REVIEW: Eighth Grade

I'm honestly surprised it's taken this long for Bo Burnham to venture into feature films. He's a remarkably talented guy, so you can understand how excited I was for Eighth Grade, his first foray into the world of writing/directing for the big screen. Comparing the trailers for Eighth Grade to Burnham's stand-up specials, it struck me as not the sort of thing one would necessarily expect from his typical musical-comedy wheelhouse. Really, that only made me more excited to see it; I love watching comedians step outside of their comfort zones to make something that's not necessarily meant to be laugh-out-loud funny, first and foremost. The most successful comedians tend to have a knack for tapping into other base emotions aside from just laughter, and I'm happy to report that Eighth Grade does nothing to dispel that hypothesis.

The film follows eighth-grader Kayla Day (Elsie Fisher) through her final week of middle school, just before summer vacation (and the move to high school after that). It's worth noting that this isn't your typical "teen" movie; there's no big dance or talent show that Kayla needs to prepare for, and the popular girls don't go out of their way to make Kayla's life a living hell (rather, they hardly even acknowledge her existence). The plot foregoes every adolescent trope by being as purposefully mundane as possible, casting aside theatrical dramatization in favor of just being real. And not in the "omg that's literally me" kind of way, either; there are moments where Eighth Grade almost feels like a nature documentary on the middle school ecosystem, rather than an attempt to forcibly relate to a younger audience. I'm well beyond my middle school years, but this film still felt like a time-capsule based on its atmosphere alone. It takes us back to a time in our lives when pool parties and trips to the mall weren't just run-of-the-mill, everyday occurrences, but events where everything (especially image) mattered. There are small details that are sure to strike a chord with everyone for different reasons; for me, it was an unseen class clown shouting "are you my mom?" after the principal handed the mic off to a teacher during a school assembly. The film doesn't need to go out of its way to make these little moments feel important or theatrical, because they already are for Kayla; she's the focal point of the entire story. We care about her, and by extension everything she cares about (even if we're old enough to know better).

The film displays a remarkable knack for inspiring its audience to empathize with Kayla's adolescent struggles, thanks in part to the incredibly naturalistic writing and dialog. However, the factor that carries this entire film is the performances, Elsie Fisher's shining above all else. The character of Kayla is the rock on which the entire film is built; if she doesn't work, the entire thing falls apart. It's a tricky balance, given the premise of the movie, to write a protagonist who is both endearing and believably flawed. If Kayla was portrayed as overly self-aware and wise beyond her years, she'd cease to feel like an everygirl on the brink of young adulthood and start to feel more like every other stock "insecure tween" character in existence. On the flip-side, if she acted too childishly, older audiences would be alienated from her struggles with the pressures of social media and prepubescent peer interaction. It's thanks to Fisher's performance that this balance is kept intact; we'll shake our heads when Kayla makes a mistake, but we never stop rooting for her to succeed.

I honestly saw a surprising amount of myself in her, both now and looking back to my middle school years. I can remember being in middle school, making YouTube videos in my spare time (which I've naturally long since deleted, seeing as how you can watch my voice change a little bit with each upload). Middle school was a time of insecurity and immaturity, where we simultaneously don't care about anything but also care about literally everything. I remember the moments in my childhood, attending parties I wasn't sure I was wanted at, stressing out over nothing, and wanting to be treated like both an adult and a kid at the same time. The film hits a lot of easily-relatable beats without coming off as generic or clichéd, which isn't exactly an easy thing to do. I'm really looking forward to revisiting this as time goes on, maybe even after I've had kids of my own, to see how I respond to it then.

It's worth noting that the supporting cast is excellent as well; suffice to say, there are no bad performances in this entire film (a credit not only to the cast, but to Bo Burnham's skills as a first-time director, working primarily with relative unknowns and children). Jake Ryan is a delight as Gabe, the gawky cousin of one of Kayla's more popular classmates. I like to think I wasn't this much of a dweeb back in middle school, but the way I both smiled and cringed at his Rick and Morty impressions imply otherwise; his performance was yet another of the things in this movie that hit very close to home in a fun, endearing kind of way without feeling as thought it was trying too hard to make me relate. I also utterly adored Josh Hamilton as Kayla's dad; his chemistry with Elsie Fisher is fantastic, and I find that he carries a deceptively large amount of the emotional weight in this film; you get the sense that he's got his own story going on behind the scenes, as though he's the star of his own, unseen movie. I'll always cheer on the death of the idea that father figures in movies must be incompetent, pigheaded idiots, and Hamilton's performance is yet another nail in that proverbial coffin. Not to say that he's an ineffectual pushover either; he's just a man who desperately wants his daughter to be the happy person she was a few scant years ago. Arguably my favorite scene in the entire movie is what could loosely be called the climax (in a film as low-key and down-to-earth as this), and Hamilton's performance solidified it as one of the most heartfelt things I've ever seen.

Eighth Grade is the kind of movie I wish I had back in middle school (kudos to any theater that organizes all-age screenings of this film, incidentally). Heck, it's the kind of movie I wish I had in high school. Regardless, I'm glad I have it now; despite some odd pacing and unambitious cinematography, the film really has a talent for hitting you with moments that makes you realize just how emotionally invested you are in Kayla's journey into adolescence. One scene in particular had me clenching my fist so hard I'm surprised I didn't draw blood (incidentally, I'm also a little disappointed we didn't get any kind of closure regarding what happens therein, but I digress). It's definitely going to hit hard for people in my generation and younger, who found (or find) themselves growing up in an age of social media, where the forced social interaction doesn't necessarily end when school lets out. We've reached a point as a society where we're constantly bombarded with the absolute prettiest moments of everyone else's lives, and that kind of 24/7 connectivity has a unique way of making one feel completely and utterly alone. Eighth Grade is the kind of movie I intend to show my kids (if I ever have any) when they're old enough, and that's just about the highest praise I can give it. It'll make you laugh, it'll make you cry, and it'll make you look back on some of the worst years of your life with a twisted, nostalgic sort of fondness. If there's one movie this summer that deserves your hard-earned money, Eighth Grade is it. Go check it out.

