George Clooney’s new political film The Ides of March opened last Friday and so far it appears to have mostly gotten positive reviews that are more respectful than enthusiastic. Well, I saw The Ides of March on Tuesday evening and all I can say is “Don’t believe everything you hear.” That should be a given but it’s always worth repeating. The Ides of March is a slow, ponderous, and at times completely annoying movie, a minor work dealing with major themes.
The film is based on the play Farragut North and it’s about Stephen (Ryan Gosling), a political consultant who is working on the presidential campaign of Gov. Mike Morris (George Clooney). Morris is a typical Hollywood Democratic politician in that he gives a lot of speeches attacking America’s dependence on foreign oil and he’s not ashamed to admit that he’s an atheist. Anyway, despite the fact that Morris comes across as being smug and something of a sexist, he’s the front runner for the Democratic Presidential nomination but only if he can win the Ohio primary. For all of his attempts to be as cynical as his mentor (Philip Seymour Hoffman, giving a typical Philip Seymour Hoffman performance), Stephen truly believes in Mike Morris. However, Stephen comes across some information that could potentially destroy Morris’ campaign and he soon finds himself a pawn in a game between Morris, the press (represented by Marisa Tomei, who looks terrible in this film), and the opposing campaign (managed by Paul Giamatti).
Yes, The Ides of March has a lot to say but it’s absolutely nothing you haven’t heard before and, quite frankly, it’s kind of annoying how the film seems to think that this is the first time that anyone’s ever suggested that maybe politics is a dirty business. The film’s not a total waste because there’s way too many talented people involved here for the film not to have the occasional good moment. Gosling and Clooney both give strong performances and play off each other well. They have a scene where they confront each other in a deserted kitchen and for a few brief seconds, the film actually gets interesting. Playing an emotionally unstable intern, Evan Rachel Wood shows once again that she’s one of the best actresses working today and it’s just a shame that the film treats her more like a plot device than an actual human being. At the same time, I have to say that this is the first time I’ve ever seen Paul Giamatti actually give a performance that can only be called bad. Seriously, how could the same actor who was so brilliant in Win Win be so terrible in this movie?
Ultimately though, the film fails because — once you get past all the glamour on-screen — what you have is a very predictable political film that, especially in these days of Tea Parties and Occupy Movements, feels rather quaint and forced. This is yet another one of those films where, apparently, the only way that the main character can learn a lesson is for a supporting character to commit suicide. There’s a lot of would-be cynical dialogue and Clooney manages to include references to Rush Limbaugh and the Drudge Report but ultimately, the whole film feels as false as the romantic short stories I used to write in the 8th grade.
The film’s name is obviously meant to carry hints of Shakespeare but perhaps a more honest title would have been Much Ado About Nothing.
Brighton Rock is a British film noir that’s currently both playing in limited release and which is also available via video-on-demand. Based on a novel by Graham Greene, Brighton Rock is the story of Pinkie (Sam Riley), a sociopathic gangster who murders a gambler. The chase leading up to the murder is witnessed by a mousey waitress named Rose (Andrea Riseborough) who doesn’t realize what she’s actually seen. In order to keep her quiet, Pinkie marries Rose. Rose, however, works for Ida (Helen Mirren) and Ida just happens to have been friends with the murdered gangster. Realizing that Rose is in danger, Ida takes it upon herself to expose Pinkie for the murderer he is.
Brighton Rock is a visually striking film and it has a handful of good performances but it never quite comes together. Before making his feature film directing debut here, Rowan Joffe wrote the script for last year’s The American and, much like The American, Brighton Rock has an abundance of style and is full of references to the classic crime films of the 60s and 70s. Also, much like The American, the style — too often — seems to exist separately from any larger vision. As a result, the film ultimately feels like several disconnected — if pretty scenes — strung together by convenience. The film has an intriguing-enough plot but the narrative lacks any sort of forward momentum. Interestingly enough, Greene used the story of Pinkie, Rose, and Ida to examine larger theological issues within the Catholic church. With the exception of a scene where Pinkie prays, an over-the-top sequence featuring a judgmental nun, and a few inserts of crucifixes artfully hanging on grimy walls, Joffe pretty much jettisons the story’s religious angle but without it, Pinkie and Rose’s actions make a lot less sense.
