The Best Part of Believe Is Belie

When viewed primarily as a horror film about a modern-day demon possession, Paranormal Activity is satisfactorily thrilling. It is not exceptionally novel; nor could it be--not in the post-Blair Witch, post-Cloverfield era--but it is inventive and engaging enough on its own merits to warrant the $9 or $10 dollars of admission the recession-weary, Halloween-seasoned adult filmgoer will likely hand over.

To the credit of the director and the ultra-slim cast-turned-crew involved, the film consistently achieves a tone of impending, genuinely disturbing disaster. It is an escalating tone of hysteria that one too often expects of, but fails to find in horror films: a tone that begins measured and allows for sufficient levity along the dark, twisting, path of increasing psychological unease; with choice moments of comic relief, and at least one or two self-reflexive references to the inherent foolishness of the situation, all while staying well clear of obvious parody. (More inter-genre comparisons to follow below)

It's a first-rate directing job by newcomer Oren Peli, a former video game programmer who was, according to the IMDB boards, responsible for some super old-school stuff and the 1998 NFL Blitz-wannabe NFL Xtreme. Sufficed to say he has probably, hopefully, found his true calling with this movie. It is an enormous accomplishment to have created, as your first film, a work that is so broadly acclaimed, that has received enormous credit on all three primary fronts: commercial, critical, and indie--not to mention the fact that is falls in such an easily-dismissed genre. It will be especially difficult for him to follow up on such a culturally resonant movie even with the fuller budget and higher-production value that his next film has been allotted, but make no mistake, he's riding on a wave of goodwill right now, and well deserved it is.

According to interviews he's given, Peli's inspiration for Paranormal Activity came about when he moved into his first house from an apartment. The would-be director's imagination soon got the better of him, and he became suspicious of the unfamiliar noises he was hearing throughout the house at night, regular moans and creeks and wind and the ordinary big house noises, accented by the relative quiet of his suburban neighborhood and his unfamiliarity with the situation.. As he is quoted by Cinematical: " That's kind of what made me think how I would go about trying to figure out what's going on and being the techno-geek that I am, my initial inclination would be to get video cameras and set them up around the house to see what was going on. I didn't actually go ahead and do that, but that's what started making me think how freaky it would be if you had cameras running at home while you sleep and actually did catch something."

Thus, the premise that the movie--or the way it is being marketed, that it is instrumentally about demon-possession--is challenged, compounded by Peli's admission that it stemmed from his idea to construct a kind of CCTV security feed in his own home. The conception of the supernatural source behind the noises came about after Peli thought of setting up cameras everywhere.

The film's male-lead, Micah (pronounced Meeka, named for the actor who portrays him) is probably read by some audience members as a director-surrogate anyway, but that the film literally begins with the director's first thought should serve to highlight the similarity further.

The basic idea behind the surveillance experiment itself can be-read several ways:
Either Micah is compunding his girlfriend Katie's (and later his anxieties) by creating a de-facto "reality show" within their own home, replete with narcissistic self-examination and over-dramatization of otherwise mundane activities, which the liberal use of the camera for non-surveillance purposes would suggest.

OR he is using Kate's anxiety as an excuse to gain what he perceives to be more control over his "domain, Katie, which is evidenced by his reluctance to turn to outsiders for help and his possessive comments in the film, e.g. 'This is my house, you're my girlfriend, I'm gonna deal with this,'

OR he is adopting a position of modern, skeptical, quasi-scientific arrogance (indicated by his reliance on technology and the various pseudo-scientific experiments he conducts) in an attempt first to disprove, then later fight, an ancient, undeniably powerful supernatural entity.

OR some combination of the above, which you patient reader have probably already concluded on your own.

The second-to-last point is of special interest to me--One of the most persistent questions I found himself asking as the film drew to its close was why didn't Katie or Micah get ahold of a priest? Where was Father Damien?

The question is too-readily and unsatisfactorily brushed away by deferring to the two psychic-professionals in the film, one who appears on-screen twice and the other who is only mentioned. Of course, neither of these individuals proves particularly helpful, which would seem to support my initial conclusion that our doomed couple are atheists, equating organized religion to parapsychology: why turn to a priest why a psychic couldn't get the job done?

But as I mentioned to my friend Niraj, if our heroes are supposed to be modernists, then they would undoubtedly be acquainted with The Exorcist, or less probably Constantine (Hellblazer), or any number of other pop-cultural references to demon exorcisms wherein Christian religious rites prove at least moderately effective in dispelling demons. Few things bother me as much in movies as when characters conspicuously display lack of cinematic knowledge of the very genre used to categorize their own story. It is especially prominent in zombie films, very few of which even contain the term "zombie" at all. (Shaun of the Dead famously spoofed this tradition.)