REVIEW: A Futile and Stupid Gesture

The practice of tackling a biopic is often an interesting beast. Like with adaptations of fictional works, filmmakers need to find ways to skirt around the inherent conflict that tends to arise between staying accurate to the source material and the story's ability to stand on its own as a work of film. It's (usually) not enough to just reenact real-world events without some kind of creative spin; this was one of my main issues with The Disaster Artist. A tremendously well-acted and entertaining movie, yes, but with disappointingly modest ambitions. Some of my favorite films of all time, such as Ed Wood and American Splendor, find unique and interesting ways to tell the (mostly) true stories of notable individuals. Even though the bulk of the story has been written by life itself, it's still the filmmaker's responsibility to turn someone's life into a story worth telling (and more importantly, worth watching). Which brings us to one of the more recent independent films released through Netflix, A Futile and Stupid Gesture.

The film tells the story of the life and times of Doug Kenney (Will Forte), the main creative force behind the iconic humor magazine, National Lampoon. The film covers Kenney's rise and fall, from his time at Harvard through the creation of films like Animal House and Caddyshack. I will admit, I wasn't exactly well-read on the subject of Doug Kenney before watching this movie, and I feel my overall experience was better off for it. I'd recommend at least being familiar with the classic Lampoon films, as well as the early days of Saturday Night Live to fully appreciate the context that the story takes place within, but any research into Kenney's actual life risks spoiling the movie. Shocker, I know; if you already know the true story, then you'll be able to predict how the biopic ends. Without going too deep into spoiler territory, I'll simply say that, taking certain narrative devices the film uses into account, entering altogether unfamiliar with Doug Kenney as a person (as I did) will only serve to enhance the viewing experience. I'll say this and nothing more.

When you're working with adapting a real-life story, it's important to understand that your main character needs to function as more than just an excuse to adapt the events of their life to the screen; it doesn't matter how fascinating their situation is if they don't work properly as an engaging protagonist. Thankfully, director David Wain (of Wet Hot American Summer fame) understands this and spends ample amounts of time building Kenney up as a complex and nuanced character. As a human, he's deeply flawed; we see the darker side of a humorous personality, as he's always starved for attention and affirmation. This underlying desire to be loved is the driving force that fuels nearly all of the misfortune Doug manages to make for himself over the course of the film. At the same time, we also see why Doug is like this; every creative choice he makes seems to be either an appeal or attack directed towards his estranged father (played here by Harry Groener). This doesn't excuse the less-savory decisions Doug makes, but it does offer some insight as to why he makes them. That trace amount of context, explaining his actions without attempting to condone them, is what allows us to effectively sympathize with our protagonist. Although this is the story of the man behind the National Lampoon, it's worth noting that this story is much less a comedy and moreso a sardonic tragedy.

Don't get me wrong here, there are a good number of jokes in this film, they're simply not the main focus. The humor present in this film is a symptom of its subject matter rather than the primary focus, so anyone looking for something as bombastic and laugh-out-loud funny as Animal House is going to be left wanting (and likely a little depressed). The film uses comedy to effectively paint a portrait of a man who, deep down inside, is hurting. My only complaint is that we don't get too many "real" moments with the extended cast; to be fair, I almost feel as though that's what the filmmakers were going for. Every other comedy writer at the Lampoon has a hard time turning it off, spitting out one-liners even when a situation clearly calls for anything but. It illustrates how an environment of sarcastic misfits and misanthropes often isn't the best place for someone who truly needs help (sharply contrasting with the camaraderie we see among the endearing slobs of Animal House and Caddyshack). At the same time, this also leaves Doug Kenney and Henry Beard (Doug's college collaborator, played by an unrecognizable Domhnall Gleeson) feeling like the only fleshed-out, three-dimensional characters in the entire movie. Suffice to say, it's something of a double-edged sword.

Speaking of, I also foresee some of the casting being quite hit-or-miss for some people. The main cadre of lead actors is relatively airtight; Forte continues to demonstrate his chops as a legitimate dramatic actor, giving us a raw, decidedly un-Hollywood look at the kind of misanthropic personality that is usually obscured behind a series of well-meaning gags. Kenney strikes you as the kind of class-clown personality everyone wishes they knew; quick with a joke, down to party, and chock full of potential for amazing stories down the line. But Forte manages to pull the curtain back and expose just how much pain and damage is hiding behind such a bombastic facade. This is where Gleeson compliments Forte perfectly, keeping all of his frustration inside. We see Henry forced to clean up after Doug time and time again, making their friendship feel much more flawed (and much more realistic) than the frat boy antics one might expect going in. The two work in tandem, illustrating just how dangerous it can be to have something to prove without the perspective needed to understand when a lifelong passion devolves to just being work. We also have Martin Mull, but I don't want to say too much; he's very much a part of that narrative device I mentioned earlier, and the less you know about his purpose in this film going in, the better. But it's Martin Mull, so of course he does a good job.

On the more controversial side, we have every other supporting cast member portraying comedic icons like Gilda Radner (Jackie Tohn), Chevy Chase (Joel McHale), and Christopher Guest (Seth Green). The film even breaks the fourth wall (as it frequently does) to address the audience and point out how these actors don't look exactly like the people they're meant to be portraying (before presenting a lengthy list of other creative changes the filmmakers made over the course of production); while not everyone is going to be totally sold on these performances (there's nothing here that even comes close to Martin Landau's take on Bela Lugosi, for example), I still had my fun picking out who was meant to be who. It almost feels like voices played a greater role here than appearance; while some members of the cast definitely look the part (Lonny Ross and Rick Glassmen are dead-ringers for Ivan Reitman and Harold Ramis), there are others who definitely struggle to blend in. Joel McHale looks nothing like Chevy Chase; really, he looks more like Joel McHale about to attend a 70's theme party in a wig he bought for $5 at the local Spirit Halloween. At the same time, when he reads off his lines on the The National Lampoon Radio Hour, he does sound startlingly like Chevy Chase. The same goes for Jon Daly as Billy Murray; there's little to no physical resemblance, but damned if he doesn't have Murray's Lounge Singer voice down perfectly. Like I said, these performances are going to be much more hit-or-miss depending on who's watching, but I definitely had my fun with them. You get the impression that everyone is having fun paying tribute to the comedic minds that influenced them from an early age, and that sense of fun and reverence really elevates these performances beyond the simple impressions they appear to be at first glance.

