Mask

Mask is a sentimental favorite of mine. Being disabled, I can relate to the story of Rocky Dennis. The looks you get, the murmured comments that they think you can't hear, the rejection you face courtesy of the opposite sex...I understand it. Yes, I cried during this film. Most people will. It hits all of the same notes that The Elephant Man hits, only with a sharper edge because of its modern realism. Eric Stoltz's make-up is amazing. I've included a picture of the real Rocky below. It's uncanny.

Stoltz gives a human, multi-layered performance that brings the script home. The same could be said of every performance in the film. Cher, of all people, was the perfect choice to play Rusty, Rocky's mulish, case-hardened mother. She conveys so much through her eyes. You can see how much Rusty loves her son, how willing she is to fight for him and his rights. No matter how much bullshit is shoveled her way via doctors and principals, she remains undeterred, all the while giving Rocky the temerity to plow through Hell like a soldier at arms.

Sam Elliot plays Sam Elliot. I don't think he's ever played anyone but Sam Elliot. For what it's worth, he does his thing. That sumbitch defies all film critics to needle away at his acting skills. He's a rough-around-the-edges sweetheart, and by God, every woman within a 10-mile radius wants to bang the filament out of him. Take it or leave it! The rest of the cast is solid. Keep your eyes peeled for an old-young Estelle Getty (was she born at age 50?).

Since Mask is a biopic, the plot doesn't depend on a core storyline. There is still an interesting sequence of events, though. The music chosen for certain scenes is almost poetic. The soundtrack is slathered in Bob Seger songs, but originally, director Peter Bogdanavich wanted Bruce Springsteen songs to appear in the film. When you consider that the music heard in the initial cut of Mask was what they settled for, it's astonishing to see how well the soundtrack works with the character drama. The Springsteen material can now be found on the director's cut DVD.

Simply put, I love this film. I don't crack easily, so any film that makes me cry is worth watching. It's also a fun flick for those entertained by fistfights and motorcycles. Talk about a great date movie for dudes. Slip it in after Roadhouse, and you'll probably get laid. Hey, Sam Elliot starred in both Mask and Roadhouse. Coincidence? I think not.

Time Out

Sorry, no update today. Too much homework. I was going to post another mini-review, but I want to take my time with the next couple of entries. Also, I want to use this space to THANK my readers for visiting my blog. There will be more ways for you to support my endeavors soon. No, you won't be forced to buy DVD's for me, but hey, it's hard out here for a cripple! Think of it as supporting one of your favorite bands. Again, it won't be mandatory (like the dances you do for me).

Live - THROWING COPPER

(mini-review)

In 1994, Live was a mediocre post-grunge band that had a few hits clogging up MTV and all of the "new rock" radio stations. They annoyed the fuck out of me. In retrospect, Throwing Copper is actually a listenable album, provided that you skip "I Alone" and "Lightning Crashes." I never want to hear those songs again. Now, instead of writing the usual mini-review, I'm going to describe the songs that I think are worth writing about in a flurry of self-important adjectives. The deeper cuts remind me of a plaintive, less rancorous Pearl Jam. Ed Kowaldsyufchurd comes across as a more sociable Ed Veddar. Both frontmen are intellectuals with passionate voices, though the PJ comparisons end there. Alright, enough bullshit...

"Dam at Otter Creek" - Loungy and emotional. Terrific build-up.
"Selling the Drama" - The first single. It wasn't played to death, so I never got sick of it. A solid rocker with an infectious hook.
"Iris" - Love the soft/loud dynamics that this decade was known for. Intense finish.
"Top" - Superb melodies. It's succinct without feeling abridged or incomplete.
"Shit Towne" - Again, an infectious hook. Memorable chorus.
"Stage" - Maybe the heaviest, angriest song Live has put to tape.
"Pillar of Davidson" - Haunting, faintly progressive. This one has an R.E.M. vibe.
"White, Discussion" - The last single, if my memory serves me correct. A politically-charged riff whirlpool. Dig it.
"Horse" - A nice closer. It has country/western undertones, but don't let that frighten you off.

