- Published on
Readers: for those of you who missed the news over the weekend, actor Bernard Hill of screens big and small passed away on May 5, 2024.
I caught the news in a blurb that kinda/sorta suggested that the man's biggest and most memorable role was aboard James Cameron's Titanic (1997) which I guess -- from a certain point of view -- might be accurate. Titanic is revered as one of the highest grossing motion pictures ever, but -- for what it's worth -- I think a great deal more folks will remember him as 'King Theoden' aboard Peter Jackson's stellar theatrical adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord Of The Rings. Under his inspired performance, Theoden rose to be one of the strong moral centers for all of Middle-Earth; and he gave us a modern day vision of what a Fantasy ruler could and perhaps should be like.
Naturally, he stopped at a good deal other properties along the way, many of which gravitated toward more conventional stuff. I just did a review for his birthday citation on SciFiHistory.Net, and I was honestly surprised with how many comedies the actor left his mark upon. (Honestly, I haven't seen many of them; I just read his credited roles, and there were quite a few chucklers in there.) Without a doubt, his work aboard Rings resulted in the most awards citations; and I hope if nothing else that speaks to the enduring quality of the talent he brought to the screen.
Our warmest prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Bernard Hill.
May he forever rest in peace.
-- EZ
I caught the news in a blurb that kinda/sorta suggested that the man's biggest and most memorable role was aboard James Cameron's Titanic (1997) which I guess -- from a certain point of view -- might be accurate. Titanic is revered as one of the highest grossing motion pictures ever, but -- for what it's worth -- I think a great deal more folks will remember him as 'King Theoden' aboard Peter Jackson's stellar theatrical adaptation of J.R.R. Tolkien's The Lord Of The Rings. Under his inspired performance, Theoden rose to be one of the strong moral centers for all of Middle-Earth; and he gave us a modern day vision of what a Fantasy ruler could and perhaps should be like.
Naturally, he stopped at a good deal other properties along the way, many of which gravitated toward more conventional stuff. I just did a review for his birthday citation on SciFiHistory.Net, and I was honestly surprised with how many comedies the actor left his mark upon. (Honestly, I haven't seen many of them; I just read his credited roles, and there were quite a few chucklers in there.) Without a doubt, his work aboard Rings resulted in the most awards citations; and I hope if nothing else that speaks to the enduring quality of the talent he brought to the screen.
Our warmest prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Bernard Hill.
May he forever rest in peace.
-- EZ
- Published on
Folks, you can count me proudly (and sadly) amongst that contingent of fans who firmly believe that Star Wars – under Disney’s wrath of terror – is pretty much dead.
Now, let me qualify this for the readership: this isn’t meant to say that I haven’t eeked some enjoyment out of series like The Mandalorian, The Book Of Boba Fett, The Bad Batch, Andor, and Ahsoka because that would be far from the truth. When you watch programs the way I do – always trying to find some silver lining here and there – then it becomes easy to see glimmers of ‘a new hope’ in random spaces. The problem is that the quality of the writing has been so horribly, horribly, horribly inconsistent – along with certain elements of the production and performances – that I’ve been unable to make any emotional investment in these respective yarns. If I can’t connect on any level, then it’s hard for the show to truly resonate with me. Think what you may, but I believe this is how a vast portion of Star Wars fandom feels about the current state of the Galactic Empire.
Still, I couldn’t (and didn’t) pass up the chance to take in Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace on the big screen as part of the annual ‘May The Fourth Be With You’ Celebration. Yes, I’m aware that this re-release also tied in with the movie’s twenty-fifth anniversary – do you think yours truly lives on an island? – and so I wanted to take a few minutes to reflect (in review fashion) on this particular Menace. While this won’t be a full-fledged review the likes of which regular patrons to SciFiHistory.Net get with each and every release I cover, I believe these modest observations do ‘fit the bill’ close enough that I wanted to share them in conjunction with this special occasion.
In case any of you are wondering, yes, I was there when this one was originally released in theaters back in 1999; and, yes, I was one of the long-time Star Wars fans who was thrilled to see George Lucas finally getting around to continuing the star saga in that galaxy far, far away. While I fully understood that Luke, Han, and Leia weren’t even a twinkle in anyone’s eye at this point of the mythology, I desperately wanted answers to how the Republic got to such a lowly state that it transformed into the Galactic Empire. This is precisely want audiences were promised; and – like so many – I was a bit underwhelmed.
Again, I feel the need to clarify: this isn’t to suggest in any way that I disliked The Phantom Menace. Rather, it kinda/sorta confused me.
In talking about the project both back then and even today, I’ve long maintained that it’s perfectly fine as a film but it doesn’t quite involve me as a story. (I know, I know … hang with me a minute, and I think it’ll all become clear.) As works of art, films don’t have to be perfect to be beloved; they merely have to be made and serve as an inspiration to those who discover it. Stories – on the other hand – should either intellectually engage or challenge those who tune in, unspooling their peoples, places, and events in such a way as everything adds up to something greater than the sum of its parts. So … it’s pretty clear to even those who loathe Menace that few can argue about its technical wizardry and visual flair: nothing quite like it existed in our universe at the time, and it arguably took audiences someplace that they hadn’t been in that fictional world. But as for the peoples, places, and events? Well … it was more than a bit flat.
Now, let me qualify this for the readership: this isn’t meant to say that I haven’t eeked some enjoyment out of series like The Mandalorian, The Book Of Boba Fett, The Bad Batch, Andor, and Ahsoka because that would be far from the truth. When you watch programs the way I do – always trying to find some silver lining here and there – then it becomes easy to see glimmers of ‘a new hope’ in random spaces. The problem is that the quality of the writing has been so horribly, horribly, horribly inconsistent – along with certain elements of the production and performances – that I’ve been unable to make any emotional investment in these respective yarns. If I can’t connect on any level, then it’s hard for the show to truly resonate with me. Think what you may, but I believe this is how a vast portion of Star Wars fandom feels about the current state of the Galactic Empire.
Still, I couldn’t (and didn’t) pass up the chance to take in Star Wars: Episode I – The Phantom Menace on the big screen as part of the annual ‘May The Fourth Be With You’ Celebration. Yes, I’m aware that this re-release also tied in with the movie’s twenty-fifth anniversary – do you think yours truly lives on an island? – and so I wanted to take a few minutes to reflect (in review fashion) on this particular Menace. While this won’t be a full-fledged review the likes of which regular patrons to SciFiHistory.Net get with each and every release I cover, I believe these modest observations do ‘fit the bill’ close enough that I wanted to share them in conjunction with this special occasion.
In case any of you are wondering, yes, I was there when this one was originally released in theaters back in 1999; and, yes, I was one of the long-time Star Wars fans who was thrilled to see George Lucas finally getting around to continuing the star saga in that galaxy far, far away. While I fully understood that Luke, Han, and Leia weren’t even a twinkle in anyone’s eye at this point of the mythology, I desperately wanted answers to how the Republic got to such a lowly state that it transformed into the Galactic Empire. This is precisely want audiences were promised; and – like so many – I was a bit underwhelmed.
Again, I feel the need to clarify: this isn’t to suggest in any way that I disliked The Phantom Menace. Rather, it kinda/sorta confused me.
In talking about the project both back then and even today, I’ve long maintained that it’s perfectly fine as a film but it doesn’t quite involve me as a story. (I know, I know … hang with me a minute, and I think it’ll all become clear.) As works of art, films don’t have to be perfect to be beloved; they merely have to be made and serve as an inspiration to those who discover it. Stories – on the other hand – should either intellectually engage or challenge those who tune in, unspooling their peoples, places, and events in such a way as everything adds up to something greater than the sum of its parts. So … it’s pretty clear to even those who loathe Menace that few can argue about its technical wizardry and visual flair: nothing quite like it existed in our universe at the time, and it arguably took audiences someplace that they hadn’t been in that fictional world. But as for the peoples, places, and events? Well … it was more than a bit flat.
As a story, Menace really has no narrative center, and a suitable argument could be made that it’s like a series of events strung together only to introduce some of the blandest players in an otherwise colorful stew. There’s no foundation under all of its images and sequences; and its characters at times seem to exist solely because Lucas both crafted and put them there to advance some piece of a grander saga he was trying to weave. The opening crawl – a technique that truly sets the stage for audiences in this world – discusses things like ‘trade routes’ and ‘taxation’ as if that’s what brought fandom to their feet; and it’s all a bit too nebulous to provide the level of definition that might elevate a ‘Phantom Menace’ to the point of our collective understanding. ‘Turmoil’ is even the first word, and I dare anyone in any day and age to get excited much less sympathetic or interested in ‘turmoil.’
Because Menace invests an awful lot of screen time never quite quickly and painlessly introducing audiences to any characters other than Qui-Gon Jinn (played by Liam Neeson) and Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor), nothing coalesces around any particular lead. I remember thinking to myself, “Whose story really is this?” as several points the first time I watched in on screen; and that’s honestly how I felt about it when I re-experienced it over the weekend. The first forty minutes (or so) are particularly messy, haphazardly brushing over practically everything, a technique that leads me to believe it’s entirely unimportant.
Lo and behold, that’s the dirty little secret to so very much of Menace: in the grand scale of Star Wars mythology, it’s damn near irrelevant.
Practically everything covered in any detail in the picture bears little to no narrative weight on anything that occurs later in the saga. Naboo gets revisited largely because Padme Amidala (Natalie Portman) continues to be a key player in galactic affairs as well as the personal affairs of Anakin Skywalker (the young Jake Lloyd gets recast with the much older Hayden Christensen for obvious reasons); but there’s hardly any interaction with the world’s people, its symbiotically-linked races, or any other of its bits and pieces. Yes, I realize that Coruscant, the Jedi Council, and a few other important faces earn a bit of screen time; and yet there’s still so very little of what transpires anywhere in the picture that couldn’t have been somehow introduced either in Star Wars: Episode II – Attack Of The Clones (2002) or Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge Of The Sith (2005).
Because Menace invests an awful lot of screen time never quite quickly and painlessly introducing audiences to any characters other than Qui-Gon Jinn (played by Liam Neeson) and Obi-Wan Kenobi (Ewan McGregor), nothing coalesces around any particular lead. I remember thinking to myself, “Whose story really is this?” as several points the first time I watched in on screen; and that’s honestly how I felt about it when I re-experienced it over the weekend. The first forty minutes (or so) are particularly messy, haphazardly brushing over practically everything, a technique that leads me to believe it’s entirely unimportant.
Lo and behold, that’s the dirty little secret to so very much of Menace: in the grand scale of Star Wars mythology, it’s damn near irrelevant.
Practically everything covered in any detail in the picture bears little to no narrative weight on anything that occurs later in the saga. Naboo gets revisited largely because Padme Amidala (Natalie Portman) continues to be a key player in galactic affairs as well as the personal affairs of Anakin Skywalker (the young Jake Lloyd gets recast with the much older Hayden Christensen for obvious reasons); but there’s hardly any interaction with the world’s people, its symbiotically-linked races, or any other of its bits and pieces. Yes, I realize that Coruscant, the Jedi Council, and a few other important faces earn a bit of screen time; and yet there’s still so very little of what transpires anywhere in the picture that couldn’t have been somehow introduced either in Star Wars: Episode II – Attack Of The Clones (2002) or Star Wars: Episode III – Revenge Of The Sith (2005).
Some of this structural weakness could be owed to the fact that Lucas himself is on record (in a few places) in talking about how he wanted the Prequel Trilogy to ‘echo’ thematically to events that had already occurred in the Original Trilogy, strongly suggesting that the entirety of this particular story would in some ways be history repeating itself. I’ve always taken issue with that idea: while it sounds poetic – in practice – it also kinda/sorta cheapens both Anakin’s and Luke’s respective struggles if, ultimately, they were identical on a textural level. As a character, I’ve always seen Luke’s journey as being focused on achieving what his father failed to accomplish, thus redeeming a family legacy in the process; the fact that he winds up saving his father’s soul in the finale of Star Wars: Episode VI – Return Of The Jedi is just icing on the cake. But Anakin’s path revolves empathically around failure or failing, so I take issue with anyone – even Lucas – suggesting that both men were inevitably on the same path in any way.
Where Menace does have some legs to stand on – and this is where I do diverge in thinking with most of fandom – is with the appearance of young Anakin. Though I’ll concede that there may’ve been some acting issues here and there, I kinda/sorta ‘dug’ having a kid fall smack dab in the center of the galaxy far, far away, mostly because we never saw one before in the Original Trilogy. This gave the production a new perspective – one that I understand audiences may not exactly have fallen in love with – and the freshness rings true in a few small ways. Could it have been written better? Sure. Could it have been performed differently? Of course. Still, there’s no denying that Anakin’s character was reaching to be the center around which Menace unfolded once he was introduced; and I’m thankful that, at least, this was a ‘beat’ Lucas got right. (Imperfect? Sure.)
In fact, I’ve often argued that Menace is a film that is too long especially given the fact that – as I stated above – so little of it resonates in the rest of the ongoing saga. It’s theatrical cotton candy, if you will, and it could’ve been better served by being a bit shorter, trimmed strategically here and there. (Producer Rick McCallum famously observed in an interview that no one involved knew quite what to make of it after seeing the first cut, and I wonder if this isn’t exactly the same sentiment I felt only phrased a bit differently.) Losing the opening set-up on Naboo could’ve vastly helped the film’s plodding pace in those early moments; and I don’t think anything would’ve been tragically sacrificed in the process.
I’ve written about this suggestion before, but here’s the thrust of how I’d alter the flick:
Where Menace does have some legs to stand on – and this is where I do diverge in thinking with most of fandom – is with the appearance of young Anakin. Though I’ll concede that there may’ve been some acting issues here and there, I kinda/sorta ‘dug’ having a kid fall smack dab in the center of the galaxy far, far away, mostly because we never saw one before in the Original Trilogy. This gave the production a new perspective – one that I understand audiences may not exactly have fallen in love with – and the freshness rings true in a few small ways. Could it have been written better? Sure. Could it have been performed differently? Of course. Still, there’s no denying that Anakin’s character was reaching to be the center around which Menace unfolded once he was introduced; and I’m thankful that, at least, this was a ‘beat’ Lucas got right. (Imperfect? Sure.)
In fact, I’ve often argued that Menace is a film that is too long especially given the fact that – as I stated above – so little of it resonates in the rest of the ongoing saga. It’s theatrical cotton candy, if you will, and it could’ve been better served by being a bit shorter, trimmed strategically here and there. (Producer Rick McCallum famously observed in an interview that no one involved knew quite what to make of it after seeing the first cut, and I wonder if this isn’t exactly the same sentiment I felt only phrased a bit differently.) Losing the opening set-up on Naboo could’ve vastly helped the film’s plodding pace in those early moments; and I don’t think anything would’ve been tragically sacrificed in the process.
I’ve written about this suggestion before, but here’s the thrust of how I’d alter the flick:
- Keep the opening crawl as is, but end with the sentiment that this conflict was going to spread to the galaxy at large very quickly.
- Open with flashing, fever dream images drawn from what happened on Naboo as well as some hints of what would happen in the final act; and all of this would slowly emerge as a Force dream young Anakin Skywalker was having in his bed. He wakes up, goes outside, and sees a ship setting down just over the horizon. (This would be Qui-Gon, Obi-Wan, Padme, and JarJar arriving.)
- Anakin would be joined by his mother; and they’d have a brief conversation about the dream waking him up – he’s been plagued by Force dreams, not knowing what they are. This sets up the obvious tie-in that the young boy is destined for other things than being a slave on Tatooine. He goes back to bed at his mother’s urging, and she could have some knowing glance at the horizon before she, too, goes in to bed.
From here, pretty much everything else that takes place in the current draft of Menace would, functionally, be the same. Granted, there might be some edits and minor dialogue fixes; but such a structural change would turn the existing film from one with fluctuating centers and shifts of focus to one wherein it’s entirely Anakin’s story. This gives it the necessary footing around which everything else can unfold; and it also dramatically shortens the flick to a length respectfully of the fact that most of its contents vanish into the fictional ether. Lastly, it gets audiences to the podrace much more quickly; and that’s a huge, huge plus, given the fact that it’s debatably the story’s centerpiece.
But, hey … as I always ask … who am I? I’m just a lowly critic. Unpaid, too! What do I know about making a big budget motion picture? Absolutely nothing. What I do know, however, is that Menace never quite worked as a story for me – as I said, it’s fine as a film – and I can only hope that I’ve clearly explained what I feel are obvious weaknesses. Tightening a few of its strongest strings might’ve made for a tapestry worth hanging on the wall for the theatrical ages; and I’ve tried to offer my suggestions with the right spirit in mind. I care … and I want it to be better or maybe even just a bit less imperfect.