While I definitely foresee the slow pace, dry humor, and offbeat presentation alienating some, I still found A Futile and Stupid Gesture to be anything but. I can't emphasize enough; this is not a comedy. It is a drama about comedy. All that said, there's still an oddly feel-good undercurrent to the whole thing. It's a bittersweet story with all manner of emotional ups and downs, the kind of film where the viewer is left either feeling touched or depressed or both (depending entirely on who happens to be watching it). That kind of parity makes it a challenge to recommend to just anyone, so I'll close by saying this; this is a film about creative types, for creative types. Beneath every comedian and class clown, there's often years upon years of bottled-up pain. A deep-seated need for not only attention, but affirmation and acceptance. It's a film about insecurity, abuse, and the kind of humor that, to this day, makes the upper-crust of society spit out their champagne and clutch at their pearls. We see a man with a clear set of goals and aspirations build himself up, then question if he's strong enough to continue living the dream he himself has made. If you've ever wondered if your work truly matters, regardless of what field you're in, you owe it to yourself to check this one out.

If you liked this, be sure to check out The Jurassic Mark Podcast!

REVIEW: The Disaster Artist

Every once in a while, a movie comes along that changes everything. Something magical, that captures the hearts and imaginations of people from all walks of life, all around the world. When it comes to the realm of "so bad it's good", few movies can compare to 2003's The Room, a film so spellbindingly inept, it's been called the Citizen Kane of bad movies. There have been many pretenders, films that aim for the gutter in an attempt to score ironic laughs with bad performances and cheap production values, but they all lack the one thing that truly makes The Room special. See, there's a trick to making a film that ends up being so bad it's good; the key is to do it by accident. The Room was born of passion, not parody, everything you see on screen is the result of people unironically trying their best, yet failing miserably anyway. It's this sense of raw effort that people latch onto, that oh-so human feeling of seeing our best efforts laid to waste, that makes The Room so engaging. Anyone can give a bad performance, but the fact that the person giving the performance is a man like Tommy Wiseau, an enigmatic cartoon character who truly believes with all his heart that he's the next Tennessee Williams, is what makes The Room work in the way that it does. There's no cynicism to it whatsoever, and the cult of personality that's formed around it in the years since its release has finally come to a head with The Disaster Artist.

Taking place over the course of several years, the film tells the story of how Greg Sestero (the author of the book on which the film is based and co-star of The Room, played here by Dave Franco) came to meet the man who would change his life forever, Tommy Wiseau (played uncannily by his brother, James Franco). Young and insecure, Greg finds himself fascinated with Tommy's fearlessness on stage (despite his clear lack of talent); the two form an oddball friendship and move to Los Angeles with dreams of making it big in Hollywood. After striking out time and time again, Tommy decides to simply make his own movie; his personal magnum opus, a classical drama known as The Room. 

It's obvious from the get-go that The Disaster Artist is very much a passion project for James Franco; much like The Room itself, this is a film where the director is also the producer and the producer is also the star. I've also heard that apparently Franco directed this in-character as Tommy Wiseau (how that worked out is anyone's guess). There's a clear admiration for the source material, almost to the point that it interferes with the story. James Franco is a dead-on Tommy Wiseau, but there are also times where this whole thing feels just like an excuse for him to play this role (such as the tremendously fun but somewhat pointless montage during the credits, where the Disaster Artist cast recreates scenes from The Room). Thankfully, the focus of the film tends to revolve moreso around Greg and Tommy's weirdly codependent relationship than the actual making of The Room itself. This is where the film really shines, in showcasing what happened behind the camera rather than what happened in front of it. While it's certainly fun to see people reenact famous scenes and moments from such an iconic trainwreck, it doesn't really bring anything new to the table. If I wanted to watch The Room, I'd watch The Room; it's when we gain extra insight into the emotions and motivations of the people responsible for such an infamous bomb that things really start to get interesting.

There's a detail in this film that really resonated with me after having watched it; in The Room, there's a character known as Denny (played originally by Philip Haldiman, and here by Josh Hutcherson). Of every weird, inexplicable thing in The Room, Denny may have been my favorite. He's an awkward wimp of indeterminate age who treats Johnny (Wiseau's character) like a surrogate father. He shows up out of nowhere and it's really never explained what his and Johnny's hilariously uncomfortable relationship is actually supposed to be. However, having seen the way The Disaster Artist portrays Tommy and Greg's relationship, the character of Denny (a confused, insecure young man whom Tommy Wiseau's character takes under his wing out of the goodness of his heart) suddenly starts to make a lot more sense. We see the parallels between reality and Wiseau's incomprehensible fiction, and it's details like this that really exemplify what I wanted this movie to be.

The only problem is that we end up seeing these events unfold through the eyes of Greg Sestero, rather than Tommy Wiseau. No offense to Greg, but I feel like even he'd agree that his side of the story is likely far less interesting than Tommy's. Given how secretive the real Tommy Wiseau is (to this day, his age and country of origin remain a mystery), we don't get a lot of his perspective over the course of the story; our two leads end up having very little screentime apart from one another, so it feels like the main characters aren't exactly explored to their fullest potential. Little insights that give a sort of method to the madness of The Room are far more fascinating and engaging (both in a biographical and a narrative sense) than simple recreations of scenes. This problem is exasperated by the two lead actors; being real-life siblings, they exhibit excellent chemistry, yet I couldn't help but feel that Dave Franco was constantly getting overshadowed by his older brother. It can't be easy to show off one's screen presence when sharing the stage with a character as emotive and bombastic as James Franco's take on Tommy Wiseau, but Dave's range still felt, for the most part, lacking (despite an admittedly respectable effort).