Overall, Throwing Copper holds up rather well, if you don't count the hits that have eroded from over-exposure. It's hard to listen to straight through, but that's just me yapping. Do pay a visit to Mental Jewelry, Live's mainly acoustic debut. Everything else they've done pales in comparison to their early material. Isn't that always the case?

The Birds

(mini-review)

The mark of a great horror film is its ability to make the imaginary seem threatening, the fanciful seem plausible. Hitchcock did just that with The Birds, his only full-on fright flick. The birds contained therein are so damn creepy, and there is nothing supernatural about them. They're birds. Crows, sparrows, seagulls...y'know, birds. I guess that's why Alf is called the master of suspense. This is a terribly suspenseful motion picture. It's hard to breathe during some scenes, especially the "chute scare" and the whist, unruffled climax. By unruffled, I mean silent. The Birds doesn't have a score. Hitchcock uses the shrill screaming of our feathered assailants and the occasional thwack of a 2X4 to heighten the tension. Let me tell you, it works. I can't imagine this film with a soundtrack.

If you couple quiet audio channels with a very deliberate pace, you get a movie that a lot of people aren't going to sit through. Many cinephiles feel that The Birds is overrated because of its slow first half. While I agree that the first 30-45 minutes are trying (and even illogical), the rest of the film is too enjoyable for me to say that The Birds is overrated. Once the title peckers take flight, it's a stupendous watch. Hitchcock even throws in a shot of unexpected gore. Moreover, the cast is full of veteran a-listers. Suzanne Pleshette and Tippi Hedren turn in multi-faceted performances as a jaded schoolteacher and a heady flirt, respectively. Jessica Tandy is convincing as an overprotective mother to Mitch Brenner, the town playboy. Rod Taylor plays Brenner with a mature edge that gives his role a spectrum of shades to pull from.

Everyone is three-dimensional. As per usual, Hitchcock fully develops his characters before he puts them in harm's way. The Birds could have been a tasteless cult oddity, but instead, it's a legitimate classic. Perfect? I'm afraid not. Overrated? Hell no. Memorable? Most definitely. Check the bottom of the page to view a few cool Hitchcock trailers.

The Bride of Frankenstein

NOTE: This review was written seven years ago.

It’s odd that one of the first horror sequels ever created comes close to upstaging its predecessor. Quite a feat, considering that very few sequels after The Bride of Frankenstein managed to do the same thing. Frankenstein was a pivotal film, and it would have been easy for the sequel to replicate its formula. But James Whale knew better. He took his masterpiece and expanded upon it. Nothing was senselessly regurgitated for the sake of familiarity. He even threw a few more genres into the mix. Bride isn’t just a horror film; it encompasses both touching drama and a pinch of black comedy

. A clever prologue introduces us to Mary Shelley, as portrayed by Elsa Lanchester

(who also plays “The Monster’s Mate”). She relates the continuation of her infamous novel. I was hoping that we would return to her for an epilogue, but a wrap-around story of sorts just wasn’t meant to be, I presume. Anyway, Henry Frankenstein survived the fall he endured at the end of the first film. As he’s recovering, he’s visited by Dr. Pretorius.

Pretorius is officially my second favorite mad scientist of all time, second only to Dr. Herbert West. Ernest Thesiger gives the maniacal genius a wave of morbid enthusiasm. Pretorius is menacing, intriguing, and amusing all at the same time. He tells Frankenstein that he too has brought life to the dead. Later on, we get to see his “experiments.” He has pint-sized people imprisoned in jars. I have to admit, these special effects were much more impressive than I thought they would be. The blue screen isn’t too noticeable and thankfully, we don’t see the actors’ shadows against their backdrop (leave that up to Toho...sorry, but it’s true!). Pretorius lets Frankenstein in on his idea to create a mate for Frankenstein’s monster. He refuses to assist Pretorius in this “blasphemous” and “wicked” experiment, but he’s eventually forced to participate.

