Tuesday, February 24, 2015

Tasting Da Sweet Blood of Jesus

The Kickstarter era of movie-making is in full swing, with even veteran filmmakers using the crowd-funding platform to finance smaller-scale, more experimental projects that larger studios might not touch. And so Spike Lee has used the platform for the first time to fund a remake of Ganja & Hess, Bill Gunn's 1973 blaxploitation vampire allegory. With about $1.2 million raised (a miniscule budget by Hollywood standards, but more than enough to make a coherent movie) plus other financing via product placement, Lee shot Da Sweet Blood of Jesus in 16 days, and after making the rounds of festivals it is appearing in rep theatres and on line. Wherever you can find this curious, uneven, but ultimately winning movie, it's well worth a look.

Lee's movie, it has been noted, is often a line-by-line remake of Gunn's, retaining Gunn's story: wealthy African-American archaeologist Hess Green (theatre veteran Stephen Tyrone Williams) is stabbed by his emotionally unstable assistant with a newly unearthed relic, a tribal dagger, which leaves Hess alive (after a fashion) but unquenchably thirsty for blood. The assistant's wife, the headstrong Ganja Hightower (Zaraah Abrahams) arrives on the scene, embarking on a strange but absorbing relationship with Hess, propelling them both on a harrowing and bloody journey into obsession, addiction, and, possibly, redemption.

Lee insists his movie is not a vampire movie, and it's clear that he's much more interested in the metaphors he's exploring (which exist in all vampire movies worth watching) than in delivering straight-up vampire carnage. Indeed, Ganja & Hess was originally borne of Gunn's desire to explore cultural politics within the grindhouse vehicle he'd signed on to make. It's been suggested that many of Lee's movie's lapses into stillness are simply a direct appropriation of Gunn's more relaxed style, but some of the movie's interludes - including two lengthy stops at a neighborhood church and a number of lingering closeups on NY Knicks logos - seem essentially Lee, borne from both his patient documentarianism and his now-signature expressions of his abiding love for, and pride in, his hometown. (This affection is abundantly clear in the movie's gorgeous title sequence, with dancer Charles “Lil Buck” Riley executing his patented moves amid Red Hook landmarks, which dropkicks us beautifully into the setting.)

Between the tightness of its shoot and these offbeat stylistic flourishes, Da Sweet Blood of Jesus doesn't always come together. (Williams' measured, occasionally somnolent line readings don't always mesh with Abarahams' natural exuberance, and even playing lovers they occasionally feel like they're acting in two different movies.) Yet Lee's earlier films have just as many different things on their mind, and something about Lee's approach here lays out each thing - addiction, African history, assimilation, religion, redemption, love - and gives us a Brechtian distance from which to take it all in. Take it all in we do, but even after Lee takes us all over the map a major character breaks the fourth wall, glares right at us, and nails us to our seats. This final gesture puts the onus of interpretation right back on us, and Da Sweet Blood of Jesus lingers in our minds. Our veins, even.

Friday, February 20, 2015


Leviathan is a big story about small people in a small community, and the forces that overwhelm them. There's a powerful sense of inevitability as a family fights the purchase of its land by the town mayor, whose counter-measures expose his true ruthlessness. Andrey Zvyagintsev's story, among many other accomplishments, vividly realizes its setting (the small coastal town Pribrezhny), to the point where you can practically smell the sea air, and taste the vodka enjoyed liberally by nearly every character. But as powerfully as it indicts the Russian regime, there's a pointed universality to its portrait of small-minded politicians drunk on power, and the ultimate helplessness of those who cross them. (I mused that an American remake could very easily transport the story to the Bible Belt with minimal changes, considering the prevalence of places where booze, corruption, and firearms all figure in the local culture; I was unsurprised to ultimately find that it was an incident in Colorado that inspired Zvyagintsev's story in the first place.)

