- Published on
Folks, I’ve always had a bit of a struggle with the whole Evil Dead franchise.
You see, I was there – back in the day – when The Evil Dead (1981) and its kinda/sorta do-over Evil Dead II (1987) were all the rage in the home video marketplace. They were both considered staples of the rental crowd – I kid you not, but these two flicks were damn near always and I do mean always out of stock because they were so popular – and, having watched them both with friends, I never quite got the fascination. Being still reasonably young and – cough – reasonably impressionable, I could appreciate the obvious derring-do of a great independent chiller – as well as the visceral appeal of low-budget schlockery – but I just couldn’t quite grasp how it all worked.
(Yes, yes, and yes: I’ve already confessed far too many times to overthinking things, so spare me the lecture!)
I’ve always been a bit of a mechanics person. (This is not to say that I’m mechanical, in any measure of the word.) I need to know how something works, especially when it’s presented on screen and an intrinsic part of any Science Fiction, Fantasy, and/or Horror universe. How it works is part of the process for me fully appreciating what storytellers are trying to do with the material, and – if it isn’t clearly spelled out – I can’t fully digest something if I’m only allowed part of the total meal. Give it all, or give me none. You can’t ‘half-ass’ anything just to make it look good.
And therein lies my continuing opinion of the Evil Dead franchise: it looks good. Hell, I’ll even give you that it looks damn good on some occasions. But it still confuses the heck out of me.
(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 twisted tale of two estranged sisters whose reunion is cut short by the rise of flesh-possessing demons, thrusting them into a primal battle for survival as they face the most nightmarish version of family imaginable.”
Great gosh a’mighty: those kids are gonna need therapy someday!
There are times when reviewing Horror pieces can get a bit cumbersome. I’ve always chalked this up to the fact that Horror – unlike, perhaps, any other genre of film – requires more often than not the dialing down of one’s brainwork to truly appreciate what a particular storyteller and the cast and crew are trying to accomplish. It may not make much sense – much less perfect sense – but that’s chiefly because the preoccupation here is with the visual trickery: working together, this team wants to just scare you silly. In accomplishing that, rules can and likely will be broken, meaning the sum might be fudged a bit from the pieces instead of following a cold, bloodless (snicker snicker) equation.
You see, I was there – back in the day – when The Evil Dead (1981) and its kinda/sorta do-over Evil Dead II (1987) were all the rage in the home video marketplace. They were both considered staples of the rental crowd – I kid you not, but these two flicks were damn near always and I do mean always out of stock because they were so popular – and, having watched them both with friends, I never quite got the fascination. Being still reasonably young and – cough – reasonably impressionable, I could appreciate the obvious derring-do of a great independent chiller – as well as the visceral appeal of low-budget schlockery – but I just couldn’t quite grasp how it all worked.
(Yes, yes, and yes: I’ve already confessed far too many times to overthinking things, so spare me the lecture!)
I’ve always been a bit of a mechanics person. (This is not to say that I’m mechanical, in any measure of the word.) I need to know how something works, especially when it’s presented on screen and an intrinsic part of any Science Fiction, Fantasy, and/or Horror universe. How it works is part of the process for me fully appreciating what storytellers are trying to do with the material, and – if it isn’t clearly spelled out – I can’t fully digest something if I’m only allowed part of the total meal. Give it all, or give me none. You can’t ‘half-ass’ anything just to make it look good.
And therein lies my continuing opinion of the Evil Dead franchise: it looks good. Hell, I’ll even give you that it looks damn good on some occasions. But it still confuses the heck out of me.
(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 twisted tale of two estranged sisters whose reunion is cut short by the rise of flesh-possessing demons, thrusting them into a primal battle for survival as they face the most nightmarish version of family imaginable.”
Great gosh a’mighty: those kids are gonna need therapy someday!
There are times when reviewing Horror pieces can get a bit cumbersome. I’ve always chalked this up to the fact that Horror – unlike, perhaps, any other genre of film – requires more often than not the dialing down of one’s brainwork to truly appreciate what a particular storyteller and the cast and crew are trying to accomplish. It may not make much sense – much less perfect sense – but that’s chiefly because the preoccupation here is with the visual trickery: working together, this team wants to just scare you silly. In accomplishing that, rules can and likely will be broken, meaning the sum might be fudged a bit from the pieces instead of following a cold, bloodless (snicker snicker) equation.
I think that’s a fair assessment of the entire Evil Dead franchise. I’ve just never understood how spirits possessing a body – already a lifeless, soulless sack of meat – can suddenly be shut down … well, except for the release and eventual build-up of further suspense. It’s a development that defies logic – the inhabited human body is already just matter, so how a knife in the brain or the snapping of the spine instantly throws off the possessor’s powers and abilities is the ultimate theatrical conundrum. It happens – again and again and again – and, rationally, it can only be a screenwriter’s convention, giving the tale a brief lull before the bloody action begins again anew.
But … rarely have I witnessed such delight in utilizing the incessant start-and-stop of hostilities put to as efficient use as it is in Evil Dead Rise. This is the ultimate carnival Horror attraction – one fueled entirely on the substance of nightmares spoken or imagined – and writer/director Lee Cronin rather deftly weaves a dripping tapestry that elevates the thrill ride to impressive heights. Cronin rarely relents, but – when he does – he returns to form with more splash and glam than ever before. This is quite a visual feast – for those who treasure this type of insanity – and I suspect it might reinvigorate the franchise in ways Rob Tapert, Sam Raimi, and Bruce Campbell (all heavily involved since its inception) will keep going to the bank, flush with cash.
Thankfully, the trickery isn’t just limited to ample amounts of blood and gore – mind you, there’s far more in here than I think I’ve ever seen before. Cronin uniquely stages a few set pieces as is viewed through an eye portal in the apartment’s front door, and it results in some rather limited yet genius perspectives that shows just how much story can be conveyed with quality sound and a few visual effects. Leaving what’s truly happening to the imagination of the viewers is a tricky investment, but I thought it was honestly some of the best cinematography I’ve seen in Horror in quite some time.
And what puts the bloody icing on the bloody cake?
It’s a solid script – perhaps a bit trim on characterization here and there – but it’s bolstered by some impressive screen turns by some young actors without a lot of mileage under their professional belts. Don’t ask me how the wee Nell Fisher (as ‘Kassie’) managed to hold it all together as well as she did given the horrific circumstances; once she’s fully submerged in an elevator car filled with blood, you’d think she’d have the wherewithal to call her agent and demand to know just what he/she/it got her into, but – like a trooper – she soldiers ever onward. Morgan Davies (as ‘Danny’) displays a bit of range as the tween torn between acting his age while balancing his childlike impulses to go recklessly into a subterranean vault without adult supervision, setting in motion a series of events that ultimately undoes what remains of his failing nuclear family. And Gabrielle Echols steals one scene after another (as ‘Bridget’), her family’s resident grow-up-faster-than-she-should have child who inevitably succumbs to mommy dearest’s dark charms, turning into every real parent’s screen nightmare.
Not for the squeamish, Evil Dead Rise accomplishes what many in Hollywood will tell you is impossible: it takes an old idea and makes it brand-spanking new. If there is a God out there – or even a demon – it’ll enjoy a long life serving as an inspiration for others wishing to go into the dark in similar pursuits.
Evil Dead Rise (2023) was produced by Department Of Post, Ghost House Pictures, New Line Cinema, Warner Bros., and Wild Atlantic Pictures.
Recommended.
Here’s the thing: Evil Dead Rise is about as visceral a blood-splattered fun ride as one is likely to ever see assembled. Its mechanics – how it all works, why it all works, and how it all persists – may be the subject of extreme Fantasy; but viewers who go in accepting full-well in advance that it’s a feature built on scares – and little else – will likely have a damn fine time with the relentless butchery. Occasionally, writer/director Cronin even backs it all up with some winning cinematography. This is Horror for Horror’s sake, though … an entirely brain-free exercise is sheer madness.
Enjoy!
-- EZ
But … rarely have I witnessed such delight in utilizing the incessant start-and-stop of hostilities put to as efficient use as it is in Evil Dead Rise. This is the ultimate carnival Horror attraction – one fueled entirely on the substance of nightmares spoken or imagined – and writer/director Lee Cronin rather deftly weaves a dripping tapestry that elevates the thrill ride to impressive heights. Cronin rarely relents, but – when he does – he returns to form with more splash and glam than ever before. This is quite a visual feast – for those who treasure this type of insanity – and I suspect it might reinvigorate the franchise in ways Rob Tapert, Sam Raimi, and Bruce Campbell (all heavily involved since its inception) will keep going to the bank, flush with cash.
Thankfully, the trickery isn’t just limited to ample amounts of blood and gore – mind you, there’s far more in here than I think I’ve ever seen before. Cronin uniquely stages a few set pieces as is viewed through an eye portal in the apartment’s front door, and it results in some rather limited yet genius perspectives that shows just how much story can be conveyed with quality sound and a few visual effects. Leaving what’s truly happening to the imagination of the viewers is a tricky investment, but I thought it was honestly some of the best cinematography I’ve seen in Horror in quite some time.
And what puts the bloody icing on the bloody cake?
It’s a solid script – perhaps a bit trim on characterization here and there – but it’s bolstered by some impressive screen turns by some young actors without a lot of mileage under their professional belts. Don’t ask me how the wee Nell Fisher (as ‘Kassie’) managed to hold it all together as well as she did given the horrific circumstances; once she’s fully submerged in an elevator car filled with blood, you’d think she’d have the wherewithal to call her agent and demand to know just what he/she/it got her into, but – like a trooper – she soldiers ever onward. Morgan Davies (as ‘Danny’) displays a bit of range as the tween torn between acting his age while balancing his childlike impulses to go recklessly into a subterranean vault without adult supervision, setting in motion a series of events that ultimately undoes what remains of his failing nuclear family. And Gabrielle Echols steals one scene after another (as ‘Bridget’), her family’s resident grow-up-faster-than-she-should have child who inevitably succumbs to mommy dearest’s dark charms, turning into every real parent’s screen nightmare.
Not for the squeamish, Evil Dead Rise accomplishes what many in Hollywood will tell you is impossible: it takes an old idea and makes it brand-spanking new. If there is a God out there – or even a demon – it’ll enjoy a long life serving as an inspiration for others wishing to go into the dark in similar pursuits.
Evil Dead Rise (2023) was produced by Department Of Post, Ghost House Pictures, New Line Cinema, Warner Bros., and Wild Atlantic Pictures.
Recommended.
Here’s the thing: Evil Dead Rise is about as visceral a blood-splattered fun ride as one is likely to ever see assembled. Its mechanics – how it all works, why it all works, and how it all persists – may be the subject of extreme Fantasy; but viewers who go in accepting full-well in advance that it’s a feature built on scares – and little else – will likely have a damn fine time with the relentless butchery. Occasionally, writer/director Cronin even backs it all up with some winning cinematography. This is Horror for Horror’s sake, though … an entirely brain-free exercise is sheer madness.
Enjoy!
-- EZ
- Published on
I kid you not: there was this one time wherein I had written a review for an independent feature, and – after reading what I had said – the writer/director of it reached out to me via email for the sole purpose of telling me that it was people like me for which his film was never intended.