Even if the characters are meant to be anti-religious, one would think that their worsening paranormal experiences would finally compel them to reconsider the merits of a man (or woman) of the cloth, or of any organized religious tradition for that matter. Plus, one of the film's penultimate scenes prominently features Katie clutching that overtly Christian symbol and exorcist-tool, the crucifix, indicating exactly the kind of desperate appeal to the protectorate-God I have been advocating.

Let's assume the movie isn't nominally an existential crisis or crisis-of-faith though. Accepting the miniscule budget, Paranormal Activity is not your standard horror-fare, to be certain. The obnoxious hyperactive, jump-cut editing of many modern horror successes (and I implicate the excellent High Tension alongside the atrocious Saw franchise in this regard) is nowhere to be found. But it doesn't exhibit much of the mythology of The Exorcist either, which Peli also cites as an inspiration, or even that of it's modern cousins The Blair Witch or Cloverfield, although it shares their shaky (some [old people] find it nauseating) camera-work.

Most useful to me is the fairly transparent but perhaps overlooked comparison to Sam Raimi's Drag Me to Hell, another movie about a demon pursuing a young woman's soul that came out in theaters earlier this year only to be forgotten all-too quickly.

Now, I'm not the biggest Sam Raimi fan, but I am a vocal defender of the guy's talents. I am proud to say I loved The Quick and The Dead and Spiderman 3, so maybe an uber-fan designation is warranted.

That being said, I wasn't particularly excited for Drag Me to Hell, and the film about met my expectations. But one thing the film did well is something Raimi has been known for since his earliest directing days- establishing and building upon a mythology of evil. Some would argue that it is the actually same meta-mythology across all his films, or at least all of his horror pictures; a mythology where possession, dehumanization, physical deformity and general mortal peril occur with startling regularity.

If that's the case Drag Me to Hell certainly ticks most of, if not all the boxes: The film begins with a seemingly bizarre but undeniably thrilling flashback in which we are first introduced to the film's antagonist, the Lamia. Later revealed to be a goat-like demon, the dark presence of the Lamia is immediately established as a powerful, capable threat; literally pulling its first victim, a small boy, through fissures in the earth down into a fiery hell. After the film's heroine is cursed with the demon, she desires the help of a psychic, much to the chagrin of her skeptical, philosophy professor boyfriend.

It's easy to draw the parallel here to Paranormal Activity, and tempting to go even further still: equating the message of both films as some sort of post-feminist critique of modern heterosexual relationships in which the woman feels so trapped by her surroundings, obligations and her patronizing mate that she is literally driven to a self-destructive mental breakdown. It is an undoubtedly interesting thought, and one that could warrant it's own blog post, but I'll spare you and leave that up to a more capable writer.

What I'm trying to get at it is that Drag Me To Hell exceeds Paranormal Activity in terms of it's commitment to developing a backstory, a compelling mythology. The former film's psychic, Rham Jas, is more than just a throwaway plot-mechanism; he's actually a really enigmatic guy who happens to have a lot of information and skill when it comes to battling psychic evil. Also eventually proven ineffective, his presence still makes the film more complete and in my mind, more authentic than the faux-documentarian gimmick of Paranormal Activity.

The world as most people know it, even atheists, is not irreligious. There is much folklore and superstition built up behind some of the most thoughtless of gestures, e.g. saying "bless you" when someone sneezes. Albeit, modern variants of archaic rituals don't function in the same way as they originally began, but my point is that it is a mistake not to play this up this mystical undercurrent in horror films, a point in which Drag Me to Hell actually does markedly better than most.

People make up backstories for everything in their lives. "Why the fuck did the elevator doors have to close on methis time, when I was running late to the goddamn presentation?! It must not be my day." It's called patternicity; the brain seeks to make order of arbitrariness. Especially in our reality-TV-obsessed world, the most ordinary occurrences take on a mythical quality. Everyone's relationship is Romeo and Juliet, Anthony and Cleopatra etc. etc. Everyone's worst day is the worst day in history, and now, more than ever they can and want to tell you about it.

But maybe this is why the demon in Paranormal Activity is so undeveloped. It's Micah's and Katie's story, after all--the story of their relationship--that should be most important to viewers. But what does it say about their story that they are so unwilling to look to others for help? To get rid of a fucking demon, no less. It's not like they have a bed bug-infestation or something. Although having experienced that myself, I might select the demon.