The furor surrounding the movie in its native Russia is ironic. The movie unflinchingly ties the small-town corruption it depicts into Vladimir Putin's reign; indeed, Putin himself is present in the form of a hilariously what-me-worry? portrait on the wall of the corrupt mayor. But to bill the movie as "the film Putin doesn't want you to see" is something of an exaggeration. As potent as the movie is, Zvyagintsev claims he never once felt the hand of the state try and stop him, or shape the movie's contents. And even though the state has a strong presence (in the form of Putin ally Nikita Mikhalkov) on the country's Oscar selection board, this scathing movie was the one it submitted for consideration. The Russian government, after all, has declared war on corruption, just as Zvyagintsev has in his remarkable movie, so it's funny that they're at such cross-purposes.

Leviathan comes by its plaudits and awards honestly. Hard to say if an Oscar win would mean this movie's being recognized on its own merits or simply the Academy trying to tweak the Putin regime. Regardless of Sunday's outcome, Leviathan is grim but gorgeously executed, capturing the thorny, anti-humane politics of its homeland and transmuting them into a warning that is intensely felt, bracing in its expression, and universal in its breadth.

Friday, February 13, 2015

Recommended!: Eyes Wide Shut (1999)

The last time there was this much back and forth about the release of a big budget sex movie was back in 1999 over Stanley Kubrick's Eyes Wide Shut. The way people were going on about it you'd think that then-married Tom Cruise and Nicole Kidman had hired Kubrick to write, shoot, & direct a $35 million sex tape to be distributed cinematically. Which seemed to be what the many people who lined up for it thought they were in for (unrealistic as the expectation was), and there was some serious backlash over what they ultimately got: a murky excoriation of the Tom Cruise character type, with Kidman seemingly relegated to a tiny supporting role, with Cruise thrust into increasingly ridiculous scenes, none of which climax in anything resembling the erotic release promised by the movie's hype. Hype exacerbated by Kubrick's death, leaving both expectations that this be some kind of a final masterpiece [as well as a multi-million dollar sex tape] and questions over whether or not the movie was actually finished.

Like most of Kubrick's movies, after the year that spawned it, with the hype surrounding it cheerfully forgotten, the movie's ready to be re-watched, and reassessed. What remains is this strangely timeless, dreamy wonderland, in which Dr. William Harford (Cruise), thrown into a talespin by his wife (Kidman)'s confession of a powerful adulterous urge, goes out into Manhattan in search of erotic payback. And yet none of his attempted dalliances ever amount to anything, culminating in an absurdly (and, on Kubrick's end, deliberately) overblown masked orgy, at which the trespassing Dr. Harford seems to awaken a dark conspiracy that threatens to follow him into the waking world.

Eyes Wide Shut reveals itself to be an engrossing, dreamy quest,  If it never rises to the level of flesh fest its initial audience was expecting, it's completely honest about the psychology of eroticism; about the profoundly masculine jealousy that rears its ugly head when a woman even fantasizes about sexual autonomy, about the weirdly elusive nature of sexual fantasy (and the damn near impossibility of realization), about the profoundly unmutual sexual aspect that can lurk within even the longest, apparently happiest marriages. It's a tall ask by a supposedly erotic movie to get us to sign on for nearly three hours of Tom Cruise not getting laid, but what we get is a fearlessly honest Cruise performance as he exposes a particularly stunted, thwarted, threatened masculinity. (Cruise went even deeper into self-examination for PT Anderson's Magnolia, an equally remarkable movie also released in 1999.) And though Kidman does wind up being in less than 15 minutes of the movie, the spell of her longing lingers over and through the movie like a ghost. We marvel that a man married to such a woman wouldn't welcome her erotic aspects, yet we wonder if we'd react any more rationally to the revelation of our own partner's depths.

Eyes Wide Shut is as meticulously realized as anything else Kubrick made, and is gorgeously lit by cameraman Larry Smith (who'd go on to work similar wonders for Nicolas Winding Refn). Its dreamlike aspects wind up giving us a deeper, weirder, and better movie than we might have expected (not to mention funnier; Steve Martin had been Kubrick's first choice for the Cruise role). Though the movie does, in some respects turn out to be a long tease, it does give us something resembling release at its coda, as the Harfords seem to be groping toward the realm of mutual sexual understanding...and the equally far-off possibility of a happy ending in a Kubrick film.