Really, despite enjoying this movie for what it was, I can't help but feel as though it was weighed down by its association with the real-life Tommy Wiseau. Unlike something like Ed Wood, the main subject of The Disaster Artist was very much alive and well at the time of production, meaning that Wiseau was involved in promoting this film (as well as putting together his post-credits cameo scene). As such, it almost feels like The Disaster Artist pulls its punches when it comes to the less-savory aspects of Tommy's character (especially when compared to its source material). There's a lot of implicit ugliness with Tommy; we're never sure where he gets his money (but can assume it's through less than legitimate means), he's shown to be emotionally unstable and manipulative, as well as being prone to aggressive outbursts while constantly mistreating his actors and his crew. Even with all this in mind, the film still frames him as a sympathetic, misunderstood dreamer. This approach worked well in Ed Wood (which all but ignored the titular character's steady decline into poverty, pornography, and alcoholism), since that portrait of a hopelessly flawed filmmaker took on an almost fairytale-like tone. With The Disaster Artist, things are presented with a much more naturalistic approach in terms of cinematography, performance, and atmosphere, so this kind of flattering portrayal ends up feeling somewhat forced and out of place. I can't fault Franco and company for wanting to be civil in their depiction of Tommy Wiseau (considering he gave the film his blessing), but I can't help feeling that a more realistic, flawed portrayal would have been infinitely more interesting, as well as much more in-line with what the rest of the movie had to offer.

Historical inaccuracies and dubious romanticization aside, I still managed to really get something out of  James Franco's take on the creation of The Room. There's something classically compelling about a character who strives fruitlessly for an unattainable ideal, only to fall short thanks to their own personal faults and flaws. Tommy is completely oblivious to how inept he is; as far as he's concerned, he'd be the next James Dean or Alfred Hitchcock if only the rest of the world would stop getting in his way. We see how persecuted he feels, constantly failing in real life, and how that translates to everyone "betraying" Johnny in The Room. Eventually, we start to understand just what he means when he takes the stage at the premiere during the film's climax and declares in his broken, unplaceable accent, "this my movie, and this my life". What's been known up to this point as one of the most absurdly hilarious things ever committed to film suddenly starts to look a lot more like therapy for its writer/director/producer/star, and regardless of how accurate it is to real-life events (realistically speaking, we may never know the full story about Tommy Wiseau and The Room), it still manages to take one of the funniest bad movies ever made and use it to generate compelling character drama. The character of Tommy Wiseau exhibits such an undeniably human blend of blind optimism and raw ego that you can't help but root for him (even if the real-life events were far less of a feel-good story than what we see here). This all comes to a head at the premiere, when we finally see the finished product, the film that all of these characters have struggled and suffered for; you find yourself laughing along with the characters in the movie (because come on, it's The Room), but you've also come to understand the passion that Tommy had for his vision. Every chuckle comes at an emotional price, and I found myself feeling surprisingly sorry for someone who I should, by all accounts, hold very little sympathy for.

If you're looking for a documentary that tells the untold story of The Room, you're not going to find what you're looking for here. The goal of The Disaster Artist is not to unravel the mystery surrounding Tommy Wiseau. While I do wish it had perhaps focused on more of the inherently interesting aspects of the true story, this is still a tremendously entertaining parable about an outcast and his art. There's something magical about making movies; the vision, passion, and struggle that goes into creating something from nothing and committing it to film. This is a feeling that The Disaster Artist totally understands. Sure, I would have liked a bit more in terms of style, substance, and focus, but the end result is still a hilariously enjoyable time that I see myself revisiting many times down the line. Whether or not you've ever seen The Room, you'd be remiss not to give this one a look.

REVIEW: Would You Rather

I'd like to make one thing abundantly clear about this blog; I don't like punching down. Yes, I go out of my way to find a bad movie (or at least something that looks bad) at the end of each month. Yes, this often includes cheap, weird kids' movies that were made with exactly zero artistic intent whatsoever. And yes, it's not exactly fair of me to discuss Ivan the Incredible or Freddy Frogface in the same context as something like The Big Lebowski or Susperia. I don't go out of my way to find something trashy to tear apart each month out of a desire to really stick it to smaller, less talented filmmakers. I take no perverse joy in taking direct-to-video children's films down a peg or two. Really, I just feel it mixes things up; like Peter O'Toole's Anton Ego says in Ratatouille, "we thrive on negative criticism, which is fun to write and to read". We watch movies to feel something, whether it be genuine elation or passionate, cathartic frustration. Which is why, when a film toes the line between legitimate and ironic quality, we're left with a middling kind of malaise; such is the case with this week's subject, Would You Rather.

The plot is simplistic and, at its core, could easily be written off as a ripoff of the Saw franchise; admittedly, it's a decently interesting idea that had me more engaged than I would have initially expected (no thanks to the paper-thin characters, but more on that later). Iris (Brittany Snow) is a young woman struggling to make ends meet while caring for her sickly brother, Raleigh (Logan Miller). With seemingly no other option to pay for Raleigh's increasingly-costly medical treatments (or the bone marrow transplant he needs to survive), Iris accepts an invitation to a dinner party hosted by the mysterious philanthropist, Shepard Lambrick (Jeffery Combs). Iris finds herself among a number of other struggling individuals, each tasked with competing in a parlor game; the prize being Shepard's assistance (be it through his own social influence or his vaguely-considerable wealth) in whatever issue they're currently struggling against. Little do the contestants know that the parlor game in question is in fact a morbid, twisted version of Would You Rather (hence the name), forcing them to choose between a series of increasingly unpleasant punishments to inflict upon themselves and/or each other. It's your standard "wealthy eccentric fruitcakes take horrifying advantage of seedy, lower-class people" exploitation flick, where any amount of subtext or social commentary is scarce at best and the real value lies in seeing comical acts of horrific violence committed against more or less innocent people.