This entire time, the monster is roaming the countryside, getting himself into all sorts of trouble. Boris Karloff fills the monster’s boots once again and gives a stunning performance. He was solid enough in the original when he wasn’t given any dialogue to work with, but here, he’s even better with dialogue. Yep, “zipperneck” has been practicing his vernacular. His dialogue is simplistic, yet potent. He says more with two words then some characters say with extensive monologues. I loved the scenes with the blind hermit. Both characters are incredibly lonely and only ask for companionship. They form somewhat of a bond with one another, only to be separated by angry villagers. I can only accept Karloff as the monster. Not even Christopher Lee can hold a candle to his performance. The only other person who I could’ve seen doing justice to the role would’ve been Fred Gwynne (Herman Munster is God).


I dug Lanchester as The Bride, but I was hoping to see more of her. This complaint stems from expectations that weren’t met, so it might not be fair of me to deduct points because of it, but I felt that The Bride should’ve played a bigger role in this film’s events. Once “She’s alive!!!!!!,” it’s only a couple of minutes before the end credits roll. I wanted the two monsters to mingle and communicate more before it was all said and done. That said, I love The Bride’s frenzied hairdo. It’s amazing that she’s become a horror icon when her screen presence is so severely limited. I’m shocked that she didn’t make an appearance in a subsequent Universal offering.

The pace rarely lags. There’s much more action here than in the original. And while I’m comparing/contrasting these two classics, I’ll go ahead and state which one I prefer. I...can’t decide! Bride is a fluid, entertaining accomplishment, but I have an attachment to the first film. It’s hard to put into words. As far as horror/sci-fi goes, I’d have to give the edge to Frankenstein. However, Bride is far more diverse and a tad more polished from a directing standpoint. I guess it could go either way. If you dig archaic genre gems, then there’s really no excuse for you not to check this flick out. Of course, I’m being a little hypocritical since it took me awhile to get around to watching it myself. I’m glad to have made the effort.

Alice in Chains - BLACK GIVES WAY TO BLUE

I’m a huge Alice in Chains fan. They’re probably my favorite band of all time, although that title switches owners on a semi-regular basis. When I first heard snippets off of Black Gives Way to Blue, I knew instantly that Jerry, Mike and Sean went about the reunion process the right way. They aren’t doing this to cash in on Layne’s legacy. Newcomer William DuVall isn’t trying to replace Layne or emulate his vocal style. Today, Alice in Chains is a band that pays homage to its rhizome, the musical bedrock that sustained the music throughout the years. The roots show, but these guys refuse to allow their chemistry to be one-upped by the travails of the hard rock lifestyle.

They could have done the Led Zeppelin thing and closed up shop. But would Layne have wanted AIC to die along with him? I strongly doubt it. He was an artist to the core. He understood that his band’s music affected people in a beautiful way, and he wouldn’t want to deny the fans at least one more masterpiece. Jerry Cantrell has stepped up to deliver the only album that AIC could deliver, given the circumstances. This was the right record to make. If AIC had formed last year, this is what Facelift would have sounded like. Black/Blue is almost a debut, an incredible one at that.

DuVall has been introduced to the AIC precept in the most appropriate of ways. He doesn’t swallow the microphone or overpower the natural balance of the compositions. He is there to partially fill a void, to play a role that requires him to act with nuance and subtlety. Jerry is the true frontman on this album, and that’s fine with me. I’ll begin the song-by-song dissection with “Last of My Kind,” the sole tune that sees DuVall handling the majority of the vocals. I can already tell that he gets it. He appreciates the angular melodies that AIC is known for. His lyrics are cryptic, his vibrato is full of emotion, and his range is elastic. I do believe they found the man for the job! By the way, the riffs on this song are heavier than God’s sack.

“Your Decision” is an instant classic. Those harmonies are back and better than ever. I love the soloing. Jerry has a way of playing the notes that need to be played, and nothing more (or less). “All Secrets Known” is a gloomy Frankenjam that needs to be cranked at midnight. The same goes for “Acid Bubble,” a 7-minute beast rippling with soaring harmonies, liquid hooks, and domineering drum work (you go, Sean!). “When the Sun Rose Again” brings images of campfires and marshmallows to mind. Again, the harmonies, the solo, the minimalist arrangement…everything fucking clicks, man.