Now, I’m an adult, see, so I can ignore the usual insults as well as anyone else can. It was clear that the fellow took issue with what I’d written about his little project, and I can understand anyone trying to debate with me the strengths and negatives of any flick. But this guy? He went a bit overboard, demanding that I return the film to the distributor (who had kindly shared a copy) and insisted that I take down my review from everywhere it had posted on the Information Superhighway. (This was back in the day when I was posting stuff on Amazon.com along with a few other sites.) So I responded to him politely and professionally, telling him that part and parcel of being a storyteller is being capable of understanding that not every audience is going to rave about your work, and yet this words were just not enough. Because I didn’t get his vision, I needed to essentially remove myself from his reality, to which I ultimately told him to both ‘grow up’ and ‘get lost.’
Having reviewed an incredible number of independent films, I can assure you that I don’t get every feature I’m provided or seek out of my own accord. My explanation is simple – I’m just as infallible as the next person, and I only speak to that which I do grasp in the narrative – and I think it’s the storyteller’s job – if he/she/they/it want to be successful in his/her/their/its own terms – to produce something that makes sense. It needn’t have universal appeal if that isn’t what the maker desires. If it doesn’t resonate – or if folks say they failed to comprehend the central point – then that doesn’t mean a failure (other than a failure to connect in this singular instance) … but you don’t go criticizing each person who watched it.
Instead, you kept telling stories. Ignore the critics. Judges be damned.
But don’t hate those who may not share in your vision.
That’s petty.
(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:
“While their mother is dying in the modern Gimli, Manitoba hospital, two young children are told a tale by their Icelandic grandmother about Einar the Lonely, his friend Gunnar, and the angelic Snjofridur in a Gimli of old.”
The dirty little secret of art criticism – whether folks admit it or not – is that not every work is meant for every critic.
Stories are told for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is to necessarily be understood. Often times, storytellers wish to impart some measure of wisdom surrounding some central concept or idea; and in that risky endeavor some parts and pieces may inevitably be ‘lost in translation,’ as they say. Meatier ideas might require more time to ingest – deep stories often require a second or third exposure to be truly appreciated – and even a film like 1941’s Citizen Kane wasn’t exactly revered so much in its day as it earned its exalted place in art history decades after first being unleashed on audiences. Such is life, and such may be the case with Guy Maddin’s Tales From The Gimli Hospital.
Now, I’m an adult, see, so I can ignore the usual insults as well as anyone else can. It was clear that the fellow took issue with what I’d written about his little project, and I can understand anyone trying to debate with me the strengths and negatives of any flick. But this guy? He went a bit overboard, demanding that I return the film to the distributor (who had kindly shared a copy) and insisted that I take down my review from everywhere it had posted on the Information Superhighway. (This was back in the day when I was posting stuff on Amazon.com along with a few other sites.) So I responded to him politely and professionally, telling him that part and parcel of being a storyteller is being capable of understanding that not every audience is going to rave about your work, and yet this words were just not enough. Because I didn’t get his vision, I needed to essentially remove myself from his reality, to which I ultimately told him to both ‘grow up’ and ‘get lost.’
Having reviewed an incredible number of independent films, I can assure you that I don’t get every feature I’m provided or seek out of my own accord. My explanation is simple – I’m just as infallible as the next person, and I only speak to that which I do grasp in the narrative – and I think it’s the storyteller’s job – if he/she/they/it want to be successful in his/her/their/its own terms – to produce something that makes sense. It needn’t have universal appeal if that isn’t what the maker desires. If it doesn’t resonate – or if folks say they failed to comprehend the central point – then that doesn’t mean a failure (other than a failure to connect in this singular instance) … but you don’t go criticizing each person who watched it.
Instead, you kept telling stories. Ignore the critics. Judges be damned.
But don’t hate those who may not share in your vision.
That’s petty.
(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:
“While their mother is dying in the modern Gimli, Manitoba hospital, two young children are told a tale by their Icelandic grandmother about Einar the Lonely, his friend Gunnar, and the angelic Snjofridur in a Gimli of old.”
The dirty little secret of art criticism – whether folks admit it or not – is that not every work is meant for every critic.
Stories are told for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is to necessarily be understood. Often times, storytellers wish to impart some measure of wisdom surrounding some central concept or idea; and in that risky endeavor some parts and pieces may inevitably be ‘lost in translation,’ as they say. Meatier ideas might require more time to ingest – deep stories often require a second or third exposure to be truly appreciated – and even a film like 1941’s Citizen Kane wasn’t exactly revered so much in its day as it earned its exalted place in art history decades after first being unleashed on audiences. Such is life, and such may be the case with Guy Maddin’s Tales From The Gimli Hospital.
This is one of those ‘artsy films’ (no disrespect intended) that I’ve heard about and yet never seen, but now – thanks to Kino Lorber’s all-new release – I’ve finally had the chance to take in … and I’m not ashamed to say I don’t quite understand its reputation. As a story, it bobs and weaves across a loose structure, at times presenting accounts more dreamlike than anything real or authentic. Basically a visualization of a grandmother’s telling of a local legend to her grandchildren, Hospital details a fragile friendship between two male patients in a small village, one that kinda/sorta ends in multiple tragedies. The most startling element of the tale is the fact that these two men are connected in a way they couldn’t foresee – I’ll not spoil the beans, but it’s kinda/sorta as creepy as it is shocking – but it’s otherwise a great deal of striking black-and-white visuals wrapped up in a backwoods period setting.
Where I struggle with Gimli, however, is what to make of it all.
Cult films – of which Gimli most deservedly is – get embraced by audiences for any number of reasons. Sometimes, a director’s style pulls viewers in. Other times, it’s a mash-up of multiple genres that pits critics at odds over trying to say which category the tale owes most of its impact to. Maddin’s yarn never quite becomes anything specific to me – Drama? Tragedy? Comedy? – and, thus, I’m at a loss to have anything substantial to offer in reflection. Some sequences come across as pure fantasy while others have the undercurrent of satire; without knowing what’s actively being satirized, however, the impact never scores. A scene or two late in the picture are pretty close copied frames from Fritz Lang’s M (1931), the screen’s first real exploration of psychosis, but I’m lost as to know why. (In fact, Hospital’s opening and closing sequences are structurally very similar to what Orson Welles accomplished in the aforementioned Kane’s opening and closing sequences, but I couldn’t tell you why Maddin copied them here. Is it flattery or was it unintentional?) Are these patients mad … or are they merely rapturous with dark thoughts? There are hints – some obvious, and some a bit of a stretch – but it’s far too vague for this regular Joe’s gray matter.
Tales From The Gimli Hospital (1988) was produced by Extra Large Productions, The Canada Manitoba Cultural Industries Development Office (CIDO), and Winnipeg Film Group. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? The product packaging boasts that this is a brand-new 4K remastering, and – while I’m no trained video expert – I thought the sights and sounds were very, very good. (As black-and-white photography goes, Gimli does look fabulous in a good deal of its running time.) Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc includes a new audio commentary from Maddin, a trailer of the project’s re-release, and an accompanying short film (“The Heart Of the World”) also from the storyteller.
Mildly recommended.
Sorry, folks, but I’m not afraid to say that Tales From The Gimli Hospital leaves me a bit perplexed. While occasionally interesting, it’s still a bit long at 64 minutes, a great deal of it evolving over sequences a bit long and feeling far too experimental for me to grasp its import. Sometimes a tale is just a tale; but given the amount of critical extrapolation written about the flick I expected to be a bit more challenged. While its visually enticing, an awful lot of it just seems like it’s weird for weird’s sake. This, too, shall pass.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a Blu-ray copy of Tales From The Gimli Hospital by request for the expressed purposes of completing this view. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Where I struggle with Gimli, however, is what to make of it all.
Cult films – of which Gimli most deservedly is – get embraced by audiences for any number of reasons. Sometimes, a director’s style pulls viewers in. Other times, it’s a mash-up of multiple genres that pits critics at odds over trying to say which category the tale owes most of its impact to. Maddin’s yarn never quite becomes anything specific to me – Drama? Tragedy? Comedy? – and, thus, I’m at a loss to have anything substantial to offer in reflection. Some sequences come across as pure fantasy while others have the undercurrent of satire; without knowing what’s actively being satirized, however, the impact never scores. A scene or two late in the picture are pretty close copied frames from Fritz Lang’s M (1931), the screen’s first real exploration of psychosis, but I’m lost as to know why. (In fact, Hospital’s opening and closing sequences are structurally very similar to what Orson Welles accomplished in the aforementioned Kane’s opening and closing sequences, but I couldn’t tell you why Maddin copied them here. Is it flattery or was it unintentional?) Are these patients mad … or are they merely rapturous with dark thoughts? There are hints – some obvious, and some a bit of a stretch – but it’s far too vague for this regular Joe’s gray matter.
Tales From The Gimli Hospital (1988) was produced by Extra Large Productions, The Canada Manitoba Cultural Industries Development Office (CIDO), and Winnipeg Film Group. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? The product packaging boasts that this is a brand-new 4K remastering, and – while I’m no trained video expert – I thought the sights and sounds were very, very good. (As black-and-white photography goes, Gimli does look fabulous in a good deal of its running time.) Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc includes a new audio commentary from Maddin, a trailer of the project’s re-release, and an accompanying short film (“The Heart Of the World”) also from the storyteller.
Mildly recommended.
Sorry, folks, but I’m not afraid to say that Tales From The Gimli Hospital leaves me a bit perplexed. While occasionally interesting, it’s still a bit long at 64 minutes, a great deal of it evolving over sequences a bit long and feeling far too experimental for me to grasp its import. Sometimes a tale is just a tale; but given the amount of critical extrapolation written about the flick I expected to be a bit more challenged. While its visually enticing, an awful lot of it just seems like it’s weird for weird’s sake. This, too, shall pass.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a Blu-ray copy of Tales From The Gimli Hospital by request for the expressed purposes of completing this view. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
Author’s note: Folks, this is a recovered review from my days back in penning content for Amazon.com and some other sites. Now that I’m fully independent of them, I’m culling through some of my older material, editing it a bit, and re-posting it in this space for posterity’s sake. Enjoy!
Plenty has been written about the films of David Cronenberg.
I hate to paint myself into a corner, but I’m one of the rare few who has failed to draw much inspiration from his collective works. Oh, I find them smartly made and expertly assembled. I think they’re exceedingly well told, as well. But, in their own ubiquitous way, I’ve found them a bit too emotionally detached (in most cases), meaning that the stories truly mean little to me as a viewer. Sure, I get the message – science has run amuck, society has run amuck, passion has run amuck, etc. – but I haven’t been touched in that mysterious way that compels me to think all that much about what’s being presented. Rather, I’m drawn in by the presentation – perhaps I’m studying the magician’s handiwork when I should just be enjoying the show? – and it all ends up feeling a bit too clinical. A bit too cold.
Now, Brandon Cronenberg – son of David – has burst onto the scene; and, in one fell swoop, I’m forced to re-think everything I’ve ever thought I’d be saying about a Cronenberg. This revelation comes as I found almost nearly everything in 2012’s Antiviral to be inspired, didactic, and (oh so) satisfying … in a bone-chilling sort of way.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the kind of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last three paragraphs for my 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:
“In a blackly satirical near future, a thriving industry sells celebrity illnesses to their obsessed fans. Employee Syd March’s attempt to exploit the system backfire when they involve him in a potentially deadly mystery.”
