James says:

Some low budget movies can be a nice surprise, excelling past the limitations of their production values to deliver story and character that can often even be better than your standard Hollywood movie. The independently funded films can even have the freedom to go places that movies made within the studio system cannot. Unfortunately, Dance of the Dead is not one of these diamonds in the rough.

Dance of the Dead, the 2008 ultra-low-budget film directed by Gregg Bishop, has a promising concept: zombies at a high school prom. I mean really, if a movie can be explained in six words, you know you’ve got a good handle on your idea. And yet, it also means you know pretty much what to expect from the movie. Zombie films have enjoyed a certain level of popularity in the last decade or so due largely to 28 Days Later… spurring a resurgence of the genre. But the reason these films have done so well is not just the zombie action, but rather the brilliantly executed story, character, and if we’re really lucky, a good underlining allegory. Even though it was apparently written before this resurgence, Dance of the Dead offers nothing new to the genre. What it gives us instead of these things is essentially a genre mash-up between a middling zombie film and a sub-par high school comedy.

The first twenty minutes of this film are almost wretchedly painful. After a short prologue to drop us into the zombie action, the movie remains zombie free for an unbearable amount of time. In the mean time, we’re treated to lengthy introductions to a dozen or so high school archetypes. Each of these characters embodies these archetypes in the most hackneyed and cliché ways possible. The sci-fi club members shout “use the force” at their friend who’s trying to ask out the cheerleader, the cheerleader is a shallow bitch, and the one mother who appears in the film has nothing to say but, “Don’t get too crunked,” a completely unfunny mistaken use of teenager’s slang. All of the jokes in the film seem to center around the most obvious stereotype they can possibly target, and in turn, all of them fall flat. These characters are all so offensively boring, that even so early on in the movie, I couldn’t help but begin hitting the “display” button to gauge my progress towards the end of the film.

While these characters had nothing unique to offer as written, they’re pulled down even further by the acting in most of the roles. The main female character, Lindsey, as played by newcomer Greyson Chadwick, can’t even keep a straight face in a scene in which she’s breaking up with her boyfriend. Wearing a stupid grin on her face, Chadwick fails even to match up the basic emotions of the scene on the most literal and unsubtle levels. The pretentious high-achiever, Mitch, who tries to steal Lindsey away from her boyfriend, also performs with all the subtlety of a wheel of cheese rolling through a den of mice. Once again, the nerds come off as equally unsubtle and the rockers emit angst like water from a hose. Even in the lead role, Jared Kusnitz’s Jimmy comes off at best as a poor version of Jesse Eisenberg, who we saw do great work in a similar role in Zombieland this year. The best performance in this film is from Justin Welborn, whose Kyle manages to be a bully and simultaneously hint that there may be more interesting things going on with his character under the surface. He’s the only one doing anything interesting with the role. The two “adults” in the film at least seem to realize that they should be shooting for the stars in terms of tongue in cheek, and so the Gravedigger and the P.E. teacher actually manage to be quite entertaining if only because they are so over the top.

Luckily, counter to what the first half hour of the film would have you believe, this film is not completely without merits. In fact, almost immediately as the zombie infestation begins, there is marked improvement. The zombies literally leaping from their graves looks simply awesome, and the aesthetic of girls in prom dresses drenched in bright red blood and wielding axes is too striking not to find some pleasure in. The effects here are actually quite incredible considering the budget of the film, and the action works pretty well all around. A scene on a front yard in which some teamwork and a baseball bat are utilized is quite fun, and music’s effect on zombies is a gimmick that almost could fit in with a movie of the caliber of Shaun of the Dead. The climax of the film delivers a pretty cool zombie fight in the middle of the dance floor as expected, and while it doesn’t quite have the body count and franticness I would’ve hoped for, it does provide a great level of dynamicism through the interplay with the “performance” going on simultaneously. I’d even hazard to guess that this film was shot closer to chronological order than most, because almost every performance improves as the movie progresses, and by the end actors who I couldn’t stand at the beginning become quite bearable, and some of the interactions and jokes begin to actually work.

The movie doesn’t look great overall, largely due to its budget, but there are scenes and moments that do impress in a visual sense. Its effects and action do in fact go above and beyond the cost of the film, unfortunately there’s still no story here that I haven’t seen a hundred times before, and the characters are about as wooden as they come. Even in the archetypal sense, there are moments, like the conclusion of the nerd/cheerleader dynamic, that seem to ring false for me. While the movie does improve in its second half, it’s not enough to make it a recommendable film, even for b-movie or zombie film fans.

Benn says:

What could go wrong? Everything.

Most zombie films, particularly those with a small budget, succeed due to the cast and crew’s resourcefulness; take a simple plot, and build on it. Add satire, tongue-in-cheek humor, character dynamics, and dystopian survivalism and you could potentially have an entertaining, if not well made, zombie film. You can also have a jumbled mess of incongruous styles. You can also have a cinematic debacle that makes you want to eat your own head. Dance of the Dead is that kind of film.

Dance of the Dead begins like any Nickelodeon high-school drama, in which we are forced to endure the ramblings of flat, stock high school characters, such as the class clown, the mean teacher, the over achiever, the nerd, and stoner musicians. You might expect that these characters would reveal some kind of depth as we get to know them, but we don’t. Due to a nearby power plant, zombies start popping out of their graves and head towards the local high school’s prom, killing the entire town in the process. The only people left to stop the zombies are those who opted to stay in during prom night.

Dance of the Dead is, essentially, Degrassi meets Goosebumps, in which the acting is terrible, the all-encompassing drama of high school trumps anything relevant going on in the real world, and the thrills and chills are delivered in the most predictable of fashions and the lowest of budgets. Not that I have anything against low budgets, but if I’m going to sit down and watch grey-faced zombies who bleed red paint, by all means, make it interesting for me to watch. Give me some extreme violence, or some funny dialogue, or a few bizarre characters… something that doesn’t resemble a high school play.

Some will say that this film isn’t trying to take itself too seriously. After all, films like Zombieland or Shaun of the Dead proved to filmgoers everywhere that a zombie film can be a comedy too. The problem is that those films had a few things Dance of the Dead did not. One of those things is talent in any element in the creation of this film. The other is that, while Zombieland and Shaun of the Dead did poke fun at the genre’s rules and plot expectations, both films took their respective storylines seriously; they managed to include moments of suspense and depth while having a blast with zombies. Dance of the Dead didn’t take many things seriously, like film direction, screen writing… the making of a film in general.

I couldn’t help but think how much the film really reflected tween dramas about high school and how flat, boring, and predictable it is. All the conflicts are blatant maguffins, the characters are mere placeholders with stylish hair, and every solution is solved quickly without anything really being done in the first place. I felt like I was watching scenes from High School Musical. In fact, I wish I was watching a zombie-infested High School Musical. Think about it: Zac Efron sings about how zombies are gross while burying his tap shoes in zombie’s skulls (and in perfect time to the music too!) while Vanessa Hudgens, taking yet another series of nude photos of herself, is ripped apart by a pack of tween zombie girls decked out shirts that read “I run with vampires”. For it’s bullshit premise, a zombie musical is campy, original, and would sure-as-shit hold my attention for an hour and a half.

By now you have probably realized that I talked little about Dance of the Dead, and just referenced a bunch of other teen-based television programs, and you’re half right. I didn’t talk much about the featured film because there’s little to talk about; it’s unwatchable crap that should remain undisturbed in the five dollar bin at Wal-Mart. However, you can’t help but think about other high school-related programs because it takes the worst elements of those programs and simply throws zombies into the mix. Could director Gregg Bishop have created some kind of spoof or satire on these phony-bologna representations of high school? Probably, but that would meant having to write dialogue and scenes that would have a point other than showing teenagers running from zombies because, dude, teenagers and zombies in one film is totally awesome. If you have an ounce of self-respect, please, avoid this film like undead.

Benn’s rebuttal:

Unlike James, I found no redeemable quality to this film. I was so overtaken by apathy and self-loathing (this film was my choice) that watching zombies jump out of their graves and infest a town instantly had no effect on me. I would have gladly paid someone to hit me on the head with a cricket paddle to avoid wasting my time with this movie.

One thing I truly object to in James’ review is it’s length. 1000+ words on Dance of the Dead James?! I”m not sure if I should be impressed or concerned. Then again, I suppose writing the phrase “Blow yourself instead” would have been too crass and brief for our last regular film duel, but it would summed up the film quite well.

James’ rebuttal:

I would totally watch that zombie musical.  The scene in Shaun of the Dead where they beat zombies to the rhythm of the music is one of my favorites ever, so seeing a whole film of that is an idea that really excites me.

James says:

The Road is the feel-good movie of the year. Okay, I guess that’s not true, you won’t really feel good either during or after this movie. Shall we call it the feel-well movie of the year? This is a little more accurate because it does a good job of making you feel something, and therefore executes the job of manipulating your emotions well. Even at this though, it is certainly not the best of the year, primarily because the film has essentially one emotion to give you, and one note to play, and does so repeatedly throughout the film. That said, The Road, directed by John Hillcoat, based on a novel by Cormac McCarthy, and starring Viggo Mortenson, is a very good film, and one worth seeing if you’re willing to trudge through all the bleakness and depression.

The film drops you almost directly into its post-apocalyptic setting. We get a quick (thirty second) montage of Viggo Mortenson as “Man” and Charlize Theron as “Woman” during happier days before being plunged into the earthquake and fire-laden world of the near future, one which contains only the Man and his Boy (played by Kodi Smit-McPhee). From this point on the film focuses primarily on the Man and the Boy trying desperately to survive as they trek south down the road. All the food sources in the world were either destroyed or consumed in the years since the apocalypse, so they are both starving and travelling through newly perilous territory (a.k.a. everywhere).

The stakes are high (life or death, doesn’t get much higher) and so is the amount of climax (at least in the Man’s view, everything is a danger, although how much of the world is dangerous becomes one of the primary conflicts between the Man and his Boy). With the world in its dying condition, you would think that there would be a lot of different dangers and conflicts to explore, but this movie unfortunately chooses to focus primarily on one. Cannibalism. Cannibalism certainly is dark, perhaps the darkest depths that humanity can go to. It does a good job of turning human characters into pure black evil, and also brings into focus the primary theme of film, that of how humanity can exist once all of the things we have built have been taken away from us. It’s also just plain disturbing. There’s a particularly well executed scene in which the Man and the Boy are searching a household when they come across a locked cellar and are unpleasantly surprised by its contents. The tension and the suspense of this scene are greatly affected by what the audience knows is coming from outside the home, while the events inside bring home just how dangerous and simply evil the impending danger is. Unfortunately, aside from cannabilism, the film doesn’t really prevent us with any other interesting effects on society during an apocalypse. Again and again we’re presented with variations on man-hunting communities, but we so rarely see any other types of groupings. It just felt like there was more that could have been done with this premise.