The title track will literally remove your heart from your chest and leave it steaming on the floor. Elton John’s lilting contributions on the piano fill the song out, nudging Black Gives Way to Blue ever closer to perfection. “Private Hell” sounds like a leftover from the Dirt sessions. NOTE: All AIC leftovers are staggering in their badassery. What else can I say? This album is a phenomenal achievement. It may end up saving hard rock, a subgenre that has been in critical condition ever since Layne left us. The heart on the cover speaks volumes. It’s the weight, not the size. Sweet love by labor.

Quick, identify those lyrics!

The Vampire Bat

(mini-review)

Lionel Atwill appeared in several quality genre pictures throughout the 30's and 40's before his untimely death in 1946. I'm starting to put him on a pedestal in my head, the same pedestal that horror greats Karloff and Lugosi occupy. He took every role seriously, even the ones that most audiences would soon forget. In my opinion, that's the mark of a regal, haughty thespian. The Vampire Bat sees Atwill brooding and scowling as a mad scientist who attributes his crimes to an undead ghoul. Since his character is a well-respected chemist, the authorities go along with his theories of vampirism. Unfortunately for Dr. Generic Scientist, a diffident Fay Wray overhears him linking up with his imposing subordinate by means of telepathy.

The "telepathy" angle is never explained. Now that I think about it, the details of Atwill's experiments are never explained either. I'm not bothering with character names because this isn't the kind of movie that you analyze. It's the kind of movie that you watch, kind of enjoy, and then blot out from your memory. I liked the shadowy photography. Wray and Atwill bounce off of each other well when they're on screen together. Dwight Frye gives a humorous performance as a bat-canonizing freak. How did he get typecast as a loon who likes to play with dead critters? I don't get it. Nonetheless, the bits of black comedy involving Frye succeed in punching up the mood.

If I had to describe The Vampire Bat in one word, that word would be lukewarm. To see Atwill really shine, watch Mystery of the Wax Museum or the lesser-known The Mad Doctor of Market Street.

Proteus

It seems that Proteus haunted every shelf in video stores throughout the mid-to-late 90’s. I must have strolled by the box hundreds of times. I was never intrigued enough to rent it, and apparently, no one else was intrigued either. I haven’t met a single person who has seen Proteus. For what it’s worth, this is a functional creature feature that squeezes every penny out of its exiguous budget. It’s based on a novel authored by John Brosnan, the same fellow who penned the source material for Carnosaur. Brosnan also wrote the screenplay. I am told that the film deviates from the book to a liberal extent. I have to wonder what the aspirations were here. Brosnan couldn’t have aimed too high, as the premise is as generic as mass-manufactured cotton swabs.

Drug traffickers get themselves shipwrecked and wind up dwelling in the mildewed halls of an abandoned oil rig. They stumble upon a genetic mutation that was created by scientists. God, I can barely type the synopsis without falling asleep. None of the characters have distinguishable traits. They could have swapped lines halfway through the film, and I wouldn’t have known it. Craig Fairbrass gives a competent performance as the “action hero,” but I can’t say that I cared about him or anyone else, for that matter. Proteus falls under the same category as Deep Star Six, Leviathan, and Deep Rising. As with those nautical shockers, the characters aren’t particularly important. It’s all about the monster action. Does Proteus deliver?

Yes and no. I will say this...the special effects hold up rather well. While the shark/squid/lobster aberration only shows up for the finale, it’s still a hearty construct. Plus, the camera backs off, so for better or worse, we get to see the entire armamentarium. The credits list dozens of effects technicians, and I didn’t spot many digital touch-ups (the year was 1995, so crude CGI was available). I must applaud the effects crew, for they evidently toiled away with unflagging conviction. Director Bob Keen builds an effective atmosphere with swirling mist, allochromatic lighting, and musky exterior shots of the oil rig. Useless fact – Keen shouldered effects duties on The Neverending Story, Waxwork, and Return of the Jedi.