I still cherish the film over the Sequel Trilogy. I’ve only seen each of those installments a single time, and I’ve absolutely no personal or professional interest in re-experiencing them at any point in the remainder of my lifetime. That’s how disappointed I was in them.
Anakin deserved a stronger introduction, especially given how all six films revolve around whether or not he was meant to deliver Balance to the Force or not. Given him such an unbalance first adventure hurt but thankfully didn’t kill the franchise. That’s how powerful the Menace was and continues to be for audiences today.
May the Force be with us.
Always.
-- EZ
But, hey … as I always ask … who am I? I’m just a lowly critic. Unpaid, too! What do I know about making a big budget motion picture? Absolutely nothing. What I do know, however, is that Menace never quite worked as a story for me – as I said, it’s fine as a film – and I can only hope that I’ve clearly explained what I feel are obvious weaknesses. Tightening a few of its strongest strings might’ve made for a tapestry worth hanging on the wall for the theatrical ages; and I’ve tried to offer my suggestions with the right spirit in mind. I care … and I want it to be better or maybe even just a bit less imperfect.
I still cherish the film over the Sequel Trilogy. I’ve only seen each of those installments a single time, and I’ve absolutely no personal or professional interest in re-experiencing them at any point in the remainder of my lifetime. That’s how disappointed I was in them.
Anakin deserved a stronger introduction, especially given how all six films revolve around whether or not he was meant to deliver Balance to the Force or not. Given him such an unbalance first adventure hurt but thankfully didn’t kill the franchise. That’s how powerful the Menace was and continues to be for audiences today.
May the Force be with us.
Always.
-- EZ
- Published on
Word: Jidaigeki
Meaning: A form of Japanese period drama
Sometimes, one has to go into a new experience with a foreign film knowing full well that he may be lost culturally. This is not to say that the story is beyond comprehension; rather, it’s only to suggest that a Japanese film may by its very nature include elements best known by a Japanese person. Like any nation’s storytellers might do, the Japanese often pull from established history in order to weave a compelling drama or melodrama; and when these efforts finally find audiences in far-off, distant lands, it’s entirely understandable how those pieces might get somewhat lost in translation.
Word: Shinobi
Meaning: Those who act in stealth
Here in the West, a great number of Japanese films exploring the rich, textural traditions of the samurai have served as inspiration for remakes and/or revisitations. Why, the much-celebrated George Lucas has been on record multiple times citing 1958’s The Hidden Fortress from Akira Kurosawa as the single greatest vision that put him well on the path to creating his Jedi Knights from the Star Wars saga. Furthermore, Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai (1954) has enjoyed a handful of makeovers from various filmmakers, including John Sturges’ The Magnificent Seven (1960), Jean Negulesco’s The Invincible Six (1970), Jimmy T. Murakami’s Battle Beyond The Stars (1980), or Zack Snyder’s Rebel Moon (2023).
However, another uniquely Japanese persona from history – the Ninja – hasn’t enjoyed the same level of Western imitation. While there have been some modest attempts after these somewhat mysterious figures broke into pop culture in the 1960’s and 1970’s, it wasn’t until the 1980’s that they kinda/sorta emerged in some modest exploitation-style action thrillers like Enter The Ninja (1981), Revenge Of The Ninja (1983), American Ninja (1985), and even Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990). It was at this point that ninjas were here to stay – theatrically, that is – and they truly took a place in our global collective consciousness.
But the dirty little secret is that ninjas had somewhat made their introduction into filmdom much earlier. In fact, Wikipedia.org shows them emerging from the shadows all the way back to the 1930’s; and some might argue they finally were forced front-and-center of the subject matter with the Shinobi no Mono series of flicks (1962-1970). Having finally seen the first installment – titled Shinobi no Mono (aka Shinobi: Band Of Assassin) – I thought I’d share some remarks on this theatrical beginning.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
Meaning: A form of Japanese period drama
Sometimes, one has to go into a new experience with a foreign film knowing full well that he may be lost culturally. This is not to say that the story is beyond comprehension; rather, it’s only to suggest that a Japanese film may by its very nature include elements best known by a Japanese person. Like any nation’s storytellers might do, the Japanese often pull from established history in order to weave a compelling drama or melodrama; and when these efforts finally find audiences in far-off, distant lands, it’s entirely understandable how those pieces might get somewhat lost in translation.
Word: Shinobi
Meaning: Those who act in stealth
Here in the West, a great number of Japanese films exploring the rich, textural traditions of the samurai have served as inspiration for remakes and/or revisitations. Why, the much-celebrated George Lucas has been on record multiple times citing 1958’s The Hidden Fortress from Akira Kurosawa as the single greatest vision that put him well on the path to creating his Jedi Knights from the Star Wars saga. Furthermore, Kurosawa’s Seven Samurai (1954) has enjoyed a handful of makeovers from various filmmakers, including John Sturges’ The Magnificent Seven (1960), Jean Negulesco’s The Invincible Six (1970), Jimmy T. Murakami’s Battle Beyond The Stars (1980), or Zack Snyder’s Rebel Moon (2023).
However, another uniquely Japanese persona from history – the Ninja – hasn’t enjoyed the same level of Western imitation. While there have been some modest attempts after these somewhat mysterious figures broke into pop culture in the 1960’s and 1970’s, it wasn’t until the 1980’s that they kinda/sorta emerged in some modest exploitation-style action thrillers like Enter The Ninja (1981), Revenge Of The Ninja (1983), American Ninja (1985), and even Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (1990). It was at this point that ninjas were here to stay – theatrically, that is – and they truly took a place in our global collective consciousness.
But the dirty little secret is that ninjas had somewhat made their introduction into filmdom much earlier. In fact, Wikipedia.org shows them emerging from the shadows all the way back to the 1930’s; and some might argue they finally were forced front-and-center of the subject matter with the Shinobi no Mono series of flicks (1962-1970). Having finally seen the first installment – titled Shinobi no Mono (aka Shinobi: Band Of Assassin) – I thought I’d share some remarks on this theatrical beginning.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A young ninja becomes embroiled in a plot to kill a tyrannical warlord. He journeys across feudal Japan, facing deceit, betrayal, and enemy ninja at every turn. Goemon must complete his mission, regain his honor, and survive.”
Without a doubt, I found this review of Shinobi to be one of the hardest I’ve ever written. Also, I’m not ashamed to admit this to the readership of SciFiHistory.Net.
It isn’t as if I’ve nothing to say about the film because – hey, you know me – nothing could be further from the truth. Instead, it’s that I found the overall experience more than a bit befuddling. This Band Of Assassins delves fairly deeply into Japanese history – both with its brief set-up and, apparently, with events spread liberally across its 100+ minute run-time – and I’m afraid my lack of knowledge might color my impressions of it slightly to the negative. After viewing, I did a bit of Googling to try and establish a greater understanding of how a few of these dates figured into the broader narrative, but – alas – I still came away just a wee bit perplexed due to a shaky grasp on peoples, places, and things.
Now, in my defense, my take does grow even dicier over the way director Satsuo Yamamoto chose to construct the piece, framing a sizable portion of the plot with voiceovers and whatnot. Some of these are meant to kinda/sorta instruct the audience as to a particular character’s mindset or to cleverly reintroduce an earlier bit of dialogue, hoping to clear up any confusion as to another’s motivations. It’s a curious choice in a few places, mostly because I thought the villain’s machinations were pretty obvious; but the end result was that it likely helped more often than it hurt, especially for those who may not have been watching as closely as others.
Essentially, Band Of Assassins tells the parallel story of two men: our protagonist Ishikawa Goemon (played by Raizô Ichikawa) and his antagonist Sandayû Momochi (Yûnosuke Itô). The two are wrapped in a power struggle that descends mostly from Momochi’s attempts to maintain the ruling seat of power over a small mountainous district secured by modest fortress walls. In order to do so – and this is specifically where Band gets a bit more complicated – actor Itô plays two roles, that of the perennial downtrodden (and seemingly constantly tired) Momochi as well as that of Fujibayashi, apparently the lord of a rival clan residing just at the bottom of the mountain. By doing so, the villain would seemingly have two forces at his disposal to enact whatever evil deeds he sets his sights upon.
Still, there’s a third key player in all of this: Oda Nobunaga (Tomisaburô Wakayama) is hellbent on uniting all of the clans into a unified force, even if it means toppling every provincial lord and overlord as far as the eye can see. Thus, Momochi knows full well that eventually the madman’s sights will turn toward the Ida clan; and it’s his aforementioned quest for ultimate power that fuels most of Band’s plots and subplots … of which there are a few.
“A young ninja becomes embroiled in a plot to kill a tyrannical warlord. He journeys across feudal Japan, facing deceit, betrayal, and enemy ninja at every turn. Goemon must complete his mission, regain his honor, and survive.”
Without a doubt, I found this review of Shinobi to be one of the hardest I’ve ever written. Also, I’m not ashamed to admit this to the readership of SciFiHistory.Net.
It isn’t as if I’ve nothing to say about the film because – hey, you know me – nothing could be further from the truth. Instead, it’s that I found the overall experience more than a bit befuddling. This Band Of Assassins delves fairly deeply into Japanese history – both with its brief set-up and, apparently, with events spread liberally across its 100+ minute run-time – and I’m afraid my lack of knowledge might color my impressions of it slightly to the negative. After viewing, I did a bit of Googling to try and establish a greater understanding of how a few of these dates figured into the broader narrative, but – alas – I still came away just a wee bit perplexed due to a shaky grasp on peoples, places, and things.
Now, in my defense, my take does grow even dicier over the way director Satsuo Yamamoto chose to construct the piece, framing a sizable portion of the plot with voiceovers and whatnot. Some of these are meant to kinda/sorta instruct the audience as to a particular character’s mindset or to cleverly reintroduce an earlier bit of dialogue, hoping to clear up any confusion as to another’s motivations. It’s a curious choice in a few places, mostly because I thought the villain’s machinations were pretty obvious; but the end result was that it likely helped more often than it hurt, especially for those who may not have been watching as closely as others.
Essentially, Band Of Assassins tells the parallel story of two men: our protagonist Ishikawa Goemon (played by Raizô Ichikawa) and his antagonist Sandayû Momochi (Yûnosuke Itô). The two are wrapped in a power struggle that descends mostly from Momochi’s attempts to maintain the ruling seat of power over a small mountainous district secured by modest fortress walls. In order to do so – and this is specifically where Band gets a bit more complicated – actor Itô plays two roles, that of the perennial downtrodden (and seemingly constantly tired) Momochi as well as that of Fujibayashi, apparently the lord of a rival clan residing just at the bottom of the mountain. By doing so, the villain would seemingly have two forces at his disposal to enact whatever evil deeds he sets his sights upon.
Still, there’s a third key player in all of this: Oda Nobunaga (Tomisaburô Wakayama) is hellbent on uniting all of the clans into a unified force, even if it means toppling every provincial lord and overlord as far as the eye can see. Thus, Momochi knows full well that eventually the madman’s sights will turn toward the Ida clan; and it’s his aforementioned quest for ultimate power that fuels most of Band’s plots and subplots … of which there are a few.
Should all of this sound a bit, well, labyrinthian, that’s likely because it is. Unlike my experience with samurai pictures, this ninja business winds up being supplanted by a great deal more human drama – Goemon falling in and out of love, Goemon and others starting over once fleeing the Ida clan, the constantly shifting personalities and personas, etc. – and that’s why I offered up the definition of Jidaigeki above. So much of Band works as a classical period drama more than anything else; and those of you showing up expecting action set pieces – the veritable backbone of most samurai efforts – are going to be unimpressed. Like Game Of Thrones, this film balances subtle shifts of power and authority as Momochi/Fujibayashi tries to get his dastardly hooks into everything. If that sounds a bit soap opera-like, then such estimation wouldn’t be all that far off.
Perhaps the best way to embrace what Band offers by way of story and characters is to understand – first and foremost – than its much-lauded exploration of ninjas and the ninja code really is secondary to the main drama, that of the two men – Momochi and the humble Goemon – forever at odds. Indeed, much of the ninja business is involved in Goemon’s plot threads: bound to serve his master, he’s given a curious promotion early in the picture (that of – believe it or not – clan accountant) which is secretly a set-up to get him to bed with Momochi’s amorous yet seriously undersexed wife Inone (Kyōko Kishada). This gives the clan leader the scheme to kill the woman – whom he no longer desires – and privately frame Goemon for her murder; as one might guess, all kinds of blackmail of the innocent man extends from hereafter, forcing this ninja-turned-bookkeeper-turned-ninja-again to violate his shinobi oath time and time again, setting the audience up for an incredible number of voiceover reminders.
(Didn’t I warn you this one was a bit hard to follow?)
Thankfully, Ichikawa and Itô are quite good in their respective roles, and it’s this moral polarity that makes Band worth the investment. Goemon flees his home village, only to discover at each and every impasse that Momochi is far from finished with him. The overlord appears whenever life starts to get livable again, only demanding more and more from the man who refuses to be broken down by the corruption. Albeit he submits relatively easily, director Yamamoto reminds the audience often of the stakes, making all of this a far more human affair that some martial arts battleground. In fact, the action is largely incidental throughout the first half of the picture; in the second half, Goemon’s failed assassination attempt of Nobunaga (set in motion by Momochi) clears the way for the big finish … yet, sadly, Goemon is more of an observer at this point and less of a participant in the bloody rampage. He gets his wishes, mind you, but redemption occurs more as a consequence of evil than anything resembling goodness.
Perhaps the best way to embrace what Band offers by way of story and characters is to understand – first and foremost – than its much-lauded exploration of ninjas and the ninja code really is secondary to the main drama, that of the two men – Momochi and the humble Goemon – forever at odds. Indeed, much of the ninja business is involved in Goemon’s plot threads: bound to serve his master, he’s given a curious promotion early in the picture (that of – believe it or not – clan accountant) which is secretly a set-up to get him to bed with Momochi’s amorous yet seriously undersexed wife Inone (Kyōko Kishada). This gives the clan leader the scheme to kill the woman – whom he no longer desires – and privately frame Goemon for her murder; as one might guess, all kinds of blackmail of the innocent man extends from hereafter, forcing this ninja-turned-bookkeeper-turned-ninja-again to violate his shinobi oath time and time again, setting the audience up for an incredible number of voiceover reminders.
(Didn’t I warn you this one was a bit hard to follow?)
Thankfully, Ichikawa and Itô are quite good in their respective roles, and it’s this moral polarity that makes Band worth the investment. Goemon flees his home village, only to discover at each and every impasse that Momochi is far from finished with him. The overlord appears whenever life starts to get livable again, only demanding more and more from the man who refuses to be broken down by the corruption. Albeit he submits relatively easily, director Yamamoto reminds the audience often of the stakes, making all of this a far more human affair that some martial arts battleground. In fact, the action is largely incidental throughout the first half of the picture; in the second half, Goemon’s failed assassination attempt of Nobunaga (set in motion by Momochi) clears the way for the big finish … yet, sadly, Goemon is more of an observer at this point and less of a participant in the bloody rampage. He gets his wishes, mind you, but redemption occurs more as a consequence of evil than anything resembling goodness.
Shinobi: Band Of Assassins (1962) was produced by Daiei Studios. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Radiance Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds to what’s advertised as the first high-definition presentation of the project available outside of its native Japan to be exceptional in all regards. There were a few sequences where sound faded abruptly – setting up a transition between scenes on screen – and I can only assume that’s owed to some flaws of the original. As for the special features? In order to do justice to the package, I’m doing the copy-and-paste from Radiance Film’s original press materials as posted on Blu-ray.com:
Recommended.