Joffe’s decision to cast Sam Riley, whom I’ve had a crush on ever since I first saw Control, in the lead role of Pinkie is problematic. It’s not that Riley gives a bad performance because he doesn’t. He makes a convincing psychopath and if he’s never quite charming enough to be a true anti-hero, he’s still makes Pinkie into a compelling figure. Unfortunately, Riley is still totally miscast in the film. In Graham Greene’s original novel, Pinkie was only 17 years old. Sam Riley is 31 and looks even older. Unfortunately, all of the other characters in the film continually refer to him as “the kid.” John Hurt, at one point, gives a monologue in which he wonders how someone so young could be so evil. But Riley isn’t young and as a result, I found myself wondering just how old someone had to be before they were considered to be an adult in 1960s England.
Still, if nothing else, Joffe gets some good performances from his supporting cast. Andrea Riseborough manages to be both poignant and annoying as Rose while Andy Serkis appears to be having a lot of fun playing a slightly ludicrous gangster. Not surprisingly, Helen Mirren commands every scene she appears in and she and John Hurt have got a great chemistry. Regardless of how you might feel about the film as whole, it’s impossible not to enjoy their scenes together. They’re final scene together made me squeal with delight and, in the end, that has to count for something.
The Last House On The Left (1972, dir by Wes Craven, DP: Victor Hurwitz)
The grindhouse mourns today for actor David Hess, who passed away on Saturday at the age of 69.
Where to start with David Hess? He would probably start with the fact that, before he become an actor, he was a succesful songwriter whose songs were performed by Elvis Presley and Pat Boone. He was also a singer himself and can be heard performing his brand of dark folk in several of the films that he later appeared in. He won a Grammy for co-writing a rock opera called “The Naked Carmen.” He was also good friends with the writer, actor and political activist, Malachy McCourt (brother of Angela’s Ashes author Frank McCourt) and recorded an album with him. Hess never stopped making music and he even recorded a few tracks for Eli Roth’s Cabin Fever.
However, David Hess is probably best known for playing assorted rapists, killers, and other unpleasant people in over 30 films. Starting with his iconic performance as Krug in Wes Craven’s original Last House On The Left, Hess quickly established himself as one of the most believable (and scary) villains in the grindhouse world. Whether he was holding Franco Nero hostage in Hitch-Hike, terrorizing guests while wearing a canary yellow suit in The House On The Edge of the Park, or playing a rare good guy in Camping Del Terrore (a film which co-starred another recently deceased grindhouse favorite, Charles Napier), Hess was always both bigger-than-life and a surprisingly underrated actor. Hess may have made a career out of playing killers but every killer was unique and special in his own twisted way.
Like many movie psychos, David Hess was a funny, sensitive, and, at time, erratic interview subject. Interviews with him can be found on the DVD releases of Hitch-Hike, The House on the Edge of The Park, and Last House On The Left and all three of them are worth owning for that reason alone.
While I doubt those toadsuckers in the Academy will see fit to honor David Hess during next year’s Oscar ceremony, he will forever be remembered by film fans (i.e., the people who actually matter).
The House On The Edge of the Park (1980, dir by Ruggero Deodato, DP: Sergio D’Offizi)
David not only starred in Last House On The Left but he also composed the music. Below is his song, Wait For The Rain.