As I said, it's honestly not a half-bad premise; although, "premise" might be slightly too proper for this film. A more accurate word would be "excuse", specifically an excuse to see a lot of low-rent violence and torture. The plot is 100% carried by, well, the plot, rather than the characters. We get a dull-as-dirt intro where we meet Iris and her pale, sickly brother (you can tell he has cancer because he's wearing a beanie indoors) and that's literally the height of the characterization at play here. Once we get to the party, it almost makes you think it's going to play out like Clue, where each colorful individual has a unique personality and gimmick; instead we get a single sentence to describe each contestant, not unlike the opening of Suicide Squad, before bodies start hitting the floor. We have the gambling addict, the Iraq vet, the crippled lady; I was honestly surprised we weren't introduced to Slipknot, the man who can climb anything.

In horror, it's extremely important for us to relate to (or at the very least, care about) the characters. I know I keep using Alien as the example of how characterization in horror should be done, but that's because Alien nails that aspect of its story so perfectly. We get ample opportunity during the first act to know and relate to our cast, so that way when they're being pursued by some snakelike monstrosity in the third act, we actually feel for them. It's all about immersion; things are scarier when you can plant yourself in the characters' shoes. And to the film's credit, I was thinking the entire time of what I'd be doing if I found myself in such a situation. But again, that's entirely thanks to the premise (sorry, excuse) rather than the characters. The situations are grim and gruesome and at times, cringe-inducing, yes. But the emotions on display here are tantamount to watching a series of cardboard cutouts get fed through a woodchipper.

Part of this is because of the lack of characterization, but also in part to the host of tremendously stale performances on display. Some members of the cast do a serviceable job (such as Johnny Coyne as Bevins, the butler, and Gotham's Robin Lord Taylor as Shepard's sadistic son), but the vast majority characters we're meant to care about (Iris in particular) are just completely bland in the worst kind of way. The only members of the cast who really seem to pull it off are, of course, Jeffery Combs (a veteran of cult movies) and Rob Wells (of Trailer Park Boys fame). Even with that said, Wells can't really help but give a comedic performance; his character, Peter, is meant to be a slick, high-rolling gambler from Las Vegas. Instead, he really just comes off like a marginally more well-spoken take on Ricky, his character from TPB (pay close attention to the hefty Canadian "oots" and "aboots" that slip out, despite his character supposedly hailing from the Southwest). 

Combs commands 100% of the charisma, coming off as a legitimately detached, detestable lunatic. He never really drops his air of gentlemanly pleasantness, even when presenting his house guests with horrid punishments and ultimatums; you can tell he's having a lot of fun, and that kind of attitude adds a lot to the endearing schlock-factor. If I had one criticism of this character, it would be that, spoiler alert, he gets absolutely no comeuppance of any kind by the end. I at least expected Iris to take some sort of revenge once the game was finished, maybe trick him into participating himself; a nice bit of table-turning irony to give our villain a fitting end, but no. The ending of this film is so abrupt, unsatisfying, and toothless that it ends up coming off like an insultingly hilarious middle finger to the audience.

Then of course we have famous adult film star, Sasha Grey as Amy; she's the crazy girl, you can tell because she wears a lot of black and immediately turns against everyone. There always seems to be that one character in these types of scenarios, the one who acclimates just a little too well to a Battle Royale style death-game. The kind of person who would spend a good amount of time decorating a mask to wear on the night of the Purge, if you catch my drift. These kinds of characters can be fun, but you typically have to give them some sort of nuance to work; maybe have them debate their ideas with the protagonist, or slowly fall to the wayside after starting off normal. Even Sam Raimi's first (and come to think of it, second) Spider-Man films understood this. Amy, meanwhile, immediately electrocutes an old, crippled woman and approaches the task of stabbing someone with an icepick with a sort of childlike glee. There's just nothing to her; they attempt to characterize her literally seconds before she's killed off, meaning that she's the second-most defined character in the movie, right behind our protagonist.

Really, my biggest issue with Would You Rather wasn't that it was poorly shot, poorly acted, or poorly written (and it most definitely is all of those things). It's an exploitation movie, I wasn't expecting The Exorcist (hell, I wasn't even expecting Sleepaway Camp). My problem with Would You Rather is that I couldn't figure out what it wanted to be, and I'm guessing the filmmakers couldn't either. The tone fluctuates so wildly from an attempt at a legitimately dark, serious horror film (the sequence where the PTSD-stricken Iraq vet is beaten with an African whipping stick) to tongue-in-cheek pseudo-comedic schlock (a scene where Rob Wells' character is challenged to let an M-80 go off in his hand) that it ends up averaging out dead in the middle. It's not infuriatingly bad, but it's also not charmingly quaint either. It just sort of is, and that's one of the worst things a movie (especially one like this) can be. That said, to once again quote Ratatouille, "the bitter truth we critics must face is that in the grand scheme of things, the average piece of junk is probably more meaningful than our criticism designating it so." Would You Rather is no cult masterpiece, nor is it a paragon of all that horror should strive to be, but I suppose had my share of laughs. You could definitely do better, but you could also most assuredly do worse. If you're in the mood for something trashy, grab some friends and crack open a few beers; you might not be scared, invested, or surprised, but you'll get your money's worth.

REVIEW: Clown

I feel as though, for as prevalent as the "killer clown" trope tends to be, the number of notable horror films actually featuring killer clowns is more than a little lacking. Just to name the big ones, there's the 1990 It miniseries, Killer Klowns From Outer Space, and... that's about it. I suppose you could also include Poltergeist if you really wanted to, but even that's a bit of a stretch. It's something I've always found a little surprising; coulraphobia is a pretty common fear, ripe for exploitation. Even if someone isn't necessarily "afraid" of clowns, it's not exactly difficult to make them into something reasonably creepy, at the very least. But alas, the vast majority of killer clown movies tend to end up as nothing more than straight-to-video trash you find in those "25 Horror Movies for $5" value packs. This is part of the reason I was so intrigued by Clown, a 2014 independent horror film produced by Eli Roth and directed by Spider-Man: Homecoming's Jon Watts.