The tone is similarly consistent throughout the film. What’s happening in the present is certainly bleak and desperate. Watching a man and son slowly starve and hide from horrors can be wearing, and there is only one true “break” in the film, and the audience knows even that is temporary as they are watching it. Similarly, every time we jump away from the present, into the flashbacks featuring the Man’s wife/mother to the Boy (Theron), we’re treated to something even more depressing. There’s nothing more depressing than seeing a Mother turn her back on her own family. Charlize Theron does her best to make this role sincere, but I did struggle to believe in a mother who would be able to do this. So, jumping between these two timelines offers no emotional relief, and you’re forced to just sit through what feels like a very long 112 minutes seeing the same emotional beats rip you apart again and again.

While there’re no bright spots in the tone of this film, there are some for the viewer. By this I mean you get to experience an extremely well executed film and affecting film, however bleak it is. The acting is certainly a strong point here. There’s not a ton of dialogue to work with, but Viggo Mortenson manages to shine anyway by emoting in extremely subtle yet clear ways. The fact that this guy is considering retirement is very disappointing, what artist can really leave is art form behind? The Boy is fantastic for someone his age, also managing to keep his acting toned down but delivering some of the most important emotional points in the film. He sometimes falls a bit close to the “annoying child actor” line, but never seems to trip across it, keeping us firmly in the reality of the film. As mentioned before, we get to see Charlize Theron often, though never in the same depraved context as most of the other characters. She has a tough job in humanizing a character that seems to have had the human heart torn out of her, and I do believe she manages to pull it off (though barely). This character, luckily, is counterbalanced by the Boy in the present. We see our characters in two primary stages: those who have given up on humanity, such as the Man in the Present, and the Woman in the past. And those who haven’t: the Man of the past and the Boy of the present. Viggo Mortenson is the only one who must deliver both these mentalities, and he manages to do it brilliantly, primarily through the use of his eyes. There really aren’t many other featured actors in this film, but Robert Duvall and Guy Pearce deliver important yet brief performances that really float the film into a more bearable place. With the film primarily being as bleak as it is, it takes some (heavily disguised) star power to give you any sort of sense of ease when leaving the theater, and both these actors had the gravitas to do it.

I’ve used the word bleak to describe this film many times already, but since it’s really the most apt word, I might as well add it in a few more times. The cinematography is equally bleak. The look of the film is very grey, with almost all the color drained from it. The only time in the present timeline when you really see anything that isn’t grey or an extremely desaturated blue is when there’s a fire or a few extremely important hope-inducing items pop up. There isn’t much contrast here either, everything kind of blends together into one bleached world. All of this really reflects the emotions of the characters and how they (or at least the Man, who seems to be the primary perspective for the film) see the world. It would’ve been interesting if the cinematography’s interpretation passed on to the child’s viewpoint and changed somehow during the course of the movie, but it may have betrayed the tone of the film. Even with all this desperate sorrow in the visuals, the film still manages to be completely gorgeous. The composition and broad landscapes brilliantly features the desolation of the production design (also subtly barren). This is a world that was not only destroyed but also abandoned, just as many of the men and woman have similarly abandoned their aspirations to humanity, and there’s a poetry to the wreckage here that you don’t get out of something like the recent 2012. A particularly stunning shot featuring a plain scattered with partially fallen power lines and poles caught my eye, but it’s only one of many, as this film gives itself the space to really impart on you the world that these characters are trapped in.

All said and done, The Road is a great film that is not for everyone. It’s slow, it can be repetitive in drilling its point home, and it’s certainly depressing. It’s an ordeal to trudge through the road alongside these characters, but ultimately it is rewarding. And on the plus side, you don’t leave the theater in a state of devastation, as the audience discovers alongside the characters that there may still be something of the human condition left in all this wreckage.

Benn says:

Most post-apocalyptic films are fun; films like The Road Warrior, The Omega Man, and Zombieland ask the question, “What would you do if you were amongst the last on Earth?” This question is usually answered with leather jackets, Dodge Trans-Ams, Eighties metal and thrilling car chases and gun fights. The Road is not one of these films. Not by a long shot.

Taking place ten years after an unnamed cataclysmic event scorched the Earth, The Road, gives us no sawed-off shotguns, cartoonish marauders, or urban playgrounds, but instead gives us the sobering reality of a world without resources, without decency and without hope. This version of Earth isn’t dying; its dead and rotting from the inside out.

The film follows a father, known only as “The Man” (Viggo Mortensen), and his ten-year-old son, “The Boy” (Kodi Smit-McPhee), as they walk the abandoned roads somewhere in the East coast trying to reach the ocean. There is no rumor floating around that there is anything there, but traveling to the edge of the Earth does seem like the most logical step to take after the apocalypse. The journey, however, is no walk in the park; the Man and Boy endure hunger, sickness, and a sever lack of shelter and simple luxuries that people today take for granted. And if that isn’t bad enough, the last remaining humans have turned into scavengers; killing, raping, looting and eating any traveler they happen to run in to.

Trying to raise his son to become a decent human being in a world where decency may get you killed, the Man instills his son with an ever-prevailing spirit, insisting that they need to “carry the fire” of humanity wherever they go. However, the Man draws this faint idealism from his son, looking to him as the only reason to stay alive. Throughout the journey, we are given flashbacks of the Man’s past when the Man and his wife (Charlize Theron) tried to survive in their old home with their then-newborn son. Unlike her husband, the wife finds no solace of hope in this world, and consistently fights with her husband to follow the status quo and commit suicide, escaping a world that has gone down the drain, and continues to grow darker and more awful by the minute. Theron does a wonderful part playing a very unlikable, yet realistic character that, despite the admirable spirit of her husband, reflects the state of mind most people would probably collapse towards after the End.

Director John Hillcoat is the best director to have taken Cormac McCarthy’s original novel and bring to life on the silver screen. Like his last film, The Proposition, Hillcoat portrays the world as a deserted, silent and cruel landscape that speaks volumes all on its own. There is little dialogue in the film, and many scenes are just the Man and the Boy pushing their shopping cart full of supplies along a wasteland of nothing; never has so little been so effective. However, the emotional center of the film lies in the father and son, and their stagnant surroundings acts as the perfect villain against the protagonists’ will to never give up. As a result, the audience is part of the tug-of-war between idealism and reality. I mean, sure, the human spirit is warm and fuzzy, but how can we believe in it if the world looks like this?

Actors Mortensen and Smit-McPhee are an incredible team in this film. Like their characters, the two only have each other to count on, and the results are incredible. Mortensen’s performance of a concerned father is honest and heart breaking, and his internal struggles with the impossible decisions that are and yet to come are brazenly apparent, even when he isn’t saying anything at all.  Smit-McPhee has the disadvantage of having to be a ten-year-old boy, which can get a little tiresome after a while; all he does is slow his dad down. But then again, what ten year old wouldn’t? However, there are some pretty intense scenes that rely mostly, if not solely on Smit-McPhee’s little shoulders, and somehow he manages to act them out with a depth and maturity that is, to say the least, well beyond his years.

There are some difficult questions asked in this film, and the answers are either disturbing or unanswerable. Amongst the most troubling is suicide rate amongst families, in which most families choose kill themselves rather than suffer through an impossible world. The Man, despite his tenacity, keeps two emergency bullets in a revolver and teaches his son how to properly blow his brains out. There is even a scene in which the Man put his gun to his own son’s head when they under serious threat of being cornered by cannibals. This will surely disturb and disgust most, if not all viewers, and it should. But one would have to consider the changed world these two live in, and what that change has done to concepts of love and mercy. This idea of love echoes the works of novelist Toni Morrison, whose examples of love amidst a perverse world are twisted and violent. Morrison has written about love being circumstantial and reflective of the surrounding world, in which true love can mean killing your children to save them from the fate of slavery. Extreme? Most certainly, yet  one can’t help but wonder what is more cruel: killing your child quickly and without pain, or make them endure a world in which they could starve, freeze, become ill, get raped or eaten? Even if one evades such horrific fates, what kind of life can one lead if there is no life to look forward to?

Surely, this kind of soul crushing world that our world has become (and believe me, you will feel it) renders the Man’s survivalist philosophy seem like dated heroics, and in a way it is; planet Earth had died, most of it people have died, there is no food or clothing, no power, and the few who are left have either killed themselves or have become mangy animals. That being said, the Man’s utter desperation to hold onto the old ways of common decency and civilization make his plight believable, and his struggle to uphold this code gets rough. Yet, what else is there to do in a world like this? To forever more endure this vision of the world may be unrealistic, it may even be unwise, but why the hell would you want to be wise and practical in a place that promises death and depression; walking a road that could lead to absolutely nothing can also lead you anywhere you’d like. This kind of murky idealism is what gives The Road it’s sliver of hope, the idea that no matter what the world becomes, you don’t have to follow suit. Even if it’s hopeless, even if there is nothing left to live for, you can always find something to create hope, you can always chase a dream. I don’t know about you, but I’d rather chase a dream than wait around for the inevitable.

I don’t want to live in this version of the post-apocalypse. I’d much rather tool around in a Dodge Charger, shooting zombies and Mohawk-sporting bikers, and build a life for myself out of forgotten retro rubble that would trump anything achievable in real, pre-apocalyptic life. But, then again, The Road isn’t supposed to be a thrill ride, it’s supposed to look at a very serious situation seriously, asking the hard questions and giving us the unwatchable answers. The world is dead, and there isn’t much we can or could do to stop it if it happened, but The Road gives the hardships that always accompany the road best, but not easily traveled. Even if it goes nowhere. Especially when it gives you something to look for.

Benn’s rebuttal:

In keeping with LS2FG tradition, James and I are on the same page with this film.

One thing James brought up that I didn’t mention in my review is how the cinematography in this film is poetic; for a world that is so gray and dead, cinematographer Javier Aguirresarobe makes it look unusually beautiful.

James’ rebuttal:

Not much to argue here.  Your claim that Hillcoat was simply the best director to take on this work might be a little exaggerated, he did an excellent job but I wonder if another director might have brought a bit more dynamicism to this film.  That was the only thing that I really felt was missing throughout.

James says:

The Dirty Dozen is a film that I’ve been meaning to get to for a while, and my desire to see it was increased by my enjoyment of Inglourious Basterds. Hearing that The Dirty Dozen was one of the larger inspirations for that film definitely made me curious, but hearing from some people that Inglourious Basterds failed to offer many of the things that The Dirty Dozen excelled at made me even more intrigued. After seeing The Dirty Dozen I still feel both these movies are best left as they are as two very different and separate entities, but I can say that The Dirt Dozen does its own thing very well, and I had a ball watching it.

The Dirty Dozen is about a rebellious military major who’s put in charge of a suicide mission and given, instead of real soldiers, a group of twelve prisoners to train and then lead on said mission. The prisoners of course start as a distasteful, angry, and very individualistic group and are eventually molded into a unified squad with their own sets of talents. We’re then treated to a very fun war game where the Dirty Dozen show off their unusual skills before seeing them used once again to complete their mission. Plot-wise it’s relatively simple, but the film takes time to build up its many complex characters before using them in action, and that is the film’s biggest strength.

