REVIEW: Batman (1989)

It's pretty insane when you think about just how long the superhero genre has been around. Movies like those in the MCU and DCEU feel like a relatively recent trend, but the groundwork for what we've come to know as the modern superhero genre was laid decades ago with films such as today's subject, Tim Burton's 1989 Batman film. It's important to understand just how revolutionary this adaptation of DC's dark knight was at the time. Aside from comic readers, most associated Batman with the 60's Adam West show, despite how comics like The Killing Joke and The Dark Knight Returns had long since moved past the camp of the Silver Age. There was strong demand from the fanbase for a darker, more modern take on the character; hot off the success of Beetlejuice, Tim Burton was brought on to direct, and the rest is cinematic history.

Despite being one of the founding fathers of the modern superhero genre, the plot here is hardly the stock origin story most would expect. Really, we get more focus on the origin of the Joker (played famously by Jack Nicholson) than we do Batman (Michael Keaton). After a mob enforcer by the name of Jack Napier falls into a vat of toxic chemicals, he resurfaces under the ghoulish guise of the Joker. Feeling jilted by the amount of press given to the mysterious Batman, Joker sets out on a spree of terror, poisoning the populace of Gotham City. It's up to the caped crusader (with a little help from Vicki Vale, played by Kim Basinger, and his loyal butler, Alfred, played by Michael Gough) to foil the Joker's sinister schemes once and for all. Simplistic enough conceptually, but the real meat of this film lies in the way that this story is executed.

As I mentioned, such a dark, stylistic approach to a superhero property was all but unheard of at the time of the film's release. Compared to Richard Donner's squeaky-clean Superman (which came out a decade earlier), Batman represents a bold new shift in the boundaries of the genre. Looking behind the scenes, it's clear that some people (particularly hairdresser-turned-producer, John Peters) attempted to go a bit too far with this mindset; the Batsuit was originally meant to include footwear sponsored by Nike, and Keaton's iconic "I'm Batman" line originally contained a few more expletives than the finished product we see today. It's for reasons like these that it's important for studios to bring visionary creators on board, in order to even out the money-men. Enter Tim Burton; to this day, I'm still hard-pressed to name a director better-suited for this particular job. Despite this being a massive blockbuster that endured years of rewrites and executive meddling, Burton's distinct style still shines through, and that is what I feel makes Batman such a memorable entry into the annals of film history. Just about anyone can make a film about a superhero who dresses like a bat and fights crime, but only Tim Burton could have made this film the way that it turned out (much like how Bill Finger is responsible for making the original Batman into something more than another disposable pulp vigilante).

Gotham City (care of production designer Anton Furst) positively reeks of Burton's trademark flair. We're treated to clashing architectural styles, gothic vistas, and more gargoyles and statues than any planning committee would know what to do with. Perhaps this is just a side-effect of nostalgia (since this and the 90's Animated Series were my official introduction to the character of Batman), but whenever I think of Gotham City, this is the Gotham I envision. A bleak, grey, foggy hellscape, perpetually stuck in a sort of anachronistic limbo between the roaring 20's and the 1980's. Aside from the Prince music, there's absolutely nothing here to date this film; as is expected of early Burton, he creates a fantasy dreamscape and invites the audience to lose themselves in his world. While some may say that The Dark Knight is far more in-tune with the spirit of the source material from a character standpoint (and I'd be inclined to agree), I think it's safe to say that this film is far more fascinating stylistically. The Dark Knight will forever take place in 2008 Chigago, while the events of Batman unfold in a Gotham City ripped straight from the Bronze Age of DC comics.

That's not to say that this is a perfect interpretation by any means; there are a number of changes from the source material that are sure to make comic readers' heads spin (the most egregious of which is Batman's willingness to flat-out murder any criminals he comes across), but I feel as though these are minor details that don't really detract from what is otherwise a very well-made film. The atmosphere here is tight enough that no amount of adaptational inconsistency can really totally shatter it. It's of course helped along by what might just be Danny Elfman's finest work as a composer. The score here is just magnificent, and is the song that comes to mind whenever I think of Batman (even moreso than the Adam West theme). Of course, all the atmosphere in the world isn't worth much if the cast is lackluster; fortunately, that's not the case in the slightest.

Michael Keaton's casting as Bruce Wayne was the subject of widespread controversy back in the day; after a series of primarily comedic roles in films such as Mr. Mom, fans assumed Keaton would be a poor choice for the dark knight. The reaction was so vitriolic that petitions were actually formed to have the role recast (keep in mind, this was well before the heyday of the internet). Fortunately for all involved, Keaton gives what may be the strongest performance in the entire film. As Bruce Wayne, he is quiet and reserved. He keeps all of his emotions bottled up inside and comes off as a man who appears totally unassuming, despite his lavish background. Under the cowl, Keaton's Batman is cool and collected, always in control of the situation. Compared to other live-action Batmen (namely Bale and Affleck), Keaton feels by far the most natural. He doesn't need to growl or scream to instill fear in the hearts of criminals (who are, after all, a superstitious and cowardly lot), and this innate sense of confidence helps elevate the character to the status of superhero (despite not being able to turn his neck around). This is a character who feels much more comfortable underneath his cape and body armor than he does in a tuxedo, and Keaton's performance conveys that dual identity to a T.

On the other hand, we have Jack Nicholson as the Joker. This is the true star of the movie; his origin gets the most attention from the plot, he steals every scene he's in, and he even gets top billing over the lead actor. A common criticism of Nicholson's performance is that he doesn't seem to act like the Joker, so much as he just acts like himself in clown makeup. While I can definitely see this (for as enthusiastic as he gets, he never really disappears into the role the way Keaton does), it doesn't change the fact that he gives a dynamite performance as one of the most iconic villains of all time. Burton really hones in on the narcissistic side of the Joker's personality; everything he does is motivated by ego. He is a villain who, in every sense, wouldn't exist without Batman. At the same time, it was a young Jack Napier (rather than the seminal Joe Chill of the comics) who killed Bruce Wayne's parents, creating a sort of hero/villain Ouroboros. While it's not a 100% accurate portrayal, I'd say that it's arguably the perfect performance for this interpretation of the character. He's got a great look, a great laugh, and contrasts brilliantly as a foil for our titular hero. This is a film full of strong performances and likeable characters, but it's obvious that Batman and the Joker are far and above the main event here.