In the not-too-distant future, our cultural obsession with celebrity has even brought medical science into the fray. Patrons with enough cash to spend can now suffer the same flu that once afflicted their favorite pop star, media icon, or silver screen legend. Naturally, everything comes at a price, but no celebrity is commanding a higher price-tag from the Lucas Clinic than screen siren Hannah Geist (an intoxicating Sarah Gadon), an effervescent blonde bombshell the paparazzi can’t get enough of (thick and heavy shades of Marilyn Monroe here). Syd March (played by the increasingly impressive Caleb Landry Jones) keeps a day job injecting consumers with these viruses, but he’s secretly making a living behind-the-scenes by smuggling them out of the clinic inside his own body, parlaying them for greater personal profit on a burgeoning black market. However, things go quickly from bad to worse when Syd secretly contracts Geist’s latest flu only to discover it’s fatal. Before he knows what he’s done, the young entrepreneur finds himself caught between corporate conspirators who’ll stop at nothing to have the greatest and latest designer viruses for mass market consumption!
Antiviral is the kind of flick I could go on for days. Indeed, it’s definitely going back in my queue for another look sometime this weekend. Written and directed by Brandon Cronenberg, it boasts a brilliant script that indicts the audience as evenly as it does all of its players in the grand plot. However, with each new twist and turn, Cronenberg’s smart story ratchets up the angst while never losing sight of its reality: life itself is not unlike a Hitchcockian plot.
Jones is particularly successful at conveying both the good and bad in his character. With his streetwise, cocksure attitude, he can easily persuade those hungry consumers to reach for their wallets in order to share a one-of-a-kind experience with their idols; but he’s also blessed with a cynical outlook that underscores how he sees himself as little more than a drone shucking the latest wares in the next get-rich-quick scheme for the pharmaceutical industry. He’s dressed just like every one of the cronies he waits in line with each day, and – with the eyes of a winsome, aging adolescent – he spies Geist on the television and in person with an honest envy that quietly asks, “How can I get me some of that?!”
By contrast, the media-version of Gadon practically exudes sexiness even with an act as simple as taking off her sunglasses. Airbrushes images of her fill up magazine covers and modern art posters everywhere Cronenberg’s camera looks – in public and in private – and we’re never even shown the ‘real deal’ when Syd shows up in her posh hotel room to extract the virus: her eyes are protected under a sleep mask, but the next time we see her in private, we’re in for our own rude awakening as she’s started to succumb to the ravages of a designer infection manufactured exclusively for her DNA.
Be warned: there’s a fair amount of blood (and bloodiness) sprinkled throughout Antiviral. I never found any of it gratuitous in any way; rather, it entirely serves the purposes of the narrative, one that explores exactly how intimate a price society demands for the price of celebrity. And all of it is handled in a very film noir manner: red splashes almost entirely on white, and the contrast is indeed unsettling.
I will say that I was modestly put off by the simplicity of the ending – I thought that last reveal was a bit predictable given the boldness of everything that came before it. However, like any good Hitchcockian mystery, it isn’t always how the victim survives his (or her) encounter; sometimes, the only way to endure is to live another day. There may be little nobility in it … but it sure beats dying.
Antiviral (2012) is produced by Alliance Films, TF1 International, Telefilm Canada, Ontario Media Development Corporation, Rhombus Media, and a few others (if you’re that interested, check out the remainder at IMDB.com). DVD distribution is being handled through MPI Media Group. As for the technical specifications? Wow! This is one brilliantly rendered film, and the high quality sights and sound only add to the experience. Lastly, if it’s special features you’re looking for, then you’re in for some treats: there’s an audio commentary with Cronenberg and cinematographer Karim Hussain as well as a relatively in-depth ‘making of’ documentary that explores the satire in good measure.
Highest recommendation possible.
I can’t remember a better time than the last year for there to be so many intelligent and smartly crafted science fiction films in release. Upstream Color (2013) was one. Vanishing Waves (2012) was another. Now you can add Antiviral to that short list. While those first two were very similar in tone and execution, Brandon Cronenberg’s picture maintains a sharper, more critical, and more nuanced eye with a purpose of stripping down our culture to its barest traits – our obsession with celebrity – and turns it entirely upside-down in the most biting way since perhaps some of Stanley Kubrick’s stuff or maybe even David Cronenberg’s catalogue (which I tend to find a bit overrated for my tastes). Now, the son shows that ‘genius may just well run in the family’ with a debut project that certainly promises good things to come from the promising filmmaker.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at MPI Media Group provided me with a Blu-ray DVD copy of Antiviral by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Jones is particularly successful at conveying both the good and bad in his character. With his streetwise, cocksure attitude, he can easily persuade those hungry consumers to reach for their wallets in order to share a one-of-a-kind experience with their idols; but he’s also blessed with a cynical outlook that underscores how he sees himself as little more than a drone shucking the latest wares in the next get-rich-quick scheme for the pharmaceutical industry. He’s dressed just like every one of the cronies he waits in line with each day, and – with the eyes of a winsome, aging adolescent – he spies Geist on the television and in person with an honest envy that quietly asks, “How can I get me some of that?!”
By contrast, the media-version of Gadon practically exudes sexiness even with an act as simple as taking off her sunglasses. Airbrushes images of her fill up magazine covers and modern art posters everywhere Cronenberg’s camera looks – in public and in private – and we’re never even shown the ‘real deal’ when Syd shows up in her posh hotel room to extract the virus: her eyes are protected under a sleep mask, but the next time we see her in private, we’re in for our own rude awakening as she’s started to succumb to the ravages of a designer infection manufactured exclusively for her DNA.
Be warned: there’s a fair amount of blood (and bloodiness) sprinkled throughout Antiviral. I never found any of it gratuitous in any way; rather, it entirely serves the purposes of the narrative, one that explores exactly how intimate a price society demands for the price of celebrity. And all of it is handled in a very film noir manner: red splashes almost entirely on white, and the contrast is indeed unsettling.
I will say that I was modestly put off by the simplicity of the ending – I thought that last reveal was a bit predictable given the boldness of everything that came before it. However, like any good Hitchcockian mystery, it isn’t always how the victim survives his (or her) encounter; sometimes, the only way to endure is to live another day. There may be little nobility in it … but it sure beats dying.
Antiviral (2012) is produced by Alliance Films, TF1 International, Telefilm Canada, Ontario Media Development Corporation, Rhombus Media, and a few others (if you’re that interested, check out the remainder at IMDB.com). DVD distribution is being handled through MPI Media Group. As for the technical specifications? Wow! This is one brilliantly rendered film, and the high quality sights and sound only add to the experience. Lastly, if it’s special features you’re looking for, then you’re in for some treats: there’s an audio commentary with Cronenberg and cinematographer Karim Hussain as well as a relatively in-depth ‘making of’ documentary that explores the satire in good measure.
Highest recommendation possible.
I can’t remember a better time than the last year for there to be so many intelligent and smartly crafted science fiction films in release. Upstream Color (2013) was one. Vanishing Waves (2012) was another. Now you can add Antiviral to that short list. While those first two were very similar in tone and execution, Brandon Cronenberg’s picture maintains a sharper, more critical, and more nuanced eye with a purpose of stripping down our culture to its barest traits – our obsession with celebrity – and turns it entirely upside-down in the most biting way since perhaps some of Stanley Kubrick’s stuff or maybe even David Cronenberg’s catalogue (which I tend to find a bit overrated for my tastes). Now, the son shows that ‘genius may just well run in the family’ with a debut project that certainly promises good things to come from the promising filmmaker.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at MPI Media Group provided me with a Blu-ray DVD copy of Antiviral by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
Good morning, Happy Tuesday, and Happy New Releases Day, faithful readers!
Those of you following closely might've noticed that over the course of the last two weeks (or so) I had the good fortune of receiving a complimentary promotional screening copy for the absolutely incredible Arrow Films set Enter The Video Store: Empire Of Screams on Blu-ray. This is, essentially, a commercial celebration of some of the fantastic and imaginative flicks that emerged from the great days of the video store compliments of genre master Charles Band and Empire Pictures.
For those of us who know the name (as well as those who don't but should know it), Band and his co-conspirators were chiefly responsible for bringing a helluva lot of fabulous B-style pictures, many of which were incredible renters in the days of the corner and big box home rental outlets. Many of these projects were the kind of thing you'd only hear about at the video store -- from the clerks as well as fellow renters -- who'd chat them up mostly because they didn't get the kind of mainstream attention the major studios put out; and because they came with an endorsement from someone you actually knew -- an opinion that mattered -- you'd pick it up, give it a go, and take the good with the bad. Of course, it was a risk, but it was a heavily calculated one that paid off in enough times to make it worth the buck or two it set you back to watch it once or twice ... so nobody complained.
Empire Pictures -- or Empire International Pictures and/or Empire Entertainment -- lasted only a handful of years (five, to be exact), and -- under Band's management -- they managed an incredible slate of releases popular with folks like you and me. To be succinct (and putting this in my own words), Band wasn't all that interested in pleasing our cultural elite; he made pictures like Mickey Spillane wrote books, that meaning that they were meant to be read and absorbed by an audience, not set on a shelf to just take up space. And -- whether renters knew it or not -- viewers responded by picking up his good and bad schlock over and over again. They made Empire into a brand that video outlets could rely on over and over again. While it was sad to see Empire go away, I can give you the good news that Band continues doing what he does best out there today, albeit under a different banner.
But back to this Empire Of Screams set, if you will ...
While I think it's always a difficult task to pluck individual titles from an amassed library with hopes of presenting the very best for a discriminating viewership, Arrow Films has done a particular winning job with this limited edition release. (Sure, I could argue with a nitpick here or there, but that's chump change in the end, as I think their choices do respect a bit of balance.) In short, there's a little 'something something' for everyone in here, especially given the fact that the five-disk set includes a wealth of additional materials -- some new, some archival -- to keep watchers glued to the screen for hours of extra content. Because I've reviewed them individually, I won't trouble you with anything more than a passing thought in this space (along with a link to the full text for those interested in that sort of detail), but I'll strongly encourage those of you truly interested to surf the web and purchase a set today. It's a fabulous, fabulous find that'll likely bring back some memories if not set the stage for new ones you can start building today.
Disc One: The Dungeonmaster (1984)
Full Review: Link
A whole lot of 'meh,' The Dungeonmaster all too often feels like an anthology film made-on-the-fly because it was an anthology film made-on-the-fly. Occasionally interesting, the flick still really goes nowhere and does nothing, other than have fun in the way some of the lesser productions of the video store era did. Forgettable, in most cases, but it was an acceptable attempt.
Disc Two: Dolls (1986)
Full Review: Link
It's a surprisingly effective little film, one that I called 'Dirty Spielberg' in my full review. The production hits a lot of the notes in just the right fashion, but I would've needed a bit more to elevate this charming effort to the level of must-see for the bygone video era. Nice performances, too, though it could've used a bit less restraint in the gore department.
Disc Three: Cellar Dweller (1987)
Full Review: Link
This is the only film in the set I'd never fully seen (had enjoyed the creature bits but not the full story) back in the day. Again, while it's occasionally interesting, it's also the kind of thing that'd been done before, and the lack of anything different -- even if it was a wacky performance -- kept this one from being anything special.
Disc Four: Arena (1989)
Full Review: Link
I can remember this one being a pretty solid hit, meaning that it was always out-of-stock during prime rental nights. A bit goofy with aliens and humans going mano-a-mano Rocky Balboa style on a space station, it has the right mix of blood, sweat, and tears for folks who find Science Fiction and Fantasy's red-headed stepchildren worthwhile. I do, so it's a winner for me.