Between Lee Marvin’s Major Reisman and all of the twelve, count ‘em twelve, prisoner soldiers there are a lot of characters in this film. Surprisingly, almost all of these men are fully fleshed out and are given at least a few important things to do within the film (both on mission and in terms of character). Charles Bronson and John Cassavetes are the real standouts here. Bronson gives a low key but layered performance with little dialogue, instead he relies on subtle facial expressions and extremely clever delivery. Cassavetes on the other hand, has a lot to say, and is playing the type of character that could easily become irritating or villainous but manages to walk the line carefully. There are plenty more of the Dirty Dozen who give off great performances with their smaller roles as well. On top of that, we have the officers who have a clear distaste for both the Major and his group. They are the closest thing to antagonists we have for most of the film, and they aren’t even present that often. They do perform their roles well with the little time they have, but in some ways, they aren’t really necessary as antagonists because the great thing about the diverse and very full group of men in the squad is that they can become their own antagonists. There’re so many characters with so many ways to bounce them off each other, and the writer uses this well. And let’s not forget the Major himself. Lee Marvin does an awesome job being gritty, authoritative, and wryly funny all at once.

The first half of the movie is primarily taken up by this character development and interaction. There’s plenty of conflict to be had between the different men, and also between the men and the major. But there’s not a lot of action beyond the training itself, which is mostly done in montages. But when the action does finally pick up, it’s really fascinating. The war game not only is a ton of fun, but it really takes advantage of what we’ve learned about the characters. The action itself is well executed too. And with all the lightheartedness that we enjoy in the war game, there’s as much sternness and drama to counter it in the final sequence. The final sequence itself is an excellent payoff on what’s been built up beforehand. It’s because we care so dearly about the characters that it works so well. The writers have also managed to set up even the unexpected moments early on in the script, particularly in a way that makes sense based on the characters. When things begin to go wrong, you understand that there’s really no other way that they could’ve gone.

Even at an hour and a half, the film feels like a breeze. There isn’t a scene here that doesn’t feel vital. The film technique itself is so good that despite being over forty years old, it maintains that timeless feel and, particularly on blu-ray, still looks fantastic. The acting in particular doesn’t feel dated at all. The music may be a bit too playful at times, but it matches up with the military themes and certainly never hurts the movie. In fact, it may be its playful nature that helps to propel the film through its longer running time.

Mark Twain refers to classics as something that “you want to have read but don’t want to read.” I don’t fully subscribe to this theory, particularly when you have examples like The Dirty Dozen which are classic films and are still loads of fun to watch. This is highly recommended, especially for people who enjoy the genre at all.

Benn says:

What was it about the Sixties that films like The Dirty Dozen were able to blend machismo, grit, violence, and a can-do spirit into one masterfully orchestrated epic? Was it the freedom, the rebellion, or was it a response to the flowery, new agey, lackadaisical state that a generation of hippie-centric men had fallen into? A return to the idea that men were men who kicked ass, took names, finished the job, and picked lead over daisies every time.

Robert Aldrich’s The Dirty Dozen (1967) takes place just before D-Day, with Major John Reisman (Lee Marvin) given a mission in which he is to assemble a team of allied military convicts, most of which or awaiting execution, to conduct a suicide mission deep behind enemy lines. The mission? Parachute behind enemy lines, infiltrate a ritzy German party and kill as many high ranking Nazi officers as possible.

Unfortunately, the actual mission isn’t as hard as getting the twelve ex-military criminals in the mood to risk death for Uncle Sam. Amongst the Dozen are Wladislaw (Charles Bronson), a stoic, cool-headed soldier who despises military officers, Jefferson (Jim Brown), who was imprisoned for killing a white officer in self-defense, gentle giant Posey (Clint Walker), religious zealot and psychopathic rapist Maggot (Telly Savalas) and the smart-mouthed, hot tempered Franko (John Cassavetes).

The film itself is episodic in nature, following the Dozen as they prepare for the mission. However, rather than focusing on what the boys are doing, the film focuses on the chemistry between the renegade unit. Though they start out as a group of stubborn individuals, they eventually become a single fighting unit. The Dozen’s first act as a team is small, but particularly fitting; fed up with having to shave and bathe in cold water, Franko speaks out against Reisman and the other officers, and refuses to bathe in protest. The other eleven soldiers, most of whom found Franko to be obnoxious, back him up, leading to the training ground’s chief guard (Richard Jaeckel) to label them as the titular Dirty Dozen.

The most important thing in a men-on-mission film is for the audience to root for the heroes. We’re with them, cheering them on through every training montage, every prank, every fight, joke and bit of struggle with the hope that they will come out victorious in the end. Dirty Dozen gives us two climaxes; one of which shows the Dozen in a battle simulation with other Allied platoons. Pitted against a snobby fuddy-duddy Colonel and his own unit of by-the-book, bullish soldiers. Needless to say, the Dozen win, but the way they do it and their demeanor while wiping the smirks off of their opponents is done with such a mischievous glee, you would be hard pressed not to be affected by the victorious, underdog spirit.

The second climax is without a doubt the finest, most anticipated climax in film history. For nearly two hours we’ve been watching the Dozen prepare for their mission, waiting to see how they do, yet hoping the film never quite gets to that point. We don’t want the fun to end, and we don’t want to see the Dozen get shot down which, unfortunately, is bound to happen. Director Robert Aldrich orchestrates the final mission marvelously, starting off with Wladislaw and Reisman infiltrating the German party disguised as two Nazi officers while the rest of the Dozen quietly gets to their positions. You’re already at the edge of your seat by the time the grenades and machine guns start a’ blazing, and the suspense still continues to build until the very end. Who will make it? Who won’t? And how will the Dozen accomplish their mission in the first place? Obviously I won’t go into details, but it is glorious and full of lead-and-fiery splendor.

Everybody loves an underdog. The struggle, the grit, the apathy for law and order… who better to embody this than a team of dirty, unshaven convicts armed with machine guns and bad attitudes? With its team of unsavory heroes and their disdain for authority and their own brand of duty and honor, The Dirty Dozen is, without a doubt, one of the manliest films ever made, and due to its balance between dirt, death and glory, it gives you some real endearing, heroic sons of bitches to march alongside of for two and a half hours.

Benn’s rebuttal:

James and I, yet again, agree entirely on the film. The Dirty Dozen personifies the kind of fun and excitement with over-the-top violence that makes a perfect guy movie.

James’ rebuttal:

“But don’t take my word for it…”

Okay so joking aside, we seem to agree on pretty much everything here.  The Dirty Dozen is a difficult film to review primarily because it’s just so enjoyable you get caught up in it.  The characters are really the centerpiece, and aside from it’s otherwise excellent execution there’s not much else to say.

I do object to Benn’s claim that the plot is “episodic.”  I don’t agree with that at all, to me it’s very linear and serial and really builds on things as it goes.  When I think episodic films like La Strada come to mind, where each scene really seems incidental to the rest of the plot and doesn’t necessarily build upon what’s come before it.

James says:

Rio Bravo is one of the finest examples of a Western film in all of its classical form. It may not have the grittiness or realism that some of its better descendents used to revolutionize the genre, but it is nonetheless an well executed film that manages to be entertaining and exciting despite its dated techniques.

Rio Bravo adheres to the classic Western traits in many ways. It’s got John Wayne, which is pretty much half the battle, isn’t it? He’s older here than most people generally imagine when they think of his roles, but he’s no less the perfect gentleman cowboy that he’d come to embody. This film does manage highlight the flaw that many of his characters have but rarely hinder them, his being a man of few words hinders him often in getting the woman he admires. He also seems rather clumsy and confused about this woman; she becomes his one weakness in the whole film. The woman, known only as “Feathers,” is a pretty standard entry into the genre, filling in the “woman with a questionable past” slot, and just generally being some nice eye candy. She seems to have a very modern (for the time the film was made) clumsiness about her words, but otherwise isn’t very notably different from any other western damsel.

As with many of the genre, there’s the comic relief in a crotchety old man. This one happens to be a cripple and features prominently in the climax. He works well enough for comedy and has a few good dramatic moments, and once again fulfills one of the many clichés of the genre. We also have the “young gun” who already has the talent for gun fighting but has to learn over the course of the movie how to be a man, let alone a hero. All of the characters in the film really pale though to Dean Martin’s Dude. While he’s not the main character, John Wayne must take that spot, he does have the most depth and most complicated story arc of any of the characters. He begins the film by quitting alcohol and spends most of the movie suffering because of it. Getting to see his evolution from drunk to hero is the movie’s greatest reward.

As a whole the plot is about as standard as it comes for a Western. John Wayne as the sheriff must defend the town against a rich man willing to hire as many guns as is necessary to get his murderous brother out of jail. If you think of High Noon without the complexities brought on by the abandonment of the sheriff by his own people than you get a good idea of how this plays out. The character dynamics and comic moments are really the strength here and not the plot. But the plot does manage to set up all these character moments in interesting ways, and sometimes manages to capture in some small way what a good comedy of errors might as John Wayne often must use his wits to stay ahead of the game. The fight scenes aren’t particularly dynamic. There’s a good gunfight that involves the heroes surrounding a house with their enemies within, but even this mostly involves them firing from one spot until they’ve won. Come to think of it there’s not that much fighting at all, John Wayne’s Sheriff Chase generally manages to set things up in a way so that the violence is relegated to a few key points of his choosing. While it’s nice to see him come out on top, there’s only one point in which you feel any real danger to the characters. It would’ve been nice to see a bit more conflict.

The first thing I noticed upon inserting this disc was the color. I rented it on blu-ray and was amazed at how good this film looks after all these years. Obviously it must’ve benefited from a snazzy new transfer, but the colors were so rich that it makes it a joy to watch and prevents it from feeling too dated. On the other hand, because they had all this great color technology, some of the costuming designed to highlight that looks a little silly. The cinematography feels stiff in other ways as well, particularly in the way the dialogue scenes are shot. Often the director goes to a two-shot and sticks with it for extremely long periods of time. Long takes are fine by me, but some of these shots weren’t framed in ways that were particularly interesting or dynamic, and the film often suffers from these boring shots. Once again, the action also suffers due to a lack of dynamics in the cinematography, it’s as if they felt the color would be enough to keep things interesting without thinking through what the best way to shoot an action scene was. Still, because the characters are done so well it manages to be exciting nonetheless.

Rio Bravo is simply a fun Western to watch. It may not have quite the complexities that some later films do, but you can see it starting to plant the seeds of more interesting characters and plot lines. John Wayne’s struggle against great odds makes for particularly fearsome conflict, and it’s fun just to watch him do his thing. I’d say this film is best left for those who at least have some propensity for Westerns, or at least those who have already exposed themselves to Sergio Leone and Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven, but I imagine most will find at least some enjoyment from it.

Benn says:

As the era of the classic Fifties western came to a close, Howard Hawks’ Rio Bravo adheres to the traditional forms of the genre, yet takes the focus away from gunfights on horseback to developing characters and story.

Rio Bravo begins with a masterfully directed scene that has no dialogue for three minutes, yet sets up t he plot in a way that is as clean and simple as it comes.  Sheriff John T. Chance (John Wayne) and deputy/town drunk Dude (Dean Martin) arrest the local, smarmy thug Joe Burdette after he kills a man in a bar. Despite there being no dialogue until the end of the scene, Hawks reveals all you need to know about the characters, particularly the two leads; Chance is a hulking, prideful figure of authority, and Dude is a pitiful drunk with little self-respect, yet proves to be the fastest, most reliable gunslinger in town.