I hadn't watched this movie in years and, upon revisiting it, I'm glad to say that it holds up. There are a few nitpicky issues I had concerning elements like the sound mixing, some of the editing, and of course the inconsistencies with the source material, but I feel as though I can safely say that this is an iconic classic that holds up, even without the help of nostalgia-goggles. When this film came out, it was revolutionary for its dark tone and clearly-defined stylistic choices. Nowadays, in a world of committee-planning and cinematic universes, it's refreshing for those same reasons. As much as I love the MCU, every film is basically a comedy at this point and the Guardians of the Galaxy films are the only ones with any real amount of dynamic color or directorial flair. The DCEU positively reeks of Zack Snyder's distinctive influence, but in a way that hampers any character who doesn't mesh well with washed-out colors and pseudo-intellectual platitudes. Batman is the perfect blend between blockbuster comic book adventure and a director's singular vision. It's a product born of all the right kinds of compromises, and I feel like many modern studio executives could (and should) look back to it for inspiration. If you somehow haven't seen this film by now, right your wrongs as soon as possible. Just make sure you stop after Batman Returns unless you've got something potent in your cup.

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REVIEW: The Last Unicorn

I've always found it interesting how the benefit of hindsight can add or subtract to a film. Some movies have a habit of taking root in our minds, where subtext reveals itself to the viewer and creative decisions become that much clearer to understand; we're able to step back and see the full picture, sometimes as early as when the credits begin to roll. Oftentimes this kind of post-viewing rumination can lead to that magnificent kind of eureka moment, where the pure artistry at work is pulled into the limelight and given a time to shine. Other times, as the afterglow fades, plot holes begin to make themselves known and the film begins to disintegrate before our very eyes. The Last Unicorn, a 1982 cult classic from the iconic Rankin/Bass Productions, falls moreso alongside the former rather than the latter; while I found my viewing experience to be very hit or miss, it was after the credits had stopped rolling, when I had a chance to really consider the plot from a subtextual standpoint, that the film's true value made itself known to me.

Adapted from Peter S. Beagle's novel of the same name, the story follows the titular unicorn (Mia Farrow) as she attempts to cope with the revelation that she is, indeed, the last of her kind (hence the title; already the film begins to reveal itself to us). After hearing tell of a mysterious Red Bull that supposedly chased all of her unicorn brethren to the ends of the earth, the unicorn sets out on a grand adventure to find and return all the world's unicorns. Along the way, she meets an insecure magician by the name of Schmendrick (Alan Arkin) and a beleaguered maid named Molly Grue (Tammy Grimes), who accompany her on her journey. After a harrowing run-in with the Red Bull, Schmendrick uses his magic to turn the unicorn into a mortal woman (since the bull only pursues unicorns). As the unicorn (now under the assumed human name of Amalthea) adjusts with her new body and place in the world, the group arrive at the seaside castle of King Haggard (Christopher Lee), in hopes of solving the mystery of where the unicorns disappeared to once and for all.

While the plot is very much your standard fairy tale fare (characters go from point A to B to C, encountering different story beats along the way), it's truly the subtext behind it all that keeps everything moving. I must confess that, upon watching this for the first time, I found myself growing quite bored on more than one occasion. The film carries itself slowly to begin with, lingering on individual scenes and focusing moreso on character interactions and dialog than outright action and adventure, but once our trio reaches King Haggard's castle, things grind to a complete stop until the climax. This isn't helped by our protagonists; the only one with any kind of drive or grit is Molly, and she isn't given nearly as much attention as Schmendrick and the unicorn (who are completely passive by comparison). Yes, everyone has an arc and yes, everyone contributes something by the time the story is ended, but there's still not really anyone for the audience to latch onto until Molly is introduced. Schmendrick is endearing thanks to Alan Arkin's humble performance, but that doesn't change the fact that he barely does anything aside from feel sorry for himself for the majority of the film. Meanwhile the titular unicorn comes off as detached and mopey until she's turned human, at which point she basically goes catatonic from having to deal with her newfound mortality. Despite all my griping, I actually really like the kind of offbeat, melancholy tone this gives the entire film; I just wish there was a protagonist I could forge a greater connection with.

With a classically simplistic plot and characters to match, the film is 100% carried by its subtext. Despite essentially being a film targeted towards children, the story is heavy with themes of life, death, and notions of mortality and immortality. One of my favorite scenes involves the unicorn immediately after she is turned human; terrified of her newfound mortality, she describes how she can feel her new body slowly dying around her. It's surprisingly hefty stuff for an animated children's film about a pretty unicorn who turns into a pretty princess. In turning human, the unicorn experiences a sort of loss of innocence, transforming from a pure and immortal creature of the woods to yet another doomed-to-die dime-a-dozen person. However, there's a clear look at the give and take associated with mortality and immortality; the unicorn is shaken by her sudden transition, yet, in the end, values her experiences. Though she'll forever be different from the other unicorns (tainted, in a way), she is the only of her kind to have possessed the proper perspective that allows her to feel emotions such as love and regret. 

By the same token, we have characters like Mommy Fortuna (a witch who runs a traveling sideshow, voiced by Angela Lansbury) and The Skull (a talking skeleton, voiced by Rene Auberjonois); both clearly favor immortality and both possess unending life in their own, personal ways. Mommy Fortuna, despite using illusions and trickery to disguise mundane creatures as fantastical beasts, seeks to establish her own dominance over the legendary animals she imprisons. She covets the immortal life that the unicorn (as well as the harpy she imprisons) both possess, and thus seeks to make her mark as best as she can. Despite meeting her end at the hands of said harpy as her captives escape, she still achieves her own kind of immortality; as she explains, the harpy will spend the rest of its unending life knowing that Mommy Fortuna was the one who held it in captivity. She achieves immortality within the memories of the beast she captured, but at the cost of her own life. Meanwhile, the Skull has been around for an unquestionably long time, laying about in the depths of King Haggard's castle. Despite his eternal life, he still longs for something as simple as the taste of wine. They even establish that, as a skeleton, he's unable to even taste wine, let alone drink it; he explains that it's the feeling, the memory of the wine, that truly matters. Both have achieved eternal life, yet at a cost so terrible, it may as well make the entire point moot. Immortality is life without end, but life without end is no life at all.

