the Man plans to drown the Wife but, at the last minute, has a change of heart. The Wife, however, flees to the city herself. The Man follows her and attempts to win back her love. The city itself changes when the Man and the Wife are in it together. What seemed dark and threatening under the influence of the Woman is now revealed to be fun and vibrant. The film transforms from being an early example of film noir to being a screwball comedy.

How many other films can you think of that feature both a murderous femme fatale and a drunk pig?

And yet, as much joy as the Man and the Wife find in the city, both the farm and the Woman await their eventual return. And there’s a storm coming…

Interestingly enough, at the first Oscar ceremony, two awards were given for Best Picture of the year. The first award — for Outstanding Production — went to Wings, a big budget action spectacular about World War I. The other award — for Unique And Artistic Presentation — went to Sunrise. I’ve read a lot of speculation about which film the Academy meant to name the best of the year but, to me, it’s fairly obvious that the Academy meant for Outstanding Production to honor the year’s big blockbusters while Unique and Artistic Presentation would honor the “art” films.

And, to be honest, I think that, way back in 1928, the Academy had the right idea. Why should they only give out one award for best picture, as if all films can be judged by only one standard? Why not give out separate awards for the best comedy or the best thriller or the best film made for a certain amount of money? Why not bring back the Oscar for Unique and Artistic Presentation?

For whatever reason, the Academy discontinued the Unique and Artistic Presentation Award after the 1st ceremony and, in the future, only one film would be named best of the year. Since Outstanding Production eventually become known as Best Picture, Wings has been immortalized as the first film to win best picture.

And, nothing against Wings, but the Academy would have been smarter to have gone with Sunrise. Certainly, it would have won them the respect of future film students.

You can watch Sunrise below!

Film Review: Going Clear: Scientology and The Prison of Belief (dir by Alex Gibney)

Posted on March 29, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Going Clear: Scientology and the Prison of Belief is one of the most genuinely creepy documentaries that I’ve ever seen.

Going Clear, which premiered on HBO earlier tonight, created a stir at Sundance earlier this year. Based on a book by journalist Lawrence Wright and directed by veteran and award-winning documentarian Alex Gibney, Going Clear is both a history and an expose of the notoriously secretive church of Scientology. Featuring interviews with 8 former members of the church (including actor Jason Beghe and Crash director Paul Haggis), there’s a lot of information to be found in Going Clear but most reviews seem to concentrate on the picture that the documentary paints of two of Scientology’s top celebrity adherents, John Travolta and Tom Cruise.

And yes, there is a lot of speculation and, in Cruise’s case, accusations about the two men to be found in Going Clear. But, honestly, Going Clear is about a lot more than just celebrity gossip. Ultimately, it’s a disturbing portrait of a cult that uses the facade of glamour to hide a culture of abuse, exploitation, and paranoia. It’s easy to laugh at Scientology because, by this point, we all know about evil lord Xenu and we’ve all seen that South Park episode. We’ve seen The Master, which featured Philip Seymour Hoffman as an almost likable charlatan. Going Clear, however, makes a very convincing case that Scientology may be silly but it’s also nothing to laugh about.

The film opens with the story of L. Ron Hubbard, who is portrayed as being a pathological liar who channeled his need to tell stories into a prolific career as a pulp novelist. We hear an intriguing story about Hubbard’s brief friendship with occultist and scientist Jack Parsons. When Hubbard writes a self-help book called Dianetics, a mix of pseudo-science and pseudo-psychology, he launches the movement that will eventually become known as Scientology.

And, for the first 40 minutes of this film, it’s still easy to be rather dismissive of Hubbard. When he’s seen in archival footage, he’s a ludicrous but deceptively non-threatening figure, a con artist who got lucky. In fact, when he first appeared and started talking about his “beliefs,” my first reaction was to marvel at how perfectly Philip Seymour Hoffman captured Hubbard’s voice and mannerisms.