Coming off like an absurdist twist between The Shining and The Fly, the plot focuses on an ordinary real-estate agent by the name of Kent McCoy (Andy Powers). Due to a double-booking incident, Kent and his wife (Laura Allen) find themselves without a clown for their son's birthday party. Thinking quickly, Kent happens upon an old clown suit in the basement of one of the properties he's selling. Setting his dignity aside for his son's special day, Kent dons the suit, nose, and rainbow wig to entertain the kids, seemingly saving the party. The next morning, however, Kent is shocked to discover that, for whatever reason, the clown suit won't come off. The wig has attached itself to his head and the goofy red nose causes him physical pain whenever he tries to remove it. It isn't long before Kent begins to realize that he is physically turning into a clown; his skin begins to turn chalk white, his feet grow longer, and the wig begins to replace his real hair down to the roots. On top of all that, we learn that the clown suit was in fact not a clown suit at all, but rather the skin of an Icelandic demon known as a "Clöyne", which used its colorful appearance to lure children to its cave before devouring them whole. It's up to Kent to discover a cure for his monstrous condition, before the demon's hold (and his newfound hunger for children) overwhelm him for good.

Right from the premise (and the movie's opening, which features a soundtrack of children screaming over vintage depictions of happy clowns), it's plain to see that this isn't a film that takes itself entirely seriously. There's a modicum of self-awareness that comes with a story about a man becoming a were-clown, and I'm glad to see that the filmmakers understood this. There's a good mixture of genuine suspense and pitch-black comedy to be found here, but I almost feel as though the end result is a bit uneven, to the point that some of it comes off as a bit too mean-spirited at times. Mixing genres such as horror and comedy can create a great sense of juxtaposition if done well, but it requires a delicate touch. If we actually end up taking something seriously, only for it to be undercut with a joke moments later, than the tone comes off as inconsistent, and the respective elements of the horror and comedy genres end up blending about as well as oil and water. There are moments where the film really does go for a serious, straightforward tone and, to the credit of the filmmakers, it honestly works quite well as a legitimate horror film. There's a good deal of stomach-turning body-horror that comes with seeing a man fuse with a musty old clown costume, and I'd be lying if I said I didn't cringe more than a few times during Kent's vain attempts to remove it.

Things get even more dire during the second act, when we see our main character, who began as a totally ordinary guy, take on the appearance of a homeless addict. It honestly comes off like a John Wayne Gacy-esque metaphor for a pedophile trying to avoid temptation before finally giving in; watching Kent struggle against his newfound demonic hunger is really quite tragic and unpleasant in a very strong, effective kind of way. Despite the absurd premise, I honestly feel like this could have worked as a 100% serious, straightforward horror film. But this genuine sense of tension and unease is undercut by all of the dark visual humor. We watch an ordinary family man tearfully submit to cannibalistic urges after accidentally murdering a small child, but we also get to watch a laughably fake severed arm ride a tidal wave of blood down a Chuck-E-Cheese fun slide. The dark elements are too dark and the silly elements are too silly; rather than contrasting, they just end up cancelling each other out, and by the time the climax rolls around, it just feels like generic schlock with absolutely nothing in the way of emotional stakes.

Now for all my griping, I still have to hand it to the filmmakers for such a delightfully twisted concept. I'm not quite sure what it is, but the idea that someone can turn into a clown (implying that clowns are inhuman) just makes me smile deep down inside. Making it so that the first clown was really a Nordic demon who lured children away from their villages with promises of sweets and capering is just the icing on the cake. I'm such a sucker for this kind of revisionist folklore, since it gives storytellers such a wealth of opportunity to play around with the established iconography of our collective culture. It's the kind of element I enjoyed the most in films like Krampus and Rise of the Guardians; by putting a unique twist on something so immediately recognizable, we're able to further immerse ourselves in the world of the film. As one might expect, this is the part of the movie that works the best. The first two acts build up a really strong sense of tension and intrigue that, along with the existential dread of Kent's situation, completely make this film. 

Unfortunately, the final act is where it all falls apart. All of the characters stop making sense and Kent himself turns into a generic, brainless movie monster. While everyone's characterization suffers during the final act, none are worse off than Kent's wife, Meg; this may come off as nitpicking, but it seriously cannot be understated how utterly loathsome this character turns out to be. For the entire movie, she's played a relatively inoffensive role, concerned for her husband and protective of their son (Christian Destephano). In the final act, she becomes the most unlikable excuse for a protagonist I think I've ever seen; not only does she endanger and abandon her child numerous times during the final battle, but she's also totally prepared to sacrifice an innocent little girl in an attempt to sate the demon's hunger. And that's to say nothing of how she completely abandoned poor Peter Stormare at a crime scene for no reason (even though we know he's innocent, there's no way that someone who looks like Peter Stormare is found holding a bloody axe near a bunch of mutilated kids and gets away with a happy ending). This kind of character assassination is just a symptom of a much bigger problem that befalls so many great ideas; the filmmakers wrote themselves into a corner. They had this amazing idea about a man who slowly turns into an evil clown, but they had no idea how to end it. So the end result is just a series of flaccid, pointless sequences that feel like a hurried attempt to just end the movie without any loose ends. The plot ends up stretched paper thin and what was once a really engaging, original horror film ends up feeling like anything but.

I wanted so badly to like Clown. And in some ways, I really do; I like exactly two thirds of it. The final act is exactly the kind of shallow, poorly-written dreck I had hoped it wouldn't be. In its defense, I've seen far worse (and I'm willing to bet that out of all the independent killer-clown movies that have come out in the past 20 years, this is likely one of the absolute best), but it still stands that "not bad" is really the most Clown can aspire to. If you're looking for something that comes agonizingly close to joining such films as Trick R Treat and The Babadook in the realm of cult classics before nosediving back down into the land of inconsequential schlock, give Clown a look. For what it's worth, I had my fun with it, even if I don't really see myself revisiting it any time soon. All in all, it may be somewhat forgettable, but I'd be hard pressed to call it regrettable.