Disc Five: Robot Jox (1989)
Full Review: Link
Wowza. Think what you will, but ambition killed Empire Pictures (along with a bit of financial mismanagement). Robot Jox rules the roost of this set -- and maybe is even the studio's crowning achievement, if I may be so bold -- as it demonstrates that its producers went bigger and bolder in their swan song. It's one of the best SciFi flicks you've likely never heard of ... and that's a shame.
When you're dealing in titles from the past and/or projects that didn't benefit from millions being spent on both production and advertising, you might have to search long and hard for that diamond-in-the-rough. Still, I've often argued that Band's films were much like the little engine that could: no matter the odds or the obstacles placed in the path, they'd chug and chug and chug along well enough that audiences of the day would eventually find them. While these releases might not have been as polished as some bigger studio tentpole films, they had their time and their place -- maybe even a good run in the limelight -- and I can only hope folks will rediscover the magic this Empire brought to a galaxy not so far away and very much closer to home.
As always, thanks for reading ... and live long and prosper!
-- EZ
Those of you following closely might've noticed that over the course of the last two weeks (or so) I had the good fortune of receiving a complimentary promotional screening copy for the absolutely incredible Arrow Films set Enter The Video Store: Empire Of Screams on Blu-ray. This is, essentially, a commercial celebration of some of the fantastic and imaginative flicks that emerged from the great days of the video store compliments of genre master Charles Band and Empire Pictures.
For those of us who know the name (as well as those who don't but should know it), Band and his co-conspirators were chiefly responsible for bringing a helluva lot of fabulous B-style pictures, many of which were incredible renters in the days of the corner and big box home rental outlets. Many of these projects were the kind of thing you'd only hear about at the video store -- from the clerks as well as fellow renters -- who'd chat them up mostly because they didn't get the kind of mainstream attention the major studios put out; and because they came with an endorsement from someone you actually knew -- an opinion that mattered -- you'd pick it up, give it a go, and take the good with the bad. Of course, it was a risk, but it was a heavily calculated one that paid off in enough times to make it worth the buck or two it set you back to watch it once or twice ... so nobody complained.
Empire Pictures -- or Empire International Pictures and/or Empire Entertainment -- lasted only a handful of years (five, to be exact), and -- under Band's management -- they managed an incredible slate of releases popular with folks like you and me. To be succinct (and putting this in my own words), Band wasn't all that interested in pleasing our cultural elite; he made pictures like Mickey Spillane wrote books, that meaning that they were meant to be read and absorbed by an audience, not set on a shelf to just take up space. And -- whether renters knew it or not -- viewers responded by picking up his good and bad schlock over and over again. They made Empire into a brand that video outlets could rely on over and over again. While it was sad to see Empire go away, I can give you the good news that Band continues doing what he does best out there today, albeit under a different banner.
But back to this Empire Of Screams set, if you will ...
While I think it's always a difficult task to pluck individual titles from an amassed library with hopes of presenting the very best for a discriminating viewership, Arrow Films has done a particular winning job with this limited edition release. (Sure, I could argue with a nitpick here or there, but that's chump change in the end, as I think their choices do respect a bit of balance.) In short, there's a little 'something something' for everyone in here, especially given the fact that the five-disk set includes a wealth of additional materials -- some new, some archival -- to keep watchers glued to the screen for hours of extra content. Because I've reviewed them individually, I won't trouble you with anything more than a passing thought in this space (along with a link to the full text for those interested in that sort of detail), but I'll strongly encourage those of you truly interested to surf the web and purchase a set today. It's a fabulous, fabulous find that'll likely bring back some memories if not set the stage for new ones you can start building today.
Disc One: The Dungeonmaster (1984)
Full Review: Link
A whole lot of 'meh,' The Dungeonmaster all too often feels like an anthology film made-on-the-fly because it was an anthology film made-on-the-fly. Occasionally interesting, the flick still really goes nowhere and does nothing, other than have fun in the way some of the lesser productions of the video store era did. Forgettable, in most cases, but it was an acceptable attempt.
Disc Two: Dolls (1986)
Full Review: Link
It's a surprisingly effective little film, one that I called 'Dirty Spielberg' in my full review. The production hits a lot of the notes in just the right fashion, but I would've needed a bit more to elevate this charming effort to the level of must-see for the bygone video era. Nice performances, too, though it could've used a bit less restraint in the gore department.
Disc Three: Cellar Dweller (1987)
Full Review: Link
This is the only film in the set I'd never fully seen (had enjoyed the creature bits but not the full story) back in the day. Again, while it's occasionally interesting, it's also the kind of thing that'd been done before, and the lack of anything different -- even if it was a wacky performance -- kept this one from being anything special.
Disc Four: Arena (1989)
Full Review: Link
I can remember this one being a pretty solid hit, meaning that it was always out-of-stock during prime rental nights. A bit goofy with aliens and humans going mano-a-mano Rocky Balboa style on a space station, it has the right mix of blood, sweat, and tears for folks who find Science Fiction and Fantasy's red-headed stepchildren worthwhile. I do, so it's a winner for me.
Disc Five: Robot Jox (1989)
Full Review: Link
Wowza. Think what you will, but ambition killed Empire Pictures (along with a bit of financial mismanagement). Robot Jox rules the roost of this set -- and maybe is even the studio's crowning achievement, if I may be so bold -- as it demonstrates that its producers went bigger and bolder in their swan song. It's one of the best SciFi flicks you've likely never heard of ... and that's a shame.
When you're dealing in titles from the past and/or projects that didn't benefit from millions being spent on both production and advertising, you might have to search long and hard for that diamond-in-the-rough. Still, I've often argued that Band's films were much like the little engine that could: no matter the odds or the obstacles placed in the path, they'd chug and chug and chug along well enough that audiences of the day would eventually find them. While these releases might not have been as polished as some bigger studio tentpole films, they had their time and their place -- maybe even a good run in the limelight -- and I can only hope folks will rediscover the magic this Empire brought to a galaxy not so far away and very much closer to home.
As always, thanks for reading ... and live long and prosper!
-- EZ
- Published on
I think it’s safe to conclude that audiences have always appreciated a good whodunnit.
Exactly how and where they evolved, however, remains a bit of a mystery. (Imagine that?) Anyone who’s done a bit of reading on their evolution will easily point to the stories of Edgar Allen Poe and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – “The Murders In The Rue Morgue” and any one of the Sherlock Holmes tales, respectively – as the likely literary foundation for the craze. A quick search of Google.com suggests that the first theatrically popular incarnation gets credited to 1945’s And Then There Were None – a big screen adaptation of the Agatha Christie work – but I know for a fact that there were smaller features that likely led into that big success, including such film series as Charlie Chan, Mr. Moto, and even Boris Karloff headlining as the detective sleuth, Mr. Wong.
Recently, the good people at Kino Lorber released Karloff’s run in the role on home video, and I’ve been making my way through the five film mysteries. Today’s delight: Mr. Wong In Chinatown, the second of two Wong pictures to hit silver screens in 1939. The film was directed by William Nigh, and screenwriter Scott Darling is credited with adapting the work of author Hugh Wiley for the screen. It stars Boris Karloff, Grant Withers, Marjorie Reynolds, Huntley Gordon, and George Lyn.
(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 pretty Chinese woman, seeking help from San Francisco detective James Lee Wong, is killed by a poisoned dart in his front hall, having time only to scrawl ‘Captain J’ on a sheet of paper. She proves to be Princess Lin Hwa.”
Screenwriters from time-to-time have been known to fall back on conventions and/or gimmicks to make a story sizzle, and I suspect – to a small degree – that may’ve been part of what fueled scripter Scott Darling’s efforts in Mr. Wong In Chinatown. While the first two screen outings were marginally free of the usual theatrical trappings that put the screen detective’s investigations into motion, this one brings the first dead body right into Mr. Wong’s home – killed by a rare dart-gun that conveniently Wong has in his private collection, along with the victim’s seminal written clue found at the scene – and it all feels a bit contrived. Granted, I think what transpires throughout the course of the film’s 71 minutes is still a bit better-than-average, but there’s no mistaking a bit of an invented set-up to the whole criminal affair.
Exactly how and where they evolved, however, remains a bit of a mystery. (Imagine that?) Anyone who’s done a bit of reading on their evolution will easily point to the stories of Edgar Allen Poe and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – “The Murders In The Rue Morgue” and any one of the Sherlock Holmes tales, respectively – as the likely literary foundation for the craze. A quick search of Google.com suggests that the first theatrically popular incarnation gets credited to 1945’s And Then There Were None – a big screen adaptation of the Agatha Christie work – but I know for a fact that there were smaller features that likely led into that big success, including such film series as Charlie Chan, Mr. Moto, and even Boris Karloff headlining as the detective sleuth, Mr. Wong.
Recently, the good people at Kino Lorber released Karloff’s run in the role on home video, and I’ve been making my way through the five film mysteries. Today’s delight: Mr. Wong In Chinatown, the second of two Wong pictures to hit silver screens in 1939. The film was directed by William Nigh, and screenwriter Scott Darling is credited with adapting the work of author Hugh Wiley for the screen. It stars Boris Karloff, Grant Withers, Marjorie Reynolds, Huntley Gordon, and George Lyn.
(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 pretty Chinese woman, seeking help from San Francisco detective James Lee Wong, is killed by a poisoned dart in his front hall, having time only to scrawl ‘Captain J’ on a sheet of paper. She proves to be Princess Lin Hwa.”
Screenwriters from time-to-time have been known to fall back on conventions and/or gimmicks to make a story sizzle, and I suspect – to a small degree – that may’ve been part of what fueled scripter Scott Darling’s efforts in Mr. Wong In Chinatown. While the first two screen outings were marginally free of the usual theatrical trappings that put the screen detective’s investigations into motion, this one brings the first dead body right into Mr. Wong’s home – killed by a rare dart-gun that conveniently Wong has in his private collection, along with the victim’s seminal written clue found at the scene – and it all feels a bit contrived. Granted, I think what transpires throughout the course of the film’s 71 minutes is still a bit better-than-average, but there’s no mistaking a bit of an invented set-up to the whole criminal affair.
There’s also the rather obvious bit of tying our lead Chinese detective to some possible shenanigans involving Chinatown that might feel like it was intended to seek out box office gold. (A Chinese person investigating his own people?) With today’s complex cultural sensibilities, one might look at the whole construction and wonder about whether or not some of the film could be found a bit objectionable (of course dismissing the fact that the franchise star was an American playing a Chinese detective), but – for what it’s worth – I think the fact that the bad guys turn out to be Americans who are basically extorting the political predicament of the day should kinda/sorta defuse any such malarkey that rears its ugly head. There’s also a loose spying suggestion – along with some dirty financing – that stays front-and-center, so I believe the P.C. mob should really look elsewhere than a mostly forgotten flick from the 1930’s for pet causes.
In fact, there’s a single sequence involving Wong’s stop in Chinatown – he has a meeting with a few important-looking characters around a table – and it’s all played out as if these scenes are of high importance to the case, if not all of filmdom. However, I think Wong only has a single line of dialogue amongst these supposed key players, and then he rises and leaves, going about his intended business. But because it was all handled, staged, and delivered as if a truly big deal, I ended up chuckling at how casually all of it ended up being so obviously a staged event ended far too quickly to be of any legitimate concern.