But there's a case to be made that the demon functions to some degree more like the shark in Jaws, as an evil presence rather than a fully-formed character. It too is both reviled and sought-after. Unlike Drag Me to Hell, where the Lamia was a clear menace from the get-go, Paranormal Activity's demon proves strangely enticing to the young couple, especially the brash Micah, who relishes baiting it, observing it, communicating with it, at least up until a certain point-of-no-return.

This, in-turn, raises a host of other spiritual questions: Why such an attraction to evil supernatural forces rather than "good?" Why would anyone entertain a dark non-entity for so long while denying even the slightest-possibility of salvation promised by the Christian faith? Or any other faith?

Perhaps that is the true dark genius of Paranormal Activity after all: the couple does believe in the presence of organized evil. The irony is that the force feeds off their belief and fear and eventually pulls itself together to horrific effect. If they were true atheists or non-believers, they'd be able to will the demon away by ignoring it, excusing it with other natural phenomena, and generallly not giving it the attention it craves. Thus, I think the movie suffers for a lack of definition when it comes to its own supernatural underpinnings.

Which leads me to my final, tantalizing observation: I think if you want to read Paranormal Activity as a metaphor for anything, it's not relationships or a lack of faith. In the vein of Requiem for a Dream, the movie really seems to be a dramatization of the dangers of chronic drug addiction. Think about it: Micah blames Katie for keeping her "demon" a "secret" from him and pulling him into her web of darkness and paranoia. Why does Katie get up so much in middle of the night? Insomnia is a common side-effect of rampant drug-use. Why is Katie so upset that Micah is filming them? Why doesn't Micah want them to "get help?" We hardly ever see them leaving the house, let alone going to work or visiting with friends. Katie's lone friend seems wain, pallid, and similarly mentally fuzzy. Could she be their dealer? The ending, of course, a tragic OD. And what about the white powder Micah throws all over the ground at one point? That's gotta be... OK-- that last one is a stretch ;-)

In Sum: A surprisingly taut, artistic and visceral film, with a disappointingly undeveloped backstory and unintellectual plot. Recommended, but with a note of caution--it can't possibly live up to it's marketing hype.

Focused on the family

The strange alignment of the American pop culture zodiac got just a little stranger for me over the past two days, and not only because I saw Lynch's classic Eraserhead for the first time late last night.

Indeed, earlier in the Memorial Day evening, in a move made largely to please my girlfriend, but at least partially for the purpose of satisfying my own curiosity, I consented to watch my first full episode, and the season five premiere, of the bona-fide TLC reality show phenomena John & Kate Plus 8. For the unacquainted, this is a program that the creators describe, in pseudo-documentary lingo, as profiling "a day in the life" of a contemporary American suburban couple raising eight kids, a set of twins and their younger sextuplet siblings.

I say "bona-fide" and "phenomena" because I've increasingly observed this program dominating the TV screens and conversational topics of collegiate-age young women like my significant other. The ratings figures alone would seem to support my experience, but of course, significant critical attention and tabloid speculation has been lavished on the show as well.

The furor surrounding the show, or rather, the furor surrounding the state of Jon and Kate's marriage has apparently mounted to such an extent that it was played as the central theme of the new season premiere. Shown in a documentary style format, Kate's attempts to mostly single-handedly plan and carry out the sextuplet's 5th birthday celebration were impeded by the appearance of paparazzi, which she (and the editing) portrayed as a kind of group of vaguely threatening bogeymen.

Liberally interspersed within this mini-narrative was scenes of the real one, that of Jon and Kate confessing mostly separately to the camera crew, as opposed to earlier seasons where they were apparently filmed together on the same couch. The conspicuously distraught parents espoused their contentious feelings about each other, numerous reports of infidelity (mostly directed at Jon), their family's growing fame, and their full-time careers as reality-show subjects, agreeing on only the most vague and obvious of commitments- selfless love for and care of their brood. The obnoxious question posed by a member by the crew, "What does the future hold?" was greeted with mutual pauses, shrugs and thinly-veiled threats of divorce. Oh, what a terrible turn of events for the idyllic modern fertility experiment!

Sarcasm aside, my initial reaction was one I am sure many other viewers felt- that of sadness and regret for having caught the kids up in this whole voyeuristic mess. It's barely cynical to expect that they will have their own individual reality shows a few years down the road, when they've developed their own disorders and drug habits.

