- Published on
Ok, ok, ok. Take it easy, folks.
This will not be a full review of any individual episode of Walt Disney's great 'Star Wars' experiment Andor. I understand that everyone is clamoring to know what the scuttlebutt is on the show. While I've watched the first three episodes and have formulated a few thoughts on them (that I'll share in just a moment) I'm not entirely certain I want to review them independently. Taken as a whole, the three installments kinda/sorta blend together into a mini-movie within the greater galaxy far, far away; and I'm just not convinced that there's much value in breaking them apart for dissection and discussion. But because I keep getting asked, I thought I'd pony up a few random thoughts on the show.
First off, I'll say that I believe Disney+ plus did the right thing in releasing these three episodes together because -- as I said -- they really flow like they're one longer story. Separately, I honestly found them a bit clunky in areas that probably could've been cleaned up with a tighter edit, but it's kinda/sorta clear they're not so much trying to draw in the same kid-centric audience that The Mandalorian and The Book Of Boba Fett have drawn. Yes, it's a more mature storyline, and there are some among us who'd say "more mature" is a polite way of saying "slower."
Second, if I had been subject to viewing these three episodes individually instead of the way they were released (as a unit), then I'm not so sure I'd even hang on with the show. Episodes One and Two are exceedingly underwhelming for a lot of reasons, most of which ties to the fact that I just don't find Diego Luna's character all that interesting on his own. Rogue One -- his big screen introduction to the Star Wars universe -- had (simply) a kick-ass ensemble, of which he was the least interesting character in my humble opinion. Staking out his own territory with this show is a curious choice, one that may or may not pay off the way the Mouse House intended.
Third, yes, yes, yes. This really isn't targeted at children any longer ... which is an odd switch because -- if I remember correctly -- wasn't I told over and over again that the reason I didn't like The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi, and The Rise Of Skywalker was because I'm old and "Star Wars is meant for kids"? It seems to me I heard that on more than a single occasion, and it may very well have even come from JJ Abrams and Kathleen Kennedy at some point. Now here we are developing a politically-charged series for adults in the same universe, so what are they gonna say when adults don't like it this time?
Fourth: taking three episodes to, authentically, develop a story is a stretch for a series but not so much for an engaging movie. Andor is going to have to dramatically tighten up the reins and show audiences a direction worth going in pretty quickly. Unlike kids, adults have a tendency to turn it off or (gasp!) change the channel if something isn't moving along all that quickly; so crafting something meant to corner the market on what any advertiser will tell you isn't a worthwhile demographic is not a great business model. More likely, Kennedy and her minions are hoping for awards with Andor, so we'll have to see if they win any.
Lastly: does Andor's backstory really have to be all that complex? Go back and look at the original Star Wars movie, and you might get the grasp of how excellent and concise character introductions can be accomplished visually and textually in short snippets, one building upon the next. In this regard, Andor feels more like a personality info-dump at times -- here's who he knew early in his career, here's what he experienced early in his career, here's his personal motivation at this point in his life ... That's an awful lot to digest, and -- think what you will -- I'm not all that convinced adults are looking for this many layers in a Star Wars property.
If you want to do Battlestar Galactica yet again, then why not just go off and do that?
Of course, I'm not saying that's the trajectory Andor is on, but I'm also not digging its desire to give me a seven-course meal when I'm just looking for fries and a burger. Episode Three -- the best so far -- damn near could've been retooled to work almost entirely on its own (sans the first two), and I might've had more fun with it. Still, it's early -- and this is not a full review -- so I'll keep my fingers crossed that it's finally going somewhere with the next chapter.
-- EZ
This will not be a full review of any individual episode of Walt Disney's great 'Star Wars' experiment Andor. I understand that everyone is clamoring to know what the scuttlebutt is on the show. While I've watched the first three episodes and have formulated a few thoughts on them (that I'll share in just a moment) I'm not entirely certain I want to review them independently. Taken as a whole, the three installments kinda/sorta blend together into a mini-movie within the greater galaxy far, far away; and I'm just not convinced that there's much value in breaking them apart for dissection and discussion. But because I keep getting asked, I thought I'd pony up a few random thoughts on the show.