Though Chinatown does feel more than a bit contrived in a few spots, it’s also a bit hard to follow in a few places, partially because the narrative misdirects are all a bit flat. There are too few teeth to this story – in fact, methinks putting Wong in greater jeopardy than ever before might’ve been intended to gloss over an otherwise predictable affair – but Karloff perseveres, still showing audiences that he was vastly capable of stretching his legs comfortably into this role of the gentleman sleuth. Grant Withers is back in reasonably good form as Captain Street, and a perfectly fetching Marjorie Reynolds joins the franchise as crack reporter Bobbie Logan, the gal pal who’ll stop at nothing to break a major story especially if it puts her on the cops’ bad side. She’s got that whip-crack moxie fairly common to films of the 1930’s and 1940’s that works wonderfully opposite the male voice of authority (i.e. Street), and Reynolds hits her marks with some well-earned relish. It’s a character that manages to make a middling film into something a bit more special simply by being there.
Mr. Wong In Chinatown (1939) was produced by Monogram Pictures. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I can say that for my perspective there was a noticeable marked improvement in most of the transfer quality in this release. The black-and-white is mostly crisp throughout the film, with only the occasional grainy sequences in between the reel switching.
Recommended.
Yes, yes, and yes: there’s a fair amount of predictability to this screen outing of Mr. Wong In Chinatown, and that never bodes quite well for mysteries, in particular. In fact, there’s a single subplot involving a mute short person that abruptly disappears from the film, only to rear its head in the last reel as a kinda/sorta gotcha moment for Wong’s behind-the-scenes investigative work. Still, Reynolds steals a few scenes as a comely reporter who gets caught up in the action almost at the expense of her own safety! A good film, just a bit easy here and there.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of their Boris Karloff: Mr. Wong Collection – which included the picture Mr. Wong In Chinatown (1939) – by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
In fact, there’s a single sequence involving Wong’s stop in Chinatown – he has a meeting with a few important-looking characters around a table – and it’s all played out as if these scenes are of high importance to the case, if not all of filmdom. However, I think Wong only has a single line of dialogue amongst these supposed key players, and then he rises and leaves, going about his intended business. But because it was all handled, staged, and delivered as if a truly big deal, I ended up chuckling at how casually all of it ended up being so obviously a staged event ended far too quickly to be of any legitimate concern.
Though Chinatown does feel more than a bit contrived in a few spots, it’s also a bit hard to follow in a few places, partially because the narrative misdirects are all a bit flat. There are too few teeth to this story – in fact, methinks putting Wong in greater jeopardy than ever before might’ve been intended to gloss over an otherwise predictable affair – but Karloff perseveres, still showing audiences that he was vastly capable of stretching his legs comfortably into this role of the gentleman sleuth. Grant Withers is back in reasonably good form as Captain Street, and a perfectly fetching Marjorie Reynolds joins the franchise as crack reporter Bobbie Logan, the gal pal who’ll stop at nothing to break a major story especially if it puts her on the cops’ bad side. She’s got that whip-crack moxie fairly common to films of the 1930’s and 1940’s that works wonderfully opposite the male voice of authority (i.e. Street), and Reynolds hits her marks with some well-earned relish. It’s a character that manages to make a middling film into something a bit more special simply by being there.
Mr. Wong In Chinatown (1939) was produced by Monogram Pictures. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I can say that for my perspective there was a noticeable marked improvement in most of the transfer quality in this release. The black-and-white is mostly crisp throughout the film, with only the occasional grainy sequences in between the reel switching.
Recommended.
Yes, yes, and yes: there’s a fair amount of predictability to this screen outing of Mr. Wong In Chinatown, and that never bodes quite well for mysteries, in particular. In fact, there’s a single subplot involving a mute short person that abruptly disappears from the film, only to rear its head in the last reel as a kinda/sorta gotcha moment for Wong’s behind-the-scenes investigative work. Still, Reynolds steals a few scenes as a comely reporter who gets caught up in the action almost at the expense of her own safety! A good film, just a bit easy here and there.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of their Boris Karloff: Mr. Wong Collection – which included the picture Mr. Wong In Chinatown (1939) – by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
Back in the days of a reasonably reckless youth, I penned a fair amount of amateur fiction and participated in a writers’ group.
Like many who sling words, I nurtured the dream of wanting to be an established author someday. This meant churning out a lot of prose – even at the expense of not really developing an individual voice – all because that’s largely what a young writer is taught to do: just write. Skill and talent will come in time, along with a tone that, likely, you’ll be able to call your own … eventually. And that even assumes that your tone doesn’t evolve from the assistance of a decent editor! But what I learned from the workshopping experience is that – sigh – not every budding author should be part and parcel of a writer’s workshop.
The chief problem I experienced – besides the obvious frustration – is that age-old adage many of us already know, that being “too many cooks spoil the broth.” Other writers might see things in your stories – characters, situations, circumstances – that they perceive need to be the prime impetus behind it all. They might want a whole new direction or a whole new backdrop upon which to develop a story that, fundamentally, you didn’t write but they see as being possible. This isn’t to say that they saw errors in your work (in so many words), but perhaps it’s safe to suggest that they came into the whole workshopping process with a different agenda than I did, making much of what they offered functionally useless.
Each writer should tell the tale he or she wants to tell, not one stripped to its bones and rebuilt by others.
I endured a similar epiphany in watching this week’s Dead City installment. “Who’s There?” had moments of real personality that felt, sadly, bogged down with the narrative constraints put upon it by others, be they producers, directors, showrunners, or fellow scribes in the writers’ room. It occasionally reeked of vignettes that stunk of ‘we tell the story this way because it’s how we’ve been told to tell our stories,’ and that, inevitably, is killing what could otherwise be the franchise’s best attempt at a return to greatness … so far as this casual fan is concerned.
(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 show’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Maggie and Negan encounter native New Yorkers; Armstrong revisits a trauma; Ginny attempts to adapt to change.”
Folks, I think one of the greatest benefits all of us have been able to glean from the Information Superhighway is that there’s an incredible number of folks out there both thinking about and writing about television these days. Stilll, one of the greatest weaknesses that I see is far too many of them don’t keep in mind that television – first and foremost – is a business.
I can tell you that from my days in running a few small(ish) businesses is that the first rule has always been – and forever will be – it has to make a profit. Without a profit, a business cannot thrive. A business cannot survive. And, sadly, this means that – all too often – those running the business fall into the predictable trap of doing business the way we’ve done it before. Why? Well, because that’s safest. That’s what has a track record we can see and replicate.
It’s also what’s killing the prospects of Dead City.
Imagined as a show that could bring two of the franchise’s most respected and feared characters – Maggie Rhee (played by Lauren Cohan) and Negan Smith (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) front-and-center for their own respective and collective close-ups – these showrunners have sadly dipped far too deeply back into the comfortable waters of all that they’ve done before. While a fair number of dramatic collisions are required – if for no other reason than to set the stage for exactly why this particular team-up is both theatrically worthwhile and thematically volatile – the first two installments (the first one is reviewed by yours truly right here) have given us nothing but dialogue and delivery we’ve seen before by both of these talented players. It’s had no spark, no incisiveness, and no teeth.
In fact, the second chapter in particular – titled “Who’s There?” – falls back unfortunately into storytelling patterns that The Walking Dead mined far too often for its own good. Flashbacks – as well as side journeys with secondary characters of seemingly no importance whatsoever (like Ginny and Hershel) – ended up feeling more like screen filler than they do authentic, organic developments in a world that’s already had countless hours and three iterations (at present) to explore. But when you promised an audience hungry for a sequel that they’d be watching the match-up to end all TV match-ups (in team-up fashion), why oh why would you spend time away from those key components? After trying to wring a bit of tension out of Maggie’s all-of-a-sudden bout of acrophobia (of all things in the wide, wide world of The Walking Dead), why take audiences on a sidebar of little to no consequence? With Ginny? And with a marshal no one gives two damns about?
Now, this is not to say that “Who’s There?” didn’t deliver something worth mentioning, because that would be a far cry from the truth. The hour brought up a bit of conflict between Maggie, Negan, and this group of New Yorkers they’ve kinda/sorta been captured and/or befriended by (the suspense is killing us), and that worked quite well. In fact, it worked so well I wanted to spend more time getting to know these people, hearing what their lives and their existence was about, instead of the obligatory Maggie flashbacks and time spent understanding that Ginny – about as bland a TV creation as there’s ever been – has trouble “fitting in.” (Welcome to society, baby!) And, thankfully, the good stuff didn’t stop there, and Negan finally took the gloves off with a fabulous return to form, dispensing a brand of justice that audiences knew was still lurking there under the surface … and this was damn sure exactly why Maggie sought him out for this journey into dark waters.
That – think what you may – was great television. That had a purpose, though we might only now be getting to understand. That was an authentic character moment delivered with the kind of panache, flair, and style that both fits a mold and makes a statement. Those of you who sit in the writers’ room might take note and plot out a bit more of that – if there’s still time to get such development into production – lest you want Dead City to fail as so much generate a pulse with whatever episode run is left in its entire run.
In the interests of fairness, I’m thrilled to disclose that – like so many of you – I’ve simply recorded and watched The Walking Dead: Dead City’s “Who’s There?” (S01E02) as it aired on AMC, so I’m beholden to no one to provide a review other than myself.
-- EZ
Like many who sling words, I nurtured the dream of wanting to be an established author someday. This meant churning out a lot of prose – even at the expense of not really developing an individual voice – all because that’s largely what a young writer is taught to do: just write. Skill and talent will come in time, along with a tone that, likely, you’ll be able to call your own … eventually. And that even assumes that your tone doesn’t evolve from the assistance of a decent editor! But what I learned from the workshopping experience is that – sigh – not every budding author should be part and parcel of a writer’s workshop.
The chief problem I experienced – besides the obvious frustration – is that age-old adage many of us already know, that being “too many cooks spoil the broth.” Other writers might see things in your stories – characters, situations, circumstances – that they perceive need to be the prime impetus behind it all. They might want a whole new direction or a whole new backdrop upon which to develop a story that, fundamentally, you didn’t write but they see as being possible. This isn’t to say that they saw errors in your work (in so many words), but perhaps it’s safe to suggest that they came into the whole workshopping process with a different agenda than I did, making much of what they offered functionally useless.
Each writer should tell the tale he or she wants to tell, not one stripped to its bones and rebuilt by others.
I endured a similar epiphany in watching this week’s Dead City installment. “Who’s There?” had moments of real personality that felt, sadly, bogged down with the narrative constraints put upon it by others, be they producers, directors, showrunners, or fellow scribes in the writers’ room. It occasionally reeked of vignettes that stunk of ‘we tell the story this way because it’s how we’ve been told to tell our stories,’ and that, inevitably, is killing what could otherwise be the franchise’s best attempt at a return to greatness … so far as this casual fan is concerned.
(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 show’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Maggie and Negan encounter native New Yorkers; Armstrong revisits a trauma; Ginny attempts to adapt to change.”
Folks, I think one of the greatest benefits all of us have been able to glean from the Information Superhighway is that there’s an incredible number of folks out there both thinking about and writing about television these days. Stilll, one of the greatest weaknesses that I see is far too many of them don’t keep in mind that television – first and foremost – is a business.
I can tell you that from my days in running a few small(ish) businesses is that the first rule has always been – and forever will be – it has to make a profit. Without a profit, a business cannot thrive. A business cannot survive. And, sadly, this means that – all too often – those running the business fall into the predictable trap of doing business the way we’ve done it before. Why? Well, because that’s safest. That’s what has a track record we can see and replicate.
It’s also what’s killing the prospects of Dead City.