But, as Hubbard attracted more and more followers and became more and more powerful, it became apparent that Hubbard was much more than just a flamboyant con artist. We hear about how he grew increasingly paranoid. We hear about how schemed to destroy his enemies and just how easy it was to become one of those enemies. We hear how he eventually retreated onto a boat where his followers obeyed his every whim. Worst of all, we hear about how he kidnapped his youngest child and then taunted his wife by telling her (falsely) that he had the child killed and cut into little pieces.

Perhaps one of the creepiest scenes in the film is when Scientology’s second-in-command, David Miscavige, is seen announcing the 1987 death of L. Ron Hubbard. Dressed in what looks like a military uniform and speaking in perhaps the smarmiest tones ever, Miscavige announces that Hubbard has gone on to another state of being and then salutes a rather ludicrous picture of Hubbard dressed like an admiral. If Going Clear portrays Hubbard as being mentally ill, the portrait that emerges of Miscavige is far more disturbing.

Indeed, the film can be split into two parts. If the first part is about Hubbard’s Scientology, the second part is about the organization under the direction of David Miscavige. The majority of the people interviewed in the film were members under David Miscavige and all of them tell stories about a greedy and secretive organization that uses its tax-exempt status to essentially act outside the law. Stories are told of mental mind games, physical abuse, and constant harassment. In one of the documentary’s most haunting scenes, Sylvia Taylor (who was John Travolta’s former publicist) tells how she was forcefully separated from her baby and sent to work in a forced labor camp.

But, as disturbing as the interviews may be, the actual footage of David Miscavige himself is almost as unsettling. Though Miscavige, Travolta, and Cruise all refused to be interviewed by the film, Going Clear is full of archival footage. We see Miscavige speaking at a series of Nuremberg-style rallies and we listen as Miscavige give speeches that could just as easily pass for a Joel Osteen sermon. When Miscavige announces that the IRS has recognized Scientology as a religion, he does so at a rally and finishes by reminding the huge and well-dressed crowd that their donations will now be tax-deductible. We see Scientology recruitment videos, which all feature clean-cut white kids with permanent and robotic smiles across their faces. Much like the earlier footage of Hubbard, it would be silly if it wasn’t for what we know about the organization.

One reoccurring theme to be found in Going Clear is just how much Scientology values and exploits celebrity. Yes, the film does explore Scientology’s relationship with both John Travolta and Tom Cruise. The film goes so far as to portray Travolta as essentially being a prisoner of Scientology blackmail, a high-profile hostage who will never leave the church because the church knows too much about his private life.

And while it’s hard not to feel some sympathy for Travolta, it’s far more difficult to feel sorry for Tom Cruise. Before I saw Going Clear, I always assumed that Cruise was just another actor with a strange belief. In Going Clear, however, Tom Cruise is portrayed as being a knowing participant in Scientology’s abuses. As Scientology’s most famous member, Cruise is waited on hand-and-foot by adherents who, we’re told, make 30 cents an hour.

Much like David Miscavige, Cruise refused to be interviewed for the documentary but he’s ultimately undone by archival footage. We watch Cruise salute both Miscavige and a portrait of Hubbard. We watch him give a self-congratulatory speech that sounds just as smarmy as anything we’ve heard from Miscavige. Perhaps worst of all, as far as Cruise’s credibility is concerned, we watch a video of Cruise vacantly laughing as he explains what Scientology means to him.

(What’s ironic, of course, is that for all the extra benefits that Cruise gets as a Scientologist, it’s pretty much destroyed his career. Edge of Tomorrow was one of the best movies of 2014 but, at this point, who wants to spend two hours with a Scientologist?)

The film ends with a look at how Scientology deals with people who leave the church. All 8 of the film’s interview subjects have chosen to leave the church and all 8 of them have been harassed and threatened as a result. And, whenever one is tempted to laugh off the craziness of Scientology, they should remember the footage of several Scientologist thugs conducting a surveillance operation on the house and family of a former member.

A portrait of abuse, brainwashing, and greed, Going Clear is a documentary that everyone should see.

The Daily Grindhouse: Project Nightmare (dir by Donald M. Jones)

Posted on March 28, 2015 by Lisa Marie Bowman

Earlier tonight, the Late Night Movie crew and I watched Project Nightmare, an obscure little film from 1987. (Actually, it would be more correct to say that the film was released in 1987. Judging from the clothes, the cars, and the hair, the film was actually made at some point in the 70s.)