First off, I'll say that I believe Disney+ plus did the right thing in releasing these three episodes together because -- as I said -- they really flow like they're one longer story. Separately, I honestly found them a bit clunky in areas that probably could've been cleaned up with a tighter edit, but it's kinda/sorta clear they're not so much trying to draw in the same kid-centric audience that The Mandalorian and The Book Of Boba Fett have drawn. Yes, it's a more mature storyline, and there are some among us who'd say "more mature" is a polite way of saying "slower."
Second, if I had been subject to viewing these three episodes individually instead of the way they were released (as a unit), then I'm not so sure I'd even hang on with the show. Episodes One and Two are exceedingly underwhelming for a lot of reasons, most of which ties to the fact that I just don't find Diego Luna's character all that interesting on his own. Rogue One -- his big screen introduction to the Star Wars universe -- had (simply) a kick-ass ensemble, of which he was the least interesting character in my humble opinion. Staking out his own territory with this show is a curious choice, one that may or may not pay off the way the Mouse House intended.
Third, yes, yes, yes. This really isn't targeted at children any longer ... which is an odd switch because -- if I remember correctly -- wasn't I told over and over again that the reason I didn't like The Force Awakens, The Last Jedi, and The Rise Of Skywalker was because I'm old and "Star Wars is meant for kids"? It seems to me I heard that on more than a single occasion, and it may very well have even come from JJ Abrams and Kathleen Kennedy at some point. Now here we are developing a politically-charged series for adults in the same universe, so what are they gonna say when adults don't like it this time?
Fourth: taking three episodes to, authentically, develop a story is a stretch for a series but not so much for an engaging movie. Andor is going to have to dramatically tighten up the reins and show audiences a direction worth going in pretty quickly. Unlike kids, adults have a tendency to turn it off or (gasp!) change the channel if something isn't moving along all that quickly; so crafting something meant to corner the market on what any advertiser will tell you isn't a worthwhile demographic is not a great business model. More likely, Kennedy and her minions are hoping for awards with Andor, so we'll have to see if they win any.
Lastly: does Andor's backstory really have to be all that complex? Go back and look at the original Star Wars movie, and you might get the grasp of how excellent and concise character introductions can be accomplished visually and textually in short snippets, one building upon the next. In this regard, Andor feels more like a personality info-dump at times -- here's who he knew early in his career, here's what he experienced early in his career, here's his personal motivation at this point in his life ... That's an awful lot to digest, and -- think what you will -- I'm not all that convinced adults are looking for this many layers in a Star Wars property.
If you want to do Battlestar Galactica yet again, then why not just go off and do that?
Of course, I'm not saying that's the trajectory Andor is on, but I'm also not digging its desire to give me a seven-course meal when I'm just looking for fries and a burger. Episode Three -- the best so far -- damn near could've been retooled to work almost entirely on its own (sans the first two), and I might've had more fun with it. Still, it's early -- and this is not a full review -- so I'll keep my fingers crossed that it's finally going somewhere with the next chapter.
-- EZ
- Published on
Well, well, well …
Just about the time that audiences were finally getting used to seeing the faces of Milly Alcock and Emily Carey as Princess Rhaenyra Targaryn and Queen Alicent Hightower respectively, HBO’s House Of The Dragon showrunners have decided to leap ever further ahead in time, a move they felt (creatively) necessitated recasting both roles with two more age-appropriate actresses.
What a tangled web they’ve woven!