Aside from that, the art design is quite gorgeous, even if the animation is nothing to write home about. There's several songs performed by America (the band behind A Horse With No Name) and all of these are quite good; it's when anyone else tries singing that things get really embarrassing really quickly (Jeff Bridge's forelorn love ballad and Mia Farrow's infamous "NOW THAT I'M A WOMUUUUUN" songs are the unintentionally hilarious highlights). All in all, while I've certainly seen better, I can at least understand why The Last Unicorn  is considered a cult classic by so many. I found myself slipping into boredom and frustration here and there while watching it, but in hindsight, I can really appreciate it from an artistic and subtextual standpoint. It's not necessarily for everyone; I found myself in a similar position when watching Wizards, where the film really only revealed itself to me after I was done watching it. Looking back, however, at least Wizards had me thoroughly engaged throughout. There are definitely good things here, but I don't know if I'd call it essential viewing, at least more than once. That said, I'm fairly confident that it would improve upon future viewings. Either way, it's certainly a film I plan on showing my children down the line, so take that as you will.

REVIEW: Clue

In an era where The Emoji Movie is soon to be an actual thing (thank you, Sony Pictures), it's worth noting that absurd adaptations are hardly a modern convention. Take, for example, 1985's Clue, based off of the classic board game. At first glance, basing a film off of a board game sounds like a ludicrous venture; when it comes to board games, plot elements are typically little more than set-dressing. It's the reason there's a million different branded variations of Clue, Monopoly, and The Game of Life. The murder/mystery elements of the game are just for show, since the actual game itself is less about discerning motives and more about using process of elimination to predict the contents of an envelope. That said, I hardly think there's a licensed adaptation that can't simply be salvaged with a hefty dose of originality and imagination. The biggest problem with the Battleship movie wasn't that the filmmakers decided to make it about alien warships firing giant pegs at naval vessels, so much as it was that they decided Rihanna was an actress. If you want an example of an absurd concept that shines purely because of the amount of polish applied by the filmmakers, look no further than Clue.

Set in 1954, the film opens with an assortment of people attending a fancy dinner party at the mysterious Hill House. As each guest is greeted by the butler, Wadsworth (Tim Curry), they are given an alias and instructed to keep their actual identities a secret. Thus we are introduced to our would-be suspects, Professor Plum (Christopher Lloyd), Miss Peacock (Eileen Brennan), Mrs. White (Madeline Kahn), Mr. Green (Michael McKean), Colonel Mustard (Martin Mull), and Miss Scarlet (Lesley Anne Warren). Once they are joined by the final guest and host, Mr. Boddy (Lee Ving), Wadsworth informs the guests that they are all the victims of blackmail and that Boddy is the man behind it all; the dinner party was merely an excuse to get them all under one roof to confront Boddy and turn him over to the police. Boddy reminds everyone that he can simply reveal their secrets once in police custody, and instead suggests that they kill Wadsworth and destroy the evidence, handing everyone a weapon. He turns out the light, there's a gunshot and a struggle, the lights go back on, and Boddy is lying dead in the middle of the parlor. And thus, the movie officially begins, kicking off a race to discover the identity of the killer before the police arrive and implicate everyone.

The film is a love-letter to classic whodunnit mystery tales, capturing the same charming, anachronistic atmosphere as the board game. One of the most important reasons why this movie works as well as it does is that it presents a genuinely engaging mystery. As the night goes on, more and more bodies keep turning up and the stakes keep getting higher and higher. The film also famously contains three different endings; the idea being that theaters would receive one of the three, each one presenting a different outcome. With this in mind, I tried to uncover the culprit before the movie revealed who the murderer really was (as anyone who enjoys a good mystery plot is wont to do); not only did my top three choices keep constantly changing as the film went on, in the end I had only guessed correctly once. 

The film really does an excellent job of keeping the audience guessing, throwing out red herrings left and right, giving everyone in the house probable cause for suspicion. The best mysteries are the ones that the viewer can solve simply based off of the clues presented; a sudden deus ex machina reveal that ignores the entire plot and buildup isn't so much clever as it is lazy writing. While I think it would certainly be a feat for someone to predict the final, "true" ending on a first-time viewing, the final scene (in which every bit of evidence is laid bare before both the characters and the audience) more or less proves that all the pieces of the puzzle were present and accounted for before arriving at the climax.

It's a truly commendable effort; it's not like one has a whole lot to work with when building a film based off of the Clue board game, yet this film manages to incorporate essentially every element from the game and pass as a legitimately well-thought-out mystery story to boot. That's to say nothing of the wonderfully irreverent, sardonic tone. The key to a good multigenre film is ensuring that both genres are not only evident, but well-represented. In the same way that Alien is both an effective horror movie AND an effective sci-fi story, Clue manages to be both a hilarious comedy and an engaging murder-mystery. When adapting a licensed product, it's important to have some perspective and remember what exactly it is you're dealing with. It would take a tremendous leap for anyone to take an adaptation of a board game seriously, the same way it would be difficult to make a Where's Waldo adaptation in the style of The Bourne Identity. By going for an overall comedic tone to compliment the air of mystery, the movie is able to faithfully translate the board game to the big screen, substituting the fun and easygoing atmosphere of actually playing the game for dry wit and slapstick sensibilities. Everyone in the film gives a wonderful performance (especially Tim Curry, who becomes a pure dynamo in the final act) and the writing is so quick and sharp I fear I may have cut myself while watching it.

Clue is an ideal cult classic. It's silly and strange and stems from what was very likely a ludicrous concept back in the day; making an entire movie based off of a board game. In the years since, we've gone from "one instruction manual's worth of plot" to "smiley faces and pictures of poop", so it would seem we've only dug ourselves deeper into that Tartarus-like pit that is licensed adaptations. It's a wave that can't be helped; so long as studios enjoy making money, brand synergy will always exist. But Clue is evidence that not every attempt to cash-in on a profitable brand has to be painful. In fact, with enough care and talent and attention to detail, it could even end up being fun, memorable, and legitimately engaging (not to mention, endlessly quotable). It's not often we get a movie like Clue or The LEGO Movie, where a shamelessly nonsensical idea is turned into something excellent, but when it happens it's certainly always a treat.