And even though he didn’t compose the soundtrack for The House On The Edge of the Park, here’s a clip of David Hess watching Giovanni Lombardo Radice dance in that film. Yes, I’ve shown this clip before but I just happen to love it. This clip proves, once again, that even in a canary yellow suit, David Hess could still dominate a scene.*
Since I previously reviewed two classic horror films from Mario Bava, it now seems like the perfect time to watch a film from Herb Wallerstein, called Snowbeast. Well, no, not really. In fact, to be honest, Snowbeast seems to exist on a totally different planet from either Black Sabbath or Planet of the Vampires. The two latter films are classics of cinema that should be seen by everyone, regardless of the season. Snowbeast, on the other hand, is the epitome of the perfect movie to turn on for background noise. Snowbeast is fun, unthreatening, likable, and ultimately rather forgettable. But sometimes, especially when it comes to finding something safe but appropriate to watch during the Halloween season, that is exactly what’s needed.
Snowbeast was originally made in 1977 and wow, does it show. According to Wikipedia (see, I do to research my claims occasionally), Snowbeast was originally a made-for-tv movie and it has retained a “cult following.” Well, I don’t know if I quite see the film’s cult appeal though it’s certainly better than any 82-minute tv show has any right to be. The film has also entered into the public domain, which, of course, means that it’s been released in a few thousand different Mill Creek box sets. Last time I counted, I actually had four different box sets that featured Snowbeast. So, if nothing else, I’ll always have Snowbeast.
Snowbeast takes place at a ski resort. An unseen monster is killing tourists. The sheriff (Clint Walker) thinks the monster is a yeti. Nobody believes him and the owner of the ski resort — Sylvia Sidney, who once starred in films directed by Josef Von Sternberg — is more interested in making money off of vacationers than in protecting the public safety. Now, if this happened today, I’d imagine there would be an OccupySnowBeast demonstration or something. However, since this film was made in the 70s, this instead just leads to Walker and Bo Svenson going off into the mountains to track down and kill the snowbeast.
Now, the plot of Snowbeast may sound a little familiar and that’s because it’s basically the exact same plot as Jaws except the water has been replaced with snow-capped mountains and the shark is now a Yeti. But otherwise, it’s pretty much the exact same story, right down to the greedy businesspeople going, “Shut down the mountain!? That’ll be bad for tourism!” and the film’s 3 heroes all giving each other knowing looks when the wrong bear is killed and paraded in front of the cheering townspeople. (That said, I have to say that if you love spotting overreacting extras in crowd scenes, this is the film for you.)
So, Snowbeast doesn’t win any points for originality but I’m willing to cut it some slack. Even though it’s a bit before my time, I’ll bet that Snowbeast wasn’t the only low-budget B-movie to rip off Jaws in the 70s and you don’t really watch a movie called Snowbeast for the plot anyway. You watch a movie called Snowbeast because you’re looking for something silly that won’t require too much thought. And that’s a perfect description of Snowbeast. It’s a film that’s done well enough that you won’t hate yourself for watching but, at the same time, is so predictable that you can do about a hundred other things while it’s playing without running the risk of missing anything important. It is literally a movie that you can start watching at any point after it’s started.
Ironically enough, Snowbeast is actually more effective because it was made for television. Yes, you don’t get the gore, sex, or profanity that you would typically expect from one of these films but it also means that you don’t get to see the killer Yeti except for one very brief shot. Otherwise, the Snowbeast of the title is represented by point-of-view shots of the monster about to attack some unsuspecting skier. As I’ve mentioned in other horror reviews, our imaginations will always come up with something scarier than even the most effective of special effects and Snowbeast‘s low budget origins force us to use our imagination more than the typical monster film would. As well, the snowy setting is beautiful to look at and if you’re a fan of watching people ski (and ski and ski and ski) this is the film for you. Seriously.
As if October wasn’t already scary enough, my laptop is slowly dying and, with my luck, it probably won’t even return as a zombie. Fortunately, it still has enough life in it for me to do at least one more edition of Lisa Marie’s Favorite Grindhouse and Exploitation Trailers.