In one way, it’s almost as if the creative movers and shakers behind-the-scenes of the Dragon drama are less interested in having their prequel series make any sense. Instead, they’ve flung audiences about hither and thither in their somewhat reckless quest to find a story to tell in Westeros; and it’s thus far been a journey without so much as a villain – which, honestly, every good program needs at some point – or any relatable character arcs. Yes, they’ve given us some interesting creations – some with more flexible morality than we’ve seen this side of a David Mamet production – but I can’t help but underscore that this is a show still seeking a central unifying story … and none seems to be appearing on the CGI-enhanced horizons.
In fact, “The Princess And The Queen” pretty much continued their delight in mashing together a series of loosely-related scenes into a single hour of TV broadcast, one that opened with a birth quite possibly as difficult to experience as has been this incarnation of the Game Of Thrones’ franchise. Before you know it, we learn that ten years and multiple births have passed; the heir to the throne is still her usual contemptible self; the queen has grown into a bit of a shrew; and somehow – defying all of the Biblical odds – King Viserys Targaryen is still alive! He’s missing an arm. Still got that nasty cough. He’s lost the respect of his brother, the love of his wife, the adulation of his daughter, and much of his hair. Think what you will about the stewards of Westeros, but it only took Ned Stark losing his head to know where he wasn’t wanted.
Along with the introduction of some new faces, the challenges of ruling from the Iron Throne continue to be much of what we’ve seen in the first five episodes: minor fiefdoms continue to plague the Seven Kingdoms with their lesser alliances, and somehow Viserys has managed to do absolutely nothing about them. If there’s been a king who’s appeared less qualified in any program, then I’ve yet to encounter him. It’s almost as if he’d rather do nothing, have sex with a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, and cough a lot. That amounts to the sum total of his leadership philosophy as ascribed by George RR Martin.
Just about the time that audiences were finally getting used to seeing the faces of Milly Alcock and Emily Carey as Princess Rhaenyra Targaryn and Queen Alicent Hightower respectively, HBO’s House Of The Dragon showrunners have decided to leap ever further ahead in time, a move they felt (creatively) necessitated recasting both roles with two more age-appropriate actresses.
What a tangled web they’ve woven!
In one way, it’s almost as if the creative movers and shakers behind-the-scenes of the Dragon drama are less interested in having their prequel series make any sense. Instead, they’ve flung audiences about hither and thither in their somewhat reckless quest to find a story to tell in Westeros; and it’s thus far been a journey without so much as a villain – which, honestly, every good program needs at some point – or any relatable character arcs. Yes, they’ve given us some interesting creations – some with more flexible morality than we’ve seen this side of a David Mamet production – but I can’t help but underscore that this is a show still seeking a central unifying story … and none seems to be appearing on the CGI-enhanced horizons.
In fact, “The Princess And The Queen” pretty much continued their delight in mashing together a series of loosely-related scenes into a single hour of TV broadcast, one that opened with a birth quite possibly as difficult to experience as has been this incarnation of the Game Of Thrones’ franchise. Before you know it, we learn that ten years and multiple births have passed; the heir to the throne is still her usual contemptible self; the queen has grown into a bit of a shrew; and somehow – defying all of the Biblical odds – King Viserys Targaryen is still alive! He’s missing an arm. Still got that nasty cough. He’s lost the respect of his brother, the love of his wife, the adulation of his daughter, and much of his hair. Think what you will about the stewards of Westeros, but it only took Ned Stark losing his head to know where he wasn’t wanted.
Along with the introduction of some new faces, the challenges of ruling from the Iron Throne continue to be much of what we’ve seen in the first five episodes: minor fiefdoms continue to plague the Seven Kingdoms with their lesser alliances, and somehow Viserys has managed to do absolutely nothing about them. If there’s been a king who’s appeared less qualified in any program, then I’ve yet to encounter him. It’s almost as if he’d rather do nothing, have sex with a woman young enough to be his granddaughter, and cough a lot. That amounts to the sum total of his leadership philosophy as ascribed by George RR Martin.