Even if Jon and Kate don't split up (and the money's saying they won't, as therapy would be a logical ongoing plot point, and two separate "VH1 Love" contest-style shows are unlikely to play nearly as well with audiences) there remains the fact that their home-movies belong to a fucking television company, their offspring's childhoods syndicated, a-la- The Truman Show, as the entertainment of millions of other households around the country and the world. Growing up in suburban America and coming out "well-adjusted" is challenging enough as it is; growing up in a national fish tank has got to provoke some severe existential angst.

But one can't go down this train of thought for very long without putting themselves in the young parents shoes, and conceding that their options were as sparse as their family was large. Clearly, the Jon and Kate could use all the revenue and manpower that that the show provides. And clearly, once they made the decision to allow their family to be televised at all, there was no going back. Anticipating the wild success of the show was not something that anyone could have been expected to do, but there has to be that certain acknowledgment that filming a subject inexorably changes it, and in no small way.

Yes, Jon and Kate consciously made a momentous decision- one that would benefit them greatly on paper, but would have an incalculable cost on their souls. As such, I think there is still time for them to emerge as heroes. If they can somehow regain control of the reality-TV apparatus that has presently swallowed them up, I believe they can craft a more emotionally reasonable situation, one that necessarily increases their family's level of privacy.

But to endlessly scrutinize and speculate on the state of the Gosselin family is to miss the more interesting point, that of what the show means for America. Or rather, what it means as America, as a primary vessel of entertainment for so many in this entertainment-saturated place and age.

For me, this is the ultimate irony, because the basic premise of the show depends instrumentally upon the collectively short-term memory of modern American TV-viewers. As James Poniewozik writes in the May 18 issue of TIME Magazine, "Big families used to be a staple of TV: Eight Is Enough, The Brady Bunch, The Waltons, The Partridge Family. When American families with three or more children were common, these clans weren't outlandish. They were like you, just more so. Lately, TV families have gotten smaller, just like viewers' families." Jon & Kate wouldn't be nearly so successful if the show had debuted alongside all its similar, older predecessors, at a time when most American families were big and struggling to make ends meet.

At the same time, however, both private and televised American families have grown more multi-cultural. Jon's ethnic background includes Korean, Irish and French, and his kids reflect, in varying degrees, a mix of both his and Kate's "Pennsylvania Dutch" physical features.

Most crucially, in a socio-cultural shift in attitudes that would have literally been impossible forty years ago, the show indicates that Americans have seemingly implicitly accepted the biotechnological wonder of human artificial insemination. Procreation by sexual intercourse alone is not to be missed, apparently. The most articulate objections to Jon and Kate are not that they decided to try for kids using artificial insemination, nor that they carried all the embryos to term. Rather, the objections are that they are acting irresponsibly now that they have the kids. And yet, the show wouldn't be compelling if there were any less kids in the family. Biotechnology has thus become doubly profitable, earning revenue not only for doctors but for entertainment producers. Either way, in this case, It's not the means, but the ends that American viewers are concerned with. It is an ends that, as I alluded to before, ironically ignores all beginnings- of life, of family, of TV families.

All of this leads me back to Eraserhead, perhaps the strongest case for abortion ever made in a film. It is nearly impossible to view the alternatively tragically and comically mutated infant in the film as anything but a mistake- of its parents, of God, of life itself. And where Jon & Kate is perfectly content to gloss over the biotechnological developments that created the situation, Eraserhead appears to implicate the increasing industrialization of society with the deformation of human beings and human relations. In a way, despite its date, it is much more forward looking than Jon & Kate, predicting what is now a common dissolution of the American family over child-rearing responsibilities and marital fidelity, now entirely separable from fertility.

Henry Spencer and Jon Gosselin share more than just an obvious dislike for their wives and their domestic situations. Both men are out of real jobs, on perpetual vacations in their respective surrealistic prisons of heavy machinery and glaring cameras, wanting nothing more than to internalize, to retreat into their own self-absorbed, anachronistic fantasies. Mary X and Kate are both emotional basket-cases, wracked with motherhood responsibilities they neither fully accepted nor rejected, misdirecting their anger and frustration at their equally-guilty male partners.

Eraserhead, though, was designed to be dark and troubling. It is unclear what the pleasure in Jon & Kate really is- or more precisely, where it stops- somewhere in the murky arena between the parents genuine desire for their kids well-being and the sordid reality of entertainment economics, i.e. controversy is more valuable than peace and harmony.