1) The Curse of the Crimson Altar (1968)
This is apparently an old Hammer film. I haven’t seen it but the image of a blue Barbara Steele seems to show up in just about every other horror movie guide.
I actually have this on DVD but I haven’t watched it yet and this trailer doesn’t exactly inspire a whole lot of hope. That said, I love how the narrator makes such an effort to sound enthusiastic. Our next trailer will feature “Oscar nominee” Linda Blair as well…
This is a good example of an accidental grindhouse film. The producers and the director may have been going for something different but the end results are pretty much evident from the trailer. The best thing about this trailer is Ennio Morricone’s score. (By the way, I would also suggest that all of you people going all cuckoo over the teaser trailer for David Fincher’s Girl With The Dragon Tattoo compare this relatively entertaining trailer with the actual film it was advertising.)
For my latest horror review, I will be reviewing another classic film from one of my favorite directors, Mario Bava. Following the suggestion of my twitter friend Tom, I spent last night watching Bava’s 1963 classic Black Sabbath.
Starring Boris Karloff, Black Sabbath is a compilation film that’s made up of three different horror-themed stories. Originally entitled Three Faces of Fear, Black Sabbath has been released in many different versions over the years. Depending on which version you seen, the stories may be in a different order than in the order that Bava intended. The version I watched was the original, uncut, Italian-language version that was released by Anchor Bay. For those of you who want to truly experience the genius of Mario Bava, this is the version to see.
Black Sabbath begins with Boris Karloff playing himself, giving a deliberately over-the-top introduction and informing us that there could very well be vampires and werewolves sitting next to us in the theater. Yes, it’s silly and yes, it’s campy but it’s also a lot of fun. A lot of this is because these words are delivered by Karloff, an actor who could make even the silliest of dialogue sound important. The other part is that, as silly as the introduction may be, it’s beautiful to look at. Instead of going for the standard spooky narrator in a cobweb-filled library approach, Bava frames Karloff standing against a brilliant dark blue backdrop that establishes that this isn’t just your typical horror host … this is BORIS FREAKIN’ KARLOFF!
After Karloff’s introduction, we move on to the first of Black Sabbath’s three separate stories, The Telephone.
In The Telephone, Michele Mercier plays a Parisian prostitute who returns to her apartment after an evening out. As she tries to change for bed, her bright red telephone rings. Every time Mercier opens the phone, she hears a man’s voice taunting and threatening her. Finally, the caller claims to be Frank, Mercier’s former pimp who has just escaped from prison. The terrified Mercier calls her estranged lesbian lover (Lydia Alfonsi). Alfonsi comes over to the basement to comfort Mercier. However, what Mercier doesn’t realize is that it wasn’t Frank calling her. It was Alfonsi, pretending to be Frank. However, needless to say, there’s more twists to come before the night’s over.
Of the three segments, The Telephone is probably the least succesful if just because it has the most pedestrian plot. At the same time, this segment also show just how good Bava was at creating tension even with so-so material. Speaking as someone who has been stalked in the past, I can say that both Mercier and Bava perfectly captures the way that one seemingly simple intrusion on your privacy can leave you suddenly feeling very isolated and very alone. Finally, even after the segment’s over, it’s impossible to forget the sight of that vibrantly red phone sitting like a lurking monster in that artfully drab apartment.
The Telephone is followed by probably the film’s most famous segment, The Wurdalak.
Based on a short story by Tolstoy, The Wurdalak opens with a Russian nobleman (played Italian exploitation mainstay Mark Damon) on a long trip through the Russian wilderness. He comes across a headless corpse with a dagger plunged into its heart. Damon takes the dagger as a morbid souvenir of his trip.
As night falls, Damon comes across a small cottage and asks the family inside for shelter. Inside the cottage, Damon discovers a wall that is covered with daggers similar to the one he found earlier. His hosts explain that the daggers belong to the family patriarch, Gorcha (Boris Karloff). Gorcha left five days earlier to kill a wurdolak (or vampire, by any other name). As the family waits for Gorcha to return, not knowing whether or not he himself is now a vampire, Damon finds himself falling in love with Gorcha’s daughter. When Gorcha finally does return, it’s obvious that he’s not the same man he was when he originally left.