As I tried to be clear above, Shinobi: Band Of Assassins was a bit of a mixed bag for me. Going in blind to how much of the narrative was tied to what I can only assume are historical events kept me guessing in a few spots, so much so that I could understand others simply turning this on off out of frustration. About a quarter of the way in, I realized that the accounting of history was really secondary to what was otherwise a very relatable struggle of one good man versus one corrupt man; and the rest of the picture unspooled nicely. The film has some incredible production details – ninja houses are equipped in ways not unlike Bruce Wayne’s Wayne Manor, if you catch my drift – and both lead performances are definitely worthy of note. Stick with it if you feel the way I do right out of the gate, and I think you’ll be equally rewarded.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Radiance Films provided me with a Blu-ray copy of Shinobi: Band Of Assassins (1962) – as part of their Shinobi Trilogy Set – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- High-Definition digital transfer of each film presented on two discs
- Uncompressed mono PCM audio
- Interview with Shozo Ichiyama, artistic director of the Tokyo International Film Festival, about director Satsuo Yamamoto
- Visual essay on the ninja in Japanese cinema by film scholar Mance Thompson
- Interview with film critic Toshiaki Sato on star Raizo Ichikawa
- Trailers
- New and improved optional English subtitles
- Six postcards of promotional material from the films
- Reversible sleeves featuring artwork based on original promotional materials
- Limited edition booklet featuring new writing by Jonathan Clements on the Shinobi no mono series and Diane Wei Lewis on writer Tomoyoshi Murayama
- Limited Edition of 3000 copies, presented in a rigid box with full-height Scanavo cases and removable OBI strip leaving packaging free of certificates and markings
- REGION-A/B "LOCKED"
Recommended.
As I tried to be clear above, Shinobi: Band Of Assassins was a bit of a mixed bag for me. Going in blind to how much of the narrative was tied to what I can only assume are historical events kept me guessing in a few spots, so much so that I could understand others simply turning this on off out of frustration. About a quarter of the way in, I realized that the accounting of history was really secondary to what was otherwise a very relatable struggle of one good man versus one corrupt man; and the rest of the picture unspooled nicely. The film has some incredible production details – ninja houses are equipped in ways not unlike Bruce Wayne’s Wayne Manor, if you catch my drift – and both lead performances are definitely worthy of note. Stick with it if you feel the way I do right out of the gate, and I think you’ll be equally rewarded.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Radiance Films provided me with a Blu-ray copy of Shinobi: Band Of Assassins (1962) – as part of their Shinobi Trilogy Set – by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
I’ve said it before, and I find myself saying it again: Hollywood loves to attack people of faith.
While I might be even more accurate suggesting that Hollywood and their collective ilk prefer to attack people of a specific faith (i.e. the prophet Muhammad seems to be forever off limits), I’m fine with leaving that opening statement as is. Generally, I believe people rebel against that which they either disagree with philosophically or misunderstand heretically; and I’ve read enough about the behavior of Tinseltown giants – both onscreen and behind it – to know that their somewhat salacious and decadent lifestyles can be decisively at odds with what the faithful might accept. Worshippers and/or commoners are ‘the little people’ and will always suffer the wrath of the vengeful artistic elite, even if that means their pictures might underperform at the domestic box office. They still got their paycheck, mind you, so all’s well with the terrestrial High and Mighty.
But since 1973’s The Exorcist – a production that reinvented what screen Horror could be for a generation – Hollywood has been chasing that inescapable demon of catching lightning in a bottle. Studios have worked tirelessly to come up with something to match that winning formula of one part possession, one part religion, and one part realism. Realism, you see, is hugely significant because it helps ground the extraordinary within the ordinary world. But what elevates the William Peter Blatty script above the usual ruckus is the fact that its priests were actively doing God’s work, a sentiment today’s artistic elite can’t abide.
The end result of such bigotry – and, yes, it is bigotry – might be summed up nicely in a picture like Stigmata (1999). Scripted by Tom Lazarus (no, I’m not kidding) and Rick Ramage and directed by famed music video director Rupert Wainwright, the film is the story of Frankie Paige, a hairdresser who somehow personally endures the wrath of God despite not believing in him nor giving organized religion a second thought. Thankfully, there’s a man of science turned man of the cloth who risks both titles in an attempt to both explain the unexplainable and maybe rediscover his own lost faith along the way.
Why … it’s a match made on cinema heaven!
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
While I might be even more accurate suggesting that Hollywood and their collective ilk prefer to attack people of a specific faith (i.e. the prophet Muhammad seems to be forever off limits), I’m fine with leaving that opening statement as is. Generally, I believe people rebel against that which they either disagree with philosophically or misunderstand heretically; and I’ve read enough about the behavior of Tinseltown giants – both onscreen and behind it – to know that their somewhat salacious and decadent lifestyles can be decisively at odds with what the faithful might accept. Worshippers and/or commoners are ‘the little people’ and will always suffer the wrath of the vengeful artistic elite, even if that means their pictures might underperform at the domestic box office. They still got their paycheck, mind you, so all’s well with the terrestrial High and Mighty.
But since 1973’s The Exorcist – a production that reinvented what screen Horror could be for a generation – Hollywood has been chasing that inescapable demon of catching lightning in a bottle. Studios have worked tirelessly to come up with something to match that winning formula of one part possession, one part religion, and one part realism. Realism, you see, is hugely significant because it helps ground the extraordinary within the ordinary world. But what elevates the William Peter Blatty script above the usual ruckus is the fact that its priests were actively doing God’s work, a sentiment today’s artistic elite can’t abide.
The end result of such bigotry – and, yes, it is bigotry – might be summed up nicely in a picture like Stigmata (1999). Scripted by Tom Lazarus (no, I’m not kidding) and Rick Ramage and directed by famed music video director Rupert Wainwright, the film is the story of Frankie Paige, a hairdresser who somehow personally endures the wrath of God despite not believing in him nor giving organized religion a second thought. Thankfully, there’s a man of science turned man of the cloth who risks both titles in an attempt to both explain the unexplainable and maybe rediscover his own lost faith along the way.
Why … it’s a match made on cinema heaven!
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“When a young woman becomes afflicted by stigmata, a priest is sent to investigate her case, which may have severe ramifications for his faith and for the Catholic Church itself.”
No, no, and no: I don’t like to rag on Hollywood for ragging on religion, but there are times when I think their obvious disdain of Christianity gets in the way of what might be an otherwise entertaining story. Like many of you, I can ignore political, ideological, or theological leanings in any work of art, and I can only do it if the pronounced bents aren’t pervasive. Frankly, I resent anyone ‘beating a drum’ in the middle of my escapism – and I think we all should be offended by such propaganda – so here’s looking at you, the cast and crew of Stigmata. You ruined an otherwise engaging though horrifically flawed idea.
Father Andrew Kiernan (played by Gabriel Byrne) works on behalf of the Catholic Church at debunking the various miracles that pop up around the globe. A recent trip to Brazil has the man particularly flummoxed as it would appear that authentic tears of human blood have been caught flowed from a statue of the Virgin Mary. The authorities in Rome – given personification here in the form of Cardinal Daniel Houseman (the generally stiff yet authoritative Jonathan Pryce) – are unwilling to accept such possibility; and they inevitably go so far as to dismiss the entire parish from the official records. Needless to say, Kiernan’s skepticism begins to grow even more pronounced when Houseman dispatches him to study the events surrounding Pittsburgh native Frankie Paige (Patricia Arquette), a hairdresser who seems to have come down with a case of stigmata.
Initially, the rational debunker asserts that – following Church doctrine – the young lady couldn’t possibly be undergoing such Biblical conversion because she’s a devout atheist. Stigmata, he insists, is a physical development predicated on the firmest of convictions to the teachings of Jesus Christ; and since the woman whiles away her days and nights between nothing more than working and clubbing she couldn’t conceivably be stricken by the Divine. But the more time he spends with the woman – ultimately seeing things he can’t explain up to and beyond the appearance of wounds on her body – Kiernan becomes convinced something spiritual is indeed afoot.
It’s precisely here where Stigmata’s universe begins to fall apart.
Frankly, I’m at a loss to understand the driving force behind Paige’s ‘possession.’ There’s a breakdown of logic consistently throughout Stigmata, so much so that I’m wondering precisely how this script got approved as is, though I can understand the ‘why’ pretty easy enough. It’s Horror – don’t you know – and Horrors tend to make money. All well and good, but did anyone even pause to think this one through?
“When a young woman becomes afflicted by stigmata, a priest is sent to investigate her case, which may have severe ramifications for his faith and for the Catholic Church itself.”
No, no, and no: I don’t like to rag on Hollywood for ragging on religion, but there are times when I think their obvious disdain of Christianity gets in the way of what might be an otherwise entertaining story. Like many of you, I can ignore political, ideological, or theological leanings in any work of art, and I can only do it if the pronounced bents aren’t pervasive. Frankly, I resent anyone ‘beating a drum’ in the middle of my escapism – and I think we all should be offended by such propaganda – so here’s looking at you, the cast and crew of Stigmata. You ruined an otherwise engaging though horrifically flawed idea.
Father Andrew Kiernan (played by Gabriel Byrne) works on behalf of the Catholic Church at debunking the various miracles that pop up around the globe. A recent trip to Brazil has the man particularly flummoxed as it would appear that authentic tears of human blood have been caught flowed from a statue of the Virgin Mary. The authorities in Rome – given personification here in the form of Cardinal Daniel Houseman (the generally stiff yet authoritative Jonathan Pryce) – are unwilling to accept such possibility; and they inevitably go so far as to dismiss the entire parish from the official records. Needless to say, Kiernan’s skepticism begins to grow even more pronounced when Houseman dispatches him to study the events surrounding Pittsburgh native Frankie Paige (Patricia Arquette), a hairdresser who seems to have come down with a case of stigmata.
Initially, the rational debunker asserts that – following Church doctrine – the young lady couldn’t possibly be undergoing such Biblical conversion because she’s a devout atheist. Stigmata, he insists, is a physical development predicated on the firmest of convictions to the teachings of Jesus Christ; and since the woman whiles away her days and nights between nothing more than working and clubbing she couldn’t conceivably be stricken by the Divine. But the more time he spends with the woman – ultimately seeing things he can’t explain up to and beyond the appearance of wounds on her body – Kiernan becomes convinced something spiritual is indeed afoot.
It’s precisely here where Stigmata’s universe begins to fall apart.
Frankly, I’m at a loss to understand the driving force behind Paige’s ‘possession.’ There’s a breakdown of logic consistently throughout Stigmata, so much so that I’m wondering precisely how this script got approved as is, though I can understand the ‘why’ pretty easy enough. It’s Horror – don’t you know – and Horrors tend to make money. All well and good, but did anyone even pause to think this one through?
First: though she’s clearly displaying what might be commonly accepted as symptoms of demonic possession here and there (manipulation, grating voices, mood swings, visions, etc.), I was under the working impression that stigmata is a kinda/sorta possession of an angelic power. In other words, stigmatics are described as being almost rapturously overcome with Christ’s love; and the stigmata are a physiological outbreak of the wounds he suffered on the cross. Wouldn’t Paige – as a consequence – be showing signs of universal love, grace, and acceptance? What she’s enduring clearly isn’t God’s love as even Kiernan seems somewhat convinced this phenomenon is killing her.
Second: expanding upon the above, I can only assume that instead of experiencing authentic stigmata, Paige is instead being spiritually and/or supernaturally afflicted from the other side by some entity. The script clearly suggests at several points that this force is none other than the recently deceased Father Paulo Alameida (Jack Donner). While the story elaborates on precisely why Father Alameida might have a bone or two to pick with his Earthly bosses, mustn’t the audience suspend all level of disbelief to accept that a deceased man of God would assume the powers of a demonic entity to carry out an act of vengeance? What about all of that not harming the innocent? Did his faith teach him nothing? And how, pray tell, did he exactly infect Paige? Via his rosary? It’s their only connection, so? Erm … I hate to tell it to anyone, but possession isn’t exactly communicable that way from what I’ve read … but whatever.
Third: expanding upon the second above, if I accept that Father Alameida is the guilty culprit here, then what does his motivation really say about Christianity? It’s all ‘well and good’ until you find yourself on the receiving end of Catholic rejection, so instead of turning another cheek you wait until death, assume the powers of a demon, and then carry out your own campaign of retribution not against those who wronged you but destroy the life of an entirely innocent young woman all over a grudge? Writers Lazarus and Ramage are more likely the ones with an ax to grind here – not their creation – and they’re simply spinning yarn all in hopes that no one will notice the house of cards they’ve built isn’t even made of cards. It’s all smoke and mirrors – much like a healthy portion of the flick’s cinematography – which makes it as hollow as the institution they’re attacking … over its hollowness.
None of this even touches upon the holes in this particular universe that go beyond creed.
Somehow – and we’ve never told how – Paige maintains an expansive penthouse-style apartment in Philadelphia on little more than a hairdresser’s salary. Given the fact that the salon in which she works is never busy, one might even wonder how it stays afloat. Only in motion pictures would such a small and most likely privately-owned business offer its staff a healthcare plan that covers the extraordinary investment in medical and psychological services our leading lady requires – all because of these Godly shenanigans, you know – so don’t look for that aforementioned ‘realism’ to play all that much in this corner of the universe.
To their benefit, scribes Lazarus and Ramage imbue their lead female with some serious daddy issues as that’s the only likely reason I can muster to believe this free-spirited, club-hopping go-getter would consider Father Kiernan as a potential suitor. (A quick bit of Googling suggests a twenty-year age difference, so make of that what you will.) Their relationship is the biggest bit of artifice in all of this; and – to some degree – that’s a shame as Byrne makes the most of a few knowing glances at Arquette. The best she does in return is a somewhat stoic expression that barely hints of a smile somewhere under that disheveled womanhood.
Second: expanding upon the above, I can only assume that instead of experiencing authentic stigmata, Paige is instead being spiritually and/or supernaturally afflicted from the other side by some entity. The script clearly suggests at several points that this force is none other than the recently deceased Father Paulo Alameida (Jack Donner). While the story elaborates on precisely why Father Alameida might have a bone or two to pick with his Earthly bosses, mustn’t the audience suspend all level of disbelief to accept that a deceased man of God would assume the powers of a demonic entity to carry out an act of vengeance? What about all of that not harming the innocent? Did his faith teach him nothing? And how, pray tell, did he exactly infect Paige? Via his rosary? It’s their only connection, so? Erm … I hate to tell it to anyone, but possession isn’t exactly communicable that way from what I’ve read … but whatever.
Third: expanding upon the second above, if I accept that Father Alameida is the guilty culprit here, then what does his motivation really say about Christianity? It’s all ‘well and good’ until you find yourself on the receiving end of Catholic rejection, so instead of turning another cheek you wait until death, assume the powers of a demon, and then carry out your own campaign of retribution not against those who wronged you but destroy the life of an entirely innocent young woman all over a grudge? Writers Lazarus and Ramage are more likely the ones with an ax to grind here – not their creation – and they’re simply spinning yarn all in hopes that no one will notice the house of cards they’ve built isn’t even made of cards. It’s all smoke and mirrors – much like a healthy portion of the flick’s cinematography – which makes it as hollow as the institution they’re attacking … over its hollowness.
None of this even touches upon the holes in this particular universe that go beyond creed.
Somehow – and we’ve never told how – Paige maintains an expansive penthouse-style apartment in Philadelphia on little more than a hairdresser’s salary. Given the fact that the salon in which she works is never busy, one might even wonder how it stays afloat. Only in motion pictures would such a small and most likely privately-owned business offer its staff a healthcare plan that covers the extraordinary investment in medical and psychological services our leading lady requires – all because of these Godly shenanigans, you know – so don’t look for that aforementioned ‘realism’ to play all that much in this corner of the universe.
To their benefit, scribes Lazarus and Ramage imbue their lead female with some serious daddy issues as that’s the only likely reason I can muster to believe this free-spirited, club-hopping go-getter would consider Father Kiernan as a potential suitor. (A quick bit of Googling suggests a twenty-year age difference, so make of that what you will.) Their relationship is the biggest bit of artifice in all of this; and – to some degree – that’s a shame as Byrne makes the most of a few knowing glances at Arquette. The best she does in return is a somewhat stoic expression that barely hints of a smile somewhere under that disheveled womanhood.
To his credit, Wainwright fills Stigmata with a good deal of visual shock and awe, the kind that just might dazzle and distract viewers who are trying to look a bit too closely at the flawed material. There’s a good deal of cinematography put to solid use, though I’m still at a loss to explain why he wanted there to be so much dripping water everywhere. Given that his background was in helming music videos, it’s easy to see those influences put into active use here and there. I just wish all of it added up to greater substance … but perhaps that’s what you get when all that seemingly matters is throwing the Catholic Church under the proverbial bus.
Stigmata (1999) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM), FGM Entertainment, and Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes (INBA). DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at MVD Visual Entertainment, Dark Sky Films, and Capelight Pictures. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds to this Blu-ray release to be exceptional; there’s a great deal of visual post-production trickery at work here, but none of it fails on any level except for being occasionally confusing at to its particular meaning. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc boasts a 25-minute ‘making-of’ that’s pretty interesting though a bit light on specifics along with some deleted scenes, an alternate ending (honestly, much better and vastly more realistic than the theatrical one), the trailer, and an audio commentary from director Wainwright.