If one feels pangs of regret or guilt or experiences any lasting emotional trouble from Jon & Kate, then the day's news regarding California's Prop 8 is certainly food for thought. Why is it acceptable for a young heterosexual American couple to bend the laws of nature to satisfy their desire to have children, resulting a set of twins and a set of sextuplets, when the attempts of homosexuals to marry and adopt are outlawed? Put it another way- whose family is more fucked up, the fictional mutated one in Eraserhead, the "real" one in Jon & Kate, or the hypothetical queer one that exists in American voters' minds? Again, America, or American pop-culture, is often quite a paradox. Let's just hope, like the lyrics of the Who, that in your case, whatever it is, "The Kids Are Alright."

Strange Monster, or: how I learned to stop placating and defend "Cloverfield"

I am both surprised and mildly outraged over the amount of critical dissing that has been leveled at "Cloverfield," especially by those who generally liked the film. Most of these kinds of reviews spend some time lauding the film's technical wizardry- the integration of low-budget camcorder footage with expensive, convincing special effects- and then proceed to fault the film for a variety of imperfections in the rest of their column space, finally concluding that it is, overall, a mixed bag at best.

The grievances range from petty condemnations of the acting on behalf of a no-name cast to pointed but seemingly obvious comparisons between the movie and a "theme park-ride," (as if a movie about a giant monster attacking a major city was not supposed to have this element to it.) Rest assured, "Cloverfield," is certainly a hell-of-a-ride, nobody can deny that, with new terrors around ever corner and a predictably high bodycount, but it is also so much more.

It is not simply a vacuous, escapist adventure- nothing, mercifully, like the "Pirates of the Carribean," franchise or another obnoxious movie from a few years back, both of which are much more suited to the negative connotations of "theme-park ride." I can see where this idea comes from, though- as many of the scene transitions in "Cloverfield," seem too timed and rehearsed to gel with the idea of the film being a spontaneous first-person documentary- the most prominent example occurring when the protagonists emerge from a subway station underground and are commanded by the military to enter a makeshift hospital area. The camera pans around the room in a circle, catching close ups of battlefield surgeries and even a captive mini-monster struggling to escape, as if the world within the movie was just an elaborately choreographed pretense, a kind of "Truman-Show" reality of sets and cues...which of course, it is.

But I can't agree with all those who find these aspects of the movie too distracting to enjoy its' larger, overall theme and execution. Nor can I support the notion that the main characters are all unlikeable, selfish, spoiled brats. They sure have a yuppie element to them, and their concerns are mostly limited to each other's sexual relationships or lack thereof, but that's precisely the intent. "Cloverfield," begins like an episode of the "The Hills," (or it's more popular older sibling, "Laguna Beach,") and just when it approaches that point of cheap, shameless, interpersonal drama it veers off and becomes something else entirely.

What it becomes is actually quite breathtaking to consider... a film that, like "Easy Rider," or "The Graduate," defiantly represents the concerns, the preoccupations, of an entire generation. Maybe that's why some critics are so intent on finding fault with it, because they aren't in the right age-group. As a soon-to-be 21 year old attending college for Journalism, I personally loved everything about "Cloverfield." It isn't a movie- it's a cultural time-capsule, touching on so many current elements of our lives- from terrorism, to user generated media, to the value of love in a society that revels in emotionless hookups. Not only that, it combines all these elements with those of a traditional (otherwise overdone) supernatural yarn- the giant monster B-movie, simultaneously subverting it.

Fuck, in particular, those critics that bemoan "Cloverfield"'s destruction of New York City and the obvious parallels to the 9/11 terror attacks. Of course that's what the film is evoking, and to great effect, I might add. Why is "Cloverfield," blamed for depicting crumbling buildings in the same spectacular, morbidly fascinating fashion as the mainstream media covered 9/11? The cameraman is, like all those unsuspecting camera wielding people on the fateful day in September, just recording the shit going down in front of him. It's we the viewers that pay to see it. And indeed, for a while now, it will be difficult for ANY American who witnesses a building collapse, even a controlled demolition, to not associate the sight with the fall of the World Trade Center.

The allusions to terrorism don't end there- the monster itself, as lots have pointed out, isn't fully revealed until the final moments of the film. Like my favorite M. Night Shyamalan film, "Signs," this approach definitely works really well on a narrative level, heightening the tension and fear by forcing the audience to imagine for themselves how the adversary really looks. But I think there's more going on than that: The monster has many parts- or "cells," including "smaller" monsters, bugs the size of dogs, that hide in dark places and sound like sprinklers when they attack. The protagonists must navigate a ruined urban environment, fearful of unseen danger at every turn. The images of soldiers and high-powered weaponry combing through city streets are the most obvious, an inverted reflection of the American campaigns in Iraq and Afghanistan. But none of this is approached the wrong way- it's all a magnificent symphony of violence and destruction, never marred by cheap, unrealistic stunts or overdone special effects.