Of the three segments, The Wurdolak is probably the most obviously Bavaesque and a whole lot of the same images and themes would later turn up in Bava’s masterwork, Kill, Baby, Kill. Everything, from the constantly howling wind to the sense of isolation to the well-meaning but ultimately impotent upper-class hero, is classic Bava. Special mention should also be made of Boris Karloff’s performance here. Because Karloff was best known for appearing in “monster” movies, he never gets enough recognition for being a pretty good actor. His performance here, which is full of malice and threat, is just as menacing as his earlier appearance in the introduction was fun and campy.
The final segment of the film is entitled The Drop of Water.
In many ways, The Drop of Water is the simplest segment of the film but for me, personally, it’s also the scariest. In London, a nurse (Jacqueline Pierreux) is called to a large house to prepare a medium for burial. While doing this. the nurse notices a large (and, quite frankly, kinda gaudy) ring on the medium’s finger. The nurse steals the ring and returns to her own apartment. As soon as she goes to her apartment, she finds herself haunted by increasingly ominous events: a buzzing fly refuses to leave her alone, the sound of water dripping echoes through the apartment, the lights go on and off, and — naturally — a mysterious figure suddenly appears in her bedroom.
Mixing the sense of growing paranoia that characterized The Telephone with Wurdolak’s sense of predestined, metaphysical doom, The Drop of Water is the perfect concluding chapter of Black Sabbath. It also happened to scare the Hell out of me. Along with Bava’s usual superb direction, this film was distinguished by some wonderfully creepy make-up work. Seriously, once that mysterious figure reveals itself, you’ll wish it hadn’t.
I usually don’t enjoy compilation films because, too often, it seems that you’re lucky if you get just one above average story surrounded by a bunch of forgettable filler. Far too often, the stories themselves don’t seem to go together. Instead, they just appear to have been tossed together randomly with the weakest of possible connection. Black Sabbath is an exception and that’s largely because of Mario Bava’s iconic direction. The stories aren’t linked together by plot as much as their linked together by motif and theme. Each story — from the emphasis on isolation to the creative use of color to suggest mood and menace — is linked by Bava’s style. Boris Karloff may have been the name emphasized in the credits but the true star of Black Sabbath is Mario Bava.
The genius of Bava wasn’t in the originality of the stories he told but instead, in the new ways that he found to tell familiar stories. Usually, I hate it when directors describe themselves as being about “style” as opposed to “substance.” Too often, it seems like that’s just an excuse to not come up with an interesting story. However, Bava is one of the few directors about whom the term “style over substance” can be used as a compliment. Bava knew how to make style into art and he certainly did that in Black Sabbath.
Later tonight, I’m going to watch Mario Bava’s Black Sabbath but before I do, I want to take a few minutes to review another one of Bava’s films, 1965’s sci-fi/horror hybrid Planet of the Vampires.
Taking place in the far future, Planet of the Vampires begins with two space ships receiving a distress call from an unexplored planet. While landing, the two ships are separated from each other. As the Argos lands, its crew is possessed by an unknown force and suddenly start trying to kill each other. Only the ship’s captain (Barry Sullivan, who gives a surprisingly good performance in a role that most actors would have just sleepwalked through) is able to resist and he manages to snap the rest of the crew out of their hypnotic state.
Once the Argos lands, search parties are sent out to find the other ship. They find themselves on a barren planet where the surface is obscured by a thick, multi-colored fog. As they wander through the planet, it quickly becomes apparent that they aren’t alone. The searchers may have left the ship as human but they return as something else all together. It all leads up to a surprisingly bleak conclusion.