Alas … only mildly recommended.
Imperfect and more than a bit ideologically invested, Stigmata (1999) might look, sound, and feel like it was intended to be a late 1990’s recreation of The Exorcist (1973); but – rest assured – it wasn’t quite meant to be. I vaguely recall seeing this one originally on the big screen and being less than impressed, though I also believe its release may’ve been sandwiched between some like-minded fare that perhaps robbed a bit of the possible limelight. In all seriousness, I wanted to like it much more than I did, but perhaps that’s just the Devil in me speaking. This whole thing might have you asking, "Why, God, why?" for all the wrong reasons.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Capelight Pictures provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Stigmata (1999) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Stigmata (1999) was produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM), FGM Entertainment, and Instituto Nacional de Bellas Artes (INBA). DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at MVD Visual Entertainment, Dark Sky Films, and Capelight Pictures. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds to this Blu-ray release to be exceptional; there’s a great deal of visual post-production trickery at work here, but none of it fails on any level except for being occasionally confusing at to its particular meaning. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc boasts a 25-minute ‘making-of’ that’s pretty interesting though a bit light on specifics along with some deleted scenes, an alternate ending (honestly, much better and vastly more realistic than the theatrical one), the trailer, and an audio commentary from director Wainwright.
Alas … only mildly recommended.
Imperfect and more than a bit ideologically invested, Stigmata (1999) might look, sound, and feel like it was intended to be a late 1990’s recreation of The Exorcist (1973); but – rest assured – it wasn’t quite meant to be. I vaguely recall seeing this one originally on the big screen and being less than impressed, though I also believe its release may’ve been sandwiched between some like-minded fare that perhaps robbed a bit of the possible limelight. In all seriousness, I wanted to like it much more than I did, but perhaps that’s just the Devil in me speaking. This whole thing might have you asking, "Why, God, why?" for all the wrong reasons.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Capelight Pictures provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Stigmata (1999) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
What makes a picture into a cult film?
Well, the simplest definition – from what I’ve been told – is that the production has somehow amassed a following over the years; but methinks we all know that the ‘hows’ and the ‘whys’ such a following shows up in the first place is vastly more complicated than that. When discussing the phenomenon, I’ve often stated that I think such projects deliver something a bit ‘out there’ for viewers, presenting them with either a subject matter or perspective that they’ve never or rarely seen elsewhere; the consequence of the experience is that some indelible connection is established between the observer and the artwork. As more and more folks find themselves drawn to it or referred there, then a faction forms around it … and the rest, as they say, is history.
A great deal has been hypothesized that cult films – at the core – should be transgressive in some way, and such a definition implies that the subject matter is taboo, falling just outside of what civil society accepts as ‘normal.’ (Erm … haven’t we also been told that ‘normal’ is a measure always in flux?) While such a descriptor might apply to a healthy contingent of cult projects, I’d argue that there still exists a plethora of entries that might only dabble with something ‘abnormal’ for its time and place; as norms grow and change, what was considered inappropriate two or three decades earlier might be passé by today’s standards. Because of the ever-changing world in which we live in, I tend to look for other traits to substantiate cult status, though I realize I might be in the critical minority on that front.
So … how exactly does a film like The Mask Of Fu Manchu (1932) acquire the cult label?
Produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, the project was mired in some controversy at the time, rushed into assembly with the hope of capitalizing on the new trend of exploring full-blown Horrors on the silver screen. I’ve read (see Wikipedia.org for some details) that because of this frenzied pace there was no authentic shooting script at the inception, and the actors and actresses were often provided pages to coincide with whatever they were shooting on that day and time. That and some behind-the-scenes antics resulted in a production shutdown so that a new director could be brought in while producers continued hammering out plot details. Despite the best and worst efforts, Fu Manchu was released to the public on November 5, 1932; and it went on to some respectable box office and very well may have disappeared into film history if it hadn’t been ‘rediscovered’ in the early 1970’s when a re-release resulted in the decades-old project mustering up a bit more controversy over its portrayal of Asians.
Well, the simplest definition – from what I’ve been told – is that the production has somehow amassed a following over the years; but methinks we all know that the ‘hows’ and the ‘whys’ such a following shows up in the first place is vastly more complicated than that. When discussing the phenomenon, I’ve often stated that I think such projects deliver something a bit ‘out there’ for viewers, presenting them with either a subject matter or perspective that they’ve never or rarely seen elsewhere; the consequence of the experience is that some indelible connection is established between the observer and the artwork. As more and more folks find themselves drawn to it or referred there, then a faction forms around it … and the rest, as they say, is history.
A great deal has been hypothesized that cult films – at the core – should be transgressive in some way, and such a definition implies that the subject matter is taboo, falling just outside of what civil society accepts as ‘normal.’ (Erm … haven’t we also been told that ‘normal’ is a measure always in flux?) While such a descriptor might apply to a healthy contingent of cult projects, I’d argue that there still exists a plethora of entries that might only dabble with something ‘abnormal’ for its time and place; as norms grow and change, what was considered inappropriate two or three decades earlier might be passé by today’s standards. Because of the ever-changing world in which we live in, I tend to look for other traits to substantiate cult status, though I realize I might be in the critical minority on that front.
So … how exactly does a film like The Mask Of Fu Manchu (1932) acquire the cult label?
Produced by Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer, the project was mired in some controversy at the time, rushed into assembly with the hope of capitalizing on the new trend of exploring full-blown Horrors on the silver screen. I’ve read (see Wikipedia.org for some details) that because of this frenzied pace there was no authentic shooting script at the inception, and the actors and actresses were often provided pages to coincide with whatever they were shooting on that day and time. That and some behind-the-scenes antics resulted in a production shutdown so that a new director could be brought in while producers continued hammering out plot details. Despite the best and worst efforts, Fu Manchu was released to the public on November 5, 1932; and it went on to some respectable box office and very well may have disappeared into film history if it hadn’t been ‘rediscovered’ in the early 1970’s when a re-release resulted in the decades-old project mustering up a bit more controversy over its portrayal of Asians.
Such notoriety usually generates the effect of pushing certain folks to see a blasphemed picture, and Fu Manchu was no different. Despite some efforts to see the film desecrated, Warner Archive is releasing now in its full glory – warts and all – and I found it easy to understand the many sides of a difficult issue. The new disc comes with an opening placard that explains in a few words why they’ve chosen to restore the feature to its original condition – perhaps knowing that they might be courting a bit of the same controversy along the way – but I’m hoping detractors just stay the hell away. The Mask Of Fu Manchu is a theatrical delight from that time and place; and it deserves to be celebrated by those – like myself – who are able to turn off (or squelch) politics and simply enjoy the ride.
And what a wild ride it is!
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Englishmen race to find the tomb of Genghis Khan before the sinister Fu Manchu does.”
For those unaware, the character of Fu Manchu was the creation of author Sax Rohmer (1883-1959). With the first novel written in 1913 (“The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu”), Rohmer crafted an evil supervillain that would go on to spawn a veritable franchise to which several other writers picked up the mythology and expanded on it greatly. Over a century after the evil mastermind first sprang to life in print, the character continues to pop up in novels, comics, television, and movies despite the fact that all along the way he’s had more than his share of hecklers insisting his roots are deeply mired in racism of the worst kind.
But as one who grew up on a steady diet of comic books and flawed second- and third-tier movies, I tend to see the detestable Fu Manchu – especially as portrayed here as genre legend Boris Karloff – as a campy caricature, one so entirely removed from reality that his heritage isn’t intended as a sleight so much as it was monopolized as being distinctly non-white. (Again, folks, let me be perfectly clear: I understand the complaint. I’m merely conceding that the man’s physical traits could’ve been reptilian as opposed to Asian, but as Rohmer based the character on real-life criminals he met as a reporter it is what it is.) He’s no more real than was Ming The Merciless or Sith Lord Darth Vader; and I don’t think approaching him as anything more than a stock outlaw is productive. He serves a narrative purpose – to be the visible source of evil – and little else. This is how these stories function.
And what a wild ride it is!
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Englishmen race to find the tomb of Genghis Khan before the sinister Fu Manchu does.”
For those unaware, the character of Fu Manchu was the creation of author Sax Rohmer (1883-1959). With the first novel written in 1913 (“The Insidious Dr. Fu Manchu”), Rohmer crafted an evil supervillain that would go on to spawn a veritable franchise to which several other writers picked up the mythology and expanded on it greatly. Over a century after the evil mastermind first sprang to life in print, the character continues to pop up in novels, comics, television, and movies despite the fact that all along the way he’s had more than his share of hecklers insisting his roots are deeply mired in racism of the worst kind.
But as one who grew up on a steady diet of comic books and flawed second- and third-tier movies, I tend to see the detestable Fu Manchu – especially as portrayed here as genre legend Boris Karloff – as a campy caricature, one so entirely removed from reality that his heritage isn’t intended as a sleight so much as it was monopolized as being distinctly non-white. (Again, folks, let me be perfectly clear: I understand the complaint. I’m merely conceding that the man’s physical traits could’ve been reptilian as opposed to Asian, but as Rohmer based the character on real-life criminals he met as a reporter it is what it is.) He’s no more real than was Ming The Merciless or Sith Lord Darth Vader; and I don’t think approaching him as anything more than a stock outlaw is productive. He serves a narrative purpose – to be the visible source of evil – and little else. This is how these stories function.
In order to establish his dominance over the world in pursuit of total supremacy, Fu Manchu wants to locate the tomb of the late Genghis Khan. Prophecy suggests that the ruler of any New World Order must carry the sword of the late Mongolian warlord, so Fu and his forces will stop at nothing … even if that means capturing Nayland Smith (Lewis Stone) and his archaeological team – Sir Lionel Barton (Lawrence Grant), his daughter Sheila Barton (Karen Morley), her beau Terrence Granville (Charles Starrett), and a few others – and torturing them to reveal the whereabouts. And if Fu can’t get the job done, then perhaps his equally cunning and evil daughter Fah Lo See (Myrna Loy) will.
So at its core the story of Mask is little more than a serialized adventure – a race against time between two opposing armies to seize the magical and mystical power of a lost era (given shape with Khan’s sword) and subvert those energies for their respective platforms. In that regard, I caution no one to look to the film as anything other than carnival fluff, much in the same way that George Lucas and Steven Spielberg brought back to the silver screen with their original Indiana Jones trilogy. Mask feels very much similar to those 80’s gems – albeit at a vastly reduced scale – and it touches on the same kind of manic, infectious energy that did other serials of the age of which I’ll mention Flash Gordon (1936), Buck Rogers (1939), and Adventures Of Captain Marvel (1941).
Furthermore, it’s this same camp sensibility of said serials that fuels the picture’s two central performances, that of Karloff and Loy. What can I say? Villains love the spotlight. I’d challenge anyone to show me evidence wherein either of these talents appear to be taking their jobs entirely seriously as their work implies otherwise. It’s all theatrical, and it works wonderfully on that level.
Karloff leers so easily in scenes he shares with those his character obviously despises and would do harm, making him particularly effective as the dispenser of torture on Sir Barton and (later) the hunky Granville. While I have read online the suggestion that the actor fueled these scenes with a loose homo-erotic flair, I’d have to honestly say that his dialogue only suggests here and there the fascination with the male sex. (FYI: this was pre-Code Hollywood, I’m no prude, and I’m not denying it. Again, I’m just underscoring that it’s camp, nothing is acted upon in such a manner, and – again – it is what it is.) Given that this was reportedly the actor’s first speaking role as a true screen baddie, who can seriously fault the Thespian for giving it a little something extra?
In comparison, Loy definitely gets into the act of chewing scenery here and there, but I saw her work as a bit more nuanced, perhaps even a bit more delightfully flippant in tactical ways. Clearly driven by a repressed sexual appetite, she’s drawn to the bare-chested Granville in the whip-torture scene and wants him for her own despite the wishes of an overbearing mastermind/father. While I’m not sure she relished her speeches as much as did Karloff (vocally she sounds a bit wooden and dull here and there), it still seems abundantly clear to this viewer that she sought to make Fah Lo See less authentic and more artificial … albeit with the sex drive of any thirteen-year-old male rushing headfirst into puberty.
So at its core the story of Mask is little more than a serialized adventure – a race against time between two opposing armies to seize the magical and mystical power of a lost era (given shape with Khan’s sword) and subvert those energies for their respective platforms. In that regard, I caution no one to look to the film as anything other than carnival fluff, much in the same way that George Lucas and Steven Spielberg brought back to the silver screen with their original Indiana Jones trilogy. Mask feels very much similar to those 80’s gems – albeit at a vastly reduced scale – and it touches on the same kind of manic, infectious energy that did other serials of the age of which I’ll mention Flash Gordon (1936), Buck Rogers (1939), and Adventures Of Captain Marvel (1941).
Furthermore, it’s this same camp sensibility of said serials that fuels the picture’s two central performances, that of Karloff and Loy. What can I say? Villains love the spotlight. I’d challenge anyone to show me evidence wherein either of these talents appear to be taking their jobs entirely seriously as their work implies otherwise. It’s all theatrical, and it works wonderfully on that level.
Karloff leers so easily in scenes he shares with those his character obviously despises and would do harm, making him particularly effective as the dispenser of torture on Sir Barton and (later) the hunky Granville. While I have read online the suggestion that the actor fueled these scenes with a loose homo-erotic flair, I’d have to honestly say that his dialogue only suggests here and there the fascination with the male sex. (FYI: this was pre-Code Hollywood, I’m no prude, and I’m not denying it. Again, I’m just underscoring that it’s camp, nothing is acted upon in such a manner, and – again – it is what it is.) Given that this was reportedly the actor’s first speaking role as a true screen baddie, who can seriously fault the Thespian for giving it a little something extra?
In comparison, Loy definitely gets into the act of chewing scenery here and there, but I saw her work as a bit more nuanced, perhaps even a bit more delightfully flippant in tactical ways. Clearly driven by a repressed sexual appetite, she’s drawn to the bare-chested Granville in the whip-torture scene and wants him for her own despite the wishes of an overbearing mastermind/father. While I’m not sure she relished her speeches as much as did Karloff (vocally she sounds a bit wooden and dull here and there), it still seems abundantly clear to this viewer that she sought to make Fah Lo See less authentic and more artificial … albeit with the sex drive of any thirteen-year-old male rushing headfirst into puberty.
Like those aforementioned serials, production details are the icing on the cake that inevitably convince audiences that they’ve been transported to some other time and place; and – on that front – Mask looks just damned incredible. IMDB.com credits the award-winning Cedric Gibbons (1939’s The Wizard Of Oz and 1956’s Forbidden Planet, to name a few of his biggest gigs); and I was honestly gob smacked with how wonderful so many of the sets look, including the archaeological digs, Manchu’s expansive estate/compound with its multiple rooms, and Khan’s ornate burial tomb. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucas and Spielberg ever credited this film as an inspiration for the places Indiana Jones did his business as they feel as if they occupy an older and quainter corner of the same universe.
The Mask Of Fu Manchu (1932) was produced by Cosmopolitan Productions and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM). DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds to what’s reported as an all-new 4K restoration from the best preservation elements to be exceptional: it all looks and sounds really good, perhaps the best it has since its original release. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc includes an audio commentary from film historian Greg Mank (it’s very solid and even occasionally very animated, a rare discussion of an older flick that’s worth the time) along with a few period cartoons and subtitles (for the feature).
Highly recommended.
If you can forgive this old man’s momentary gushing, then I hope you can appreciate that 1932’s The Mask Of Fu Manchu was a wonderful discovery. Yes, it has some cultural issues. Yes, it’s obviously drawn on inspirations from some dark moments of history. But Mask lives and breathes in that same space that’s been filled more recently by Secret Of The Incas (1954), Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom (1984), Allan Quartermain And The Lost City Of Gold (1986), and The Mummy (1999). It’s cinematic serialized fun, and – on that level alone – it most certainly defied my expections.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Mask Of Fu Manchu (1932) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
The Mask Of Fu Manchu (1932) was produced by Cosmopolitan Productions and Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer (MGM). DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Warner Archive. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds to what’s reported as an all-new 4K restoration from the best preservation elements to be exceptional: it all looks and sounds really good, perhaps the best it has since its original release. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc includes an audio commentary from film historian Greg Mank (it’s very solid and even occasionally very animated, a rare discussion of an older flick that’s worth the time) along with a few period cartoons and subtitles (for the feature).
Highly recommended.