And that's precisely because our heroes aren't directly involved in what would be the main narrative thread in every other monster movie- i.e. finding a way to stop the creature. They don't receive any special information or powers, they never contact anyone else important (no scientists, no government agents) and spend the film either fleeing from the monster or trying to find away around it to get to their trapped friend. They are supposed to be us- the average, self-interested movie-going American public, consumed by an otherworldly situation that cannot be fully understood, let alone controlled. And yet we come to respect these characters and their struggle all the more for it. Sure, some of their motives and actions might seem like the common mistakes of B-movie prey to us sophisticates in the audience, but it is impossible not to connect with these characters on at least a raw physical level, as the audience was forced to connect with the soldiers in Ridley Scott's excellent "Black Hawk Down." Both movies work so well by relentlessly trapping the viewers in the same situation as the leads, and so, like it or not, you experience their micro-reality and nothing else.

I have no doubts that "Cloverfield" will eventually get its due as an important early 21st century work, criticism be damned, although this might take a few years of bad Januaries and copy-cat films. I would strongly encourage all those who have seen the film to go back and watch it again with some of my longwinded rant in mind, as I plan to do soon. Even if it is nothing more to you than a big monster B-movie, it still works really well on at least this level.

In Sum: Monstrously good fun. A Must-see.

McSweeney's

Tim Burton's R-rated horror-musical-comedy "Sweeney Todd," staring Johnny Depp as a homicidal English barber bent on revenge, might just be the best of the latest crop of movies to hit theaters. It is certainly more entertaining and satisfying than the overhyped "Juno." And not surprisingly, it is the only movie to come out this season that I find truly embodies the spirit of the winter holidays.

You see, it is tradition for my extended family to congregate at my house every Christmas to eat, open presents, and watch explicit/gory films together. (Healthy, I know) Previous selections have included such beloved holiday masterpieces as "The Ghosts of Mars," "Road Warrior," "The Fist of the North Star," "Resident Evil," and "The Crow."

This is actually a less troubling state of affairs than it sounds. My cousins and I are usually the first to occupy the downstairs "home-theater" area, taking up all the available couch-space before any of our parents or older relatives have strayed from the appetizers upstairs. As a consequence, we have total control of the viewing selection for the evening. All of my first-cousins happen to be males, of the particular sort that celebrate fake violence. So I've understandably come to see fake blood-letting as just another way to spread the Christmas cheer...it helps the the color corresponds to less homicidal things like reindeer noses and holly berries.

More than this, I think that the overwhelming idea of all the nobler aspects that the holidays are supposed to be about; love, charity, grace, religious ceremonies- actually create something of a backlash in many people, even if they don't admit it outright. After a month of being exposed to these ideas several times a day by cute anthropomorphic animals, animated versions of traditionally inanimate objects like Snowmen, and garish covers of the same twenty old-ass songs, it's not difficult to see how some people could experience a desire to hurt things. This would certainly go some ways in explaining the appalling, discourteous behavior of many winter shoppers and, more frustratingly, drivers- but that's a whole different, timeworn topic that need not be repeated here.

Frankly, I kind of like seeing people go crazy around the holidays. I mean in principle I wish they didn't for everyone's sake, including their own (It's just not healthy to stand out in the freezing weather, hours bef0re the ass crack of dawn just to get into a fucking department store, especially now that we have this thing called the internet). But at the same time, I like seeing this more brutal side of America laid bare- it's seems somehow more authentic to me, people pushing and shoving each other to get some material crap that will likely be discarded in a few years or even returned a few days later. It's consumerism at it's most pure baby, the thing that has made the United States such an economic giant for so many years. It certainly seems more in-line with our everyday activities than showing up for one or two nights to "worship" at seasonally-overcrowded Christian church services.

And yes, coming back to the matter at hand, "Sweeney Todd," vividly explores the most despicable behaviors of human beings. Lust, exploitation, blackmail, corruption, and of course murder all swirl uninhibited through Burton's miserable, dark, vision of 19th-century London, singing and dancing to the tune of Sondheim's glorious music. We don't get too much outright criticism of consumerism, but when Bonham-Carter's Ms. Lovett character turns her once derelict dining establishment into a London hotspot by filling her meat-pies with human flesh, the irony is far from subtle.