If the movie, as some complained, didn't look like it was set in contemporary New York, the distance that time allows lets us look at it in the dreamlike frame of mind intended, yielding hard lessons and dreamy fantasy from its depths. Fifteen years later Eyes Wide Shut seems as elusive, timeless, wonderful, and ultimately transcendent as the erotic impulse itself. I doubt history will be as kind to 50 Shades of Grey.

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Recommended!: Krull (1983)

From this desk, the two best reasons to become an actor are Shakespeare and fantasy cinema. These worlds often intersected in the late 70s through the 80s, with many an outlandish fantasy given dramatic heft (and perhaps a dose of grounding realism) by expert, classically trained thespians. Star Wars balanced the work of its talented newcomers with performances by British veterans Alec Guiness & Peter Cushing. Brian Blessed makes the strongest impression in the 1980 Flash Gordon as the bombastic King Vultan, but he's not the only classically-trained actor giving his all to that berserk, colorful fantasy. Even the makers of the gaudy and delirious StarCrash were canny enough to bring in Christopher Plummer for a crucial role. (Props to Max von Sydow, who seems to have accepted every sci-fi role offered him.) And had Jodorowsky's Dune been distributed by someone rich and insane, it too would have married the work of some of its era's finest fantasy artists with a stellar cast able to truly run riot within the world imagined by those artists.

1983's Krull is well-remembered (both fondly and disparagingly) by those who came of age around that year. There was some critical resistance to Krull, which cited both the movie's bloated budget and its busy script as drawbacks. But at least on the two-pronged front being considered here, Krull delivers.

There's something lovely and otherworldly happening in every scene in Krull. The movie reportedly had 23 different sets built in England to create Krull's fanciful, Dark-Ages-yet-sorta-high-tech world, from the richly realized palaces inhabited by its characters to the teleporting fortress housing the Beast, Krull's glistening, evil antagonist. Even the designers of the weaponry went above and beyond, manifesting equally in the the single-shot laser spears wielded by the Beast's army of Slayers to the frankly awesome 5-pronged Glaive tossed about by the heroic Prince Colwyn. Look at this damn thing:

No one actually saw Krull in 1983, but everyone who did wanted a Glaive.

The story is packed, the world is vividly realized, and everyone in the cast just runs with it. Ken Marshall is fleet-footed but earnest as Colwyn, and everyone in the band of adventurers that gels around him during his quest gets at least a moment to shine. Freddie Jones holds the Ben Kenobi role with ease, guiding Colwyn with generous elder wisdom (and holding his own in the movie's most spellbinding sequence, a reunion with a former love presided over by a giant crystal spider). A band of thieves that falls in with Colwyn is led by Alun Armstrong, moonlighting from acting duties at the Royal Shakespeare Company and fully inhabiting the arc of a potentially tertiary character. (You'll recognize youthful Liam Neeson and Robbie Coltrane among his fellow thieves, and see strong hints of the leading men they'd become.) Beloved stage actor (and Carry On mainstay) Bernard Bresslaw is, naturally, covered in effects makeup as a cyclops, but endows the character with indelible pathos. Even Ergo the Magnificent, a third-rate wizard serving as comic relief, is given a rich character arc, beautifully realized by comic veteran David Battley from inflated egomaniac to a team player, able to sprout teeth when the chips are down. And Lysette Anthony makes the most of what could have been a rote damsel-in-distress, finding real strength within her innocence to survive as captive of the Beast.

Against this blockbuster era in which beloved books are stretched into multi-movie eventss, a movie like Krull that packs so much detail into a scant two hours seems, unfairly, quaint. The thing's been part of my life for so long that I can hardly be objective about it. And yet I like to think that its charms wouldn't be lost on a generation weaned on digital effects. That we haven't been so blinded by CGI that we can't recognize the abundant imagination of an older movie like Krull, its world beautifully conceived and built by hand, and inhabited by a cast that makes even the smallest roles seem larger than life.

Monday, February 9, 2015

Rohan Descends Upon Jupiter, Lays It Waste

(Our friend Rohan Morbey took in much of the body of work of the Wachowski siblings in the run-up to writing his review of their latest, the flashy space opera Jupiter Ascending. His review, which he's generously let us cross-post here, appeared in its original form as always over at Rohan's site Closing Credits - do follow him on Twitter!)