If you can forgive this old man’s momentary gushing, then I hope you can appreciate that 1932’s The Mask Of Fu Manchu was a wonderful discovery. Yes, it has some cultural issues. Yes, it’s obviously drawn on inspirations from some dark moments of history. But Mask lives and breathes in that same space that’s been filled more recently by Secret Of The Incas (1954), Indiana Jones And The Temple Of Doom (1984), Allan Quartermain And The Lost City Of Gold (1986), and The Mummy (1999). It’s cinematic serialized fun, and – on that level alone – it most certainly defied my expections.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Warner Archive provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Mask Of Fu Manchu (1932) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
What a pain in the neck …
Folks, because the central bugaboo of mine here at SciFiHistory.Net is promoting the history of genre entertainment, I’m sometimes challenged by a certain contingent of readers to craft reviews more toward a recounting of legacy as opposed to my actual thoughts on a certain production. In other words, some readers occasionally want me to provide more of an education about why a particular film or franchise should be as highly regarded as it is. While recounting a respectful amount of trivia might be interesting, my issue with such an approach is that information is largely available elsewhere while my resident thoughts on the picture aren’t … so I wouldn’t exactly be ‘true to my school’ if I left out part and parcel of what brings an audience to this exit off the Information Superhighway, now would I?
Still, there are times when I’m willing to meet the crowd in the middle, and such is the case with my look at 1931’s groundbreaking Dracula from Universal Pictures. Directed by Tod Browning (who may’ve also had his hands somewhat in developing the screenplay), the picture introduced screen legend Bela Lugosi in the role that no only made him famous but also pioneered a brand new wave of Horror releases from the studio, assuring the corporate suits for perhaps the very first time that audiences were fond of being scared silly. From what I’ve read, the film went on to spectacular box office results, becoming one of the biggest hits of that year … but the project’s journey from its beginnings in the words of Bram Stoker to prominence up in the shadows and lights is one that deserves a bit of coverage for interested parties.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Transylvanian vampire Count Dracula bends a naïve real estate agent to his will, then takes up residence at a London estate where he sleeps in his coffin by day and searches for potential victims by night.”
First published in 1897, Stoker’s Dracula certainly set fire to the world of literature in a way no one expected. I’ve read that it wasn’t exactly a publishing sensation despite some positive critical praise, but over the next few years the book arguably became regarded as the ‘source document’ for imitators, writers, and screenwriters who sought to put their own spin on the bloodsucker’s legend. It didn’t take long for some successful stage plays to draw the attention of filmmakers, though I’ve always read that studios were a bit reticent to embrace something so decidedly dark.
Folks, because the central bugaboo of mine here at SciFiHistory.Net is promoting the history of genre entertainment, I’m sometimes challenged by a certain contingent of readers to craft reviews more toward a recounting of legacy as opposed to my actual thoughts on a certain production. In other words, some readers occasionally want me to provide more of an education about why a particular film or franchise should be as highly regarded as it is. While recounting a respectful amount of trivia might be interesting, my issue with such an approach is that information is largely available elsewhere while my resident thoughts on the picture aren’t … so I wouldn’t exactly be ‘true to my school’ if I left out part and parcel of what brings an audience to this exit off the Information Superhighway, now would I?
Still, there are times when I’m willing to meet the crowd in the middle, and such is the case with my look at 1931’s groundbreaking Dracula from Universal Pictures. Directed by Tod Browning (who may’ve also had his hands somewhat in developing the screenplay), the picture introduced screen legend Bela Lugosi in the role that no only made him famous but also pioneered a brand new wave of Horror releases from the studio, assuring the corporate suits for perhaps the very first time that audiences were fond of being scared silly. From what I’ve read, the film went on to spectacular box office results, becoming one of the biggest hits of that year … but the project’s journey from its beginnings in the words of Bram Stoker to prominence up in the shadows and lights is one that deserves a bit of coverage for interested parties.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Transylvanian vampire Count Dracula bends a naïve real estate agent to his will, then takes up residence at a London estate where he sleeps in his coffin by day and searches for potential victims by night.”
First published in 1897, Stoker’s Dracula certainly set fire to the world of literature in a way no one expected. I’ve read that it wasn’t exactly a publishing sensation despite some positive critical praise, but over the next few years the book arguably became regarded as the ‘source document’ for imitators, writers, and screenwriters who sought to put their own spin on the bloodsucker’s legend. It didn’t take long for some successful stage plays to draw the attention of filmmakers, though I’ve always read that studios were a bit reticent to embrace something so decidedly dark.
In fact, several folks online have written about the fact that Universal Pictures – in the post-production build-up for their big screen adaptation – wasn’t convinced mainstream audiences would show up in theaters to experience something that was so obviously meant to inspire fear and dread. As a consequence, the pre-release advertising campaign was instead designed to promote the forthcoming Dracula as a story grounded on a timeless passion … a veritable romance for the ages. It wasn’t until the film was finally available for public consumption and was a bona fide hit that studio executives were convinced that Horror – as a cinematic genre – had the potential to be incredibly lucrative, and Universal Pictures – perhaps more than any other company – opted to seize the opportunity. Thus, the Universal Monsters Universe was established, with the Count drawing first blood.
However, it is worth noting that outside of box office receipts (and the establishment of a franchise) Dracula didn’t exactly win accolades beyond.
It took home no Academy Awards nominations or trophies; and it wasn’t until decades later that the film took steps forward critically in the eyes of those who evaluate cinematic achievements. While the film was certainly influential in the furtherance of genre production, that first picture still seemed kinda/sorta lost in the shuffle of endless vampire flicks who perhaps basked in greater limelight. In 2000, Dracula was rightfully inducted into the U.S.’s National Film Registry – the organization that seeks to preserve pictures for their ongoing contributions to art; and over the next few years the feature was celebrated as part of the American Film Institute’s various lists celebrating the best thrills, villains, and quotes from all of cinema.
So … at this point the question becomes why did the film kinda/sorta languish in theatrical oblivion for so long?
The truth is that it didn’t – it’s the kind of title that likely had and maintained a solid following across the few generations of Horror fans that have sprung up in the interim – but, yes, maybe Dracula – the original – hasn’t been given as much love since there has been an astonishing number of variations from storytellers around the world. The classic vampire remains one of the screen’s most cherished creations, so much so that not a year goes by that audiences – home or theatrical – receive something all-new retread, reboot, or re-imagination … but not every one of them answers to the title of ‘Count.’
Count Dracula (as played by Bela Lugosi) is, apparently, looking for a change of scenery, hoping to get out of his Transylvania castle for some new digs in turn-of-the-century London. He conscripts a savvy real estate professional, Renfield (Dwight Frye); and, together, they set sail for a new land of opportunity. On the way, Renfield essentially loses his mind – a development requiring his being institutionalized upon arrival – and the Count sets up shop in the rundown Carfax Abbey that just so happens to sit on the land next door to Seward Sanitorium, the exact place where Renfield has been locked away for his own safety. Hilarity ensues … and by ‘hilarity’ I mean that the vampire gets hot and heavy in pursuit of new fleshly consorts.
However, it is worth noting that outside of box office receipts (and the establishment of a franchise) Dracula didn’t exactly win accolades beyond.
It took home no Academy Awards nominations or trophies; and it wasn’t until decades later that the film took steps forward critically in the eyes of those who evaluate cinematic achievements. While the film was certainly influential in the furtherance of genre production, that first picture still seemed kinda/sorta lost in the shuffle of endless vampire flicks who perhaps basked in greater limelight. In 2000, Dracula was rightfully inducted into the U.S.’s National Film Registry – the organization that seeks to preserve pictures for their ongoing contributions to art; and over the next few years the feature was celebrated as part of the American Film Institute’s various lists celebrating the best thrills, villains, and quotes from all of cinema.
So … at this point the question becomes why did the film kinda/sorta languish in theatrical oblivion for so long?
The truth is that it didn’t – it’s the kind of title that likely had and maintained a solid following across the few generations of Horror fans that have sprung up in the interim – but, yes, maybe Dracula – the original – hasn’t been given as much love since there has been an astonishing number of variations from storytellers around the world. The classic vampire remains one of the screen’s most cherished creations, so much so that not a year goes by that audiences – home or theatrical – receive something all-new retread, reboot, or re-imagination … but not every one of them answers to the title of ‘Count.’
Count Dracula (as played by Bela Lugosi) is, apparently, looking for a change of scenery, hoping to get out of his Transylvania castle for some new digs in turn-of-the-century London. He conscripts a savvy real estate professional, Renfield (Dwight Frye); and, together, they set sail for a new land of opportunity. On the way, Renfield essentially loses his mind – a development requiring his being institutionalized upon arrival – and the Count sets up shop in the rundown Carfax Abbey that just so happens to sit on the land next door to Seward Sanitorium, the exact place where Renfield has been locked away for his own safety. Hilarity ensues … and by ‘hilarity’ I mean that the vampire gets hot and heavy in pursuit of new fleshly consorts.
Forgiving the pure contrivance of the script (attributed to Louis Bromfield, director Browning, Max Cohen, Dudley Murphy, Frederick Stephani, Louis Stevens, and the screenwriters of two stage play adaptations as well as Stoker’s novel), Dracula pokes and plods along a bit more than it flows easy-peasy. Motion picture production being what it was in the late 1920’s and early 1930’s, a great deal of exposition was required here and there to move the story forward; and the pacing feels off in more than a few spots because of it. All of London seems conveniently packed right on top of itself – the opera, Carfax Abbey, the hospital, etc. – so much so that one might wonder how it is that Dracula was able to get away with drinking the blood of his victims without so much as leaving a single eyewitness ever! The only people who ostensibly can see the Count are those required by the story; so, yes, the narrative stretches what little credibility it has in a few strategic places.
Beyond Dracula and Renfield, the remainder of the cast – while good in their respective ways – don’t get much of a big screen introduction. Instead, many feel almost inserted into the affair because they’re meant to play some part – villain or victim – in some later sequence. Lucy Weston (Frances Dade) occupies the screen long enough to become one of the Count’s earliest exploits in London. Dr. Seward (Herbert Bunston) exists largely as a pawn who asks questions of Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan) so that the audience might be kept abreast of “the science” via his exposition. And Mina Seward (Helen Chandler) is there to serve as the next tender morsel on our monster’s list even though her heart has already been promised to John Harker (David Manners). Of these supporting players, it’s only Van Helsing who truly matters, and Sloan does give viewers something to watch that both explains and explores the villainy at the center of the story.
Undoubtedly, it’s Lugosi and Frye’s work that makes the film particularly memorable. In fact, smart watchers might see this pair of performances as two sides of the same wicked coin.
Renfield’s journey through madness and, ultimately, death is handled brilliantly by Frye. In the picture’s beginning, he’s little more than your run-of-the-mill businessman, one who’ll cross an ocean in pursuit of sealing the right deal. He loses not only his soul in the process but also his mind; and we’re treated to some of Dracula’s best vignettes when he tries at all costs to both serve and defy ‘his master,’ reduced at times to a babbling fool who subsists entirely on a diet of flies and spiders. When all he wanted was to be – well – wanted, he inevitably pays the highest price possible in the film’s final reel, thrown lifeless down a grand staircase once the Count is truly finished with him.
Academics have written books on Lugosi’s work here. While I’m not learned enough to even consider that task, I will say that the actor manages a level of screen charisma not often seen outside Horror. He glares defiantly from the shadows. He stands like some immovable force not even time can crumble. There’s a physical poetry to some of his movements, perhaps incorporating some of the animal cunning long rumored to be part of a vampire’s arsenal of skills. Though his screen death is more than a bit underwhelming, it is interesting to know that he got the chance to reprise his take on the Count years later when he shared the screen with a popular comedy duo aboard Abbott And Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948), a flick some have credited as giving the Universal Monsters Universe the shot in the arm it needed to rise again in theaters.
Lastly, much has been hypothesized about how Lugosi spoke when inhabiting this character, giving rise to about as unique and memorable a vocal performance as it was physical. Interestingly enough, I’ve read that this ‘accent’ was never one the actor deliberately intended: evidently, English was a second language he was learning phonetically at the time, and the result of his speech cadence – a lilting and oddly romantic tone – was just the way it came out in the process.
Recommended.
-- EZ
Beyond Dracula and Renfield, the remainder of the cast – while good in their respective ways – don’t get much of a big screen introduction. Instead, many feel almost inserted into the affair because they’re meant to play some part – villain or victim – in some later sequence. Lucy Weston (Frances Dade) occupies the screen long enough to become one of the Count’s earliest exploits in London. Dr. Seward (Herbert Bunston) exists largely as a pawn who asks questions of Professor Van Helsing (Edward Van Sloan) so that the audience might be kept abreast of “the science” via his exposition. And Mina Seward (Helen Chandler) is there to serve as the next tender morsel on our monster’s list even though her heart has already been promised to John Harker (David Manners). Of these supporting players, it’s only Van Helsing who truly matters, and Sloan does give viewers something to watch that both explains and explores the villainy at the center of the story.
Undoubtedly, it’s Lugosi and Frye’s work that makes the film particularly memorable. In fact, smart watchers might see this pair of performances as two sides of the same wicked coin.
Renfield’s journey through madness and, ultimately, death is handled brilliantly by Frye. In the picture’s beginning, he’s little more than your run-of-the-mill businessman, one who’ll cross an ocean in pursuit of sealing the right deal. He loses not only his soul in the process but also his mind; and we’re treated to some of Dracula’s best vignettes when he tries at all costs to both serve and defy ‘his master,’ reduced at times to a babbling fool who subsists entirely on a diet of flies and spiders. When all he wanted was to be – well – wanted, he inevitably pays the highest price possible in the film’s final reel, thrown lifeless down a grand staircase once the Count is truly finished with him.
Academics have written books on Lugosi’s work here. While I’m not learned enough to even consider that task, I will say that the actor manages a level of screen charisma not often seen outside Horror. He glares defiantly from the shadows. He stands like some immovable force not even time can crumble. There’s a physical poetry to some of his movements, perhaps incorporating some of the animal cunning long rumored to be part of a vampire’s arsenal of skills. Though his screen death is more than a bit underwhelming, it is interesting to know that he got the chance to reprise his take on the Count years later when he shared the screen with a popular comedy duo aboard Abbott And Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948), a flick some have credited as giving the Universal Monsters Universe the shot in the arm it needed to rise again in theaters.
Lastly, much has been hypothesized about how Lugosi spoke when inhabiting this character, giving rise to about as unique and memorable a vocal performance as it was physical. Interestingly enough, I’ve read that this ‘accent’ was never one the actor deliberately intended: evidently, English was a second language he was learning phonetically at the time, and the result of his speech cadence – a lilting and oddly romantic tone – was just the way it came out in the process.
Recommended.
-- EZ
- Published on
For better or for worse, I’m a huge fan of independent features.
I say this because it doesn’t always serve me well as a critic. I’ve spend untold hours invested in viewing and/or reviewing these lesser-advertised projects because (A) I like discovering folks who accomplished far more with far less; (B) I think it’s a travesty that so much effort go into anything and no one show up; and (C) I’ve found that it gives me access to a wider audience and readership of folks who truly love film – as a medium – and not as a ‘product.’ There’s a difference – one more expansive than most folks could possibly imagine – and I guess I’d just rather hang with those who appreciate what big and small flicks have to say as opposed to just the studio tentpole releases. I guess it’s a dirty job … and, yet, I’m still happy to keep doing it.
As for the ‘worse’ part of it? Well, yes, I’ve probably experienced more than a fair share of duds. Given the fact that some storytellers just don’t have as compelling an idea or an overall production strategy as do others, I emerge at the far end of some projects at a loss as to what I’m supposed to glean from it, if anything. While I do try to always consider the effort, I have on a few occasions simply opted to say nothing about a less-than-effective affair not because it’s beneath me but because I’ve found nothing substantive worth offering. Though it doesn’t happen often, it does happen. What can I say? I’m human, after all.
1990’s The Wrong Door is the kind of experience that at first blush does have more to offer than many other indie flicks that may’ve had a bigger budget, some better bells and whistles, or even a marquee name here or there. There’s a solid attempt to not only tell a story but also do something with it textually and technically, even if that work might not exactly pay off as successfully as it could have with better finances. Clearly, all involved knew what they wanted; and the end result – while flawed – might still provoke the kind of discussion that small circles filled with film nerds relish the chance to participate.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Ted falls in love and is involved in murder after accidentally knocking on the wrong door.”