REVIEW: The Thing (1982)

If there's one subgenre I wish modern horror films would care to dabble in more often, it's that of the special effects-laden creature feature. One would think that, considering the advancement of digital technology, horror flicks starring grotesque monsters would become more common, if anything. I suppose the lack of such films makes sense from a financial standpoint, considering studios can make yet another found-footage ghost movie for a measly $10 million and see their investment returned nearly tenfold at the box office (thanks to hordes of easily-impressed teens, no doubt), Still, my heart years for a time when movies like The Fly and Alien were commonplace. I'd love to see a brand-new wave of horror films that take place somewhere more imaginative than an upscale home in suburban California. I want a new generation of monsters that exist firmly in the horror genre, without having to turn the whole affair into a blockbuster action flick. Judging from current trends, none of this is likely to change anytime soon. Thankfully, I'll always have the classics to turn to, such as John Carpenter's 1982 gorefest, The Thing.

An adaptation of the 1938 sci-fi story, Who Goes There? (which had previously been adapted by Howard Hawks with 1953's The Thing From Another World), the plot follows a team of researchers stationed at U.S. Outpost #31 in the frozen wasteland of Antarctica.  After an ominous encounter with a Norwegian helicopter pilot pursuing a runaway sled dog, the team finds themselves in the presence of a hostile alien creature, one with the ability to imitate the appearance and behavior of any living thing. Naturally they deduce that, if this thing was to reach civilization, the result would be catastrophic at best, potentially apocalyptic at worst. Determined not to allow it to escape, the team plans to destroy the creature, all the while not sure who among them they can really trust. Tensions run high and the constant threat of betrayal and assimilation hangs in the air; spectacular effects aside, this is by no means a light watch. The conflict and uncertainty make for an uneasy tone that doesn't let up for a second.

In reviewing the film upon its release, the late Roger Ebert referred to it as "a great barf bag movie". No truer words have been spoken. The mind-blowing special effects come to us care of Rob Bottin, only 23 years old at the time of production. I'm not easily impressed when it comes to special effects; years of making-of documentaries have led to me more appreciating the effort of capturing an effect, rather than the effect itself. This is not the case with The Thing. While some may view Bottin's creations as excessively distracting, I found myself totally floored by how organic and visceral things are. It's hard to explain exactly what makes these effects stand out the way they do. Of course, the Thing itself is just a series of puppets, but it's the way these puppets and animatronics and make-up effects are put together and shot that really makes them shine (and glisten, though that's more due to sheer gallons of K-Y jelly). 

It may sound detrimental to say that this movie wouldn't be nearly as strong without its special effects, but I feel that can be forgiven considering how integral the effects are to establishing the overall tone. Everything but the creature designs is totally understated; the performances are for the most part reserved, the landscape is white and barren, and the soundtrack (care of Ennio Morricone) is composed of pulsing bass and methodical synths. When you put a character against this backdrop, only to have their chest explode outward in a fountain of viscera while their head sprouts eye stalks and spider legs, it creates a stark contrast. The Thing never reveals itself in a subtle way. Each scene is a powder keg waiting to devolve into panicked chaos the moment someone bursts open to reveal a writhing mass of tentacles and teeth.

Unfortunately, the strong emphasis on visual effects leads to my only real gripe with this film. While it's a joy to look at (thanks in no small part to the cinematography of frequent Carpenter collaborator Dean Cundey), I felt as though the characterization received less attention as a result. Kurt Russell is a fine leading man and a few cast members (Wilford Brimley, Moffat, and Keith David in particular) manage to leave an impression, but the script just doesn't devote much time to developing these characters. The majority of the inhabitants of Outpost #31 simply exist to turn into Things and are more or less distinguishable by appearance alone. This is a common issue with horror movies that unfortunately comes with the genre; some characters are naturally going to get less screentime than others (on account of death), so it's almost expected for there to be a few who feel flat or underdeveloped. Films can circumvent this by going for the slow-burn approach and devoting the entire first act to character building, but this doesn't necessarily work for every creative vision (after all, not every horror film can be Alien). This is definitely a movie that knows what its priorities are; its strengths lie in building an oppressive, paranoid atmosphere that permeates throughout the entire film. This unfortunately comes at the cost of particularly strong characterization. It's less of a story about people and more a cerebral experience for the viewer. When a character is revealed to be the Thing in disguise, we're meant to feel surprise, rather than sympathy. It isn't exactly a revolutionary display of characterization, but then that's not necessarily what the film's goal was. The goal was to keep viewers on their toes, constantly guessing who was human and who wasn't, and in that regard it works very well.

Though it was financially underwhelming and received generally poor feedback upon its initial release, audiences have really come around on The Thing in the years since. It's visually vulgar and a tad over-indulgent at times, yes, but it's also a genuinely compelling experience. Director John Carpenter has stated that "of course, The Thing is a metaphor for whatever you want to say. It's disease, could be AIDS, could be whatever. But it comes from within you." It's this idea of assimilation, of danger lurking just under the skin, where you cannot see it, that makes for such an effective experience. It's a very existential kind of horror, feeding off of our inherent fear of the unknown. It's a movie that preys on doubt and suspicion and disbelief, and it does so with gallons of blood and gore galore. It's a classic entry in the horror genre, not one to be missed.

REVIEW: Scrooged

What exactly is it about Dickens' A Christmas Carol that makes it so endlessly adaptable? This one simple story takes up so much real estate in the realm of holiday specials to the point that it boggles the mind. Is it because the story is so ingrained in the public consciousness that we simply can't get enough of it? Is A Christmas Carol just the yuletide monomyth? Personally, I feel as though it's just an easy out for content creators; need a Christmas episode that writes itself? Christmas Carol parody! Need something to rake in those holiday weekend box office dollars? How's about a star-studded Christmas Carol remake? Need a story to tell your kids on Christmas Eve? Dickens, baby. It's always Dickens. When it comes to entertainment, A Christmas Carol is the bread and butter of the holiday season. It's an adaptation that not only writes itself, but which can be revisited year after year after year. It's one hell of a racket. Thankfully, this laziness can be subverted with a hefty dose of ingenuity, such as in the 1988 Richard Donner film, Scrooged.