REVIEW: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974)

As time goes on, movies are going to end up looking better and better. It's an inevitable side-effect of technological progress and, while such progress may sound like an objectively positive thing, I can't help but feel that some things may be lost as our films become cleaner, brighter, and all-around better looking. Take for example one of the granddaddies of the slasher genre, Tobe Hooper's The Texas Chainsaw Massacre.

Inspired loosely by the real-life story of serial killer Ed Gein, the story follows a van full of twenty-somethings as they drive across Texas to visit a family grave. There have been mysterious reports of vandalism and grave-robbing, so Sally Hardesty (Marilyn Burns), her crippled brother, Franklin (Paul A. Partain), and three of their friends (Allen Danzinger, William Vail, and Teri McMinn) decide to take the ride to investigate the scene and make sure their grandfather is still in the family plot. After a tense encounter with a disturbed hitchhiker, the group decides to visit the old Hardesty family homestead; they poke around and trespass like the meddling kids they are, attracting the attention of a disturbed family of cannibals. As one might expect from a classic slasher flick, the kids are picked off one by one until the lone survivor is left to make a tense and daring escape.

The first thing that struck me about this movie is the overall look of it. Visual style is a tremendous aspect of what makes this movie work so well; it was made on a budget of only $300,000 (just under $1.5 million by today's standards), utilizing relatively unknown actors who were local to the area in which it was shot. There's not a lot of spectacular special effects or gore, the music is mostly ambient, and everything from the props to the film itself has this grainy, gritty feel to it. It's a very low-key kind of horror movie (compared to more bombastic fare that would follow, your Nightmare on Elm Street or your Friday the 13th), and that really helps to establish a strong sense of tone and atmosphere. Much like Alien, this is a horror film that succeeds mostly because of how it is able to immerse the viewer in the events that are playing out on screen. However, unlike Alien, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is so scary because it feels like a story you could very well see on the news tonight. This movie is for roadtrips what Jaws was to summertime trips to the beach.

This is also due (in no small part) to the wonderful performances of Gunnar Hansen, Jim Siedow, and Edwin Neal as Leatherface, Old Man, and Hitchhiker. These aren't your usual scenery-chewing loonies you often see in the psycho-hillbilly genre; they come off like actual disturbed individuals, taking sadistic glee in the atrocities they commit. They manage to display the requisite amount of crazed energy you might expect, but they stay just reserved enough to come off as starkly believable. It's this delicate bit of nuance and reservation that makes the whole thing that much more real; they remain a lot more coherent and "in control" than the usual on-screen psychopath, and that extra touch makes their actions all the more disquieting. 

By the same token, the film comes off very much like a cautionary tale about the dangers of unchecked industrial growth. As Hitchhiker explains, new advances in technology led to large-scale layoffs at the local slaughterhouse. As a result, the lower, working class is forced to (literally and figuratively) eat each other to survive; industry has abandoned them and now they are forced to survive by doing the only thing they know how to do. Once our gang of youthful yuppies trespass on the family's property, their fate is sealed. The oppressed become oppressors in their own right, reducing those whom they deem more fortunate to nothing more than meat in a similar (albeit more visceral) way that they themselves were taken advantage of by big business. Horror films have a wonderful way of discussing serious issues of manmade society and human nature by way of copious bloodshed and horrendous acts of violence, and that is specifically why I adore this genre the way I do.

Despite the grainy look of the film and the thoroughly 70's wardrobe of the cast, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre is very much a timeless classic of the horror genre. It's a shining example of how restrictions and reservations can help elevate a film to unseen heights. A slasher film in which the main killer uses a chainsaw doesn't exactly come off like the most low-key concept, but it's this subversion of audience expectations that helps sell the unsettling realism that makes this movie work. Even the brilliant, climactic chase doesn't play out as you'd expect; everyone's limping along, it's framed in a long shot, and yet you're able to cut the tension in the air with a steak knife. It's a horror film that isn't afraid to slow down and linger on itself, rather than attempting to create a synthetically scary situation. It simply lays its cards on the table and invites you to be terrified, and that works surprisingly well.

REVIEW: Big Man Japan

After watching Shin Godzilla last week, I'm still on something of a kaiju kick. I recall once hearing of Big Man Japan on an episode of the Laser Time Podcast; described as a hilarious genre parody, I knew this was a film I would have to see. Naturally, I tracked it down and gave it a look, only to discover something that was not quite entirely what I was expecting.

The film is shot in the style of a mocumentary, following the titular hero, Big Man Japan (otherwise known by his civilian name, Masaru Daisato, played by Hitoshi Matsumoto). Possessing the uncanny ability to greatly increase his size and strength whenever he comes in contact with electricity, Daisato finds himself employed by the Japanese defense ministry. Like his father and grandfather before him, it is his duty to power-up and defend Japan from all manner of bizarre monsters. Unlike his predecessors, however, Daisato finds himself much less appreciated by both his employers and the general public; the collateral damage caused by his work tends to upset people, and the gig doesn't exactly pay well. The film explores his meager, lonely existence with almost sadistic glee, striking a tone that dips into the surprisingly unfortunate more than once.

It's a fantastic concept, to dissect the life of a super-sentai monster fighter as though they were an underappreciated civil servant. There's many different directions this story could go, but the film doesn't seem entirely willing to commit to one solid idea. This gives things a bit of an uneven tone; we get some genuine drama as we learn about Daisato's abusive father, but then we get to see him awkwardly try to keep two monsters from mating in the middle of a traffic jam. It generally succeeds at whatever it tries to do, but I can't help but get a sense of unevenness from the whole thing. Frankly, I would have liked to have seen the story unfold in either one direction or the other. Either play everything straight and have the humor result from the subtle contrast of a genuinely tragic story set against such an absurd backdrop, or go full-tilt with the silliness and make it a straight-up comedy. A stronger sense of tonal commitment definitely would have helped the pace, which I think can reasonably be described as "glacial".