On another front, Daemon Targaryen has found marital bliss – or, at least, six and children – in his time away from the big city. Apparently, he’s taken to touring the hinterlands like an aging rockstar in search of material for his next album, one that’ll likely never get made. In lieu of legitimately setting down stakes and raising a family, he’s using his fame, fortune, and reputation to sponge off the little people; and his wife has begun growing weary of his celebrity trappings. Because births, kings, and weddings never quite go as planned in the universe, the Lady Laena Velaryon’s impending labor goes horribly, horribly wrong … and we’ve met and left another character well before we got to know them.
Still, she cooked up quite well under dragon’s fire.
While I don’t want to get my hopes up with House Of The Dragon – a domicile one would think would have its affairs well in order by over midway through its inaugural season – there was the suggestion of yet one more clandestine and nefarious force at work within the Seven Kingdoms: one Larys Strong has positioned himself as a private confidant to Queen Hightower, one who is apparently willing to sacrifice his own family if it gets him a chance at bat. It’s all handled a bit clumsily – honestly, I wasn’t even sure what was happening when it went down, but it appears Larys strongly “believes” the series of unfortunate events he set in motion were Lady Alicent’s deepest desires … and I’m hoping we’ll get some resolution on that front in the next episode.
For clarity’s sake, I don’t wish to imply that I’m not enjoyed some elements of Dragon.
Like anything in the HBO pantheon of programming, it’s well-produced, well-acted, and – maybe even in some ways – well intentioned. My issues with it are the delivery: it’s seemingly going nowhere, almost like an ouroboros – that snake rather famously feasting on its own tail. These scripts are mired in attempts to reinforce over and over again the high treachery surrounding this family, even well after we’ve come to understand that’s all there is. While some characters have had a few nice moments and their underlying motivations are quite clear, it’s almost as if the screenwriters feel the need to emphasis them over and over again, killing the pace of even what good scenes there are. About the time the viewers suspect the journey is nothing more than circular, they throw in “an all-new enemy” to keep them distracted with the hope they’ll simply keep tuning in.
Eventually, that magic will wear out, folks.
As “The Princess And The Queen” shows us in its most touching moment, even dragons get old.
-- EZ
Still, she cooked up quite well under dragon’s fire.
While I don’t want to get my hopes up with House Of The Dragon – a domicile one would think would have its affairs well in order by over midway through its inaugural season – there was the suggestion of yet one more clandestine and nefarious force at work within the Seven Kingdoms: one Larys Strong has positioned himself as a private confidant to Queen Hightower, one who is apparently willing to sacrifice his own family if it gets him a chance at bat. It’s all handled a bit clumsily – honestly, I wasn’t even sure what was happening when it went down, but it appears Larys strongly “believes” the series of unfortunate events he set in motion were Lady Alicent’s deepest desires … and I’m hoping we’ll get some resolution on that front in the next episode.
For clarity’s sake, I don’t wish to imply that I’m not enjoyed some elements of Dragon.
Like anything in the HBO pantheon of programming, it’s well-produced, well-acted, and – maybe even in some ways – well intentioned. My issues with it are the delivery: it’s seemingly going nowhere, almost like an ouroboros – that snake rather famously feasting on its own tail. These scripts are mired in attempts to reinforce over and over again the high treachery surrounding this family, even well after we’ve come to understand that’s all there is. While some characters have had a few nice moments and their underlying motivations are quite clear, it’s almost as if the screenwriters feel the need to emphasis them over and over again, killing the pace of even what good scenes there are. About the time the viewers suspect the journey is nothing more than circular, they throw in “an all-new enemy” to keep them distracted with the hope they’ll simply keep tuning in.
Eventually, that magic will wear out, folks.
As “The Princess And The Queen” shows us in its most touching moment, even dragons get old.
-- EZ
- Published on
I hate to say it, but I suspect many of us are thinking it: “Won’t you just die already?”