Bill Murray stars as Frank Cross, a bloodthirsty TV executive charged with airing a live production of A Christmas Carol on Christmas Eve; he's inconsiderate, arrogant, and completely blind to the plights and tribulations of his employees. An effective Scrooge stand-in if ever there was one. As one might expect, he is visited by three ghosts who hope to convince him to change his ways before it is too late to save his immortal soul. It's A Christmas Carol. The key factor here is how creative the filmmakers got in presenting this time-honored tale in a new and unique way. It hits all the beats of the story without feeling derivative; instead of Tiny Tim, we have Calvin, the son of Murray's overworked assistant. Rather than sporting a crutch, he's been mute for the past five years after witnessing his father's murder. This is a film that is definitely not all tinsel and gumdrops. It goes to some truly dark places and, while I found this tone more or less refreshing, I admit that it may be too dour and mean-spirited for some.

The film is very much a character study, rather than an ensemble piece. We have actors such as Karen Allen, David Johansen, Bobcat Goldthwait, and John Forsythe, but none of them really get much of an opportunity to leave a huge impression, considering the focus is always on Bill Murray. He does a good job, considering he takes up so much of the spotlight, but it would have been nice to see a little more of the people he has such a negative effect on over the course of the film. It almost spreads itself too thin with the cast, to the point where we need to tie up too many loose ends by the end of the third act. Characters who are made to feel very important (such as Grace, Frank's assistant played by Alfre Woodard) are given the same amount of closure and attention in the end as characters like Brice Cummings (John Glover), an LA slimeball gunning for Frank's job. This is, by nature, a very intimate story, looking at exactly what led a generally kind, good-natured man to become a real genuine dirtbag. We can feel that intimacy and emotion in regards to Murray's life, but those feelings are somewhat absent for the members of the supporting cast.

The humor, for the most part, works well. As I said, it may be a little too mean-spirited for some, but I personally had a blast with it. Few can play sardonic and exasperated as effectively as Bill Murray, and the film is just oozing with his token personality. It's when the movie veers into more traditional fodder for jokes (like the uncharacteristically slapstick stylings of Carol Kane's Ghost of Christmas Present) that the film falls flat. Murray commands the humor in this film, and its when the comedy attempts to steer itself out of his sarcastic, irreverent wheelhouse that it suffers and stalls. There's tons of subtle little touches that make this a joy for anyone remotely familiar with the television industry (such as the studio head's insistence that he's found "a study which shows that cats and dogs are beginning to watch television"). It's subtle moments like these that raise the film up and really make it something special. It's a dry, irreverent idea for a film to begin with, so the humor works best when it's matching that tone. 

That said, the one glaring issue with this film is without a doubt the rampant tonal inconsistency. There's an undercurrent of cynicism and subversion that comes with adapting a classic Christmas story in such a modern, hard-edged kind of light. At the same time, it is also attempting to pass as a straightforward Christmas Carol adaptation. There are moments when the schmaltz required by the story actually works (such as when Frank unwraps a handmade picture frame from his brother), but these moments are few and far between. This disparity really only becomes obvious during the final act, when everything falls apart. Up to this point, the film had been subversive and sardonic in a fun, coherent kind of way. Everything meshed together well, since the more emotional aspects of the story so far had been just as dark as the comedic aspects. It is in the third act, however, that everything goes utterly off the rails. Bill Murray, normally cool as a Christmastime cucumber, plays his change of heart with all the vigor of someone suffering a psychotic break. He interrupts his own live broadcast to give a rambling, tonally all-over-the-place speech about the true meaning of Christmas that doesn't mesh with the rest of the film in the slightest.

We're made to believe that this is a beautiful, inspiring moment, yet I couldn't stop myself from thinking that there's no way this has a happy ending, especially for Bobcat Goldthwait's character (who, after getting fired in the beginning of the film, had gone completely postal and was holding the channel's control room at gunpoint). Going by the film's sense of logic, I can only assume that Frank got fired, Bobcat went to prison, and no one's situation improved in the slightest. Despite all the ghostly hijinks, this feels like a very grounded film. It had never been afraid to present the audience with the grim reality of a situation; Frank is forced to find out that his actions lead to a homeless man freezing to death and his assistant's child ending up in an asylum. Not to mention Bobcat Goldthwait showing up at the office with a loaded shotgun. But then immediately after presenting us with these bleak, pessimistic possibilities, the film expects us to believe that everything works out like a Christmas miracle. It leads to a real sense of tonal whiplash, considering that the movie doesn't adhere to its own established sense of logic. This is the one time I actually would have much preferred the movie stick closer to the source material, with a generally reserved, intimate finale that tugs the heartstrings and more aligns with what we'd gotten used to over the past hour and a half.

It's a real shame that Scrooged fumbles with its ending as roughly as it does; had it pulled it off, it would have easily been my favorite Christmas Carol adaptation, hands down. As it is, the rest of the movie is really quite good regardless. It's definitely not for everyone, but I found its brand of mean-spirited irreverence to contrast nicely with the usually saccharine Christmas season. Then again, I'm the type to watch Gremlins or Krampus this time of year, rather than It's a Wonderful Life, so take my words with as many grains of salt as you deem necessary. It's a subversive take on a holiday standard that makes for a solid good time that I can't help but recommend, despite its flaws. It's an example of real creativity on display in what could have been a painfully milquetoast experience; for that alone, I feel as though it's worthy of praise.

REVIEW: The Worst Witch

I wasn't entirely sure how I was going to spend this Halloween. It's easily my favorite holiday, so there's really no telling what manner of merriment I could find myself wrapped up in like so many toilet paper mummies. I can, however, tell you the one way I didn't expect to be spending my Halloween, and that's sitting at home watching the 1986 made-for-TV movie, The Worst Witch. I really don't know what to classify this as, exactly. Don't get me wrong, it's awful, but that doesn't mean that I'm not going to break this out every Halloween from now on. It's so terrible it may have just become a tradition.

The plot follows Mildred Hubble (Fairuza Balk, in what I like to pretend is a prequel to The Craft), a student at the prestigious Miss Cackle's Academy for Witches. A thoroughly mediocre student to begin with (some might even call her the WORST witch), her life is anything but charmed (no pun intended). To make matters worse, she's constantly antagonized by a particularly nasty teacher, as well as a snobbish blonde rival. Students at this school for witchcraft and wizardry partake in potions class, as well as flying lessons taught by an instructor who wears goggles while riding her enchanted broom. The only people who seem to give Mildred a break are her dim, goofy best friend and the eccentric old headmistress of the school, and it was right around this point that I started to wonder if J.K. Rowling is actually a humongous thief who pilfered all of her ideas from a comically bad children's special that aired on HBO in the mid-80's.