At times, The Wrong Door feels very much like those involved with it both behind-the-scenes as well as the onscreen talent knew they were reaching for a height they couldn’t quite achieve. As conceived and executed by the team of James Groetsch, Shawn Korby, and Bill Weiss, the film tries to establish itself early on as a crafty thriller grounded with an everyman lead who finds himself in dire straits that might seal his doom unless he can use his own smarts to outwit those who would do him harm before it’s all too late. Some of the big screens greatest auteurs have dabbled in such territory, and even a few of them have failed to hit the marks this trio and their cast accomplished with a vastly simpler – and cheaper – approach.
Ted Farrell (played by Matt Felmlee) eeks out an existence putting himself through college by taking odd jobs, of which serving as a singing telegram deliveryman just happens to keep him busiest. One night dressed as a court jester, he’s on his way to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a particularly raucous crowd when he inadvertently knocks on the wrong door, coming face-to-face with a fellow female student who is obviously in need of assistance. Initially, he declines any comfort; but later when he knocks on her door again, he finds her gravely injured with an angry killer in hot pursuit to finish the job. Before the night is through, Ted will have to unravel both the mystery of what happened as well as figure out how to outsmart those trying to cover up the deed before the cops can bring them to justice.
While most might point out that, yes, this kind of thing has been done before if not done quite often, what makes Door more than a bit different is that all of this is accomplished as an independent feature, shot on Super 8 film stock, and at an extremely low budget. Misters Groetsch, Korby, and Weiss chased a mighty big dream and – to a humble point – even found it achieved quite nicely. Granted, such success may not have made any of them household names or delivered the kind of wealth and notoriety others have enjoyed; but I exist in circles where good efforts and good deeds still deserve a bit of reflection, and I’m all-too-happy to provide it in this space. Door is a good thriller, and it can stand comfortably shoulder-to-shoulder with a great number of features that rather formulaically go about their business and reach an effective conclusion.
I say this because it doesn’t always serve me well as a critic. I’ve spend untold hours invested in viewing and/or reviewing these lesser-advertised projects because (A) I like discovering folks who accomplished far more with far less; (B) I think it’s a travesty that so much effort go into anything and no one show up; and (C) I’ve found that it gives me access to a wider audience and readership of folks who truly love film – as a medium – and not as a ‘product.’ There’s a difference – one more expansive than most folks could possibly imagine – and I guess I’d just rather hang with those who appreciate what big and small flicks have to say as opposed to just the studio tentpole releases. I guess it’s a dirty job … and, yet, I’m still happy to keep doing it.
As for the ‘worse’ part of it? Well, yes, I’ve probably experienced more than a fair share of duds. Given the fact that some storytellers just don’t have as compelling an idea or an overall production strategy as do others, I emerge at the far end of some projects at a loss as to what I’m supposed to glean from it, if anything. While I do try to always consider the effort, I have on a few occasions simply opted to say nothing about a less-than-effective affair not because it’s beneath me but because I’ve found nothing substantive worth offering. Though it doesn’t happen often, it does happen. What can I say? I’m human, after all.
1990’s The Wrong Door is the kind of experience that at first blush does have more to offer than many other indie flicks that may’ve had a bigger budget, some better bells and whistles, or even a marquee name here or there. There’s a solid attempt to not only tell a story but also do something with it textually and technically, even if that work might not exactly pay off as successfully as it could have with better finances. Clearly, all involved knew what they wanted; and the end result – while flawed – might still provoke the kind of discussion that small circles filled with film nerds relish the chance to participate.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Ted falls in love and is involved in murder after accidentally knocking on the wrong door.”
At times, The Wrong Door feels very much like those involved with it both behind-the-scenes as well as the onscreen talent knew they were reaching for a height they couldn’t quite achieve. As conceived and executed by the team of James Groetsch, Shawn Korby, and Bill Weiss, the film tries to establish itself early on as a crafty thriller grounded with an everyman lead who finds himself in dire straits that might seal his doom unless he can use his own smarts to outwit those who would do him harm before it’s all too late. Some of the big screens greatest auteurs have dabbled in such territory, and even a few of them have failed to hit the marks this trio and their cast accomplished with a vastly simpler – and cheaper – approach.
Ted Farrell (played by Matt Felmlee) eeks out an existence putting himself through college by taking odd jobs, of which serving as a singing telegram deliveryman just happens to keep him busiest. One night dressed as a court jester, he’s on his way to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to a particularly raucous crowd when he inadvertently knocks on the wrong door, coming face-to-face with a fellow female student who is obviously in need of assistance. Initially, he declines any comfort; but later when he knocks on her door again, he finds her gravely injured with an angry killer in hot pursuit to finish the job. Before the night is through, Ted will have to unravel both the mystery of what happened as well as figure out how to outsmart those trying to cover up the deed before the cops can bring them to justice.
While most might point out that, yes, this kind of thing has been done before if not done quite often, what makes Door more than a bit different is that all of this is accomplished as an independent feature, shot on Super 8 film stock, and at an extremely low budget. Misters Groetsch, Korby, and Weiss chased a mighty big dream and – to a humble point – even found it achieved quite nicely. Granted, such success may not have made any of them household names or delivered the kind of wealth and notoriety others have enjoyed; but I exist in circles where good efforts and good deeds still deserve a bit of reflection, and I’m all-too-happy to provide it in this space. Door is a good thriller, and it can stand comfortably shoulder-to-shoulder with a great number of features that rather formulaically go about their business and reach an effective conclusion.
Now, none of this is to diminish the picture’s narrative flaws; and, yes, there are more than a few.
Audiences must suspend a pretty big level of disbelief with Ted’s actions here as never at any truly authentic point does he behave any smarter than other characters who find themselves theatrically between a rock and a hard place. What this means is that he makes as many bad decisions as he does good, often times going left instead of right because it allows the script to move forward as opposed to grinding to a halt sensibly. (Once he’s free, why not ‘call the police?’ This is often the Achilles’ heel of characters trapped in Horror features, and Ted’s equally oblique on too many occasions.) Given that most of the plot unspools at night seemingly in the middle of nowhere, our lead has apparently no trouble with knowing both where he is and where he must go in order for the story to progress … and, sorry, that’s all a bit too ‘magical.’ Plus, if he’s authentically as crafty as we learn he is in the conclusion, then wouldn’t he have made some better decisions along the way?
Also, the obvious theatricality of the final reel practically requires that our hero have gone to great lengths to orchestrate his ‘gotcha’ on his adversaries; and it’s the kind of effort that anyone with a brain (or watching closely) will question for veracity’s sake as it kinda/sorta defies logic. (Why carry the sought corpse into his upstairs bedroom? When and why did he engineer all of this sound work to set the trap? How exactly did the thugs find his address in the middle of the night? When did he find the time to go and get his impounded car back the next day given the fact that it most likely would’ve been seized as evidence by the police?) There is one answer to some of this – the directors kinda/sorta imply at one point that some of this might have been imagined – but it doesn’t hold water given the flick’s last scene … unless there were indeed elements that Ted fabricated for the purpose of completing a class assignment … but I’ll still call foul.
Now, the deficiencies still didn’t eliminate the bit of fun I had with Door. It’s well-made and well-intentioned consistently enough that it worked as a potboiler. It might be a solid example to share with budding filmmakers to show what can be done on a budget, though I’d still caution such yarn spinners to worry a bit more about plot and plot holes than perhaps all involved did here.
The Wrong Door (1990) was produced by directors James Groetsch, Shawn Korby, and Bill Weiss. DVD distribution has been coordinated by the fine folks at Visual Vengeance and Wild Eye Releasing. As for the technical specifications? Well … while I’m no trained video expert, I can tell you that it’ll likely offset any initial surprises by going in knowing this was shot entirely on Super 8 film. So, yes, it’s a bit hard to see in spots – night sequences (which there are a lot of) can be particularly trying here and there – but the sound mix is surprisingly effective throughout. It’s an old-school independent production, and it looks it.
Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? Well, buckle up because there’s quite the assortment, including:
Seriously, it’s a fabulous collection, one that should have aficionados happy to spend the extra time uncovering the goodies.
Recommended.
The Wrong Door (1990) is imperfect, but it’s still a gem that sparkles in a few clever ways. Taking a big budget idea but delivering it in such a low-cost way might’ve worked wonders in the early 1990’s, and the result is interesting steadily enough that I can see casual viewers embracing the charm … so long as they’re accepting of the questionable production quality. At times grainy and hard to see, the best audience might be nothing more than budding storytellers who can learn a little ‘something-something’ from tried to do what they’re doing years before and missed the mark a wee bit.
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Visual Vengeance provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Wrong Door (1990) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Audiences must suspend a pretty big level of disbelief with Ted’s actions here as never at any truly authentic point does he behave any smarter than other characters who find themselves theatrically between a rock and a hard place. What this means is that he makes as many bad decisions as he does good, often times going left instead of right because it allows the script to move forward as opposed to grinding to a halt sensibly. (Once he’s free, why not ‘call the police?’ This is often the Achilles’ heel of characters trapped in Horror features, and Ted’s equally oblique on too many occasions.) Given that most of the plot unspools at night seemingly in the middle of nowhere, our lead has apparently no trouble with knowing both where he is and where he must go in order for the story to progress … and, sorry, that’s all a bit too ‘magical.’ Plus, if he’s authentically as crafty as we learn he is in the conclusion, then wouldn’t he have made some better decisions along the way?
Also, the obvious theatricality of the final reel practically requires that our hero have gone to great lengths to orchestrate his ‘gotcha’ on his adversaries; and it’s the kind of effort that anyone with a brain (or watching closely) will question for veracity’s sake as it kinda/sorta defies logic. (Why carry the sought corpse into his upstairs bedroom? When and why did he engineer all of this sound work to set the trap? How exactly did the thugs find his address in the middle of the night? When did he find the time to go and get his impounded car back the next day given the fact that it most likely would’ve been seized as evidence by the police?) There is one answer to some of this – the directors kinda/sorta imply at one point that some of this might have been imagined – but it doesn’t hold water given the flick’s last scene … unless there were indeed elements that Ted fabricated for the purpose of completing a class assignment … but I’ll still call foul.
Now, the deficiencies still didn’t eliminate the bit of fun I had with Door. It’s well-made and well-intentioned consistently enough that it worked as a potboiler. It might be a solid example to share with budding filmmakers to show what can be done on a budget, though I’d still caution such yarn spinners to worry a bit more about plot and plot holes than perhaps all involved did here.
The Wrong Door (1990) was produced by directors James Groetsch, Shawn Korby, and Bill Weiss. DVD distribution has been coordinated by the fine folks at Visual Vengeance and Wild Eye Releasing. As for the technical specifications? Well … while I’m no trained video expert, I can tell you that it’ll likely offset any initial surprises by going in knowing this was shot entirely on Super 8 film. So, yes, it’s a bit hard to see in spots – night sequences (which there are a lot of) can be particularly trying here and there – but the sound mix is surprisingly effective throughout. It’s an old-school independent production, and it looks it.
Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? Well, buckle up because there’s quite the assortment, including:
- This is an all-new 2K HD transfer from the original Super 8mm film elements;
- Two audio commentaries;
- A behind-the-scenes documentary;
- Cast and crew interviews;
- Additional images and trailers; and
- Some physical inserts with new artwork and a bit extra.
Seriously, it’s a fabulous collection, one that should have aficionados happy to spend the extra time uncovering the goodies.
Recommended.
The Wrong Door (1990) is imperfect, but it’s still a gem that sparkles in a few clever ways. Taking a big budget idea but delivering it in such a low-cost way might’ve worked wonders in the early 1990’s, and the result is interesting steadily enough that I can see casual viewers embracing the charm … so long as they’re accepting of the questionable production quality. At times grainy and hard to see, the best audience might be nothing more than budding storytellers who can learn a little ‘something-something’ from tried to do what they’re doing years before and missed the mark a wee bit.
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Visual Vengeance provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Wrong Door (1990) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
The dirty little secret involving comic book movies is that there was a time when they were all a simpler, gentler enterprise.
Now, I know what you’re thinking: somehow, we culturally owe a debt to Marvel Entertainment from ramping them up into so many bigger-than-life experiences, right? Taking the medium from panels printed on cheap paper stock and elevating it to modern day Shakespeare? Catapulting the entire entertainment industry to unforeseen heights and giving folks who relish cosplay a whole new second career to make a name for themselves?
Well … yes and no.
You see, even 1978’s Superman: The Movie or 1989’s Batman could be considered alongside anything Marvel has done since it emerged as ‘the contender’ on the cinematic scene. My point in all of this is that – more often than not – comic book films of an earlier age were only reasonably budgeted affairs and not high-priced magnum opuses, ones crafted with an identity that perhaps meant something to those long-time comic book readers and mainstream audiences. I’d argue that the aforementioned Superman and Batman were exceptions to the rule and far from the norm at the box office. Presently, Marvel seems to be proverbially lost ‘in the weeds,’ putting out screen and TV fare that barely (if at all) resembles the source material it derives from; and DC still can’t seem to figure out how to tie its spandex shoes. If you must, then hate the simpler stuff like Hero At Large (1980), The Rocketeer (1991), The Phantom (1996), Steel (1997), or Punisher: War Zone (2008); yet projects like this still get made and some even earn cult audiences because the feel closer in tone to what regular folks might want from a comic book adaptation.
For that matter, I think it’s safe to throw a little something-something like Black Mask (1996) into the mix. From what I understand, the theatrical film is an adaptation based on Chinese-language comic from 1992; and it stars martial artist and box office sensation Jet Li in the role of a renegade mutant (of sorts) who feels no pain or remorse thanks to genetic engineering by some shadowy government agency. However, when these super soldiers somehow turn against their makers, the powers that be sought to have them swiftly and justly eradicated. Escaping the onslaught, Li takes up a life of solitude until he learns that fellow agents survived and are conspiring with forces outside of China to potentially overthrow the system … an act he cannot allow.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A survivor of a supersoldier project must fight his former comrades as a masked hero.”
Now, I know what you’re thinking: somehow, we culturally owe a debt to Marvel Entertainment from ramping them up into so many bigger-than-life experiences, right? Taking the medium from panels printed on cheap paper stock and elevating it to modern day Shakespeare? Catapulting the entire entertainment industry to unforeseen heights and giving folks who relish cosplay a whole new second career to make a name for themselves?
Well … yes and no.
You see, even 1978’s Superman: The Movie or 1989’s Batman could be considered alongside anything Marvel has done since it emerged as ‘the contender’ on the cinematic scene. My point in all of this is that – more often than not – comic book films of an earlier age were only reasonably budgeted affairs and not high-priced magnum opuses, ones crafted with an identity that perhaps meant something to those long-time comic book readers and mainstream audiences. I’d argue that the aforementioned Superman and Batman were exceptions to the rule and far from the norm at the box office. Presently, Marvel seems to be proverbially lost ‘in the weeds,’ putting out screen and TV fare that barely (if at all) resembles the source material it derives from; and DC still can’t seem to figure out how to tie its spandex shoes. If you must, then hate the simpler stuff like Hero At Large (1980), The Rocketeer (1991), The Phantom (1996), Steel (1997), or Punisher: War Zone (2008); yet projects like this still get made and some even earn cult audiences because the feel closer in tone to what regular folks might want from a comic book adaptation.
For that matter, I think it’s safe to throw a little something-something like Black Mask (1996) into the mix. From what I understand, the theatrical film is an adaptation based on Chinese-language comic from 1992; and it stars martial artist and box office sensation Jet Li in the role of a renegade mutant (of sorts) who feels no pain or remorse thanks to genetic engineering by some shadowy government agency. However, when these super soldiers somehow turn against their makers, the powers that be sought to have them swiftly and justly eradicated. Escaping the onslaught, Li takes up a life of solitude until he learns that fellow agents survived and are conspiring with forces outside of China to potentially overthrow the system … an act he cannot allow.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A survivor of a supersoldier project must fight his former comrades as a masked hero.”
One of the problems in drawing so deeply on inspirations of other works is that you – as a storyteller – run the risk of producing a film that lacks its own unique identity; and therein lies my central issue with so much of Black Mask. Certain sequences feel like they’re a bit too reminiscent of, say, 1987’s RoboCop, 1989’s Batman, 1992’s Universal Soldier, or even 1966’s The Green Hornet television show; and – as a consequence – viewers might disconnect from the effort when they realize how much cooler such-and-such was when other heroes did it. While imitation might be the greatest form of flattery, it can also be suicide if it lacks the emotional resonance backed up by endearing characters whom the audience wants to care about. Sadly, Mask needed something to distance itself from other actioners, and it never quite recovered from that delinquency.