As it turns out, Burdette’s older brother Nathan is a wealthy business man in the area and hires a gang of bandits to spring Joe out of jail, leaving Chance, his deputies, and the other townspeople in a constant state of alert until the Marshall shows up to take Joe away. Whereas this conflict would remain at the center of a traditional western plot, the impending threat of Burdette’s men merely comes and goes in bursts throughout the film. Since the overall plot is pretty straightforward, the story is heavily character driven. Most of the film is spent waiting for Nathan Burdette’s men to strike, so there is a lot of space between the film’s introduction and climax that needs to be filled. This being the case, it’s the actors and their interactions with one another that move the film along, and the cast does a wonderful job doing so.

John Wayne leads the way in a lumbering, omnipresent fashion that only “The Duke” could pull off. I’m not a huge John Wayne fan myself, but his gruff, crotchety demeanor works well with the other characters. His verbal exchanges with the sharp, beautiful Angie Dickinson is lively and impressive (I didn’t think the Duke could do more than grunt), and his arguments with crusty ole’ Walter Brennan are genuinely funny.

Ricky Nelson gives one of the film’s better performances as a young gunslinger that joins John Wayne’s quest for peace and justice in the town. Although Nelson’s character is an incredibly good shot, what distinguishes him from other young-gun characters in Westerns is his restraint and reasonable mind. Most characters of this brand would be quick to shoot and cause more trouble than necessary, but Nelson plays his scenes with a brooding finesse and flaunts his skills only when absolutely necessary.

The film’s finest performance is Dean Martin’s Dude, who proves to be the most sympathetic and complex character in the film. Dude’s troubles are discussed, but never directly take the stage, so Martin had to find a way to portray Dude’s inner turmoil concerning his past, as well as his struggle to return to his former glory through body language, physical mannerisms and tone. Lucky for us, Deano delivers in the smoothest way possible, speaking volumes with a look, a lick of the lips, or a failed attempt to roll a cigarette. The Duke may be the hero of the film, but its Deano that the audience truly roots for.

There is a considerable amount of charm and humor in Rio Bravo that can be expected from a director like Howard Hawks, and as a result, the film stands out as being unconventional in content when compared to other films of the cowboy kind. Most traditional westerns have a standard set of characters (hero, villain, defenseless townsfolk, naïve women), yet Hawks introduces us to a number of characters who are anything but helpless. Furthermore, westerns are known for many things; dialogue has never been one of them. Yet, Hawks’ mastery of fast paced dialogue and character interaction plays a heavy hand in this film, and it’s the relationships between characters that make the film particularly memorable, if not an oddball within the Western genre. After a while, the audience will forget entirely about the impending shootout and the Burdette vendetta because this film really isn’t about that; like one of Hawks’ screwball comedies or hard-boiled dramas, its about the extraordinary circumstances the characters find themselves in, and how they pull themselves out of it.

Rio Bravo is an unusual western for those who have come to expect sprawling landscapes and thrilling shootouts every fifteen minutes. Taking place mostly indoors with longer –than- normal takes (for a supposed cowboy shoot ‘em up), Rio Bravo allows you to actually get to know the characters through long conversations and subtle actions. Hawks’ is a master at watching people be people, and it is refreshing to actually see what a cowboy does, thinks, and talks about when he isn’t twirling his gun around or killing someone dead. Is it the greatest western ever? No, but its definitely one of the better ones out there, in spite of all the talkin’ and such.

Benn’s rebuttal:

Once again, James and I are pretty much in agreement on this one, particularly with Dean Martin’s performance, which was the most captivating one in the bunch.

One thing I’d like to mention: It’s funny that James brings up High Noon as a comparison to this film. Rio Bravo was actually a “response” of sorts to High Noon due to Wayne and Hawks’ disgust over Gary Cooper’s pitiful, helpless protagonist, and the film’s anti-McCarthyism message. Although this film features unity and teamwork over abandonment, it is surprising how many similarities there are between the two films, particularly the downplayed violence and emphasis on character.

James’ rebuttal:

I felt that Ricky Nelson was a bit too “gee wiz” to fit into a realistic western movie, but a lot of this film has a bit of a sheen that doesn’t really fit with what I’d want out of a western.  He doesn’t hurt the movie any, I just would’ve preferred someone that didn’t feel like he was straight out of “Leave it to Beaver”.

Another note, where the hell is the rest of the town.  I know it’s not High Noon, but I was interested to know how the actual residents of this town were reacting to all this.

James says:

In 1995, Quentin Tarantino, having just released Pulp Fiction, and before that Reservoir Dogs, was at the top of his game. He, along with Steven Soderbergh essentially invented the indie film market and brought Miramax to prominence as a company. It makes sense that Quentin Tarantino would want to share the wealth with a few of us friends. So he, Robert Rodriguez, Alexandre Rockwell, and Allison Anders, all darlings of the indie world at the time, came together to make Four Rooms.

While certainly there must have been a lot of collaboration on the film, it does split pretty firmly into four segments for each creator to write and direct individually. And yet, it still makes sense as a single feature about Ted the bell hop who has about as bad (or good) a work night as you can imagine trying to run an entire hotel by himself on New Year’s Eve. The four segments reference each other relatively sparingly, and there are a few bridging scenes to make sure everything flows okay, but for the most part you can look at these as four short films built upon the same main character.

The first is relatively simple, a coven of witches gathers in the honeymoon suite to cast a spell which will bring back their god. Much is made over the slow reveal of who these people are, but the hints are direct enough that most audience members will understand pretty quickly. Therefore this short, which builds its first half primarily on this mystery, doesn’t have a whole lot to offer in terms of complexities. Fortunately there are some laughable jokes and some sharp dialogue, especially within the witch’s chanting spell. The director, Allsion Anders’ voice is pretty present in this dialogue and also in the visuals which include cartoon hearts and birds to compliment the emotions of the characters on screen. It’s the kind of filmmaking that feels slightly dated, but it’s still enjoyable to see Tim Roth’s Ted, who you can immediately tell is a somewhat bumbling loser, get the benefit of a witch’s blunder. It’s a fun introduction to the film and the main character, though certainly not the strongest segment in the film.

The second is along the same lines in quality, but vastly different in tone. As soon as Ted steps into the hotel room in the second chapter, you can see that it’s going to be much darker. The room is pitch black and the character speaks in mysterious Mamet-like dialogue. From there on the chapter becomes a twisted game of sex, betrayal, and murder threats. It’s all fueled by a mistaken identity case, which can be an excellent but extremely easy way to get into a story. For me, I often find mistaken identity stories to be overplayed and frustrating because they require you to believe that the person making the mistake is too stupid just to listen for two seconds to clear things up. But once you get into things it’s really just about the messed up things that Ted’s assaulter puts him through and reveling in the confusion. This is the least funny of the four chapters, and as a whole the most off tone as well. But as a short itself, it does work pretty well in its own way, if for nothing else but its punch line.

The third chapter is by Robert Rodriguez, the only director here other than Quentin Tarantino who’s made waves in mainstream film. You’d know him for things like Sin City, Once Upon a Time in Mexico, and the Spy Kids franchise. His chapter gives hint of his affinity for children taking control by depicting two children wreaking havoc on Ted and their hotel room. Plot wise it’s pretty one note, with an expected but entertaining finale, but it’s good to see the way it builds up throughout the chapter. This is another reminder that this is not the kind of film that’s really going to gather its threads for a final climax, but rather work as four very individual films with their own arcs. Ted is the most out of character here, as his defining feature seems to be rage and impatience. While this makes sense if you look at the progression of the last two chapters, it still feels like Tim Roth has been told to perform a different character here. Nonetheless you can tell that Rodriguez has fun with the kids and their antics, and it’s basically your classic Home Alone kids versus adults scenario. Overall I’d say it’s the second best of the segments.

Then it all comes down to the final segment, Quentin Tarantino’s. This final chapter is a marvel to watch. It features an excellently choreographed free roaming camera which always manages to nail some beautiful composition. It has by far the most diverse and interesting characters. It also features the most intriguing mystery of them all, as it drags out its reveal of what the residents are up to with delicacy and excitement. Quentin Tarantino even plays a role here, in fact he’s featured the level of vainness, but it still is a marvel to look at. A scene involving a stack of cash is particularly well executed. This also features the greatest cameo of the film in Bruce Willis. The hilariously drunk characters here work really well, and for once, we get to see Ted come out on top while simultaneously letting out all of his frustrations.

As with any anthological film, this movie has its ups and downs. But I’d say it’s more entertaining than not, and pretty much everything else is worth waiting for the Quentin Tarantino segment. He obviously doesn’t have as much room to weave the complex tales he normally does, but if you’re a fan of his work, there’s no reason to miss this one.

Benn says:

Four Rooms is a collection of four short films directed by four Gen-X VCR filmmakers per short. This concept might sound good on paper, since you’re getting four different visions working together within in film, but the film also runs the risk of being good one moment, and virtually unwatchable the next. Such is the case with Four Rooms.

The four directors of Four Rooms are Allison Anders, Alexandre Rockwell, Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino. There is a reason only two of these directors have flourishing careers today and two of them don’t; Rodriguez and Tarantino’s shorts are well done, whereas the shorts by Anders and Rockwell were god awful.

The film takes place in a Los Angeles hotel, with Ted the bellhop (Tim Roth) being the only employee on duty. Throughout the night he is called to four different rooms, with each room setting the stage for each short film. The first is Allison Anders’ “The Missing Ingredient” which is, simply put, terrible, and starts the entire film off to a bad start. The short is about a cadre of witches (Madonna, Alicia Witt, Valeria Golino, Sammi Davis, Lily Taylor and Ione Skye) performing a ritual that will release their goddess from her slumber. The characters are flat caricatures, from leather-clad dominatrix to new age hippie, and not much happens in the thirty-minute film. Seriously, it’s just a bunch of witches chanting in a brightly colored room, Madonna occasionally says something profane, and the movie ends.

The second film is directed by Rockwell, and is hardly an improvement from its predecessor. “The Wrong Man” finds Ted walking into some kind of weird, sexual role playing game (its not very clear) between a gun wielding, jealous husband (David Proval) and his cheating wife (Jennifer Beals), who is gagged and bound to a chair. Ted is confused as “the other man”, and engages in an infuriating repartee with the husband. The film has better camera work than the last film, but that’s about it. There’s Italian accents and harsh language…. and that’s about it.

At that part of the film, you’re going to want to leave. I really don’t blame you. I watched this on DVD and I wanted some kind of compensation for my trouble. Luckily, Rodriguez’s “The Misbehaviors” swoops in to save the film from being a total mess, and finally provides the film with a real sense of madcap comedy. Spoofing his macho Latino badass role that defined his career in the Nineties, Antonio Banderas plays a father who leaves his two children with Ted while he and his wife go out partying. Both children are delightfully mischievous; they drink, they smoke, they fight, and annoy the piss out of Ted, who has been annoying us for the past hour at this point. The children are genuinely funny and have a fantastic chemistry, and Rodriguez’s kinetic visual style accentuates the slapstick, cartoonish violence between the siblings.