While there's bound to be some overlap when it comes to the concept of "magic boarding school", it's honestly uncanny how many similarities there are between The Worst Witch and the Harry Potter series. The scenes that take place during the flying lessons are especially flagrant, since they look like they take place in practically the same castle courtyard we saw in Sorcerer's Stone. Now I'm not saying that one series stole ideas from the other (if anything, I'm vaguely implying it at best), but it's amazing when one considers the similarities, not just in terms of aesthetic, but in terms of story structure.

Both series feature a scene where a character goes surfing on a broomstick. Both series have scenes where the mean blonde kid is turned into an animal as a form of comeuppance. Both series have a magical villain (with a crazy, over-the-top underling) who is defeated by a seemingly innocuous spell. Both Mildred Hubble and Harry Potter are given honors by the headmaster in the Great Hall. I can't get enough of it. One would think that it would be easiest to draw parallels between Harry Potter and all of the Potter contemporaries; your Spiderwick Cronicles or Twilight or Series of Unfortunate Events. But no, the thing that it all bears an uncanny resemblance to is an 80's kids' movie where Tim Curry plays a tambourine in a technicolor wingsuit.

Yes, Tim "Frank-N-Furter" Curry is in this, playing the unfortunately named "Grand Wizard". He claims he has a lot of gigs to get to on Halloween and we can only hope none of them involve cross burnings in the deep south. We also have Dianna Rigg (The Avengers' Emma Peel/Game of Thrones' Olenna Tyrell, depending on your generation) as the slightly-less-unfortunately-named Miss Hardbroom; as one might surmise from her name, she's the Dean Wormer to Fairuza Balk's Delta House. She's normally so darn endearing everywhere she goes, it's genuinely fascinating to watch her play the part of a frigid old ice queen. You end up hating her, naturally, even though a part of you just doesn't want to. We also have Charlotte Rae of Diff'rent Strokes/Facts of Life fame, pulling double duty as Miss Cackle and her evil twin sister, Agatha. One is a perpetually flustered old woman with little to do, the other is a neon nightmare that sounds halfway between Wynonna Judd and Bruce Springsteen. I can't say everyone was good, nor can I say everyone was bad. I honestly don't know what kind of performances these actors gave. All I know is I was transfixed from start to finish.

The Worst Witch is an amazing piece of innocent schlock. The production value is laughable, the story is practically nonexistent, and the songs are the equivalent of a clown getting launched into a vat of acid; you don't really want to laugh, but you just can't think of any other way to process what you're feeling. I feel confident in saying that this is to Halloween as The Star Wars Holiday Special is to Christmas. The only core difference is The Worst Witch is about a half hour shorter, making it intrinsically better by default. Remember, anything can happen on Halloween. Even a couple of particularly stiff cocktails and a viewing of The Worst Witch. It's by no means ideal, but there's definitely worse ways to celebrate.

REVIEW: Poltergeist

Ever since I was a child, I've found 80's horror fascinating. Growing up through the end of the 90's into the 2000's, I couldn't help but notice how kids my age never seemed to show any interest in the horror of the time. Movies like The Blair Witch Project and Final Destination were seldom discussed around the playground, but everyone knew about Freddy, Jason, and Chucky. Even when something like Alien vs Predator managed to pique our interest, it was part of a series that took root long before any of us were even born. Whether this was due to the films finding immortality in the form of perpetually relevant Halloween costumes, or just a certain special something that captured our prepubescent interest is certainly up for debate. I recall Poltergeist being one such movie; I first watched it, for whatever reason, at a very young age and recall finding it inherently fascinating for reasons I couldn't exactly place. Well over a decade later, nothing has changed, save for my ability to pinpoint precisely why I was so fascinated with this film. Put simply, Poltergeist is a very good movie.

Set in the heart of West Coast suburbia, the film follows the Freeling family, an everyday clan living their everyday lives in their everyday neighborhood. This of course changes when the youngest daughter, Carol Anne (Heather O'Rourke), begins conversing with ghostly entities by way of the family television set. The house is unquestionably haunted; at first the supernatural occurrences seem innocuous (if mildly irritating) at worst, but things soon escalate when the entire family is targeted and little Carol Anne is abducted into another dimension. The rest of the film follows the parents (Craig T. Nelson and JoBeth Williams) trying everything in their power to get their daughter back. It's a plot heavily reminiscent of the classic Twilight Zone episode, Little Girl Lost; just as much of the story focuses on aspects of metaphysical theory as it does on more traditional haunted happenings.

The curious thing to note about Poltergeist, I think, is the overall tone. The only way I could describe it is a thoroughly feel-good horror film. There isn't exactly a lot of "humor", in the traditional sense, but there are plenty of moments that will inspire a knowing smile. The kids' bedroom is loaded with authentic Star Wars merchandise, the parents have plenty of back and forth banter, and there's generally tons of candid-style moments that really help to sell the authenticity of this family dynamic. One of my favorite scenes in the movie involves JoBeth Williams demonstrating the newly-discovered ghostly influence to her husband; first with a simple chair, then with their youngest daughter (kept safe by an oversized football helmet). It sets you up for one of those classic "the event won't replicate itself and the witness will look crazy" moments, until the chair goes sliding across the floor, exactly as planned. The mother's reaction is so genuine and funny that I can't help but chuckle whenever I see it. It's just so real.

At the end of the day, this is a film not about ghosts, but about family. They don't "just leave the house" because of what's at stake; they refuse to vacate their home until they get their little girl back. There's no instances of protagonist stupidity on display here. We're as lost and frightened as the Freelings as they deal with their haunting, and we genuinely feel for their plight. Heather O'Rourke is a strong contender for the cutest child ever committed to film (if you aren't endeared to her after she casually gnaws on a Luke Skywalker action figure, you might just be made of literal stone) and the fact that she's placed in very genuine (yet very vaguely-defined) danger helps sell the sense of tension. We want to see Steven and Diane Freeling get their daughter back just as much as they do. The characters come off, not as characters, but as a real family who genuinely cares about one another and reacts to these horrifying events in realistic, believable ways.