The humor throughout the entirety of the first act is supremely dry and the plot doesn't really get going until a half hour in. There's some really clever ideas (such as how Daisato's agent sells ad space on his body whenever he has to go fight a monster), but it feels like the filmmakers didn't really do everything they could with this premise. To be fair, that could be a budgetary issue; for a Japanese indie film made a decade ago, the CGI and special effects all look surprisingly solid. The monster designs and concepts are all quite excellent as well; there's a really strong heart of absurdist humor at the center of this film. When it's allowed to shine, it's a veritable laugh-riot, so it's a shame that the rest of it feels so aimless and meandering.

That said, the pacing and general mood of the film does help to establish an atmosphere that really helps the viewer get into Daisato's headspace. He's laid-back and complacent almost to the point of being totally boring, but we still sympathize with his burden. His is a job that, frankly, no one should want; he can't travel, earns peanuts, and barely sees his estranged daughter. It's not exactly a pleasant mood for the movie to take, but it's certainly an effective one. I would have just liked to see more regarding Daisato's relationships with those around him. We get glimpses of his family life, but there's hardly any payoff. The drama is compelling but under-delivered and the comedy is an absurd delight when it's actually present. It's a film that seems it get in its own way frequently. With that said, the ending is one of the funniest things I've ever seen.

Big Man Japan is a film with a lot to think about. I can say objectively that it is well-made. It's an inventive idea with a lot going on beneath the surface. This isn't simply a movie about a superhero who kinda sucks at his job; there's plenty of subtext to explore in regards to the story and protagonist (and especially the ending). On paper, it is a good movie. The question, though, is would I recommend it. Frankly, I'm not entirely sure. Perhaps this is the sort of thing that improves upon sequential viewings, but I can't help but feel as though this missed the mark for me. It's definitely a niche sort of film; there's some bits of undeniable brilliance here, so if this seems like your sort of thing, then I say definitely go check it out. However, if you're not particularly big on Japanese monster movies or subversive dramedy, maybe give this one a pass.

REVIEW: Mystery Team

Oftentimes, when deciding what to watch for this blog, I'll select a movie I've been intending to watch for some time but have never gotten around to. Other times, I'll revisit an old favorite to see if there's anything new to be gleaned. And other times, I'll just pop onto Netflix and mash play on the first thing that looks mildly interesting, such as with this week's viewing, Mystery Team. 

Created by and starring the Derrick Comedy trio (Donald Glover, Dominick Dierkes, and DC Pierson), the movie follows the titular Mystery Team, a would-be detective agency run by a trio of pals who never outgrew their passion for solving neighborhood mysteries. It's essentially a Venture Bros-esque take on franchises like The Hardy Boys and The Babysitter's Club; what if these precocious kids were in modern-day high school, but still spent their free time finding lost pets and kidnapped dollies? As if the anachronistic contrast of Little Rascals-style antics in contemporary suburbia wasn't enough, the gang is faced with a new case that's more than a little outside of their wheelhouse when a neighborhood girl (Daphne Ciccarelle) asks them to find out who murdered her parents. What follows is an irreverent comedy sketch that lasts about an hour and a half.

It's worth noting that, as if it wasn't already obvious, this movie essentially runs off of one joke; that these dorky, squeaky-clean dweebs who usually rescue marbles from storm drains are tasked with investigating a grisly double-homicide. As one might expect, this is something of a double-edged sword. Sometimes it works phenomenally well (such as whenever Donald Glover attempts to use disguises and fake personas to sneak into areas of interest) and other times it falls flat (such as when DC Pierson's character explains how he drank dog urine in an attempt to rid himself of bacteria). It's a single recurring joke that, to the film's credit, usually works out pretty effectively. The natures of these characters lend themselves well to individual scenes, which can play out more or less like sequential sketches. You can dump the trio of naive protagonists in, say, a seedy gentlemen's club, and it more or less writes itself. It's when the film has to stop being a series of amusing setpieces and focus on plot that it tends to slow down and fumble, turning totally generic at the absolute worst. The entire thing starts off with this genuinely weird, laugh-out-loud sense of energy that it just can't keep up for the entirety of its runtime. As I said, it's a joke that usually works, but it's the moments where it doesn't that drag this film down and keep it from being something really special.

That said, I do have to applaud the spirit of this film; it's entirely unashamed of how outright silly it is and appears to have an immense amount of fun with itself. This strikes me as one of those projects where everyone involved had a blast while making it. I imagine a lot of improv and laughter shared over table reads and on set. I also get the sense that this is the kind of project that is funnier to the people who made it than it is to the audience, but that feeling of earnestness still manages to come through in the end result. As I said, this is basically a 90-minute comedy sketch. It's the kind of thing that would never fly with a major studio and works very well within that "improv troupe" mindset. While it's not perfect, I can at least appreciate the originality of the concept and how well that concept was realized, considering what a small-scale production this was. It's irreverent and goofy, from time to time it's outright stupid, but it still gave me a genuine laugh at several points throughout its runtime. 

At the end of it all, I'm left with the question of whether or not I would recommend anyone watch Mystery Team. Admittedly, I'm a little torn. On one hand, it's definitely not for everyone. There's an abundance of "dumb" humor, laden with poop and swearing and vomit. That said, all of that dumb humor is delivered by very smart comedians, all with impeccable senses of timing and tone. It didn't always hit for me, but when it did I was left cackling like a lunatic. Like a lot of comedy, I feel like Mystery Team is just one of those things that comes down to a matter of taste. I could very easily see someone having a ball with this, but I can also see someone finding it to be a completely mindless waste of time. Going off of the premise alone, you can probably discern where you lie on that spectrum; I find myself somewhere in the middle. I had my fun with Mystery Team, but I'm not sure I'll ever feel the need to watch it again. Take that as you will.