The best short in the film is Quentin Tarantino’s “The Man From Hollywood”, which stands out through its camera work and the dialogue. Although Ted is called for a very specific and bizarre reason, it takes hotshot Hollywood director Chester Rush (Quentin Tarantino) nearly the whole short to get to the point. The conversation topics range from Cristal to Jerry Lewis films; as Jennifer Beals’ character says (who reprises her role from “The Wrong Man”), “He’s been here fifteen minutes and you’ve talked about everything but”. True, but Tarantino’s eccentric, barely contained enthusiasm during the scene keeps us interested; I don’t think I would have cared if he had ever gotten to the point.

Tarantino’s camerawork, done by cinematographer Andrzej Sekula, is very Tarantinoesque: it adheres to very simple, stationary shots that go on for days. Honestly, I’d be shocked it there had been any more than ten cuts in the whole short. Most of the film shows Tarantino speaking directly into the camera, then the camera pans all the way around the room to capture other people’s reactions or responses, than slowly turns back to Tarantino. Unlike the fast paced editing and camera work of Rodriguez, Tarantino’s method of cinematography resembles Orson Welles or Howard Hawks in that it uses uninterrupted shots that let the actors really move the scene. It may not seem like a lot, and technically speaking it isn’t, but the visual narrative of this short stands out above the rest and proves to be the most masterful.

Alas, the one constant in this film is Tim Roth, and he does a pretty bad job. His voice changes, his facial expressions are too silly, he bumbles around needlessly; it’s as if he’s trying to emulate the movements of an old silent film star like Buster Keaton or Charlie Chaplin, yet fails to do so greatly. He’s not the most obnoxious thing in this film (that would be Anders’ steaming pile of crap-of-a-film), but he remains a nuisance throughout the film.

Though it has its moments of flair and creativity, Four Rooms is hardly worth seeing. Watching four directors flaunt their styles back to back functions as a fascinating study of an auteur’s strengths and weaknesses in comparison to other filmmakers is a terrific idea, but doing do with two crap directors and a poor attempt at an overall madcap atmosphere ruins an otherwise clever concept.

Benn’s rebuttal:

James makes a really good point about Roth’s character completely changing half way through the film which I, personally, found a little infuriating (due to its inconsistency), yet refreshing (because I hated him the most during the first half of the film) at the same time.

Clearly we both loved Tarantino’s bit the most, with Rodriguez coming in second. However, it seems like James enjoyed the first two films on some kind of level, whereas I loathed them all together. I really didn’t give two shits about what was going on in the second short, and I found Anders’ attempt at a hip, Gen X’er Wiccan tale to be so unwatchable that I believe my television silently wept while it played.

James’s rebuttal:

“Tarantino’s camerawork is Tarantino-esque?”  Seriously?  I’m reminded of the film The Squid and the Whale in which the protagonist tries to sound smart by saying a piece written by Kafka is Kafkaesque.

Anyway I can see why you’d hate the first film seeing as pretty much nothing happens.  My roommate walked out of the room on a phone call during it and it took less than a sentence to explain what had happened in a good 20 minutes.  I must’ve found some enjoyment only from seeing Ione Skye again for the first (notable) time since seeing Say Anything.

You’re right, the first two are not great.  But I guess I just was interested in comparing the differences in film making.

James says:

Let me open this review with a disclaimer. I have not had much experience with David Lynch. With most filmmakers this would not have a large effect on the viewing of a film, but from what I’ve read, Lynch is a particularly impenetrable filmmaker, and perhaps some more exposure to his work would help bring light to what he does. As for myself, my only previous experience with David Lynch is a viewing of The Straight Story (the furthest thing from a traditional David Lynch film) as a young thirteen year old and a morbid curiosity that has led me to read synopsis and comments about his other movies. Based on what I’d read, I was somewhat prepared for the bizarreness of Wild at Heart, but that doesn’t mean I’d end up liking it.

Wild at Heart is the story of Sailor (Nicolas Cage) and Lula (Laura Dern), two lovers who run off together and at the behest of Lula’s overbearing mother, are chased down by numerous dangerous and bizarre people. As they “follow the yellow brick road” they’re journey becomes stranger and stranger as they run into more hazardous and ugly events, people, and surroundings. Wizard of Oz references are abound as Lynch tries to grasp at what it might be like for two people who feel they don’t fit into the world to search for something they can call home.

This is a world filled with absurd characters and damaged people. The characters often stray into the realm of heavy caricature, as they say exactly what they mean and don’t provide much depth. Cage’s Sailor repeatedly says his snakeskin jacket is a “symbol of [his] individuality and belief in personal freedom,” intentionally hitting us over the head with his motivations and beliefs. Dern’s Lula similarly repeats her crooning over Sailor. And everyone else in the film is essentially monstrous at heart and wacky on the outside, or as Lula puts it, “This whole world is wild at heart and weird on top.” Lulu’s mother at one point covers herself in lipstick, either showing her need to reveal her insides on the outside by making her skin red as the muscles within her, or perhaps she’s just plain crazy. These eccentricities might be explained by damaging events in the childhoods of the characters, but only Sailor and Lulu get any sort of significant flashbacks explaining why they might act the way they do (for Lulu, it’s a rape by a family friend nicknamed “Uncle Pooch”). Nicolas Cage and Laura Dern do serviceable, if extremely over the top acting, and everyone else (particularly Willem Dafoe) just does their darndest to act as weird as humanly possible. Where this film really suffers is in not having a single likable character, and being populated almost entirely by completely wretched people. There is nothing, and I mean nothing, to grasp onto.

All this is not to say there’s no value here. David Lynch has a deck full of storytelling techniques that no one else has, and he plays them in ways that throw you completely off guard and simultaneously make you feel exactly the emotions he’s trying to make you feel. He uses strange sounds, off-kilter music queues and odd cuts to give you the same sense of unease that Lulu starts to feel so strongly in the latter half of the film. Not to mention his equally strange imagery. David Lynch also employs interesting use of memory in this film, as we see flash backs as short as a second spliced into a scene, often spurred by a sound or sensory feedback from one of the characters. Certain events are treated with a Rashoman angle, being shown in different ways from multiple perspectives. Having this type of hazy truth within the first fifteen minutes of the film makes the viewer untrusting of the narrative, even though it stays pretty straightforward for the remainder. There’s also lots of sex in this film, some might classify it as gratuitous but it does serve the characters of Sailor and Lula by making them the passionate, wild, energetic counterparts to a world that seems to be trying to lock them down the same way they lock down their own emotions.

My reaction to this movie was disgust and unease, and I think that’s probably what David Lynch was going for. But it made for a barely enjoyable experience. I did get from it though a morbid curiosity, a sense of bewilderment that I so rarely get when watching a movie that I had to just go with the ride. David Lynch is clearly a brilliant filmmaker in his own way; I just have to wonder if even he can make any sense of what’s going on in most of his movies.

Benn says:

How does one describe David Lynch’s love story, Wild at Heart? If Tennessee Williams had done two handfuls of coke while reading Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet”, then went on to write his own version while The Wizard of Oz was blaring on the television in the next room, this is what you’d get. If this confuses you in any way, well… that’s David Lynch for you.

Wild at Heart is a Southern Gothic ballad about two young lovers and their erotic, high-octane journey through the South. Of course, plotlines and story have always been more like macguffins for a director like Lynch, who prefers surreal images and events to a linear storyline. Sometimes this works for the better, and other times it works out for the worse. This time, it works for the better.

Lynch’s tale of love, lust and the Confederacy begins with an opening shot of a raging fire, and manages to keep that unfocused, yet magnificent energy throughout most of the film. Soon after, we are introduced to young lovers Lula (Laura Dern) and Sailor (Nicholas Cage) who, while leaving an upscale party, are accosted by a man wielding a switchblade. Hardcore metal music begins to play while Sailor begins to literally bash the would-be assailants head into the wall, the stairs, and finally the floor.

This sums up the first half of the film, which finds Lula and Sailor leaving North Carolina, their troubles, and Lula’s hysterical mama (Diane Ladd) behind them to dance, fight and have sex, all of which are done to metal music and shots of fire that fade in and out. The film acts as a road trip through the South, with the terrible twosome coming across a number of surreal events and grotesque characters played by a variety of David Lynch regulars, such as Sherlynn Fenn, Isabella Rossellini and Jack Nance.

In typical Lynch fashion, the world Sailor and Lula are running from is as surreal and eerie as it gets. Lynch’s South is a bleak and sweaty hellhole that resembles a fever dream, and the quirks that populate this world only add to the irksome delirium. There are people, who bark, paint their faces with lipstick, and talk in high-pitch chipmunk voices for no apparent reason. There are even sadomasochistic assassins and a trio of obese naked women thrown in the mix to add to the eyebrow raising ambiance that Lynch has become known for.

Much of the film’s energy comes from the relationship between Sailor and Lula, which is about as erotic as it can get. The heat these two actors generate combats that of the hellfire that is the outside world, and for a while, that chemistry really keeps the film going in high gear. As with all fires though, this one also dies down eventually, and two leads eventually fall in line with the rest of Lynch’s characters. Dern in particular is kept on the back burner for the last act of the film, and is never really given a chance to shine on her own. Cage, on the other hand, revels in his wild, manic outbursts that give the film a bit of flare every now and then until the end. It’s an absolute treat to see Cage with such unstable, quirky energy; for the last ten years, Cage seems to be choosing roles that require him to act bland and flat. Wild at Heart shows us that, if you withhold Cage’s Ritalin for a scene or two, he can be very entertaining and spastically charismatic to watch. Hopefully, THIS Nicholas Cage will come back in the near future.

When the fires between the film’s stars die down, we at least get a few characters that keep the film weird and kinetic. Diane Ladd (who is Laura Dern’s mother in real life) is among one of the strangest characters in the film as Lula’s over protective, shrill mother who is intent on seeing Sailor dead. Most of her scenes involve her in a full Southern belle get-up, usually getting drunk and having a nervous breakdown. Then another. Then another. There’s not much dynamic to the character, but Lynch knows just when to use her, and Ladd plays the character with wild-eyed perfection every time.

Willem Dafoe gives one of the creepier performances of his career as Bobby Peru, a filthy, perverted scumbag with the brownest, nubbiest teeth you have ever seen. Sliming his way into the latter half of the film, Dafoe gives the film a breath of fresh air at a time where everything slows down. Granted, Dafoe’s character is as sleazy and rancid as it comes, but he does it so well that he keeps the movie going whereas it would have run out of gas entirely.

It was by no accident that Lynch injected a handful of references to The Wizard of Oz in this film; in many ways, Lynch’s world is like the mythical Land of Oz. There are kooky characters, evil witches, bizarre attraction, and answers for those who keep to the road. Granted, Lynch’s Oz is more of a surreal nightmare than what we’re used to, but its awe inspring nonetheless. As grotesque as the world can get, there is something pure and earnest in Sailor and Lula’s relationship, and even after their antics and eroticism smolders there is a solid foundation underneath that makes the world a little less frightening. Wild at Heart might be too weird or rambunctious for some to handle, but those who keep riding alongside Sailor and Lula, for better or worse, are in for a hell of a ride.