If the plot of Planet of the Vampires sounds familiar, that’s because it’s probably one of the most influential, if not widely known, films of all time. The film has been imitated in several other, far more expensive films but few of them manage to capture Planet of the Vampires’ sense of isolation and impending doom. With this film, Bava again showed that he was one of the few directors wh0 could accomplish so much with so little. While this isn’t an actor’s film, fans of Italian horror will squeal with delight to see Ivan Rassimov pop up here in a small role.
I’ve mentioned Planet of the Vampires before on this site when I was giving 10 reasons why I hated Avatar. To me, Planet of the Vampires stands as proof that you don’t need a gigantic budget to make an effective horror (or sci-fi film). In fact, often times, all a huge budget does is shut down the audience’s imagination and quite frankly, nothing on film will ever be as impressive as what the audience can imagine. With Planet of the Vampires, all that Mario Bava had to create an alien world were two plastic rocks and a smoke machine. Working without the crutch of CGI, Bava had to pull off most of the film’s special effects “in camera,” and he would later say that one of the benefits of all that smoke was that it helped to obscure just how low budget this film was. In short, Bava was working under circumstances that James Cameron would refuse to even consider and yet Planet of the Vampires holds up better upon repeat viewings than Avatar ever will. The low-budget forced Bava to emphasize atmosphere over effects. Yes, this film has its share of gore (it’s an Italian horror film, after all) but ultimately, this is another example of a horror film that works because of what it doesn’t show. This is a film that exploits your imagination, working its way into the darker corners of your consciousness. Bava creates a palpable atmosphere of doom that makes Planet of the Vampires into a surprisingly effective film.
For my first horror review of October, I want to tell you about a movie that was directed by one of my favorite Italian filmmakers, Lucio Fulci. That movie is the unjustly neglected Gato nero, or the Black Cat.
In The Black Cat (loosely — and I do mean loosely — based on Edgar Allan Poe’s short story), the great David Warbeck plays a detective who is sent to a small English village to investigate a series of mysterious deaths. Corpses are turning up covered in scratches. A man crashes his car after a black cat suddenly shows up in the passenger’s seat. A young couple is found dead in a locked-up boathouse. Evidence suggests that the killer entered through a small air vent. No human could fit through that vent but…how about a cat? Warbeck enlists the aid of a visiting American photographer (Mimsy Farmer) to investigate the crimes and he soon comes across a half-crazed medium (Patrick Magee) who just happens to own an adorable, if ill-tempered, black cat…
Fulci is well-known for directing such seminal (and gory) horror films as Zombi 2 and The Beyond trilogy. The Black Cat was made during the same period of time as his more infamous films but it has never received as much attention. Perhaps that’s because The Black Cat almost doesn’t feel like a Fulci film. The gore is played down, the plot is coherent and (for a Fulci film) surprisingly linear, and the film even has a playful sense of humor to it. Indeed, this often feels more like a minor, if entertaining, Hammer film than a Fulci film. However, visually, this film is clearly the work of Lucio Fulci. With his constantly prowling camera following isolated characters through dark streets and passageways, Fulci manages to make a small English village feel just as menacing as the dying Caribbean island from Zombi 2. For all the attention given to Fulci as a “master of gore,” the true strength of his best films came from Fulci’s ability to create a palpable atmosphere of dread. Fulci used gore as a tool but not as a crutch and if The Black Cat is a minor Fulci film, it’s still a film that proves that he was a far better director than even many of his fans give him credit for.