The best word that I can think to describe Project Nightmare would be weird. This is just a weird and trippy movie.

The film opens with Gus (Charles Miller) and John (Seth Foster), two friends who played football in college and who are now in the air conditioning business together. Gus is insecure and angst-ridden. John is confident and spends almost the entire movie with his shirt becoming progressively more and more unbuttoned. Gus and John go on a camping trip. As the film opens, they are both running from something that they think attacked their camp site. They’re not quite sure what it was and their descriptions remain frustratingly vague. Even when their mysterious pursuer comes near, we never get a clear look at it. Instead, we just hear buzzing on the soundtrack while the sky changes colors.

Gus and John come across a house sitting in the middle of nowhere. Inside the house is Marcie (Elly Koslo). Marcie doesn’t have a telephone but she does have a bottle of Scotch. As Gus and John drink, they sit on the floor because Marcie doesn’t appear to have any furniture in their house. Their conversation is stiff and oddly stilted and we’re left to wonder if this is the result of bad acting or if it’s just another sign of the film’s overall surreal atmosphere. Gus admits that he wants to sleep with Marcie and then proceeds to tell her a long and confusing story about why he and John are such good friends. John, meanwhile, dreams of a little boy running in a cemetery while a priest makes unintelligible sounds.

The next morning, as the two men leave the house, we hear a howling wind and yet none of the surrounding plant life appears to be swaying. Was this just bad filmmaking or was it another example of the director trying to create a sense of unease? It’s not an easy question to answer but I’m willing to give director Donald Jones the benefit of the doubt.

The two men walk. A mysterious light pursues them. They come across a man sitting in a car. Gus and John get in the car. The man lays down in the back seat and promptly dies. They drive back to Marcie’s house and manage to get Marcie to come outside right before the entire house vanishes. Eventually, they somehow come across an airplane sitting in the middle of the desert. Gus gets in the plane and flies away, leaving John and Marcie behind. Both Marcie and the car vanish. John wanders alone.

And then the movie really starts to get weird…

How weird? I mean weird as in a character finding a pyramid in the middle of the desert. I mean weird like a room where a woman dances in slow motion while a group of shadowy men applaud. I mean weird like a big floating head that taunts those below it…

I mean weird.

And here’s another odd thing about Project Nightmare. I’ve done a google search, I’ve read what it says on the imdb, and there is next to no information out there about how this film came to be. As I previously stated, the film was obviously made nearly a decade before it was actually released. Director Donald Jones served a director, writer, and editor on this and three other films but hasn’t had a film released since 1993. Meanwhile, the film’s cast is also similarly obscure.

Project Nightmare is an enigma. Everything about this film — from the obscure storyline to the miniscule budget to the unnatural dialogue to the stiff acting — comes together to create an otherworldly viewing experience. And that’s why you simply must watch it at least once! Whether it was meant to be or not, Project Nightmare is something of a surrealistic masterpiece.

And guess what?

It’s on YouTube!

Watch it now before it gets taken down.

‘It Follows’ Review (dir. David Robert Mitchell)

Posted on March 28, 2015 by leonth3duke

**Leonard Wilson posted a great review of the film earlier this week, so read that as well!**

‘It Follows’ – which rocks a 70’s vibe and kickin’ score – earns high marks and much admiration in my book for taking an atmosphere that has been done before – and adding enough craftsmanship and creativity – to make it feel fresh, terrifying and surprisingly meaningful.

I am hesitant to go into much detail about the film’s premise. Not because of potential spoilers – this review may contain some so be warned – but because it might come off as too gimmicky to possibly result in the praise that follows. All I can say is trust me…it isn’t.