Imagined as a show that could bring two of the franchise’s most respected and feared characters – Maggie Rhee (played by Lauren Cohan) and Negan Smith (Jeffrey Dean Morgan) front-and-center for their own respective and collective close-ups – these showrunners have sadly dipped far too deeply back into the comfortable waters of all that they’ve done before. While a fair number of dramatic collisions are required – if for no other reason than to set the stage for exactly why this particular team-up is both theatrically worthwhile and thematically volatile – the first two installments (the first one is reviewed by yours truly right here) have given us nothing but dialogue and delivery we’ve seen before by both of these talented players. It’s had no spark, no incisiveness, and no teeth.
In fact, the second chapter in particular – titled “Who’s There?” – falls back unfortunately into storytelling patterns that The Walking Dead mined far too often for its own good. Flashbacks – as well as side journeys with secondary characters of seemingly no importance whatsoever (like Ginny and Hershel) – ended up feeling more like screen filler than they do authentic, organic developments in a world that’s already had countless hours and three iterations (at present) to explore. But when you promised an audience hungry for a sequel that they’d be watching the match-up to end all TV match-ups (in team-up fashion), why oh why would you spend time away from those key components? After trying to wring a bit of tension out of Maggie’s all-of-a-sudden bout of acrophobia (of all things in the wide, wide world of The Walking Dead), why take audiences on a sidebar of little to no consequence? With Ginny? And with a marshal no one gives two damns about?
Now, this is not to say that “Who’s There?” didn’t deliver something worth mentioning, because that would be a far cry from the truth. The hour brought up a bit of conflict between Maggie, Negan, and this group of New Yorkers they’ve kinda/sorta been captured and/or befriended by (the suspense is killing us), and that worked quite well. In fact, it worked so well I wanted to spend more time getting to know these people, hearing what their lives and their existence was about, instead of the obligatory Maggie flashbacks and time spent understanding that Ginny – about as bland a TV creation as there’s ever been – has trouble “fitting in.” (Welcome to society, baby!) And, thankfully, the good stuff didn’t stop there, and Negan finally took the gloves off with a fabulous return to form, dispensing a brand of justice that audiences knew was still lurking there under the surface … and this was damn sure exactly why Maggie sought him out for this journey into dark waters.
That – think what you may – was great television. That had a purpose, though we might only now be getting to understand. That was an authentic character moment delivered with the kind of panache, flair, and style that both fits a mold and makes a statement. Those of you who sit in the writers’ room might take note and plot out a bit more of that – if there’s still time to get such development into production – lest you want Dead City to fail as so much generate a pulse with whatever episode run is left in its entire run.
In the interests of fairness, I’m thrilled to disclose that – like so many of you – I’ve simply recorded and watched The Walking Dead: Dead City’s “Who’s There?” (S01E02) as it aired on AMC, so I’m beholden to no one to provide a review other than myself.
-- EZ
- Published on
There’s a great little exchange between the screen hosts Aaron Deese and Shannon LeGro in the final moments of The Dogman Triangle: Werewolves In The Lone Star State that crystallizes the existential struggle facing our cultural grasp into the study of cryptids.
LeGro – an author, researcher, podcaster, and producer regarding matters of High Strangeness – has been living a life dedicated to pulling back the layers of confusion surrounding unexplained phenomena, so perhaps there’s no one better than she is to offer an informed opinion on the subject of what many would call the Texas werewolves. (FYI: that’s not a sports team, people.) So when she speaks up and suggests that she’s not seen enough evidence to convince her that these things – whatever they’re called – are “flesh and blood,” I’m entirely willing to take her learned word for it.
But then Deese – a Texas-based researcher and podcaster who has spent an incredible amount of time investigating the Lone Star’s sightings of the Dogman and related occurrences – counters wisely that perhaps these creatures require a definition that explores alternate dimensions somehow interacting with our own. Breaking that wall – if that’s what’s happening – must have an explanation, and perhaps that’s where our search efforts are better focused. If such a scenario were true, it would mean that living, breathing, tangible proof will possibly lay beyond our reach for some time. It’s a bold position, but it isn’t without merit.
Now, I’m right back where I was when the documentary started, unsure of what to believe and probably just as befuddled as those who’ve seen one of these elusive monsters and lived to talk about it.
(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 documentary’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Do real werewolves exist in the lone star state? Dozens of terrified witnesses have recounted seeing something that seems to defy our own understanding of the animal kingdom. Something primordial and horrifying. A massive, upright-walking canid. Now, author Aaron Deese joins investigator Shannon LeGro (On The Trail Of UFOs) on a road trip across the state of Texas in search of pieces to a puzzle that Deese is slowly assembling …”
To be fair, there’s a bit more to the published synopsis, but what I’ve provided works just fine to represent the particulars that get some much-needed face time in this well-made documentary focusing solely on what Deese’s research has led him to conclude: there’s a huge ‘triangle’ of territory within the Lone Star state replete with sightings on the famed Dogman. Part wolf and part man, he/she/it/they/them has/have terrorized residents within this triangle for quite some time, and sightings continue from the distant past to this day. While the film concludes as mentioned above – that we’re currently short an acceptable explanation for not only what these witnesses have sighted but also a plausible explanation as to how the monster got there – I think it’s safe to say that there’s definitely room for more scholarship and study … especially if scientists can set aside their preconceived notions and actually do some legwork in the field.
In this case … I do mean field. The popular television phenomenon that was The X-Files assured us that the truth is out there … not in some test tube.
LeGro – an author, researcher, podcaster, and producer regarding matters of High Strangeness – has been living a life dedicated to pulling back the layers of confusion surrounding unexplained phenomena, so perhaps there’s no one better than she is to offer an informed opinion on the subject of what many would call the Texas werewolves. (FYI: that’s not a sports team, people.) So when she speaks up and suggests that she’s not seen enough evidence to convince her that these things – whatever they’re called – are “flesh and blood,” I’m entirely willing to take her learned word for it.
But then Deese – a Texas-based researcher and podcaster who has spent an incredible amount of time investigating the Lone Star’s sightings of the Dogman and related occurrences – counters wisely that perhaps these creatures require a definition that explores alternate dimensions somehow interacting with our own. Breaking that wall – if that’s what’s happening – must have an explanation, and perhaps that’s where our search efforts are better focused. If such a scenario were true, it would mean that living, breathing, tangible proof will possibly lay beyond our reach for some time. It’s a bold position, but it isn’t without merit.
Now, I’m right back where I was when the documentary started, unsure of what to believe and probably just as befuddled as those who’ve seen one of these elusive monsters and lived to talk about it.
(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 documentary’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Do real werewolves exist in the lone star state? Dozens of terrified witnesses have recounted seeing something that seems to defy our own understanding of the animal kingdom. Something primordial and horrifying. A massive, upright-walking canid. Now, author Aaron Deese joins investigator Shannon LeGro (On The Trail Of UFOs) on a road trip across the state of Texas in search of pieces to a puzzle that Deese is slowly assembling …”
To be fair, there’s a bit more to the published synopsis, but what I’ve provided works just fine to represent the particulars that get some much-needed face time in this well-made documentary focusing solely on what Deese’s research has led him to conclude: there’s a huge ‘triangle’ of territory within the Lone Star state replete with sightings on the famed Dogman. Part wolf and part man, he/she/it/they/them has/have terrorized residents within this triangle for quite some time, and sightings continue from the distant past to this day. While the film concludes as mentioned above – that we’re currently short an acceptable explanation for not only what these witnesses have sighted but also a plausible explanation as to how the monster got there – I think it’s safe to say that there’s definitely room for more scholarship and study … especially if scientists can set aside their preconceived notions and actually do some legwork in the field.
In this case … I do mean field. The popular television phenomenon that was The X-Files assured us that the truth is out there … not in some test tube.
Ardent experts are not going to prove the existence of Bigfoot, werewolves, demons, or any one of any nation’s unexplained wildlife from the laboratory. This kind of research is predicated on both eyewitness accounts as well as a comprehensive examination of the landscape (for footprints, samples, and other evidence); and, sadly, that’s something most brainiacs feel is beneath them. In one respect, this is precisely why stories involving cryptids and the like continue to find life – almost like a new form of Americana – with regular folks: you’ll never convince them to ignore what’s right in front of their own two eyes! Still, because those of us out here are a long way from being expert on anything, researchers all too frequently dismiss our experiences as either misunderstanding, hallucinations, or exaggeration, a tactic that’s been handily employed by the CIA, the FBI, and any other governmental agency since the 1940’s.
And, yes, I do find that very sad.
Still, so long as rumors persist, I’m thankful that there will always be folks like LeGro and Deese who are willing to risk their own blood, sweat, tears, and reputations to give these stories the life and attention I think they’re owed if not long past due. Alternative media has pushed open the door to the land of opportunity for a whole new generation of watchers, readers, and listeners hungry for content that more adequately asks questions about who we are and (maybe even) what we’re doing here. Let’s hope that their presence continues to put pressure on the mainstream media if for no other reason than the corporate suits will eventually help provide greater resources to examine a few of these enduring mysteries.
The Dogman Triangle (2023) was produced by Small Town Monsters. The film is presently available for streaming on such platforms as iTunes, Amazon Prime Video, Vudu, and FandangoNOW. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights and sounds to this documentary to be exceptional from start-to-finish. It’s clearly a humbly produced affair, but it looks solid. As this was a streaming opportunity, there were no special features to consider.
Recommended.
What I’ve found refreshing about the work from Small Town Monsters that I’ve had the good fortune to screen – including The Dogman Triangle – is that these are clearly labors of love assembled both by and for folks who are into this sort of topic. High strangeness abounds across the Big Blue Marble – whether we’ll admit that singular truth or not – and I’m forever thankful that LeGro, Deese, and producer Seth Breedlove aren’t afraid to go where their work and interests take them. It’s a refreshing portrait of a subject rarely covered.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Small Town Monsters provided me with complimentary streaming access to The Dogman Triangle: Werewolves In The Lone Star State by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
And, yes, I do find that very sad.
Still, so long as rumors persist, I’m thankful that there will always be folks like LeGro and Deese who are willing to risk their own blood, sweat, tears, and reputations to give these stories the life and attention I think they’re owed if not long past due. Alternative media has pushed open the door to the land of opportunity for a whole new generation of watchers, readers, and listeners hungry for content that more adequately asks questions about who we are and (maybe even) what we’re doing here. Let’s hope that their presence continues to put pressure on the mainstream media if for no other reason than the corporate suits will eventually help provide greater resources to examine a few of these enduring mysteries.
The Dogman Triangle (2023) was produced by Small Town Monsters. The film is presently available for streaming on such platforms as iTunes, Amazon Prime Video, Vudu, and FandangoNOW. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights and sounds to this documentary to be exceptional from start-to-finish. It’s clearly a humbly produced affair, but it looks solid. As this was a streaming opportunity, there were no special features to consider.
Recommended.
What I’ve found refreshing about the work from Small Town Monsters that I’ve had the good fortune to screen – including The Dogman Triangle – is that these are clearly labors of love assembled both by and for folks who are into this sort of topic. High strangeness abounds across the Big Blue Marble – whether we’ll admit that singular truth or not – and I’m forever thankful that LeGro, Deese, and producer Seth Breedlove aren’t afraid to go where their work and interests take them. It’s a refreshing portrait of a subject rarely covered.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Small Town Monsters provided me with complimentary streaming access to The Dogman Triangle: Werewolves In The Lone Star State by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
(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:
“After mysteriously inheriting an abandoned coastal property, Ben and his family accidentally unleash an ancient, long-dormant creature that terrorized the entire region – including his own ancestors – for generations.”