To his credit, director Daniel Lee makes the most of his two greatest assets: Jet Li and his leading lady, Karen Mok. And I’ll even give him props for some of what he did by adding Ching Wan Lau as a kinda/sorta mentor/sidekick with a bad attitude only weakened by his good heart.
The super-clandestine Project 701 sought to create the ultimate soldier for China, apparently stripping ordinary men and women of their pain receptors so that they could move relentlessly against any adversary on any battlefield. However, before the benefits of such a force could be weighed, the mysterious power brokers decided to shut the program down, opting to kill off these soldiers one-by-one in some grisly showdown. Those who survived went underground, seemingly intent upon seeking redemption at a time and place of their choosing … and, seriously, all of this happens in Black Mask’s opening credit sequence.
In fact, viewers will have to watch said credits closer than those of lesser films in order to capture all of the necessary backstory. Thankfully, there isn’t a great amount of detail, but anyone who misses the finer points might be a tad lost once ‘the rest of the story’ starts unfurling. Tsui Chik (played by Li) was one of these super soldiers, but outside of such government control the man has settled down to a kinder, gentler life as a big city librarian. Now content to spend his days entranced with the Dewey Decimal System and the assortment of odd players who fill out the remainder of the library’s staff, Tsui lives for nothing more than the escape of a good book.
However, some nefarious forces are set upon taking down the men and women of the greater Chinese drug cartels; and Tsui can’t help but insert himself into the fray only to help his best friend – police detective ‘Rock’ Shek Wai-Ho (Ching Wan Lau) – in uncovering the mastermind to such a plot as well as keeping his city and its residents safe from harm. Once Tsui realizes that his surviving ‘brothers and sisters’ of Project 701 have banded together and are instigating this crime wave for their own nefarious reasons (which apparently ties into destabilizing the Chinese political hierarchy), he decides that only he is capable of bringing an end to the bloodshed even at the expense of his own life.
To his credit, director Daniel Lee makes the most of his two greatest assets: Jet Li and his leading lady, Karen Mok. And I’ll even give him props for some of what he did by adding Ching Wan Lau as a kinda/sorta mentor/sidekick with a bad attitude only weakened by his good heart.
The super-clandestine Project 701 sought to create the ultimate soldier for China, apparently stripping ordinary men and women of their pain receptors so that they could move relentlessly against any adversary on any battlefield. However, before the benefits of such a force could be weighed, the mysterious power brokers decided to shut the program down, opting to kill off these soldiers one-by-one in some grisly showdown. Those who survived went underground, seemingly intent upon seeking redemption at a time and place of their choosing … and, seriously, all of this happens in Black Mask’s opening credit sequence.
In fact, viewers will have to watch said credits closer than those of lesser films in order to capture all of the necessary backstory. Thankfully, there isn’t a great amount of detail, but anyone who misses the finer points might be a tad lost once ‘the rest of the story’ starts unfurling. Tsui Chik (played by Li) was one of these super soldiers, but outside of such government control the man has settled down to a kinder, gentler life as a big city librarian. Now content to spend his days entranced with the Dewey Decimal System and the assortment of odd players who fill out the remainder of the library’s staff, Tsui lives for nothing more than the escape of a good book.
However, some nefarious forces are set upon taking down the men and women of the greater Chinese drug cartels; and Tsui can’t help but insert himself into the fray only to help his best friend – police detective ‘Rock’ Shek Wai-Ho (Ching Wan Lau) – in uncovering the mastermind to such a plot as well as keeping his city and its residents safe from harm. Once Tsui realizes that his surviving ‘brothers and sisters’ of Project 701 have banded together and are instigating this crime wave for their own nefarious reasons (which apparently ties into destabilizing the Chinese political hierarchy), he decides that only he is capable of bringing an end to the bloodshed even at the expense of his own life.
Basically, Black Mask – as an entity – functions similarly to DC Comics’ seminal character Batman: he’s a vigilante who works outside the legal system but entirely with the commitment to serve justice appropriately. Just as Batman has an allegiance with Commissioner Gordon that makes his work possible, Black Mask maintains a relationship with Rock, who (yes!) inevitably figures out Tsui’s secret identity but manages to keep it all hush-hush. As one might expect, the two of them will have to join forces to see their mutual goals achieved; and all of this predictability does underscore how similar comic book stories are despite what some might suggest is a cultural divide.
Where Black Mask does add something to the equation is the insertion of a minor love interest: Tracy Lee (Karen Mok) is one of Tsui’s fellow librarians, and she’s a bit smitten with the quiet but sensitive outsider. Though the script never gives their pairing any great legitimacy, it becomes clear – Mask saves her life, and then she kinda/sorta returns the favor by helping him out of a tight spot – that the two maintain feelings for one another despite never quite consummating the relationship. As a result, they do spar verbally with one another; and this back-and-forth serves to give Mask something rarely seen in Superhero/Fantasies … namely a hint at the seminal ‘battle of the sexes.’
While such a narrative element is scarce, it arguably had its grounding in the Lois Lane and Clark Kent relationship as portrayed in Superman: The Movie (1978) and Superman II (1980). Our intrepid reporter Lane (the late Margot Kidder) seized a commanding presence easily out from under her milquetoast partner Kent (the late Christoper Reeve), embodying their constant tête-á-tête with dialogue not seen onscreen since the days when Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy matched wits in such features as Woman Of The Year (1942), Keeper Of The Flame (1943), Adam’s Rib (1949), and Pat And Mike (1952). Though Mask lacks the gender backdrop as relevancy that made the Hepburn/Tracy pairings memorable, the Tsui/Tracy relationship has the same textual spine: somewhere deep inside, these two care not only for one another but also their respective places in this world, and they’ll unavoidably have to find some means to collaborate as only the best screen characters do.
Where Mask does insert a bit more stuffing as it relates to trials of the heart is with the inclusion of a suggested romantic past with Yeuk Laan (Françoise Yip). Trained in the ways of soldiering by Tsui, Yeuk now finds herself at odds spiritually and emotionally with her teacher. When her efforts to bring him back into the fold alongside the other survivors of Project 701 fails, she’s given the unfortunate task of assassinating him so that the group can achieve their goal unfettered. This requires her to ignore both her feelings for the man as well as his insistence that she turn away from this chosen life of crime, resulting in a unique romantic triangle between these two and Tracy. Though the implied entanglement is present through much of the picture, it never becomes heavy-handed … because that would get in the way of the chopsocky … and chopsocky rules the day, don’t you know?
Without question, it’s the fights and fisticuffs that bring fans to projects of this sort, and Black Mask never fails. Toying with these narrative similarities to other projects – i.e. Mask is clearly visually descended from Kato in the aforementioned Green Hornet series – never amounts to more than imitation because Li and Lau and the rest of the principles will be flying about every set piece in no time, administering kicks, swipes, jabs, punches, slaps, and blocks aplenty. It might defy gravity as much as it does logic (or vice versa), but in that regard the film reaches and maintains a frenetic pace just as fans expect.
Black Mask (1996) was produced by Distant Horizon, Film Workshop, and Win’s Entertainment Ltd. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Eureka Entertainment. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds to what’s been advertised as a 2K restoration to be exceptional good; there are a few sequences that explode rather quickly, thus giving off some minor loss of focus, but it’s not all that distracting. Some special effects don’t quite translate as well as others in the upgrade – faux inserted explosions come off a bit heavy-handed here and there – so be prepared for to release a few unintended laughs.
Where Black Mask does add something to the equation is the insertion of a minor love interest: Tracy Lee (Karen Mok) is one of Tsui’s fellow librarians, and she’s a bit smitten with the quiet but sensitive outsider. Though the script never gives their pairing any great legitimacy, it becomes clear – Mask saves her life, and then she kinda/sorta returns the favor by helping him out of a tight spot – that the two maintain feelings for one another despite never quite consummating the relationship. As a result, they do spar verbally with one another; and this back-and-forth serves to give Mask something rarely seen in Superhero/Fantasies … namely a hint at the seminal ‘battle of the sexes.’
While such a narrative element is scarce, it arguably had its grounding in the Lois Lane and Clark Kent relationship as portrayed in Superman: The Movie (1978) and Superman II (1980). Our intrepid reporter Lane (the late Margot Kidder) seized a commanding presence easily out from under her milquetoast partner Kent (the late Christoper Reeve), embodying their constant tête-á-tête with dialogue not seen onscreen since the days when Katharine Hepburn and Spencer Tracy matched wits in such features as Woman Of The Year (1942), Keeper Of The Flame (1943), Adam’s Rib (1949), and Pat And Mike (1952). Though Mask lacks the gender backdrop as relevancy that made the Hepburn/Tracy pairings memorable, the Tsui/Tracy relationship has the same textual spine: somewhere deep inside, these two care not only for one another but also their respective places in this world, and they’ll unavoidably have to find some means to collaborate as only the best screen characters do.
Where Mask does insert a bit more stuffing as it relates to trials of the heart is with the inclusion of a suggested romantic past with Yeuk Laan (Françoise Yip). Trained in the ways of soldiering by Tsui, Yeuk now finds herself at odds spiritually and emotionally with her teacher. When her efforts to bring him back into the fold alongside the other survivors of Project 701 fails, she’s given the unfortunate task of assassinating him so that the group can achieve their goal unfettered. This requires her to ignore both her feelings for the man as well as his insistence that she turn away from this chosen life of crime, resulting in a unique romantic triangle between these two and Tracy. Though the implied entanglement is present through much of the picture, it never becomes heavy-handed … because that would get in the way of the chopsocky … and chopsocky rules the day, don’t you know?
Without question, it’s the fights and fisticuffs that bring fans to projects of this sort, and Black Mask never fails. Toying with these narrative similarities to other projects – i.e. Mask is clearly visually descended from Kato in the aforementioned Green Hornet series – never amounts to more than imitation because Li and Lau and the rest of the principles will be flying about every set piece in no time, administering kicks, swipes, jabs, punches, slaps, and blocks aplenty. It might defy gravity as much as it does logic (or vice versa), but in that regard the film reaches and maintains a frenetic pace just as fans expect.
Black Mask (1996) was produced by Distant Horizon, Film Workshop, and Win’s Entertainment Ltd. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Eureka Entertainment. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds to what’s been advertised as a 2K restoration to be exceptional good; there are a few sequences that explode rather quickly, thus giving off some minor loss of focus, but it’s not all that distracting. Some special effects don’t quite translate as well as others in the upgrade – faux inserted explosions come off a bit heavy-handed here and there – so be prepared for to release a few unintended laughs.
As for the special features?
Well, now … buckle up. This two-disc set has quite the assortment. (Mind you: I’ve only received copies of discs, so I can’t speak to the efficacy of any printed materials included.) In order to be as complete as possible, I’m doing the copy-and-paste from the publicity materials available on Blu-ray.com.
Disc One
Disc Two
Recommended.
I’ll admit that – unlike an awful lot of my critical contemporaries – I’m just not that big a fan of Jet Li, but he was one of the major driving forces that helped me find some enjoyment in Black Mask (1996). Under his auspices, it’s a kinder, gentler, and yet still bloodier Superhero/Fantasy, one that could’ve used less kung fu antics and a few more character scenes. (The stuff between him and co-stars Lau and Mok was so effective I’m disappointed there wasn’t more of it.)
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Eureka Entertainment provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of Black Mask (1996) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Well, now … buckle up. This two-disc set has quite the assortment. (Mind you: I’ve only received copies of discs, so I can’t speak to the efficacy of any printed materials included.) In order to be as complete as possible, I’m doing the copy-and-paste from the publicity materials available on Blu-ray.com.
Disc One
- Uncut Hong Kong Version
- Commentary on Hong Kong Version by Frank Djeng
- Export Version
- Commentary on Export Version by Mike Leeder & Arne Venema
- Mega Shock!: A Chat With Mike Lambert is a great career overview of the stuntman's Hong Kong and Hollywood years.
- Andrew Heskins on Black Mask has some biographical and production data from this easternKicks critic.
- Leon Hunt on Black Mask features the author of Kung Fu Cult Masters: From Bruce Lee to Crouching Tiger.
- Archival Making Of Documentary
- Hong Kong Theatrical Trailer
- US Trailer #1
- US Trailer #2
- US Home Video Trailer
Disc Two
- Taiwan Version
- Extended Version
Recommended.
I’ll admit that – unlike an awful lot of my critical contemporaries – I’m just not that big a fan of Jet Li, but he was one of the major driving forces that helped me find some enjoyment in Black Mask (1996). Under his auspices, it’s a kinder, gentler, and yet still bloodier Superhero/Fantasy, one that could’ve used less kung fu antics and a few more character scenes. (The stuff between him and co-stars Lau and Mok was so effective I’m disappointed there wasn’t more of it.)
In the interest of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Eureka Entertainment provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray copy of Black Mask (1996) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
Folks, it’s been quite some time since I’ve had the opportunity to review a bit of something different – namely, a Japanese genre release with pornographic undertones – but you guessed it! Today’s the day! Buckle up, readers! Things are about to get steamy in here!
Without going into a whole new level of education, let me politely summarize that the Japanese film machine generally doesn’t produce a vast array of adult films – called ‘Pink’ or ‘Pinku’ in the native country – but there are a handful of independent studios that have (cough cough) “made bank” with any number of features exploiting what men and women might do in private. Those far more learned than me in this whole sub-culture of film production can speaks at length about the stylistic differences between, say, Western and Eastern pornography; but I’ve avoided a great deal of these pictures not because I’m a prude (I’m not!) but it’s been my experience that few of them incorporate Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror into the plot. (Yes, I’m aware that anime embraces them to varying levels; but I’m chiefly dealing with live-action whatnot at this juncture.) So while I’m no expert much less a casual connoisseur, I do request the occasional picture that does cross into such territory, and that’s the case today.
Of course, a name like Sexy S.W.A.T. Team (1998) might conjure up any number of notions as to what a viewer might expect; and yet the truth is that this S.W.A.T. is quite tame by all standards. Not a single bullet is fired – can’t say the same for the (ahem) male instruments in question – and the violence is all very low key. In fact, all it really has going for it thematically is a modestly clever idea and a run-time (just under 60 minutes) that makes all of its blemishes forgivable.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Red alert! A crime wave of women-groping perverts has flooded the Tokyo train system, and only a special all-female undercover police task force can stop it! The common clue is that all of the victims see a strobing red light before they find themselves on the receiving end of public, sexual humiliation! Asses will be grabbed! Breasts will be kneaded! And crotches will be sniffed! All in (a day’s work – or –) the course of duty, for the Sexy SWAT Team!”
Well, if you’ve made it this far, then let me assure you that this earnest distraction going by the name of Sexy S.W.A.T. Team is, truly, only mildly sexy at best. Of course, the women are fabulous to look at when they’re doing what they do – with clothes on or without – but it’s the witty concept that might tickle one’s funny bone more than anything salacious in here.
Without going into a whole new level of education, let me politely summarize that the Japanese film machine generally doesn’t produce a vast array of adult films – called ‘Pink’ or ‘Pinku’ in the native country – but there are a handful of independent studios that have (cough cough) “made bank” with any number of features exploiting what men and women might do in private. Those far more learned than me in this whole sub-culture of film production can speaks at length about the stylistic differences between, say, Western and Eastern pornography; but I’ve avoided a great deal of these pictures not because I’m a prude (I’m not!) but it’s been my experience that few of them incorporate Science Fiction, Fantasy, and Horror into the plot. (Yes, I’m aware that anime embraces them to varying levels; but I’m chiefly dealing with live-action whatnot at this juncture.) So while I’m no expert much less a casual connoisseur, I do request the occasional picture that does cross into such territory, and that’s the case today.
Of course, a name like Sexy S.W.A.T. Team (1998) might conjure up any number of notions as to what a viewer might expect; and yet the truth is that this S.W.A.T. is quite tame by all standards. Not a single bullet is fired – can’t say the same for the (ahem) male instruments in question – and the violence is all very low key. In fact, all it really has going for it thematically is a modestly clever idea and a run-time (just under 60 minutes) that makes all of its blemishes forgivable.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Red alert! A crime wave of women-groping perverts has flooded the Tokyo train system, and only a special all-female undercover police task force can stop it! The common clue is that all of the victims see a strobing red light before they find themselves on the receiving end of public, sexual humiliation! Asses will be grabbed! Breasts will be kneaded! And crotches will be sniffed! All in (a day’s work – or –) the course of duty, for the Sexy SWAT Team!”
Well, if you’ve made it this far, then let me assure you that this earnest distraction going by the name of Sexy S.W.A.T. Team is, truly, only mildly sexy at best. Of course, the women are fabulous to look at when they’re doing what they do – with clothes on or without – but it’s the witty concept that might tickle one’s funny bone more than anything salacious in here.