Benn’s rebuttal:

I agree, once again, with James’ observations concerning David Lynch’s surreal, uber-weird brand of imagery and story telling. I do, however, feel differently about the film. I typically despise shock for shock’s sake, but Lynch has a story to tell and throws in a number of things so extreme that I find them entertaining, if not down right funny.

The main theme here is passion and purity in the face of hell, and I think Lynch does a decent job portraying this. Granted, the passion between Sailor and Lula fades in and out while the extreme weirdness surrounding them prevails, but when that romantic, erotic fire burns, it makes a big impression. Bottom line, something that grabs your attention in such a matter can’t be ignored, no matter how much you’d like it to.

James’ rebuttal:

I feel Benn overrates Nicolas Cage’s performance a bit. His energy is certainly something to behold but he never brings any true depth or likability to Sailor. Dern on the other hand, perhaps through a bit of increased backstory, comes across as an understandable character. While Benn claims she dissapears in the back stretch I completely disagree, noticing that as we reached the third act our perspective really begins to align with her as she becomes afraid of the world that we’ve been marveling in fear at this whole time.

As for the movie as a whole, it may very well be “too rambunctious” for me to handle, but my attachment to a film depends very much on the writing, particularly plot and character. David Lynch really dispenses with both here and that’s what frustrates me so.

James says:

Ethan and Joel Coen have somehow found a way to cheat the system. They manage to make brilliant, artistic, films, and still have sizable budgets and bring in tickets. While their latest film, A Serious Man, may be the result of a trade-off (the brothers agreed to make Burn After Reading, a lighter film full of stars, and in return they get to make whatever the hell they want with whoever the hell they want immediately afterward), it’s still impressive that this film was ever made in the first place. But thank goodness it was, because it has so much to offer and embodies so many of the Coen Brothers’ best qualities.

A Serious Man is about Larry Gopnik, a man in a 1967 Midwestern Jewish community who’s tried to build up what he considers a normal but successful life and begins to see it all fall apart. This may seem like a slim description of the story, but as far as plot goes there are certainly more specifics but not a lot more in terms of complexities. This is not a movie driven by its plot. It’s a movie driven primarily by its themes, and secondarily by its characters. If you haven’t seen the trailer for this film yet, it does a magnificent job of telling you everything you need to know, while simultaneously avoiding ruining anything. Not only that, but it is a work of art in itself and I highly recommend watching it. Trailer aside, this is a movie who’s story doesn’t give you all the answers, but will certainly give you a lot to think about. Many will likely be frustrated by its ending, and I myself found myself just sitting with my jaw open for several minutes not knowing what to make of it, but when you give the film some thought, it really does provide everything that needs to be said.

Throughout the film, the question uttered by the main character the most is “Why?” Why does he deserve the troubles that he’s experienced when he’s done so little to earn them? He’s a person who was content with the little life he’d built, and didn’t seem to want to reach for anything more, and yet he feels punished nonetheless. The question of why God would make these crises happen is quite central to the many conflicts of the film, and most audience members may find themselves wondering the same things as they exit the theater. Are the events of this film a result of cause and effect? Quite possibly, and there’s a lot of evidence to support this theory, but there may be an equal amount of evidence that they are simply a result of complete and utter chaos.

One of the things I look for most in a movie and its screenplay is conflict. It is the center of all drama, and it’s really what makes a movie interesting and exciting. While skimming the surface of my description, and even a more detailed synopsis, one might think that there is not a lot of conflict in this film. They’d be wrong. This movie is ripe with conflict. The main character is facing dilemmas on all sides. He’s fighting off an unhappy wife, her new partner in a devilishly kind Sy Abelman, problems at work including an exchange student so unhappy with his grade he’s willing to bribe and sue just to get what he wants, amongst many, many other things. The chaos in his life is exemplified all at once every time Larry steps into his home, where his wife greets him with a “Have you seen a lawyer yet,” both his children assault him with opposing problems, and his brother is lost in his own world full of its own chaos. During many of his conversations in which he tries to deal with one problem, you can hear another problem building in the other room. With the movie’s two hours, it manages to pack in as many problems and conflicts as can possibly fit, and it does them two at a time.

With all of these problems, it would be easy for this movie to get bogged down in misery. And there is misery aplenty, although much of it comes in the most personal and touching ways. But still, this is a surprisingly funny piece when it comes down to it. Watching Larry try to cope with it all makes you laugh. As I’ve said before, comedy most often derives from either wish fulfillment or greatest fear. Last time I mentioned this principal it was because the movie embodied wish fulfillment. This time it is greatest fear. Seeing someone else go through something worse than you’ve ever been through is funny if executed the right way, and while in this case it is a very dry dark way of presenting it, it is still funny if you keep a sharp mind. Many of the best comedic moments come from several dream sequences in which painful or embarrassing experiences can be explored to their more extreme fruition. These dreams provoke a more thoroughly outward laugh than the subtler humor seen throughout the film.

You also get a peek into the more ridiculous aspects of Jewish culture, as the Coen brothers lovingly poke at the community that they themselves grow up in. While some criticize the movie for being “too Jewish,” I find the full exploration of this culture to be one of the film’s greatest strengths. Part of what the Cohens try to explore is the perception that Jews have this self-inflicted misery, and to be fair, it is a part of their traditions to celebrate the miseries of their past. There’s a line in the film about how the Jewish people have millennia worth of story to look back on and take comfort in. Perhaps the comfort they take is that no matter what you are experiencing now, someone has always experienced worse. As
Larry is supposed to take comfort in Moses’ trek through the desert, perhaps the Coen brothers are adding to the repertoire of stories of pain, and allowing their audience to take comfort in the fact that they’re not experiencing it. The end of the film also hints that even Larry’s pains may not be as bad as things can get.

The acting here is dead on. The movie is void of stars, its most recognizable actor is Richard Kind, and he has a relatively small part. This allows us to be introduced to these characters free of preconceptions, and yet the acting does not hurt at all for lack of star power. Michael Stuhlbarg does a fantastic job in the lead role, being subtle and entertaining, and portraying an inner turmoil below the surface. Equally good is Fred Melamed as Sy Abelman, the closest thing to a nemesis Larry has, who manages to seem the kindest person in the film while simultaneously being the most manipulative. The rest of the cast is filled with incredible character actors, the kind that only the Cohen brothers have a knack for finding. Each and every person in the film fully embodies their character, most will make you laugh, and they all manage to seem like real people, despite their ludicrous behaviors and actions.

Credit must also go to the brilliant Roger Deakins. He is the cinematographer on most of the Cohen brothers films, and is largely responsible for the amazing visual artistry present here, and in the rest of their work. In this film, Deakins manages to give a mystique to this small Minnesota town despite its rather ordinary origins. He also makes mundane tasks like watering the lawn seem important, dramatic, holy, or depressing depending on the scene or the viewer. The composition is obviously perfect in every shot, and yet never seems to be showy for the sake of only a visual sense. The drab colors perfectly display Larry’s drab life, further making it seem tragic that Larry can’t even hold on to something that isn’t even that great in the first place. Where he really gets to let loose though is in the dream sequences, where he and the Cohen brothers are allowed to get a little surreal with their visual symbols. In this way, Deakins manages to serve the story first, and yet create something incredibly beautiful at the same time.

This film is not for everyone. It is deep into the realm of the dark comedy. It’s not an easy movie to sit through due to all the torture with which its characters are treated. It doesn’t wrap things up neatly. But it does give you tons to think about, and you could have several hours worth of interesting conversations about the themes herein. But even the film itself is not an unenjoyable experience. I laughed throughout and found that I was really having fun and entranced by everything about the story. The characters are completely unique, the kind that only could come from the mind of the Coen brothers. If you’re a fan of the Coen brothers’ work or dark comedies at all, you will get quite a bit out of this film.

Benn says:

In their latest film, A Serious Man, Joel and Ethan Coen create a film that revolves the complete and utter destruction of a man’s life.  You may not want to watch a man’s profession, family, religious and philosophical grasp on life be mercilessly torn from the seams….unless it was really, really funny.

A Serious Man follows Larry Gopnik (Michael Shuhlberg), a Jewish, Midwestern family man and physics professor at the local university.  Unfortunately, we have caught Larry at a very bad time.  His invalid brother Aurther (Richard Kind) sleeps on the couch and spends most of his time draining a cyst or scribbling esoteric mathematic equations in a notebook.  His wife Judith (Sari Lennick) abruptly and calmly announces that she wants a divorce, and that she is marrying family friend Sal Ableman (Fred Melamed).  His daughter Sarah (Jessica McManus) steals cash out of his wallet with the intention of getting a nose job, and his son Danny (Aaron Wolf) deals with his family life by smoking pot at school and apathetic to nearly everything around him.  If that doesn’t sound bad enough, one of Larry’s students bribes and blackmails him for a passing grade in his course, and Larry’s impending tenure hits a snag when the school receives anonymous letters derailing Larry’s character.  Needless to say, Larry is having a no good very bad day, and is trying to hold everything together while figuring out why God has forsaken him so.

The film is a comedy, believe it or not, but it is as black as comedies come.  Like a post-modern re-telling of the Book of Job, the Coens put Larry through places worse than hell for no real reason whatsoever; he is not an immoral or dishonest man, and in no way deserves the downpour of suck that has fallen upon him.  We feel awful for Larry, and watching his unending struggle gets frustrating from time to time, but the tragedies that encompass the film are so awful and so over the top that it becomes absurd, allowing the audience to share Larry’s pain, as well as laugh at it at the same time.

The depiction of the film’s unnamed Midwestern town (presumably somewhere in Minnesota or North Dakota) and its inhabitants border somewhere between caricature and reality, making Larry’s world unsettling and surreal, yet very relatable.  For one, this is the first film I’ve seen that has a sizeable Jewish community not in New York City or Florida.  The whole community feels like a collective fish-out-of-water, making the town feel like Twin Peaks, minus the murderous ghosts and dancing midgets.  The inhabitants themselves function as grotesques, and walk around in just-barely ill-fitting clothing and awkward postures using so much Yiddish slang that even the other Jewish members of the community don’t know what the other is talking about.  There is no doubt that this town is a re-creation of the Coens’ own hometown; a place like this could only be constructed old inhabitants who still hold a disgruntled nostalgia for their roots.

Achieving this kind of balance between surreal interpretation and realistic portrayal is a difficult thing to achieve, and the credit has to go to the actors.  Michael Stuhlberg manages to portray Larry with the greatest of subtleties, and gives an unforgettable performance playing a forgettable man.  There is nothing sinister or questionable about Larry’s character, though he’s not a particularly bold or assertive man either.  Larry’s only real flaw is that he lets others walk all over him, leaving him to be the dumping ground of all the troubles and deceptions people, and life, has to offer.
One of these deceptions comes in the form of Sy Ableman (Fred Melamed), Larry’s friend, Larry’s wife’s lover and all around scumbag.  Though a supporting character, Sy is as eloquent and well spoken as he is a slimy, deceitful snake in the grass.  His scenes with Larry are some of the funniest in the Coens’ catalogue of funny scenes.  For example, Sy often comforts Larry with hugs and soft-spoken, fatherly words of wisdom while simultaneously screwing him over, putting Larry at a loss for words or action.  Melamed plays this part perfectly, using his Christopher Lee-esque voice and imposing physical presence to every advantage and takes control of every scene he is in, yet does so in such a sly way that he takes Larry, and the audience, by surprise.