While this is assuredly thanks to the direction of Tobe Hooper and the writing/production of Steven Spielberg, it's inarguable that credit must also be given to the main cast as well. Heather O'Rourke manages to dodge all the pitfalls that young child actors usually fall into, coming off as effectively cute and precocious without grating on anyone's nerves. Nelson and Williams have a fantastic dynamic as Steve and Dianne, utterly selling their roles as the married heads of a run-of-the-mill 2.5 child household. The other members of the Freeling family, Dana (Dominique Dunn) and Robbie (Oliver Robins) leave less of an impression, though this is to be expected, considering they aren't exactly the main focus of the plot by any means. They work well with what they're given. The most iconic role, however, is easily that of Tangina Barrons, played by the irreplaceable Zelda Rubinstein. This was Rubinstein's second ever film role, and she completely and utterly owns it here. She's by far the most out-of-the-ordinary character in the entire movie, which is why she works so perfectly. If there's a breakout role to be found here, then this is definitely it.

Poltergeist is a film that has most assuredly earned its place in the annals of horror (and indeed, movie) history. By combining the talents of Tobe Hooper and Steven Spielberg (with the former bringing his knack for editing, use of sound, and ability to unsettle and unnerve, and the latter bringing a large budget and his talent for writing endearing, relatable characters), the film manages to be both a genuinely frightening horror movie as well as a truly touching family drama. It's a jack of all trades, master of most. If you're interested in taking a look at one of the cornerstones of the haunted house genre, step right over the fetid corpse of the 2015 remake and see why Poltergeist continues to be seen as the classic it is.

REVIEW: Big Trouble in Little China

"This is like a radical Alice in Wonderland"; a surprisingly apt description of John Carpenter's 1986 cult classic, Big Trouble in Little China. Of all the cult films to come from the 1980's, Big Trouble has become one of the most celebrated. But to someone who has never seen the film until just now, is it deserving of such esteem? Or is Big Trouble's enduring popularity simply due to an overuse of nostalgia goggles?

At first glance, one would assume that the plot centers around Jack Burton (Kurt Russell), since he's clearly the focus of the immaculate Drew Struzan poster. In reality, the story is more about Jack's pal Wang Chi (Dennis Dun); after his fiance, Miao Yin (Suzee Pai) is kidnapped by a local street gang, it's up to Wang, Jack, and company to get her back. We later find out that this is all part of a master plan by the ancient sorcerer and crime boss, David Lo Pan (James Hong); cursed centuries ago by the first emperor of China, Lo Pan must marry a woman with green eyes in order to regain his human form. Miao Yin happens to fit the bill, leading our heroes under San Francisco's China Town on a mystical rescue mission packed to the brim with monsters, sorcery, and kung-fu action.

Right away, it's immediately evident both why this film bombed at the box office and went on to become a celebrated cult classic years later. This is a strange, strange movie. Exposition is spat out left and right, characters get little introduction, and the whole thing feels like a sequel rather than a new beginning. That said, this is precisely why I feel that the movie is so brilliant. Once we are introduced to Jack Burton, we immediately latch onto him; his worldly monologue over the CB radio of his truck, The Porkchop Express, paints him as a seminal 80's action protagonist. He's a blue-collar badass who fancies himself something of a wandering hero as he hauls freight from place to place; it's something everyone can identify with, being the protagonist of their own, admittedly pedestrian, story. Once he arrives in San Fran and the plot begins, Jack is left totally in the dark; everyone around him seems to be an expert on the subjects of Lo Pan and ancient Chinese mysticism, but Jack spends the majority of the plot hardly knowing which way is up. He is the perfect link to the audience. We identify with him in every capacity, including his ignorance towards what it is exactly he's dealing with. As Jack is a stranger lost in the wild world of Chinatown, so is the audience. His reactions to the magic and mystery that plague the streets of Little China are our own; his turn as main protagonist makes for a perfect deconstruction of the action/adventure genre. And the best part is, Jack Burton isn't even the protagonist of the movie.

As I said before, the role of protagonist belongs wholly to Wang Chi, a simple restaurant owner and martial artist trying to save his fiance from an ancient evil. The movie plays with our expectations; in any other film, it'd be fairly obvious that Jack, the two-fisted caucasian outsider, is the main hero who saves the day, while Wang is his trusty sidekick. In reality, the roles are reversed. In Chinatown, Jack is the minority. He's an occasionally useful buffoon who fancies himself an action hero despite doing very little of consequence. Conversely, Wang is by far more capable; he's smarter, tougher, and all-around better than Jack in basically every way. At first glance, one would expect Big Trouble to be yet another 80's asskicking flick that survived in the cultural consciousness simply for being "awesome" or "radical". The fact of the matter is, Big Trouble in Little China, like Robocop and They Live, is a biting subversion of the standard action fare that was so prevalent at the time. It's an action movie where we spend the majority of our time focusing on the comedic relief sidekick while all the other, more important characters do the actual heavy-lifting.

Big Trouble in Little China has most definitely earned its place of recognition and reverence in the annals of film history. While it's goofy and irreverent on the surface, one only has to look just below what's visible to find something truly clever and intelligent. It's a great bit of fun commentary on the "burly white guy goes on an ethnic adventure" genre, aside from just being a genuinely strong, fun action flick in its own right. John Carpenter is a director who knows how to make practical effects work for him, resulting in a film that's as fun to look at as it is to watch. If you're looking for something that's secretly clever in addition to just being a genuinely fun time, Big Trouble in Little China is a solid choice.

REVIEW: Sleepaway Camp

Sleepaway Camp is one of those movies that, despite being considered by many to be required viewing for the horror genre, I had never gotten around to actually seeing. While I'm far from a horror expert, I've seen most of the classics; from iconic masterpieces like Jaws and Alien to indie darlings like Trick R Treat to bona-fide pieces of history like The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari. And yet Sleepaway Camp, a supposed classic that had slipped under my radar for all this time.

It's a simple enough premise, so quaint it almost borders on parody when viewed through a modern lens. The film focuses on Angela (Felissa Rose), a young girl, traumatized as a child following a horrible boating accident that left her orphaned. Now living under the care of her eccentric aunt, she and her cousin, Ricky (Johnathan Tiersten), are sent away to Camp Arawak for a summer of fun and excitement; unfortunately for the campers, there happens to be a killer in their midst. As the summer goes on, the bodies continue to pile up while everyone (including the viewer) tries to decipher who could possibly be behind it all.