Working privately at the Brain Wave Institute, Dr. Smith has constructed the ultimate behavioral modification weapon. He’s broken the barriers of Erotic Science by producing a pistol that fires a laser beam that positively affects the area of the brain that controls the female sex drive, turning an ordinarily chaste woman into a woman lothario of sorts. Seeking sexual gratification, the afflicted will stop at nothing to see her appetite properly sated, no matter if the setting is public or private. Once he has tested his new device on the luscious lab assistants who’ve rejected his advances, he now realizes that he can unleash such abhorrent technology on any woman-at-large … and that’s precisely what his assistant does!
Now, S.W.A.T. doesn’t go to any great lengths to define this world or its characters. Fundamentally, this nifty little ray-gun-style machine is little more than a MacGuffin that’s employed strategically for the cast to – cough cough – ‘get it on,’ and, yes, they do here and there for largely more entertainment purposes than they do making cinematic history. Seriously, all of this is done very tongue-in-cheek (I said TONGUE-IN-CHEEK, you perverts), and absolutely none of this is to be taken critically. Once you realize that this – cough cough – special female-led division of the Tokyo police department operates out of what looks to be little more than a second-floor apartment in any big city tenement building, it becomes clear that this is all for laughs … and maybe even a little heavy breathing.
As for the – ahem – sensual particulars?
Even in that estimation, there’s not all that much to write home about. S.W.A.T. being a product of the late 1990’s, I can assure you that a great deal of vastly more controversial projects had come out of Japan in the previous decade or two; and this one – other than its obvious camp appeal – is kinda/sorta disappointing. The couplings are all very, very, very conventional (not that I’m complaining about conventional), and they only serve to advance a rather obvious joke that does pay-off in the final moments. But when your film’s closing bits include the cast all standing around and/or dancing for their respective sequences in the end credits, it’s unmistakably clear that you weren’t supposed to take any of this as anything other than one big joke.
Sexy S.W.A.T. Team (aka Onna chikan sôsakan: Oshiri de shôbu!) (1998) was produced by Shintoho Company. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Sacrament and Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I’m willing to venture a guess that this tasty affair was likely shot on home video; and there’s a respectable degree of what I’ll call ‘modest definition’ to the entire production. It ain’t bad; it’s just a touch inferior. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? Well, the disc includes some production stills, but that’s about all you have to tide you over until the next time, folks. Yes, it’s a bit disappointing.
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing nearly as many Japanese Pinku movies as clearly some have, but with a name like Sexy S.W.A.T. Team (1998) I guess I just expected more. Granted, a few flicks I have reviewed have been vastly more subversive in nature, leaving S.W.A.T. incredibly tame by comparison. A few bloated make-up and groping sequences don’t really do much more than to raise the blood pressure a few ticks; and each of the finishes leave far too much to one’s imagination. What is this, director Watanabe? Sesame Street? I’ve seen more skin at the corner WalMart!
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary DVD of Sexy S.W.A.T. Team (1998) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Now, S.W.A.T. doesn’t go to any great lengths to define this world or its characters. Fundamentally, this nifty little ray-gun-style machine is little more than a MacGuffin that’s employed strategically for the cast to – cough cough – ‘get it on,’ and, yes, they do here and there for largely more entertainment purposes than they do making cinematic history. Seriously, all of this is done very tongue-in-cheek (I said TONGUE-IN-CHEEK, you perverts), and absolutely none of this is to be taken critically. Once you realize that this – cough cough – special female-led division of the Tokyo police department operates out of what looks to be little more than a second-floor apartment in any big city tenement building, it becomes clear that this is all for laughs … and maybe even a little heavy breathing.
As for the – ahem – sensual particulars?
Even in that estimation, there’s not all that much to write home about. S.W.A.T. being a product of the late 1990’s, I can assure you that a great deal of vastly more controversial projects had come out of Japan in the previous decade or two; and this one – other than its obvious camp appeal – is kinda/sorta disappointing. The couplings are all very, very, very conventional (not that I’m complaining about conventional), and they only serve to advance a rather obvious joke that does pay-off in the final moments. But when your film’s closing bits include the cast all standing around and/or dancing for their respective sequences in the end credits, it’s unmistakably clear that you weren’t supposed to take any of this as anything other than one big joke.
Sexy S.W.A.T. Team (aka Onna chikan sôsakan: Oshiri de shôbu!) (1998) was produced by Shintoho Company. DVD distribution (for this particular release) has been coordinated by the fine folks at Sacrament and Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I’m willing to venture a guess that this tasty affair was likely shot on home video; and there’s a respectable degree of what I’ll call ‘modest definition’ to the entire production. It ain’t bad; it’s just a touch inferior. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? Well, the disc includes some production stills, but that’s about all you have to tide you over until the next time, folks. Yes, it’s a bit disappointing.
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
I haven’t had the pleasure of seeing nearly as many Japanese Pinku movies as clearly some have, but with a name like Sexy S.W.A.T. Team (1998) I guess I just expected more. Granted, a few flicks I have reviewed have been vastly more subversive in nature, leaving S.W.A.T. incredibly tame by comparison. A few bloated make-up and groping sequences don’t really do much more than to raise the blood pressure a few ticks; and each of the finishes leave far too much to one’s imagination. What is this, director Watanabe? Sesame Street? I’ve seen more skin at the corner WalMart!
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary DVD of Sexy S.W.A.T. Team (1998) by request for the expressed purpose of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
Longtime readers of SciFiHistory.Net know of my fondness for vampire flicks.
Yes, yes, and yes: some of the readership might insist this is only because I’ve self-published my very own novel in the wide, wide world of Horror yarnspinning. But the truth is I’ve always had a fascination with monster movies – of which I think the bloodsuckers are included – chiefly because they usually don’t abide by the usual rules that make up that subculture of productions. While most beasts operate around the idea that audiences might sympathize with, this particular branch of the Undead rarely if ever gets such treatment; and it makes for some very interesting stories sometimes staked out over multiple decades. More than just pains in the neck, these Nosferatu are here to stay, and it’s to my delight.
Now, I’ll also concede that vampire stories have grown a bit – ahem – long in the tooth. Having been around for well over a century (yes, even on film!), these characters only occasionally benefit from a bit of re-invention where perhaps they’re given a new, mystical power or some scribe figures out a way to present vamps with a bit of freshness. 2023’s The Last Voyage Of The Demeter – as an example – actually went back to elements of what’s long been considered the founding text of these upir: Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” introduces some of the facts about how the illustrious Count made his way from Bulgaria to London, postulating that the merchant ship known as the Demeter met with tragedy when it was consigned to transport the immortal legend in some secrecy.
One might think that using this construct the film would’ve both paid respects to the original text while paving the way for a potential new chapter in the growing pantheon of theatrical adventures of vampires … but – as often happens – today’s political leanings pretty exsanguinated what lifeblood there was in the creative beating heart and left the prospects for a new legacy better off dead. Google.com reports that the project is considered a box office flop, crashing on the shores with less than half of its production budget recouped in ticket sales.
Sigh.
The Count deserved better. But so did we.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A crew sailing from Varna (Bulgaria) by the Black Sea To England find that they are carrying very dangerous cargo.”
Whether one likes this or not, the original Dracula story is a decidedly and fundamentally masculine tale.
You see, the Count is a man. Abraham Van Helsing? Also a man. While Dracula and what he does – seducing others to serve both his bidding and his appetites – might be a bit open to interpretation, the reality of his maleness cannot be separated from his mythology, thus perhaps inadvertently making statements about the existing patriarchy than author Stoker never intended but stand the test of time nonetheless. In this adventure of good man chasing bad man in order to save mankind from its potential destruction, masculinity matters in more ways than a feminist might wish to admit … and removing that foundational context certainly puts any retelling at risk of being inferior and/or (gasp!) boring at the onset.
But … Hollywood and the wide expanse of the entertainment industry can’t help but pull the fangs out of anything remotely masculine these days, and the latest defrocking of the seminal Nosferatu brought back to the screen in 2023’s The Last Voyage Of The Demeter was particularly bloodless, though it didn’t need to be. What screenwriters Bragi F. Schut and Zak Olkewicz accomplished – whether intentional or not – was to present a seafaring crew – perhaps the last bastion of uber-male compatriots who considered having a woman around was a curse – that couldn’t save itself from extinction much less last to the final reel if the petite Anna (played by the fetching Aisling Franciosi) hadn’t been aboard.
Good grief …
Yes, yes, and yes: some of the readership might insist this is only because I’ve self-published my very own novel in the wide, wide world of Horror yarnspinning. But the truth is I’ve always had a fascination with monster movies – of which I think the bloodsuckers are included – chiefly because they usually don’t abide by the usual rules that make up that subculture of productions. While most beasts operate around the idea that audiences might sympathize with, this particular branch of the Undead rarely if ever gets such treatment; and it makes for some very interesting stories sometimes staked out over multiple decades. More than just pains in the neck, these Nosferatu are here to stay, and it’s to my delight.
Now, I’ll also concede that vampire stories have grown a bit – ahem – long in the tooth. Having been around for well over a century (yes, even on film!), these characters only occasionally benefit from a bit of re-invention where perhaps they’re given a new, mystical power or some scribe figures out a way to present vamps with a bit of freshness. 2023’s The Last Voyage Of The Demeter – as an example – actually went back to elements of what’s long been considered the founding text of these upir: Bram Stoker’s “Dracula” introduces some of the facts about how the illustrious Count made his way from Bulgaria to London, postulating that the merchant ship known as the Demeter met with tragedy when it was consigned to transport the immortal legend in some secrecy.
One might think that using this construct the film would’ve both paid respects to the original text while paving the way for a potential new chapter in the growing pantheon of theatrical adventures of vampires … but – as often happens – today’s political leanings pretty exsanguinated what lifeblood there was in the creative beating heart and left the prospects for a new legacy better off dead. Google.com reports that the project is considered a box office flop, crashing on the shores with less than half of its production budget recouped in ticket sales.
Sigh.
The Count deserved better. But so did we.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A crew sailing from Varna (Bulgaria) by the Black Sea To England find that they are carrying very dangerous cargo.”
Whether one likes this or not, the original Dracula story is a decidedly and fundamentally masculine tale.
You see, the Count is a man. Abraham Van Helsing? Also a man. While Dracula and what he does – seducing others to serve both his bidding and his appetites – might be a bit open to interpretation, the reality of his maleness cannot be separated from his mythology, thus perhaps inadvertently making statements about the existing patriarchy than author Stoker never intended but stand the test of time nonetheless. In this adventure of good man chasing bad man in order to save mankind from its potential destruction, masculinity matters in more ways than a feminist might wish to admit … and removing that foundational context certainly puts any retelling at risk of being inferior and/or (gasp!) boring at the onset.
But … Hollywood and the wide expanse of the entertainment industry can’t help but pull the fangs out of anything remotely masculine these days, and the latest defrocking of the seminal Nosferatu brought back to the screen in 2023’s The Last Voyage Of The Demeter was particularly bloodless, though it didn’t need to be. What screenwriters Bragi F. Schut and Zak Olkewicz accomplished – whether intentional or not – was to present a seafaring crew – perhaps the last bastion of uber-male compatriots who considered having a woman around was a curse – that couldn’t save itself from extinction much less last to the final reel if the petite Anna (played by the fetching Aisling Franciosi) hadn’t been aboard.
Good grief …
Clemens (Corey Hawkins) isn’t your typical Englishman of the period. For starters, he’s black. He’s well-educated. Unable to find employment as a physician despite his educational pedigree, he traveled all the way to Varnan for an appointment, only to discover that racism wasn’t limited to just London, and the color of his skin left him mostly destitute. When Captain Eliot arrives in port and requires a few extra hands for the journey back to London, Clemens leaps at the chance, a development that ultimately might spell doom had he known what lay ahead on the open seas for the Demeter: its mysterious cargo is none other than Dracula himself – itself? – and the bloodsucker is going to need a meal or two that isn’t quite on the menu.
Structurally, Voyage works like any gothic mystery, at least for a time. One by one, the crew fall to whatever force is hiding in the darkest corners of their ship; but it isn’t until Clemens discovers a young woman, Anna, amongst the packages that he begins piecing together the puzzle that eludes Eliot, his first mate Wojchek (David Dastmalchian), and the other men. Up to that point, the film achieves an appreciable balance – brains is required as much as brawn in mounting the group’s defense – and, yet, the screenwriters couldn’t showing just how inept all of them are when Anna goes part-Rambo. Granted, they make modest efforts to package her heroic deeds under the perspective that ‘she just knows better’ because she grew up in a village taunted for ages by the seminal vampire; but it still gets damn goofy when only the young lady – who likely never fired a rifle – is the only one with smarts to shoot the lock of the captain’s cabin door in the midst of a crisis.
Argh. What’s a man to do?
Well, if Voyage is any indication, it’s man’s job to not only die but die without honor, as only Anna herself is afforded such distinction. Why, it’s only she who knows to go off all by her lonesome on some floating debris, infected from her bite from her immortal master, and to go up in flames with the romantic and poetic rise of the morning sun. While the men are left to bleed out in silence, Anna basks (and burns summarily) in the spotlight.
Good grief, indeed.
The Last Voyage Of The Demeter (2023) was produced by Dreamworks Pictures, Reliance Entertainment, Storyworks Productions, and a few other participating partners. The film is presently available for physical or digital purchase on a variety of platforms. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds to be exceptional from start-to-finish; there were a few sequences shot in dark and/or fog that left a bit to the imagination, but it wasn’t all that distracting. Also, the opening sequence – a short bit that sets the stage of the Demeter being found abandoned on the shore – is some blatantly obvious (hence, bad) CGI, and methinks audiences deserved a bit better. Lastly, as I viewed this via streaming, there were no special features under consideration.
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
Though I went into The Last Voyage Of The Demeter (2023) with an open mind, I can out thinking that both director André Øvredal and his writing staff absolutely loathe the working man, emasculating each and every of their cast to the point of ridiculousness in this nearly two-hour vampire flick. What could’ve emerged as a creative reset to a cinematic Monsters universe instead becomes mired in political predictability where men just aren’t good enough any more to make a stand against the forces of darkness.
-- EZ
Structurally, Voyage works like any gothic mystery, at least for a time. One by one, the crew fall to whatever force is hiding in the darkest corners of their ship; but it isn’t until Clemens discovers a young woman, Anna, amongst the packages that he begins piecing together the puzzle that eludes Eliot, his first mate Wojchek (David Dastmalchian), and the other men. Up to that point, the film achieves an appreciable balance – brains is required as much as brawn in mounting the group’s defense – and, yet, the screenwriters couldn’t showing just how inept all of them are when Anna goes part-Rambo. Granted, they make modest efforts to package her heroic deeds under the perspective that ‘she just knows better’ because she grew up in a village taunted for ages by the seminal vampire; but it still gets damn goofy when only the young lady – who likely never fired a rifle – is the only one with smarts to shoot the lock of the captain’s cabin door in the midst of a crisis.
Argh. What’s a man to do?
Well, if Voyage is any indication, it’s man’s job to not only die but die without honor, as only Anna herself is afforded such distinction. Why, it’s only she who knows to go off all by her lonesome on some floating debris, infected from her bite from her immortal master, and to go up in flames with the romantic and poetic rise of the morning sun. While the men are left to bleed out in silence, Anna basks (and burns summarily) in the spotlight.
Good grief, indeed.
The Last Voyage Of The Demeter (2023) was produced by Dreamworks Pictures, Reliance Entertainment, Storyworks Productions, and a few other participating partners. The film is presently available for physical or digital purchase on a variety of platforms. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights-and-sounds to be exceptional from start-to-finish; there were a few sequences shot in dark and/or fog that left a bit to the imagination, but it wasn’t all that distracting. Also, the opening sequence – a short bit that sets the stage of the Demeter being found abandoned on the shore – is some blatantly obvious (hence, bad) CGI, and methinks audiences deserved a bit better. Lastly, as I viewed this via streaming, there were no special features under consideration.
Alas … only Mildly Recommended.
Though I went into The Last Voyage Of The Demeter (2023) with an open mind, I can out thinking that both director André Øvredal and his writing staff absolutely loathe the working man, emasculating each and every of their cast to the point of ridiculousness in this nearly two-hour vampire flick. What could’ve emerged as a creative reset to a cinematic Monsters universe instead becomes mired in political predictability where men just aren’t good enough any more to make a stand against the forces of darkness.
-- EZ