Much of the film revolves around Larry trying to figure out the meaning of his misfortune, and turns to three rabbis for answers as well as seeking out his own questions.  Unlike most films, Larry’s troubles are without any rhyme or reason to speak of, which is a classic Coen Brothers device.  Often accused of being nihilists, the Coen Brothers love to create conflict out of thin air, as if conflicts are just excuses to watch quirky characters react to utter chaos, particularly in their comedies; The Big Lebowski portrayed it’s lead character solving a mystery when there was none, and Burn After Reading involved a multitude of characters caught in a government conspiracy that the government was entirely unaware of.

Granted, the damage done to Larry is very real, but his questions as to “why” are pointless to ponder over, which this is why A Serious Man is so absurd and hysterical from beginning to end.  Watching a man suffer for no apparent reason with no solution to search for is far to ridiculous to take seriously, which could be Larry’s only true sin.  In the Coens’ Midwestern, surreal Brigadoon of causeless torture and defeat, I would suppose that taking things too seriously would be the worst way to live while keeping your sanity intact.

I would assume that the film’s title was not chosen casually; Larry is a serious man in a world that isn’t.  Jefferson Airplane’s single “Somebody to Love” acts as a kind of mantra for the film; it’s opening lyrics say ”When the truth is found to be lies, and all the joy within you dies…”, which suggests that the “truth” of the world, or at least Larry’s perception of truth, is shattered, revealing the world to be one big meaningless cosmic debacle.  This might sound like a fatalist way to look at the world, and maybe it is, but I suppose it’s all up to one’s perspective.  Rather than panic and play the role of Chicken Little, the Coens’ choose to simply point and laugh at the absurdity that makes up people’s lives and make something out of nothing.  If they were wrong, this film would not have been as funny as it is, and trust me, it is.  If this sounds like a nihilistic or twisted state of mind you may be right, or you just might just be taking yourself  far too seriously.

Benn’s rebuttal:

I have very little, once again, to argue about James’ review, except that I rather enjoyed Burn After Reading, which is different argument altogether.

Although I agree with James that the film isn’t for all tastes, I still urge people to see the film, because it pushes the boundaries of empathy so much that I think it makes everyone laugh, not just those with an affinity for dark comedies.  I would like to mention that while James had his jaw dropped, I was rolling down the aisles howling from beginning to end.

James’ rebuttal:

We agree on most points, but I’d say that Benn’s statement that there is no reason to ponder the “whys” of the film is wrong.  I feel a lot of the film is meant to ponder just this thing.  There’s no easy answers to this question though.  What’s most frustrating for us and the character is that he doesn’t reach for anything greater, he “didn’t do anythying.”  Perhaps the Coens are saying that his lack of reaching for something better is what’s doing him in.  Also, you do start to see some cause and effect come into play towards the end.

James says:

There are certain film creators from who’s style permeates their work so thoroughly, that you pretty much know what to expect from one of their films before you even press play. This is both good and bad in various instances. It can be good because, if you like their work, you’re pretty much guaranteed to get at least some enjoyment out of every one of their films. It’s a downside because even if you do like their work, there’s rarely anything fresh about an individual entry in their filmography. It’s also a downside because if you don’t like one of their films, it’s pretty unlikely you’ll like their others. John Woo is one of the many filmmakers who brings his style to each and every one of his films, and rarely deviates even on the content of his movies. The Killer is one of his better known movies made before his transition to the Hollywood system, and it certainly delivers on all of a knowledgeable viewers expectations for a John Woo film.

For those not aware, John Woo is best known in the states for Face/Off and Mission Impossible 2. The Killer is basically his take on a subgenre of films that was extremely popular during the 90’s, that of the hit man with a heart of gold. It stars Chow-Yun Fat as Ah Jong, an assassin who accidentally injures and blinds an innocent singer, and sparks a romance with her. Meanwhile a policeman, Inspector Li Ying hunts him down for his recent assassinations. The plot is every bit as cliché as it sounds, but at the time it had the advantage of preceding some of the most identifiable hit man stories, such as Leon the Professional. It takes advantage of a relatively proven formula (probably most utilized in Western films before it came to popularity in the form of the assassin genre), and because of this, it works well enough to get you through to the action scenes. Unfortunately, the action scenes are so much more energetic and entertaining that you find yourself bored with the pace when they aren’t happening.

This movie definitely has aged in a lot of ways, but the most glaring is the film’s score, which exemplifies the cheesiest of 80’s trends, and with its 1989 release, this aspect had to feel outdated even when the film was brand new. Even John Woo’s stylistic flairs aren’t as refined as you will see down the line when he has a bit more experience and larger budget. The acting, aside from Chow Yun Fat, who does a serviceable job, is pretty sub par. It’s not as bad as some other martial arts films, which always seem to get a bye in the acting category, but it still feels like a TV movie at times. But none of this is why you go to see a John Woo movie anyway.

You see John Woo films for ridiculous gun fights, slow motion action scenes, some awesome stylish composition, and doves. Seriously, lots of doves. In fact, John Woo must correctly have assumed that none of his newly found American viewers had seen his previous work when he made Face/Off, because The Killer features multiple scenes that involve lots of guns, lots of doves, and a church setting, all of which are utilized in the climax of Face/Off. But let’s face it, even when you’ve seen them before, these things are just so cool when you put them all together. John Woo’s characters have a habit of just pumping their enemies full of bullets without hesitation or checking to see if further bullets are necessary. It’s a horrible waste of bullets, and it’s the kind of thing that you look at and question, and then dismiss because it looks badass. Characters never run out of bullets either, despite the fact that they never seem to be carrying extra magazines on their person. No, magazines just appear from nowhere when they are needed. But scrounging around for bullets or keeping an armory in their suit would detract from the style and the pacing of the action scenes that works so well. So basically, when watching the film, you have to employ an active suspension of disbelief so that you can enjoy style over substance. And every now and then, this isn’t a bad thing. John Woo does action scenes incredibly, and they’re worth the trudge through the cheesy drama. In fact, he revolutionized action scenes for the next decade. The Matrix would likely not exist without his work, and certainly the lesser action films between these two points owe a great debt to what John Woo did.  If there’s one downside to the action scenes, it’s that a great many characters appear for the first time only to get shot moments later.  It’s hard to care about these characters, even so far as to be glad when they are shot, when you don’t even really know who they are.

While this is nowhere near his first, nor his greatest film, this is still a great insight into the development of John Woo’s style, and his sense of action. And let’s face it, if you want to turn your mind off for a while, and enjoy some cool fight scenes, you need look no further. Just keep in mind that that’s pretty much all you’ll get out of it.

Benn says:

The difficulty of watching films that had come out before I was of any reasonable age is that I don’t know what the cinematic expectations were prior to a film that ended up raising the bar for filmmaking. Granted, due to film history I know which films were revolutionary and which films upped the ante in terms of content or cinematography, but it’s difficult to really appreciate these films if you weren’t there to see these films when they were originally released.

John Woo’s 1989 crime drama The Killer is often said to have taken action sequences to the next level, going from simple point-and-shoot instances to rich, highly choreographed sequences that resembled a heavily armed ballet.

The Killer introduces us to two men who, despite being on opposite sides of the law, have more in common than one would think. The first, Jeffrey (Chow Yun-Fat) is a professional hit man with a strict code of honor, and shows an unusual amount of compassion for those not caught between his crosshairs. The other is Inspector Li (Danny Lee), a determined cop who is more interested in justice and punishing criminals than going along with the politics and bureaucracy of law enforcement. These two forces collide when Inspector Li starts investigating Jeffery’s latest hit, and Jeffrey is double crossed by his employer.

The action scenes are nothing short of spectacular. Each sequence is perfectly orchestrated, yet comes off so naturally that one could believe that Jeffery is performing all of these feats in the heat of the moment. Woo takes complete advantage of his setting and makes every corner, every window and every bit of furniture play a role in the action scenes. Throughout the film, Jeffery is catching guns in mid air, firing two guns at once, sliding across chairs, and pretty much doing everything but standing still whilst blasting holes in anything and everything.

It would be a cinematic crime to review The Killer without mentioning Woo’s grand finale, which takes the form of a massive shootout in a church. It is, without a doubt, on of the finest action scenes in history, and easily holds it own against films with a larger budget and CGI. Once Inspector Li and Jeffery team up to fend off the endless number of gangsters, the energy of this scene never stops; people jump through windows, blown clear across the church, chunks of walls are blown to kingdom come and a flock of doves encircle the ever-escalating chaos above. All in all, it’s an elegant, testosterone opera.

Violence, however, is not the only The Killer has going for it. It would be easy for this film to fall into the high-concept, feeble-minded cliché that are cop dramas, portraying Jeffery as the “ruthless killer” and Inspector Li as the “rogue, maverick cop” who’ll take ‘em down. Luckily, Woo added more depth into both of these characters, rather than rely on flat generalizations that we have all seen time and time again. Jeffery is portrayed as a peaceful man who spend most of his nights in a nearby church, and while on the job goes out of his way to make sure innocent bystanders do not get caught. On the other end of the spectrum is Inspector Li, who values justice above all else and, as he begins to study Jeffery, begins to respect this supposed criminal’s codes of honor and morals.

Oddly enough, what gives this film its greatest texture is how it deals with the theme of friendship amidst a violent surrounding. Kong Chu gives the film’s greatest performance as Jeremy’s longtime friend and contact Sidney. Chu could have played to part of the desperate, aging hit man as a pitiful simpleton, but instead portrays Sidney as a nostalgic old relic trying to act on the codes of days long past. The relationship between Li and Jeffery is as unusual as it is genuine, as two men who should be trying to kill each other find a number of similarities in the other’s character. Both men represent a dying breed that adheres to a code of justice and honor, and for their sins they are on the way out, so to speak. For as subtle as their connection is, Yun-Fat and Lee do a terrific job at making their fast friendship believable, as their characters become two against a very dangerous world, making the film’s final shootout so exciting on a cerebral level, as well as on a visual one.

The only weak element of the story lies with the young blind nightclub singer Jenny (Sally Yeh), whom Jeffery accidentally blinded in a botched assignment. Naturally, Jeffery seeks her out and tries to get her a cornea transplant to restore her sight… and it’s about as predictable as you could imagine. Jenny does little more than get teary-eyed, lean on Jeffery’s shoulders and scream whenever disaster occurs. Since she’s depicted as little more than a weepy little woman, her relationship with Jeffery seems too forced and, frankly, it takes away from the relationship between the two male leads, which actually adds something to the film.

As far as action films are concerned, The Killer stands out for it’s action scenes that are nothing short of brilliant, and one can plainly see the John Woo set the stage for other films of this genre for years to come. Though the plot is not without its clichés and faults, the performances of Yun-Fat, Lee, and Chu give the film a surprising amount of heart, which only makes the action that much more suspenseful and intense.