The Black Cat is surprisingly well-acted by a cast that’s made up of an appealing combination of Fulci regulars and English B-movie veterans. I read an old interview in which Warbeck complained that he felt his performance here was “boring,” but actually he was the perfect lead for this type of film, likable and with enough of a sense of humor to keep you watching. Al Cliver may not be a household name but he and his blonde mustache seemed to show up in just about every movie Fulci made and he shows up here as well. This time, he’s playing a local English constable and he’s no more believable here than he was playing a scientist in The Beyond or a boat captain in Zombi 2. Still, any true Fulci fan will always be happy to see Cliver show up in a Fulci film because — much like familiar but bland wall paper — he lets us know that we’re home. Patrick Magee is probably best known for his over-the-top performance as Mr. Alexander in A Clockwork Orange. Magee goes just as much over-the-top here but, just as in A Clockwork Orange, Magee’s performance fits in perfectly with the film he’s appearing in. Much as Stanley Kubrick contrasted Magee’s performance with Malcolm McDowell’s more subtle work, Fulci contrasts Magee’s theatrical approach with the more relaxed performances of Warbeck and Farmer. Did I just compare Lucio Fulci to Stanley Kubrick? Yes, I did and I stand by it.
However, the real star of this film is the black cat. Trust me, this black cat (or black cats as I imagine several were used) is both adorable and blood-thirsty. I still say that our cat Doc is the cutest black cat in the world but this film’s murderous feline comes in a very close second.
As I try to put into words my reaction to the new film Dream House, one phrase comes to mind:
Bleh.
Dream House is about this guy played by Daniel Craig who we’re told, at the start of the film, is a writer. He’s moved out to his “Dream House” out in the middle of one of those cinematic suburban communities. He shares his dream house with his wife Libby (Rachel Weisz) and his two little girls. However, things aren’t quite what they seem. The girls keep seeing a shadowy figure watching them. Teenagers keep performing Satanic rituals in the basement. Craig’s neighbor looks just like Naomi Watts. Oh no! Has he been sucked into Mulholland Drive!?
No, not quite. Instead, he’s just found himself trapped in a painfully slow movie that takes itself and it’s half-baked plot way too seriously. This film is being advertised as if it’s a horror movie but there’s nothing scary about it and it’s almost as if the film itself is refusing to lower itself to providing us with any “cheap” thrills. The film instead is a mystery but it’s one of those mysteries where we discover the solution not through any artfully placed clues but instead by random characters showing up and having flashbacks.
There’s a big twist about 80 minutes into this 99 minute film and, as a reviewer, I know that it would not be right for me to spoil that twist. Fortunately, however, Morgan Creek Productions decided to include that twist in the film’s trailer so, if you want to know, here you go:
Again, it takes this film 80 minutes to reach the twist that the trailer reveals after 1 minutes and 17 seconds. So, as a result, you spend the first 80 minutes going, “Okay, we know…” Once the twist is revealed, there’s only 18 minutes to wrap up the film’s plot and this is done in the clumsiest way imaginable.
Now, one reason for this might be that the film’s producers reportedly clashed with director Jim Sheridan and eventually took the film away from him. Sheridan, Craig, and Watts have all refused to do any promotion for the film and have publicly stated that they hate the version that has been released. I don’t know. My natural impulse has always been to side with the artists as opposed to the corporate people. After all, we’ve all heard about what happened to Erich Von Stroheim’s original cut of Greed and about what Terry Gilliam went through with Brazil. Still, it’s hard to look at the assembled footage and see any hint that this film could have been anything more than the film that’s currently playing at your local theater.
When I told Arleigh about my feelings towards Dream House, he asked me if I felt it was the “worst one of the year.” I wouldn’t go quite that far. Dream House is forgettable but it’s not as pompous as The Conspirator or as insulting as Straw Dogs.
Well, here it is October 1st and you know what that means. It’s time for horror, horror, and more horror. This edition of Lisa Marie’s Favorite Grindhouse and Exploitation Trailers is dedicated to just that. So, without further ado, let’s jump into the world of ghosts, zombies, maniacs, and Paul Naschy…
Though this appears to be a fairly standard old school Jamie Lee Curtis slasher film, I like this trailer a lot. The opening shots of the train are nicely ominous, the shots of winter are perfectly matched with the trailer’s grim atmosphere, and it’s interesting to see Ben Johnson in one of these films.