Despite what you might have heard to the contrary, Depp, Helena Bonham Carter and Alan Rickman, the three lead actors, are all very capable singers. In the opinion of this mostly theater illiterate-reviewer, they do justice to the Broadway material. Sondheim himself has said he completely trusted and enjoyed Burton's vision of his musical. I was most impressed, though, with the less-famous singer-actors in the supporting roles of Johanna, Toby, and Anthony, the sailor boy. Here's to a future with these burgeoning actors filling ever more prominent parts in quality films. Hopefully they will avoid some of the more embarrassing career choices that striking singer turned actress Emily Rossum has made since her turn as Christine in the most recent film adaptation of "The Phantom of the Opera."

"Sweeney Todd," is a rare kind of movie. A genre-bending exercise that wallows in the misery of the human condition while simultaneously making light of it, and both approaches work together seamlessly. Showtunes aside, it is unlike the majority of other cheesy horror-slashers in at least a few couple key departments. The most apparent; the fatalities themselves- the horrific, graphic murders in "Todd," are never played for laughs or fun.

Every time someone is killed in cold blood, the audience is almost sure to audibly wince. Even though the blood itself is bright and stylish, akin to "Sin City," the violence doesn't seem nearly as hyper-kinetic or casual as that film. We are always reminded of how terrible the act of killing is, usually during the unceremonious disposal of the bodies- as Todd tips back his adjusted barber's chair to dump his freshly killed customers headfirst into the basement two stories below him, their heads crashing loudly, sickly onto the ground. The horrific, cruel nature of unanticipated murder is not dwelled upon too much at any particular time, though. Instead we are just left with a series of profoundly disturbing images of a wronged human being wronging others...a point which leads into the next, and less obvious key difference...

Sweeney Todd himself, our enigmatic antihero. We are shown in flashbacks the reason for his bloodlust- his unrighteous imprisonment, the seizure of his beloved wife and daughter. We might even sympathize with his desire for vengeance, were not extended to include all of London, nay humanity itself. But even when we find out how truly warped Todd has become, targeting people who have nothing to do with his predicament, we are still rooting for him. This puts him in the same department as nearly every other horror icon- Mike Myers, Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger. Everyone watches the movies with those guys because they want to see them kill... especially because it is unjustified. But at the same time, we all want to see them die too- or at least be temporarily defeated at the conclusion of the film. Their murders cannot go unpunished. We need some sort of closure for the movie to be satisfying, some way to believe that evil cannot proceed uninterrupted for long. We applaud loudly when the cheerleader or the nerd or whichever weak surviving character gives it to the killer, because we want to see them get fucked up for what they've done.

And if you haven't seen the film, are unfamiliar with the musical and don't want the ending SPOILED. NOW WOULD BE THE TIME TO STOP READING!!! (If you haven't already)


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When Todd is killed at the end of the film, we the viewers also welcome this. But it is not because we want to see him suffer for his crimes. No, in fact, quite the opposite. The death of Sweeney Todd is made oddly more satisfying and more touching than the deaths of similar repeat killers because it is the only escape from suffering possible for him. To continue living, most assuredly facing prison-time again if he doesn't flee, and always having the burden of the murder of his wife on his hands no matter what, is an awful fate for our avenging antihero, one that we cannot condone for him, despite his acts. Suicide, too, would seem like a cop-out, something that would not please him or us. No, Sweeney needs to die by the hand of another- released from the world that would otherwise have continued to fuck him over in an act of justice, and unintentional, morbid benevolence. And what are the holidays really about...if not benevolence?

In Sum: Awesome. If you are into Tim Burton's gothic sensibilities, you will thoroughly enjoy this. How many R-rated musicals are there? Not many....Go see it now!

Slevin: Vampire Hunter

I generally don't trust famous film critics when it comes to two genres; comedy and horror. What's funny and scary and therefore good to me often doesn't seem to resonate very well with guys like Travers and Wilmington. I actually doubt the pro's take on a lot of modern films, but entries in these two genres in particular seem to inspire a good deal of scrutiny and distaste from the establishment, and I'm not exactly sure why. I've often thought it has something to do with the age difference; I'll be 21 in a few months, while most of them are at least as old as my parents (50+). Old people don't seem to like brutal violence unless it is in some sort of a war or historical setting, and are never very amused by the inappropriate sexual and drug-related humor that accompanies my favorite comedies.

I can't help but think, though, that when studios put out massive, serious, boring looking dramas like "Gone Baby Gone," (which has a tomatometer freshness of 92% at the time of this posting) they grease the pro's palms a little bit because they know that nobody would be interested in such fare otherwise. And when they put out something like "30 Days of Night," a survivor-horror-thriller involving Arctic vampires and former Alias cutie Melissa George, they count on bloodthirsty, horny college guys like myself to come out in droves no matter what the reviewers say. I think I am living proof of at least the second part of that theory, but who knows? I bet "Gone Baby Gone" is pretty dece, and I'll probably end up seeing it and enjoying it at least as much as "30 Days of Night," which reminds me that that latter title is supposed to be the subject of this post and I'd better get onto it.