Sadly, there’s just not enough to digest with The Tank.
For a monster movie, it’s fairly lean in the mechanics department, meaning that there isn’t a lot of background and/or lore that needs to be grasped by viewers in order to understand what’s going on here. Essentially, some earthquake from a few centuries back opened up the Earth, and – according to the Native American Indians of the 1700’s – something cursed emerged, forcing this tribe off in search of greener pastures. As you can guess, the silly ol’ white men didn’t quite catch the hint, moved in, and built their own houses on the land, leaving these settlers to be reduced to little more than dead men walking once these supposed reptiles crawled back home for supper time.
So, functionally, yes, The Tank is lean, but at an incredible 100 minutes it suffers from a nasty bloat.
Its characters – the somewhat nuclear family of Ben (played by Matt Whelan), Jules (Luciane Buchanan), and their daughter Reia (Zara Nausbaum) – are drawn into this miasma of existential dread when, to their surprise, Ben inherits a coastal property he had no idea his deceased parents had ever owned. As hidden treasure do shimmer at first blush, the cottage looks to be an almost idyllic and pastoral escape for the trio who’ve fallen on hard financial times – the promise of a quick sale could very well be an answer to their prayers – but it’s for tales like this that some wise man or woman once said, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.” Before they know it, yes, they’ve all been bitten by what looks to be a previously undocumented species of reptile, and they’re racing against time to get out before desert is served.
As professional players swept up in the danger of a relatively conventional monster movie, Whelan, Buchanan, and Nausbaum all perform about as well as could be expected: they stare terrified into the camera lenses whenever its required, and they muster the right amount of courage to demonstrate that family comes first even if one’s about to be chowed down upon. The chief problem they all suffer from involves writer/director Scott Walker’s tenuous grasp on characterization: each of them is smart until the script needs them to be dumb – as in the case of going into the film’s seminal water tank or the dark of night with nothing to protect oneself and/or forgetting that your day job in the story’s set-up required they have some knowledge of dealing with predators (they operate an exotic pet store). Horror films are notorious for exploiting players to the point of near-ridiculousness, and The Tank hits that sweet spot time and time again … up to the point of leaving the car windows down when you’re trying to make your great escape.
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“After mysteriously inheriting an abandoned coastal property, Ben and his family accidentally unleash an ancient, long-dormant creature that terrorized the entire region – including his own ancestors – for generations.”
Sadly, there’s just not enough to digest with The Tank.
For a monster movie, it’s fairly lean in the mechanics department, meaning that there isn’t a lot of background and/or lore that needs to be grasped by viewers in order to understand what’s going on here. Essentially, some earthquake from a few centuries back opened up the Earth, and – according to the Native American Indians of the 1700’s – something cursed emerged, forcing this tribe off in search of greener pastures. As you can guess, the silly ol’ white men didn’t quite catch the hint, moved in, and built their own houses on the land, leaving these settlers to be reduced to little more than dead men walking once these supposed reptiles crawled back home for supper time.
So, functionally, yes, The Tank is lean, but at an incredible 100 minutes it suffers from a nasty bloat.
Its characters – the somewhat nuclear family of Ben (played by Matt Whelan), Jules (Luciane Buchanan), and their daughter Reia (Zara Nausbaum) – are drawn into this miasma of existential dread when, to their surprise, Ben inherits a coastal property he had no idea his deceased parents had ever owned. As hidden treasure do shimmer at first blush, the cottage looks to be an almost idyllic and pastoral escape for the trio who’ve fallen on hard financial times – the promise of a quick sale could very well be an answer to their prayers – but it’s for tales like this that some wise man or woman once said, “Never look a gift horse in the mouth.” Before they know it, yes, they’ve all been bitten by what looks to be a previously undocumented species of reptile, and they’re racing against time to get out before desert is served.
As professional players swept up in the danger of a relatively conventional monster movie, Whelan, Buchanan, and Nausbaum all perform about as well as could be expected: they stare terrified into the camera lenses whenever its required, and they muster the right amount of courage to demonstrate that family comes first even if one’s about to be chowed down upon. The chief problem they all suffer from involves writer/director Scott Walker’s tenuous grasp on characterization: each of them is smart until the script needs them to be dumb – as in the case of going into the film’s seminal water tank or the dark of night with nothing to protect oneself and/or forgetting that your day job in the story’s set-up required they have some knowledge of dealing with predators (they operate an exotic pet store). Horror films are notorious for exploiting players to the point of near-ridiculousness, and The Tank hits that sweet spot time and time again … up to the point of leaving the car windows down when you’re trying to make your great escape.
To compound their ‘film stupidity’ even further, The Tank offers a late-breaking development that – quite literally – practically breaks the fourth wall of celluloid ludicrousness: apparently, mom and dad thought it was safe to take up short term residence in this cottage with their daughter and the family dog while leaving one room completely locked up and unsearched for the duration of their stay. (!!!) Have they never seen a Horror film? Did they really think that was a safe and sound decision? Do they not know that doing this practically guarantees that a creature, axe murderer, or serial cannibal will have taken up residence within those four walls and is just waiting for his, her, its opportunity to make a meal out of them?
Unfortunately, Walker’s script doesn’t stop there. To his credit, his script shows that Ben’s dead mother – the one we’ve been told everyone thought was off-her-rocker – also suffered from a lack of gray matter. In the distant past – when she found herself trapped in the exact same predicament her son and his family do now – she specifically tore out and left the pages of her personal journal in that very room so that so – once it was really too late for anyone to do anything with her seemingly prophetic written warning – at least they’d find those missing sheets and know that maybe – just maybe – mom had it together in the Brain Department after all. Well, if she did, then why leave them inside a locked room? Why not, say, tape them to the damn front door with nothing other than the words “Stay Out”?
On the plus side, I did enjoy the monsters.
Mind you, they didn’t make much sense, as these eyeless creatures are somehow frightened by bright lights at one point (???); but crawling around the way they do on all fours they give the hint of being some bizarre alligator-style mutation. Practically creature effects – as opposed to pixelated CGI creations – are just so much scarier because they can share the screen with authentic human beings, which only serves to ramp up the fright and tension. While they look great on film and do fit the bill of something fresh and different for viewers who like that sort of thing, we still saw too much of them a little too late in this overlong escapade to make them truly memorable.
The Tank (2023) was produced by Ajax Pictures, General Film Corporation, Happy Dog Entertainment, and Ingenious Media. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated via the good people at Well Go USA Entertainment. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I thought the overwhelming majority of the sights and sounds for this particular creature feature were exceptional from start-to-finish. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? According to the product packaging, the disc boasts two shorts – “A Look Into The Tank” and “Making The Creature” – along with the film’s theatrical trailer.
Mildly recommended.
Pacing and script issues aside, The Tank (2023) still remains a bit too long for its own good. The longer an audience has to wait to both see the seminal monster and be welcomed fully into all of its mythology, then the bigger the payoff their patience should be rewarded … and that’s just not the case here. In fact, there’s even a post-credit scene (for those who stick around and catch it) which promises to move all of the action forward into the mid-1990’s … which only begs the question as to whether or not storytellers plan on yet another outing (Part 3) to (finally) bring this all-new species of hungry hungry hippos into modern day. Maybe – just maybe – the creative folks have bitten off more than they could chew!
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Well Go USA Entertainment provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Tank by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
Unfortunately, Walker’s script doesn’t stop there. To his credit, his script shows that Ben’s dead mother – the one we’ve been told everyone thought was off-her-rocker – also suffered from a lack of gray matter. In the distant past – when she found herself trapped in the exact same predicament her son and his family do now – she specifically tore out and left the pages of her personal journal in that very room so that so – once it was really too late for anyone to do anything with her seemingly prophetic written warning – at least they’d find those missing sheets and know that maybe – just maybe – mom had it together in the Brain Department after all. Well, if she did, then why leave them inside a locked room? Why not, say, tape them to the damn front door with nothing other than the words “Stay Out”?
On the plus side, I did enjoy the monsters.
Mind you, they didn’t make much sense, as these eyeless creatures are somehow frightened by bright lights at one point (???); but crawling around the way they do on all fours they give the hint of being some bizarre alligator-style mutation. Practically creature effects – as opposed to pixelated CGI creations – are just so much scarier because they can share the screen with authentic human beings, which only serves to ramp up the fright and tension. While they look great on film and do fit the bill of something fresh and different for viewers who like that sort of thing, we still saw too much of them a little too late in this overlong escapade to make them truly memorable.
The Tank (2023) was produced by Ajax Pictures, General Film Corporation, Happy Dog Entertainment, and Ingenious Media. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated via the good people at Well Go USA Entertainment. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I thought the overwhelming majority of the sights and sounds for this particular creature feature were exceptional from start-to-finish. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? According to the product packaging, the disc boasts two shorts – “A Look Into The Tank” and “Making The Creature” – along with the film’s theatrical trailer.
Mildly recommended.
Pacing and script issues aside, The Tank (2023) still remains a bit too long for its own good. The longer an audience has to wait to both see the seminal monster and be welcomed fully into all of its mythology, then the bigger the payoff their patience should be rewarded … and that’s just not the case here. In fact, there’s even a post-credit scene (for those who stick around and catch it) which promises to move all of the action forward into the mid-1990’s … which only begs the question as to whether or not storytellers plan on yet another outing (Part 3) to (finally) bring this all-new species of hungry hungry hippos into modern day. Maybe – just maybe – the creative folks have bitten off more than they could chew!
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Well Go USA Entertainment provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Tank by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
- Published on
I think it’s safe to conclude that audiences have always appreciated a good whodunnit.
Exactly how and where they evolved, however, remains a bit of a mystery. (Imagine that?) Anyone who’s done a bit of reading on their evolution will easily point to the stories of Edgar Allen Poe and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – “The Murders In The Rue Morgue” and any one of the Sherlock Holmes tales, respectively – as the likely literary foundation for the craze. A quick search of Google.com suggests that the first theatrically popular incarnation gets credited to 1945’s And Then There Were None – a big screen adaptation of the Agatha Christie work – but I know for a fact that there were smaller features that likely led into that big success, including such film series as Charlie Chan, Mr. Moto, and even Boris Karloff headlining as the detective sleuth, Mr. Wong.
Recently, the good people at Kino Lorber released Karloff’s run in the role on home video, and I’ve been making my way through the five flicks. Today’s delight: The Mystery Of Mr. Wong, the first of two Wong pictures to hit silver screens in 1939. The film was directed by William Nigh, and screenwriter Scott Darling is credited with adapting the work of author Hugh Wiley for the screen. It stars Boris Karloff, Grant Withers, Dorothy Tree, Craig Reynolds, and Ivan Lebedeff.
(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:
“Detective Wong tries to solve the murder of antiques collector who was in possession of a famous jewel known as ‘The Eye of the Daughter of the Moon.’”
Viewers following the theatrical progression of detective James Lee Wong from the first picture – Mr. Wong, Detective (1938) – to The Mystery Of Mr. Wong were likely to have been delighted as – in the transition – the character feels vastly more authentic in the follow-up film. Whereas I think the inaugural picture suffered a bit from some clunkiness largely attributed to scenes involving some supporting players, a good deal of that usual early Hollywood banter is gone from Mystery, making this one feel and function much more closely to the way even modern audiences conceptualize the classic whodunnit structure. Instead, the emphasis here is on Wong, his police captain confidant Street (Grant Withers), and the wide, wide gallery of the usual (and unusual) suspects.