If I subscribed to the adage of ‘so bad it’s good’ then Jupiter Ascending might have be one heck of a fun time at the cinema. However, I will never succumb to that way of thinking, so this latest film from the Wachowskis was an unmitigated disaster of galactic proportions. A film so bad, and in every aspect so poorly handled, that no one walks away unscathed – the most afflicted being the paying audience.

The film had a troubled production, with Warner Brothers pulling it from its original summer 2014 release schedule and dumping it in February, claiming post production was not yet finished. Yet I suspect the powers that be knew this was a $150 million bomb as soon as the dailies were in. The blame is fully on filmmakers Andy and Lana Wachowski, with all the hallmarks of a team totally void of any creativity yet given carte blanche because the memories of The Matrix are still engrained on everyone’s minds – or at least the cumulative $1.5 billion that series made worldwide still keeps the naysayers at arm’s length at Warner. But after this failure I wonder how much faith that Matrix success can still hold.

The plot is hopelessly confusing for two reasons: first, everything is either explained with mass exposition or not explained at all; and second, you soon realize the whole film is ludicrously inept and stop paying attention because the nonsense unfolding on screen never earns the respect it needs to keep you invested. In my movie reviews I rarely discuss the plot because I never want to spoil a first watch for anyone; but I couldn’t have told you what was happening or why in this movie even if you sat next to me, let alone in writing this review 24 hours later. I know that planet Earth is the inherited property of someone in another galaxy and that Jupiter Jones (seriously, that’s her name) is a queen in this galaxy but cleans toilets for a living back home in Chicago... and that’s about it.

I’m all for nonsense stories if the tone of the film is served up to match it but this one just hurtles along at 100 miles an hour without ever stopping to wink at the audience. It’s like an exceptionally awful version of The Fifth Element minus the much needed self-awareness of Luc Besson’s movie.

Just thinking about two other Wachowski movies in comparison to Jupiter Ascending makes you appreciate just how engaging and thoughtful a complex, unconventional story can be. Both The Matrix and Cloud Atlas are mind-bending on first (and subsequent) viewing but no one can deny the filmmakers’ intentions to give  you an experience like you’ve never had before. They changed the landscape of action cinema in 1999 and to their credit their post-Matrix work has been anything but ‘safe’, but there is nothing to suggest this latest film is from the same creative minds. Regardless of what you like about their previous four movies (yes, those sequels to The Matrix were a huge disappointment), no one can say any of those movies failed to serve up several stand-out, even 'eye-popping' sequences. Too often directors are labelled ‘visionary’ because they get to spend huge sums of money on their movies (Zack Snyder, Peter Jackson, Alex Proyas) without producing the goods at the other end. The Wachowskis truly deserve to be called 'visionary', but their work here certainly damages that reputation.

Unintentionally hilarious dialogue and nonsensical plot aside, the biggest disappointment here is that the film is bereft of any visual originality. The intergalactic world is far too reliant on CGI to hold any weight, looking like a Star Wars prequel idea that even George Lucas would have discarded. The action sequences fail because there is nothing at stake and there are no consequences to any actions; half of Chicago is destroyed in one scene, only for us to be told that humans will have their minds wiped and it’ll all be forgotten. How convenient for the film makers to add this minor detail, and how sad for us that we’re being asked to accept it. Furthermore, if you could choose any film maker to shoot in 3D for the first time, chances are the Wachowskis would be one of the first names on that list, but their use of the technology is squandered save for a few objects being thrown at the screen. 

The performances do not help either. Mila Kunis might look great in various costumes but she hasn’t anything near the screen presence to take a lead role in a film of this size and scope, whereas Channing Tatum is visibly bored in every scene, and could’ve been replaced by Vin Diesel for the lack of range he shows. The star prize, however, must go to Eddie Redmayne for his turn in the villain role; his acting choices are so unfathomable I can only call them Sharlto Copley-bad. Let that sink in.

It’s quite rare for a major release to be quite the proverbial ‘train wreck’ as Jupiter Ascending ended up being. With awesome original sci-fi blockbusters like Edge Of Tomorrow struggling to find the audience they deserve, the future for such releases is dealt another blow by this latest complete waste of money, time, and effort.

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