Adapted from a graphic novel of the same title, and produced by horror-comedy phenomenon Sam Raimi, "30 Days of Night," is about a bunch of rural Alaskan villagers in the present day or thereabouts trying to survive a vampire attack on their fictional home of Barrow during an annual, month-long period where the sun fails to rise, presumably due to the extreme northern geography. Don't let Raimi's involvement fool you, however, this film is never funny and nothing like the Evil Dead series.

"30 Days of Night" begins with an incredible but brief shot that I wish would have been expanded upon in more detail; a lone man trudging through snowdrifts away from a cove where an enormous, ominous, jet-black, Russian-looking icebreaker ship lies still on the water, cloaked in fog. We are supposed to infer, of course, that this the means by which the vampires have come to Alaska.

Barrow itself is a quaint, frontier-like town filled with lots of wooden buildings, large vehicles, fur-hooded jackets, and of course, a nice fatty oil pipeline, clearly the foundation of the local economy. With a docile population of just over a hundred, Sheriff Josh Hartnett aka Eben Oleson (who's name I thought was "Evan" until I looked it up on IMDB, what the fuck kind of a name is Eben, anyway?) doesn't seem to have much to do when the film opens except be glum about a recent separation with his Fire-marshal wife Stella (Melissa George), who is trying to finish up inspecting some fire-fighting supplies and get the hell out of the town and away from Eben/Evan as fast as possible.

However, as the 30 day period of darkness descends, and Barrow is effectively "cut-off" from the rest of civilization (all flights in and out cease during this time), Stella misses the last plane out of Barrow, and Eben/Evan finds himself called upon to investigate a series of petty but strange crimes, including a kennel full of butchered dogs and a pile of burned cell phones. His investigation, however, involves little more than brooding while he drives around the town and talks with various residents.

One thing I didn't like was that although there were some brief, establishing shots of the town that showed local Inuits, the cast itself was highly Americanized, with everyone speaking perfect English. How fucking ethnocentric do the creators think we audience members are? The vampires, once revealed as characters in their own rights, as opposed to just fast, murderous silhouettes, (an event which occurs about 20 minutes into the film) do have their own made-up language, so I guess that counts as some diversity.

This language also sounds cool when the vampires speak out loud, but their scary voices are undermined by subtitles revealing they have the thought-processes of grade school children.
Then again, the whole idea of "30 Days" is kind of a revisionist take on the vampire legend, and the vampires are supposed to be more feral and unsophisticated than your traditional Bram Stroker, Anne Rice types, so I guess it goes with that whole theme. Still I would have preferred NOT being able to understand what they were saying and just leaving it up to everyone's imaginations. This would have created a much greater aura of mystery and wildness around them. Aside from this, the vamps make pretty frightening villains, and it was awesome to watch them run around on the rooftops of Barrow's wooden buildings and pounce like tigers on unsuspecting victims.

Unfortunately, this R-rated film lacks any even slight depictions of sex, which I definitely think would have improved things overall. But alas, nobody- not Melissa, not a hot young pipeline worker (yes...thats correct), not even Joshy boy gets their mack on, even though I'm sure it's one of the best ways to pass 30 days of relentless, cold, darkness.

I don't want to spoil the whole film for anyone that is interested in checking it out of course, so I'll refrain from going to much further into the plot. Sufficed to say, it is paper thin, and character development and acting are of typical B-movie quality, i.e. say quite minimal. These, and the aforementioned defects, are countered, however, by noble attempts at intensity and suspense, a fair amount of gore, and a brilliantly unpredictable ending that manages to be compelling but not gimmicky or Shyamalanesque.

Overall I'd say that as a pre-Halloween movie, this definitely got my in the spirit of the season, and was worth the price of admission (Although we did go during the afternoon, so it was only $4.75.)

"30 Days of Night" won't go down in history as a horror-classic. But it won't be remembered as a massive, unwatchable, failure either. In fact, I enjoyed it despite its numerous flaws. It delivers nearly exactly what the trailers and the concept promise.

I've also read somewhere that the studio has already announced the intentions to make a sequel, which could easily use this first film as a springboard to be much better, but will likely, (blood)suck big some big balls (nice imagery eh?). Oh well.

In Sum: Check it out if you dig seeing people being bitten and axed (and don't mind that there is basically nothing else worthwhile going on).