A wealthy collector of antiquities, Brandon Edwards (Morgan Wallace) would appear to have it all: fame, fortune, and a philandering wife Valerie (Dorothy Tree) who can’t quite keep her attentions off her latest boytoy Peter Harrison (Craig Reynolds) or her imported singing protégé Michael Strogonoff (Ivan Lebedeff). But that’s not all he has: Edwards has secretly recovered an incredible gemstone that’s been missing from the Orient, and there’s growing suspicion that he may or may not have been involved with its original theft. Still, when the man is mysteriously shot dead during the High Society round of charades played in his own home, celebrity guest Wong is on-the-case, and he’ll see the murderer of his former friend brought to justice if it’s within his powers of deduction.
Exactly how and where they evolved, however, remains a bit of a mystery. (Imagine that?) Anyone who’s done a bit of reading on their evolution will easily point to the stories of Edgar Allen Poe and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle – “The Murders In The Rue Morgue” and any one of the Sherlock Holmes tales, respectively – as the likely literary foundation for the craze. A quick search of Google.com suggests that the first theatrically popular incarnation gets credited to 1945’s And Then There Were None – a big screen adaptation of the Agatha Christie work – but I know for a fact that there were smaller features that likely led into that big success, including such film series as Charlie Chan, Mr. Moto, and even Boris Karloff headlining as the detective sleuth, Mr. Wong.
Recently, the good people at Kino Lorber released Karloff’s run in the role on home video, and I’ve been making my way through the five flicks. Today’s delight: The Mystery Of Mr. Wong, the first of two Wong pictures to hit silver screens in 1939. The film was directed by William Nigh, and screenwriter Scott Darling is credited with adapting the work of author Hugh Wiley for the screen. It stars Boris Karloff, Grant Withers, Dorothy Tree, Craig Reynolds, and Ivan Lebedeff.
(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:
“Detective Wong tries to solve the murder of antiques collector who was in possession of a famous jewel known as ‘The Eye of the Daughter of the Moon.’”
Viewers following the theatrical progression of detective James Lee Wong from the first picture – Mr. Wong, Detective (1938) – to The Mystery Of Mr. Wong were likely to have been delighted as – in the transition – the character feels vastly more authentic in the follow-up film. Whereas I think the inaugural picture suffered a bit from some clunkiness largely attributed to scenes involving some supporting players, a good deal of that usual early Hollywood banter is gone from Mystery, making this one feel and function much more closely to the way even modern audiences conceptualize the classic whodunnit structure. Instead, the emphasis here is on Wong, his police captain confidant Street (Grant Withers), and the wide, wide gallery of the usual (and unusual) suspects.
A wealthy collector of antiquities, Brandon Edwards (Morgan Wallace) would appear to have it all: fame, fortune, and a philandering wife Valerie (Dorothy Tree) who can’t quite keep her attentions off her latest boytoy Peter Harrison (Craig Reynolds) or her imported singing protégé Michael Strogonoff (Ivan Lebedeff). But that’s not all he has: Edwards has secretly recovered an incredible gemstone that’s been missing from the Orient, and there’s growing suspicion that he may or may not have been involved with its original theft. Still, when the man is mysteriously shot dead during the High Society round of charades played in his own home, celebrity guest Wong is on-the-case, and he’ll see the murderer of his former friend brought to justice if it’s within his powers of deduction.
As is the case in any murder mystery, Wong is surrounded by suspects, up to and including the house’s maid and the butler, and it’s all handled with the characteristic growing body count. Furthermore, the script utilizes a good share of useful narrative misdirects – could some of this have been owed to the wife’s private shenanigans, or are there agents of China working in stealth to recover the prized diamond – but only Wong knows all. Come the big finish, you can bet he’ll have all of the interested parties gathered into a single room – along with Captain Street – so that he can absolve the innocent one-by-one and then unmask the ne’er-do-well once and for all to see that justice rules the day.
Though Monogram Pictures had a healthy reputation for being a low-budget producer, I thought that the design work for Mystery was markedly improved over the first picture, as well. Some of this might have been owed to the settings – the Edwards’ mansion is the chief setting for a great deal of the picture, so it’s given a humble touch of opulence here and there – and the end results are an outing than has the aesthetic much closer to the classic whodunnits of yesteryear. Though the quality throughout the Wong series might very, I thought this installment was incredibly worthwhile, tapped off with a winning lead performance by Karloff as our refined detective.
The Mystery Of Mr. Wong (1939) was produced by Monogram Pictures. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert and keeping in mind that the sources are indeed a bit long-in-the-tooth (as they say), I thought a good deal of the picture looks and sounds very good: there’s some sequences with some obvious grain, and the video quality tends to dip then improve noticeably when there may’ve been a changing of the film reels from one to the next. This is not an uncommon occurrence, especially with older productions.
Highly recommended.
While this is only my second foray into the theatrical exploits of the Chinese sleuth, I thought The Mystery Of Mr. Wong (1939) to be a particularly charming affair, all buoyed by a fabulous set-up, some solid production design, and the establishment of the true aesthetic of the screen mystery. Karloff rather surprisingly – and very, very quickly – has assumed ownership of the role, transforming himself damn near effortlessly from being the stuff of nightmares to serving as the nightmare for lesser monsters who very well may’ve thought they could get away with doing the unthinkable. Not on Wong’s watch, I tell you. Not on Wong’s watch …
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of their Boris Karloff: Mr. Wong Collection – which included the picture The Mystery of Mr. Wong (1939) – by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
- EZ
Though Monogram Pictures had a healthy reputation for being a low-budget producer, I thought that the design work for Mystery was markedly improved over the first picture, as well. Some of this might have been owed to the settings – the Edwards’ mansion is the chief setting for a great deal of the picture, so it’s given a humble touch of opulence here and there – and the end results are an outing than has the aesthetic much closer to the classic whodunnits of yesteryear. Though the quality throughout the Wong series might very, I thought this installment was incredibly worthwhile, tapped off with a winning lead performance by Karloff as our refined detective.
The Mystery Of Mr. Wong (1939) was produced by Monogram Pictures. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert and keeping in mind that the sources are indeed a bit long-in-the-tooth (as they say), I thought a good deal of the picture looks and sounds very good: there’s some sequences with some obvious grain, and the video quality tends to dip then improve noticeably when there may’ve been a changing of the film reels from one to the next. This is not an uncommon occurrence, especially with older productions.
Highly recommended.
While this is only my second foray into the theatrical exploits of the Chinese sleuth, I thought The Mystery Of Mr. Wong (1939) to be a particularly charming affair, all buoyed by a fabulous set-up, some solid production design, and the establishment of the true aesthetic of the screen mystery. Karloff rather surprisingly – and very, very quickly – has assumed ownership of the role, transforming himself damn near effortlessly from being the stuff of nightmares to serving as the nightmare for lesser monsters who very well may’ve thought they could get away with doing the unthinkable. Not on Wong’s watch, I tell you. Not on Wong’s watch …
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of their Boris Karloff: Mr. Wong Collection – which included the picture The Mystery of Mr. Wong (1939) – by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review. Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
- EZ
- Published on
It's hard for some of us of a certain generation to talk about a film like Twilight Zone: The Movie and not think about death.
No, no, and no: this isn't because the film boasts any sad preoccupation with the subject. Rather, it's because several actors -- young and a bit older -- were killed as the result of some effects work gone horribly, horribly wrong on a live shoot. Actor Vic Morrow died trying to shield two young children (who also perished) when -- as I understand it -- a helicopter came tumbling down, leaving them tragically caught in the winding blades with no means of escape. I won't go into it in any other detail in this space -- I've often thought about doing a full write-up here on SciFiHistory.Net -- but an accident like that should serve as a constant reminder that the business of making films is not without risk. Sad but true.
But kudos to the creative folk who decided that the Rod Serling creation deserved to have a life all of its own on the silver screen. Presented in anthology style with each of four directors -- John Landis, Steven Spielberg, Joe Dante, and George Miller -- constructing their own chapters in that dimension of sight and sound wherein some fateful set of circumstances caused characters (and audiences) to ponder life, the universe, and everything. Without penning a full review at this point, either -- someting I'm likely to do at some point, as well -- I can confirm that each vignette had its own narrative strengths and minuses ... but they all gave affectionate nods back to a franchise that continues to delight audiences to this day.
Like so many of these 80's films that came to my small town in Nowhere, America, I saw this one several times on the big screen. It had all the right elements for a kid my age (in high school), so I was thrilled to take it in across multiple viewings with various friends. Though I don't recall any of my mates being as fond of it as I was (no accounting for their tastes!), I think everyone found it worked wonderfully within that framework of having viewers ultimate just what was real, what was imagined, and what was somehow magically possible if and when we give whatever force lies in wait out there a chance to break through the noise.
No, no, and no: this isn't because the film boasts any sad preoccupation with the subject. Rather, it's because several actors -- young and a bit older -- were killed as the result of some effects work gone horribly, horribly wrong on a live shoot. Actor Vic Morrow died trying to shield two young children (who also perished) when -- as I understand it -- a helicopter came tumbling down, leaving them tragically caught in the winding blades with no means of escape. I won't go into it in any other detail in this space -- I've often thought about doing a full write-up here on SciFiHistory.Net -- but an accident like that should serve as a constant reminder that the business of making films is not without risk. Sad but true.
But kudos to the creative folk who decided that the Rod Serling creation deserved to have a life all of its own on the silver screen. Presented in anthology style with each of four directors -- John Landis, Steven Spielberg, Joe Dante, and George Miller -- constructing their own chapters in that dimension of sight and sound wherein some fateful set of circumstances caused characters (and audiences) to ponder life, the universe, and everything. Without penning a full review at this point, either -- someting I'm likely to do at some point, as well -- I can confirm that each vignette had its own narrative strengths and minuses ... but they all gave affectionate nods back to a franchise that continues to delight audiences to this day.
Like so many of these 80's films that came to my small town in Nowhere, America, I saw this one several times on the big screen. It had all the right elements for a kid my age (in high school), so I was thrilled to take it in across multiple viewings with various friends. Though I don't recall any of my mates being as fond of it as I was (no accounting for their tastes!), I think everyone found it worked wonderfully within that framework of having viewers ultimate just what was real, what was imagined, and what was somehow magically possible if and when we give whatever force lies in wait out there a chance to break through the noise.
While the project garnered a bit of praise from a festival screening and some various critical organizations (who have their own respective avenues with which to call out performances, effects, and the like), Twilight Zone: The Movie's biggest praises were sung by the Academy Of Science Fiction, Fantasy, And Horror Films. At the organization's 1984 Saturn Awards ceremony, actor John Lithgow went home with the top trophy in the category of 'Best Supporting Actor' while Scatman Crothers (who appeared in a different chapter within the same film) had to settle for the honor of a nomination alone. Additionally, the film also enjoyed a nod in the category of 'Best Horror Film,' but that honor would go home that evening in the hands of producers behind The Dead Zone (1983), an adaptation of the Stephen King novel.
So ... Happy Anniversary -- or is that Happy Birthday -- to Twilight Zone: The Movie. Hopefully, somewhere out there in the vast, vast cosmos, its creator is looking down and smiling.
So ... Happy Anniversary -- or is that Happy Birthday -- to Twilight Zone: The Movie. Hopefully, somewhere out there in the vast, vast cosmos, its creator is looking down and smiling.