Most of the halfhearted tension stems from a subplot that has our shark/squid/lobster fucker “infecting” the characters. Everything plays out like a tired riff on Invasion of the Body Snatchers and The Hidden. Boring. There is also a twist, but it’s exceedingly minor. I’m still not sure if it was supposed to bowl me over or not. Overall, Proteus could have been worse. It could have been better. I would reach for Deep Rising before I sought out this middling time-waster. It sports more action, more blood, more Treat Williams, more Famke Janssen. Better yet, check out Deep Star Six. It features a stronger dose of Ferrer. I found Proteus to be lacking in the “Miguel Ferrer” department, as well as the “Treat Williams” department.

Marduk - WORMWOOD

(mini-review)

Marduk is a God-stomping machine that has been at the black metal game for close to twenty years now. Hailing from Sweden, they do things a little differently than their Norwegian contemporaries. Much like Dark Funeral, they get straight to the point. Orchestral flourishes are kept to a minimum, and up until 2007's Rom 5:12, most of their material has been blindingly fast. Since acquiring vocalist/gagger/puker Mortuus, Marduk has augmented their baneful brew of kvltness with more atmosphere and more studio trickery. That's a good thing. Wormwood, the band's latest invocation, is all kinds of extreme, yet it's musical enough to rise above the taxonomy of "background noise."

I can't say enough about the inhuman vocals of Mortuus. I know there are still plenty of Legion devotees, but the new (well, new-ish) guy goes beyond being a black metal vocalist. He alters his approach to fit the mood of the music, whereas Legion was stuck in shriek mode. The guitars are achingly simple, but the melodies saturate each song with emotion, even if the nature of the emotion is anything but harmonious. Listen to the lead runs in "Into Utter Madness" and "Phosphorous Redeemer." That's catchy stuff! On the percussive side, we get a lion's share of tempo variation, resourceful fills and snarled blastbeats.

Wormwood sees the trend of well-produced Marduk albums continue. Everything sounds full, like a whale's stomach after a balanced breakfast of characters from the Bible (hooray for sacrilegious similes!). The bass plays an integral part in the arrangements, so it's a relief to hear it high in the mix. Again, I'll allude to "Into Utter Madness." Damn, that's a catchy song. It may be the only black metal funeral hymn you end up humming to yourself this year. Personal favorites aside from the two I mentioned? The grinding "Chorus of Cracking Necks," the lurching "Funeral Dawn," and the femur-fucking (???) "This Fleshly Void." This album is almost as fulfilling as World Funeral. Funeral, funeral, funeral and...funeral. Translation: buy this CD!

Sorry, no update today.

Major computer problems.

Check back tomorrow night.

The Bad Seed

(mini-review)

1956's The Bad Seed is unlike any other "evil child" film I've seen. There is an emphasis on character and performance. The film is essentially an adapted version of the Broadway production of the same name. It feels like a play. There aren't many sets, the exposition is dialogue-driven, and some of the acting is stagey in the most melodramatic of ways. This was a heavy, shocking picture for the 1950's. It doesn't dance around the doleful subject matter. The emotions hit hard, and I nearly welled up at one point. I can't say that about Mikey or Orphan.

Of course, The Bad Seed wouldn't be as gripping without its premier cast. Nancy Kelly is impossibly consumed by her role as the mother of the titular brat. She expertly conveys all of the anguish and confusion you would expect her character to go through. Patty McCormick pulls off the "disturbed little girl" routine with unnerving nonchalance. She's almost too convincing! I have to mention Eileen Heckart's amazing turn as the glazed, aggrieved Mrs. Daigle. She puts everything she has into her performance. I bought every word that stumbled out of her mouth (if you've seen the film, you know what I mean).

Any cons? Well, it's a slow-burner with a 129-minute running time. The film does hobble along at a passive stride that tests your patience. In addition, one could say that The Bad Seed is a tad too theatrical, and that would be a fair observation. This isn't a faultless flick. I wouldn't recommend it if you're looking for a flighty, lighthearted b-movie. Otherwise, give it a whirl, by all means. It makes the aforementioned Orphan look like John Carpenter's Village of the Damned.