Benn’s rebuttal:

I will agree that The Killer resembles an Eighties TV movie, especially in the beginning.  However, I do think that once Jeffrey (aka Ah Jong) and Inspector Li get together, the acting and the story gets much better.

This movie most certainly laid the groundwork for the modern day action flick, but I found that The Killer is still amongst the best as far as shoot ‘em up scenes are concerned, despite it’s age.

James’ rebuttal:

Benn is really onto something with his comments on the friendship amongst violence.  It really is the thing that holds this film together emotionally, and makes it not just a series of awesome action films.

I also agree that John Woo really knows how to use the real estate of his sets, and keep things interesting and dynamic in the action scenes.  It’s not just guys pumping bullets into each other, it is, as Benn says, a brilliantly choreographed dance.

James says:

More so then any other film we’ve previously reviewed, Gunga Din brings up somewhat a dilemma in filmmaking.  Specifically, when judging a film that is no longer current, should one try and put themselves in the shoes of the audience who was first exposed to the film, with all their biases and expectations?  Cinema has certainly changed since 1939 when this film was released, and the way that action scenes, pacing, and adventure films as a genre are executed has changed with it.  To the modern viewer, this film is not nearly as exciting as it was to those of the past.  Similarly, should we search the film for facets that were later pilfered by movies we know and love, and give it credit for that?  Perhaps we should.  As an amateur critic, it is my feeling that the critics who truly have insight into the audience of the day have already done their work in the year it was released or shortly thereafter.  Therefore I will set out to review this film primarily based on the merits of modern viewers of all types (not just the MTV influenced, A.D.D. crowd, I promise).

Gunga Din is based on a Rudyard Kipling poem of the same name.  I have not read this poem, but I understand it doesn’t contain a whole lot of plot (and there is a good chunk of it in the last lines of the film), and therefore most of the story for this film is built from scratch.  It is noted as an influence on the Indiana Jones series of movies, among my favorite films of all time, so I was quite excited to see what led up to them.  Certainly there are traits here that molded the adventure genre, and even some direct parallels such as the Thuggee murder cult borrowed for Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.  But it lacks the energy and mystique that Steven Spielberg brought to the genre down the line.  Granted he had tools that George Stevens simply did not have, the influence of decades of advancement in cinema, and hell it’s Steven Spielberg, you can’t really compare much of anything to him at the top of his game.  Still, Gunga Din does have a lot of quality to back itself up, and while it’s not as exciting as later entries in the genre, it holds up surprisingly well.

The action scenes are not as common as perhaps I would’ve preferred, and are therefore spread out quite a bit.  The movie isn’t paced particularly well, in fact the whole first hour seems rather like setup for the actual conflict of the film, the encounter with the Indian natives.  There is a lot of unnecessary expositional moments early on, and quite a few of these are unclear as well, making you wonder why they had to be present at all.  Still, the film wisely uses this time to develop its trio of central characters and their relationships.  This trio is probably the film’s greatest achievement, as they have a great dynamic which is well displayed throughout many scenes.  Particular highlights include Cary Grant’s character Cutter and one of his partners MacChesney trying to concoct ways in which they can keep the third in their trio, Ballentine, from leaving the army to marry his fiancé and join the tea business.  It’s entertaining to watch them sneak about behind Ballentine’s back, and you get to see the way that Ballentine is the uptight foil to Cary Grant’s antics, while MacChesney is the concerned friend who thinks he knows what’s best.  You get to see each of these three characters put into various pairs to see how each interacts with the other by themselves, and then as part of the entire trio.  This is the grounds that makes you care about these characters when the final act comes around.  Of the three though, Cary Grant’s Cutter is by far the most charming and humorous on screen, and though Ballantine is the romantic protagonist, most modern audience’s familiarity with Grant makes him the one you root for and sympathize with in most situations.  This plays against some of the intention of the film, but he’s an interesting enough character (and probably the closest to Indiana Jones of the three) that it’s worth sacrificing the intended dynamic a little to showcase Grant’s chops.

When the action scenes do come around, they are surprisingly dynamic for the time.  A viewer with a keen eye may notice some old fashioned cinematographic tricks, such as the fast motion cameras used to make fight scenes feel quicker.  Since the fast cutting techniques were more than 60 years away, the pace still doesn’t feel as fast as we are used to, but a gunfight early on still feels action packed, and the battle finale is even more dynamic.  The downside to the final fight is that our main trio of characters gets lost in the mix a bit.

Execution wise it’s hard to compare the cinematography to that of the day.  The black and white certainly has some nice tones and contrast, and there’s some interesting composition that differs greatly to that of today due to the 4:3 aspect ratio.  The way they fit three or four people in a frame is often more creative than the widescreen format, and the square frame is also more condusive to close-ups.  The scenes in the temple offer some great shadows to play with as well.  For something of the time period, there’s quite a bit of dynamicism here.  One of the downsides though is location.  Rather than shooting on location in India, it is blatantly obvious that they shot in central California (primarily Lone Pine).  They can’t be faulted much for making a practical choice, but for someone native to California it truly takes away the illusion that we are in another country.  Part of what makes films like Lawrence of Arabia and Slumdog Millionaire is the way they pull you into a foreign land quite literally, instead of trying their best to recreate it on home turf.

Finally, one of the big dilemmas with this film is the fact that it presents itself as a moralistic tale proclaiming that the natives can often be more noble than we are, and warning of interference in worlds that are not our own.  This is all well and good, though notably heavy handed, yet the casting director made several fatal mistakes in this area.  Casting actors who were not only America, but not even of remotely correct dissent makes the whole thing demeaning too other races.  Gunga Din, the titular character himself, is played by a New Yorker with dark makeup on, only a step away from blackface.  Gunga Din, who is supposedly a young neophyte is also played by a man in his fifties, making the Indian race appear “simple” do to the conflict of his age and intelligence.  The central Indian villain is played by an Italian who can’t disguise his accent, also with dark makeup.  It’s hard to take their message of honoring other cultures seriously when their simultaneously mocking them.  This type of thing was likely pretty common during the time, but that doesn’t mean it has to be accepted by ours without note.  There’s a reason India banned the film for its cultural insensitivities.

Gunga Din is a film that has some very entertaining moments, but it also has long dull swaths as well.  Overall it isn’t a waste of time, and is more enjoyable than not, but I do feel that is a film that’s better left to the cinema enthusiasts, or at least someone who really knows they enjoy pre-50s cinema.  It’s an important step in understanding the development of cinema, particularly within the action/adventure genre, but on its own it doesn’t make for the most entertaining film out there.

Benn says:

The plot itself takes a while to get moving, as the inevitable showdown between the British army and Indian cult doesn’t take place until the last thirty minutes of the film. However, this doesn’t turn out to be such a problem since the film is carried by the charm and antics of the film’s three leads.

The three Sergeants’ introduction not only sets the tone for the film, but stands as one of the best introductions for any character in film history. We are introduced to our heroes in the middle of a brawl with the Scottish branch of the military after the Scots sold the Cutter, Balantine and McChesney a false map that was to lead to a pile of exotic jewels. The intro sums up the film quite well, in that it is not a military drama, or anything particularly serious in the first place. The film focuses on the romance and wonder of the adventures we dreamed of in our boyhood, full of exotic lands, unsympathetic villains, the promise of treasure and the opportunity to solve all problems with over-the-top violence that is both fun and effective. And of course, as is with boys of all ages, the various tricks, jokes and pranks that occur throughout the film add to the youthful appeal of the film and it’s characters. In one particular scene, Cutter and McChesney attend a fancy officer’s party and spike a punch bowl with a laxative, than procede to give it to a boorish, rule-abiding fellow officer with a stiff upper lip towards any kind of Tom Foolery. It has nothing to do with the central plot of the film, but it allows the true intentions and spirits of the characters to shine through, and it connects with the audience on a very basic, honest level.

Of course, the element of fun and wonderment comes from the three lead actors. Cary Grant acts as the group’s de facto leader, and is the most idealistic and opportunistic of the bunch. Grant’s charisma sets him apart from the other actors in the film, and his swashbuckling prowess makes him a very entertaining hero. Douglas Fairbanks Jr has just as much charm and charisma as Grant, yet his prescence has a very much needed subtlty and sophistication about it. The more mild-mannered of the three soldiers, Fairbank’s sub-plot involving his decision to get married and settle down or continue brawling his way to potential adventures around India with his friends plays a major part in the film’s humor, as a bulk of the film involves Grant and McLaglen trying all kinds of tricks to keep him in military service. Although the more brash and straightforward of the bunch, McLaglen holds the trio together as the gruff ole’ war horse, and shows signs of sensitivity in the film that is unexpected, yet adds real heart and depth in the story.

The only real trouble with the film is that the titular character, Gunga Din, only plays a small role in the film. When he does show up, he’s portrayed as being a bit dim-witted, and doesn’t really do anything for the film. By the time Din begins to have promanance in the film’s narrative, you wish that the film would return to the adventures of Cutter, Balantine and McChesney. Furthermore, though the film is the furthest thing from being a statement on British Imperialism, one cannot help but see Gunga Din as a characture of parody of Indian culture; the actor, Sam Jaffe, is not an Indian, but an American actor in body paint. I will say this now; Gunga Din is not a rascist film, and the attitudes towards race held by Rudyard Kipling have been debated by literary scholars since the publications of his first works, and as such, are up to debate by the viewer. Racial sensibilities aside, the character is not one to be taken seriously, and distracts from the better elements of the film, which is odd, since the title of the film is not Cutter, Balantine and McChesney, but Gunga Din. One would think that the titular character, who is supposed to be a hero, should be shown in a more dignified light.

Despite it’s flaws, Gunga Din is a classic and a masterpiece in its own right.  Granted, the established villians don’t play as large a part as one would expect, but then again, the plot is, more or less, a red herring to begin with.  Sure, we’d like to see Cutter, Balantine and McLaglen fight the evil Indian cult, but we’re happy just to see them together running about in the desert, searching for fabled treasure, getting in fistfights and keeping one another from settling down.  Few films can convey such natural, honest wonder and fun through a film, and Stevens’ film manages to succeed in a way that has yet to be matched.

Benn’s rebuttal:

Although I agree that the final battle scene is out of place in context to the rest of the film, I found all the seemingly non sequiter, expositional moments to be extremely fun, and I had a blast watching the three leads interact with one another and find themselves in the middle of a brawl.  True, the continuity of narative and racial issues are prevelant, but I really didn’t care because I found the leads (Cary and Fairbanks Jr) to be that charismatic.  If keeping to the true spirit of adventure and glory means forgetting the central plot, I suppose I’m all for it.  At least, in Gunga Din.

James’ rebuttal:

I’m seeing a lot of echoes between our two reviews this time.  In my opinion you may have oversold the excitement of the film, for it does play like an older movie.  Things do pick up eventually, but it’s truly the trio that make it work at all.  I think the racial insensitivity is pretty strong actually, but it’s a product of the times and what they had to work with in terms of budget and reputable actors I suppose, and I also don’t believe it’s intentional.  It’s sad that in trying to make a film that warns against neglecting a man of another culture, they simultaneously neglected the titular character and their portrayal of the Indian race.