With a plot like that, one might wonder just why Sleepaway Camp is considered such an essential cult classic; "80's summer camp" isn't exactly a standout backdrop for a slasher flick, especially when compared to the Friday the 13th series. What is it about Sleepaway Camp that makes it stand the test of time? There's an objective answer to this question; the ending. But I'll get to that later, in a timely (and spoiler-free) fashion. Aside from the obvious reason, it's honestly just a really fun watch. As would be expected from something in this particular wheelhouse, there's loads of unintentionally hilarious moments. From the jock who dies via bee attack while on the toilet, to the camp director who just wants to keep everything hush-hush, to the gaggle of guys who are maybe a little too enthusiastic to go skinny-dipping, there's a lot to laugh at in this movie. That said, these moments rarely feel jarring in tone; this is a horror movie that knows how to have fun with itself when appropriate. However, for all the cheesy gags and delightful 80's throwbacks, the climax of this film ratchets the tension up to eleven, delivering one of the most shocking, haunting endings to any film I've ever seen.

Again, no spoilers, but the ending of Sleepaway Camp is what makes this movie. The entire film proposes a mystery to both the characters and the audience; who is committing these murders? I went into this film knowing there was some sort of twist at the end, and as such I kept my eyes peeled for any clues that might be found. Truthfully, watching this movie knowing that there's a big reveal at the end enhances the entire thing. Every stray object becomes a potential murder weapon, every flare of adolescent aggression becomes a potential motive, every single character becomes a potential suspect. Before watching Sleepaway Camp, I had heard how apparently the ending was one of the most shocking in all of horror cinema, how it was truly disturbing, resonating with viewers to this day. Really though, how bad could it be? What could this quaint, goofy little low-budget slasher flick from the 80's possibly show me, a jaded child of the 90's, that could qualify as "disturbing"? What could this movie possibly do to "shock" me, in an age where The Human Centipede is a household name? Ladies and gentlemen, I under-estimated this movie and paid the price for it. I make no exaggeration when I say the ending of Sleepaway Camp is the most haunting piece of film I have ever seen. I don't want to over-sell it, and honestly the less I say, the better. But I know for sure that on repeat viewings, I'll be watching through my fingers.

For all my praise, I must implore you to go into Sleepaway Camp with modest expectations. There's a few strong performances and some nice camerawork and composition here and there, but it's for the most part a pretty generic film. It's a slasher movie about a killer at a summer camp, so there's only so much you can expect of it, but that doesn't change that half the scenes in this feel like lost footage from Wet Hot American Summer. It's goofy and corny, but it's built around a pretty compelling mystery which leads to one hell of a payoff. It's important to keep things in perspective while watching this one; don't expect too much, don't overthink it. If you set the bar too high, the entire thing will fall flat. But if you adjust your expectations appropriately, sit back, and let the movie do its work, it'll blow you away as it did me.

REVIEW: Pee-wee's Big Adventure

Being a child of the 90's, the comic stylings of Pee-wee Herman were somewhat before my time. That said, the character has always piqued my interest, simply because something so utterly goofy has managed to stay recognizable and relevant within the realms of pop-culture for so long. It's easy to attribute the enduring popularity of many 80's icons to nostalgia more than anything else; the likes of Ninja Turtles and Transformers sold a lot of action figures (regardless of the quality of the show), so of course there would be some iteration of these brands for each new generation to come. Pee-wee Herman is the odd one out, however. Unlike so many popular children's properties of the time, Pee-wee was decidedly more comedy than action. When one looks at Pee-wee's Playhouse, one doesn't exactly see a show that was made to sell toys. Yet still, this absurd oddball of a character has remained popular to this day; it was with that in mind that I decided to check out the film that launched the directorial career of Tim Burton, Pee-wee's Big Adventure.

The plot focuses on the escapades of titular manchild, Pee-wee Herman (Paul Reubens). After his treasured bicycle is stolen, Pee-wee sets out on a cross-country crusade to reclaim his lost bike, encountering all manner of colorful characters along the way. This movie is a one-man road trip film; without Reubens, there is no movie here. Despite each scene basically being a vignette in which Pee-wee is placed in an absurd situation (he meets a ghost, he enters a rodeo, etc.), it all flows very nicely. Things take a bit to get going, but once the bike goes missing, there's hardly a dull moment.

The main focus here is Pee-wee himself; while he's basically a living cartoon character, there's something unmistakably relatable about him. He's an inner child made outer, sometimes selfish and simple but all around a good guy. His motivation is simple. He wants his bike back. The entire plot is driven by a basically goodhearted misfit's desire to reclaim that which is rightfully his. Even if you aren't charmed by Pee-wee's slapstick antics, it isn't hard to relate to his struggle. Throughout the entire movie, he has to deal with obstacles in the way of him being reunited with his precious bike. There are times when he's laughed at or talked down to or outright bullied, but at no point does he ever try to be anything other than himself. 

Looking at a character like Pee-wee, you'd expect this movie to contain some big speech at the end about how, even though he's different, he's still a good person and that's what really matters. Some scene where Pee-wee essentially defends himself against all his detractors. Instead, we get nothing of the sort. Not to say that Pee-wee doesn't have an arc, but there's no attempts to justify or "sell" his behavior to the audience. He just acts like himself; sometimes it works out and sometimes it doesn't. If it doesn't, then too bad. The people who matter end up seeing him for the good person he is and the people who still try to put him down for being different get their comeuppance in some form or another. As goofy and absurd a protagonist as Pee-wee is, there's something undeniably positive about his character, which is something I feel should be commended.

Pee-wee's Big Adventure is a wonderfully absurd romp that can endear itself to just about anyone. Paul Reubens is loads of fun to watch as Pee-wee and everything about this film, from the set design to the score (orchestrated by Danny Elfman, naturally), just reeks of Tim Burton in his prime. It's a story about the little guy with a heart of gold venturing out into the cruel, scary world. He doesn't need to slay any demons or become a "hero"; he simply just has to keep being the good person he is in the face of all the bad stuff the world throws at him. It's a story about positivity triumphing over negativity that just feels good to watch, aside from being loads of goofy fun.