The film stars Maika Monroe (from the kick-ass 2014 gem ‘The Guest’) as Jay – a girl on the cusp of adulthood. She spends her days lounging in her pool or hanging with her friends – all of which are experiencing the boredom that encompasses those late stages of adolescence. To the disappointment of Paul, one of her male friends who has a crush on her, Jay has recently started dating an older boy named Hugh. He seems nice enough – but an incident at a movie theater hints at something very wrong with him. Jay doesn’t think much of it and on their next date they sleep together. It is a rather uneventful moment – but what comes next leaves everyone shaken and changed. Hugh drugs her – and she wakes up tied to a wheelchair in a rundown building. Hugh doesn’t intend to kill her – instead he wants to force her to see what she will be up against. As he explains – she will now be hunted by a supernatural creature that is part of a curse passed on through intercourse. “It” is slow – only ever being able to walk to its victim – but it never gives up. Anyone afflicted can see this entity – but it is only able to kill the last one to receive the affliction – and will then move down the chain of people who have had it. This leaves Jay stuck having to outrun this persistent and frightening being – all the while she must decide whether to “pass it on” to someone else. Luckily she isn’t alone, and with the help of her friends she tries to find out if this thing can be stopped.

The emotion and fear here is earned – which is all I ask for in these films – though it also exceeded my expectations on all fronts. It did what many of my all time favorite horror films have done – like ‘Halloween’, ‘Black Christmas’ and ‘Repulsion’ it contains a slow building level of suspense and dread. A constant feeling of unease even at its calmest moments. It is the sort of horror that leaves you on the edge of your seat – not in anticipation of the next jump scare – but because you can’t help but frantically search each frame – from corner to corner – to see what or who may be lurking; and it is impossible to trust anyone. On top of that is a fine level of craftsmanship by director David Robert Mitchell on display. The camera brilliantly acting like a jittery onlooker – often spinning and scanning the horizon. This is made all the more heart pounding by the remarkable and kinetic score by Rich Vreeland. As the pressure and suspense builds, so does the score – and it is all released in incredibly effective bursts throughout.

But no matter how effectively scary it is, perhaps what I appreciated most was that like ‘The Babadook’ last year – if you strip away all the supernatural horror aspects – at the very core is still an emotional and layered story worth telling. In ‘The Babadook’ it was a mother dealing with a troubled child and the death of her husband – and with ‘It Follows’ we get a genuine coming of age tale about sex, responsibility and the fears that comes with impending adulthood.

What do I mean by that last bit? For me the ‘It’ wasn’t just some evil monster – but can be seen as a manifestation of the mundanity and uncertainty of the possible future in store for these teens. Some may view the film as being about the consequences of sex. But I never saw it like that. Yes, sex is the catalyst of the curse, but the film never viewed the actual act in a negative light. You are not supposed to walk out thinking “Well I am never having sex again!”

It is just another part of growing up. It is the “growing up” part that really matters. It’s something that often sneaks up on you – but once you pass a certain moment in your life you are forever followed by a sense of responsibility that never leaves. These feels are reflected by Hugh who mentions how he wants to be a child with no worries and a whole new life ahead of him – or by Jay explaining how when she was young the world seemed so open and free; but once she actually grew up she realized there really wasn’t anywhere to go.

I think it is no coincidence that these characters live in Detroit – a broken down city whose future is unknown. They even live with broken parents unhappy with their own lives – Jay’s mother drinks heavily. One can only imagine that these things weigh heavily on them, whether we see that directly or not. Is it any surprise that “It” often takes on the form of those that love and care for them, or are people who are gone that they miss? These are all themes that run through most coming of age stories. That weight, those worries, are what are truly haunting these people. This makes the last scene all the more brilliant and effective for me. Like ‘The Babadook’ there is this idea that these sorts of worries, emotions and struggles don’t just fade away. You can’t just get rid of them and you cannot just run away and hide. But by facing them head on and together with those you love, they can at least be managed. I found it to actually be quite a hopeful way to end. But that’s just my take. The film never tries to shove such a specific meaning down the viewer’s throat. I think there is just enough ambiguity to allow the viewer to find their own – and it is layered enough to require multiple viewings.

At the end of the day I think this is surely worthy of being deemed an instant classic. One that can stand the test of time. Not just because of how effectively scary it is – but also because it deals with themes that can be appreciated from generation to generation. That, along with just how damn well made it is, makes it the best film I have seen so far this year – and a must see by everyone.