I know, I know, I know. Those sentiments may be harsh, and yet writing and performances have been suggesting that King Viserys Targaryen (played by Paddy Considine) isn’t long for this world. Since the show’s launch, he’s grown grayer and grayer, sicker and sicker, and less and less plausible as a believable patriarch to the Seven Kingdoms with each passing hour. At this juncture, isn’t it just masochism on the part of these storytellers to keep him around? Or is it sadism? I sometimes confuse the two. I hope that never happens at the wrong moment.
In any event …
King Viserys spent a wealth of time coughing, puking, and spitting blood – looking regal all the time – throughout much of the darkly-tinged “We Light The Way,” the fifth installment to the underwhelming first season of House Of The Dragon. And, yes, I say “underwhelming” mostly because that’s how I’ve found it … a bit of a mess as the narrative keeps jerking forward a year (if not more) at a time with each passing episode. Speaking of mess, is it just me or has the CGI grown increasingly less convincing as well?
Occasionally, it’s hard not to nitpick a scene here and there, especially where special effects are included. Seemingly, HBO spared no expense when it came to elevating the general look of Game Of Thrones – this show’s inspiration and predecessor – but House is looking less and less like a narrative prequel and more and more like a novice’s knock-off. Perhaps for me it’s just that these events seem to be only meandering from point to point with no clear progression, or perhaps it’s owed to the fact that the conflict seems tied only to one family – one kingdom – but it’s all a bit too nebulous at this point.
Now – and again, folks, you know that it isn’t in my nature to hate any program – I think it’s fair to suggest that a lot of this can be chalked up to ‘first season’ jitters. House offers a vastly smaller cast than did Thrones. The advantage here is that we, as an audience, have been able to spend a bit more time getting to know each of them; but it’s those returns I’m finding a bit questionable. Matt Smith – an actor I thought superb in Doctor Who – feels a bit out of sync here – is he a villain or is he just misunderstood – and I’m hoping he evolves into suffering something greater than ‘throne envy,’ though I’m holding out little hope.
I know, I know, I know. Those sentiments may be harsh, and yet writing and performances have been suggesting that King Viserys Targaryen (played by Paddy Considine) isn’t long for this world. Since the show’s launch, he’s grown grayer and grayer, sicker and sicker, and less and less plausible as a believable patriarch to the Seven Kingdoms with each passing hour. At this juncture, isn’t it just masochism on the part of these storytellers to keep him around? Or is it sadism? I sometimes confuse the two. I hope that never happens at the wrong moment.
In any event …
King Viserys spent a wealth of time coughing, puking, and spitting blood – looking regal all the time – throughout much of the darkly-tinged “We Light The Way,” the fifth installment to the underwhelming first season of House Of The Dragon. And, yes, I say “underwhelming” mostly because that’s how I’ve found it … a bit of a mess as the narrative keeps jerking forward a year (if not more) at a time with each passing episode. Speaking of mess, is it just me or has the CGI grown increasingly less convincing as well?
Occasionally, it’s hard not to nitpick a scene here and there, especially where special effects are included. Seemingly, HBO spared no expense when it came to elevating the general look of Game Of Thrones – this show’s inspiration and predecessor – but House is looking less and less like a narrative prequel and more and more like a novice’s knock-off. Perhaps for me it’s just that these events seem to be only meandering from point to point with no clear progression, or perhaps it’s owed to the fact that the conflict seems tied only to one family – one kingdom – but it’s all a bit too nebulous at this point.
Now – and again, folks, you know that it isn’t in my nature to hate any program – I think it’s fair to suggest that a lot of this can be chalked up to ‘first season’ jitters. House offers a vastly smaller cast than did Thrones. The advantage here is that we, as an audience, have been able to spend a bit more time getting to know each of them; but it’s those returns I’m finding a bit questionable. Matt Smith – an actor I thought superb in Doctor Who – feels a bit out of sync here – is he a villain or is he just misunderstood – and I’m hoping he evolves into suffering something greater than ‘throne envy,’ though I’m holding out little hope.
Also, relative newcomer Milly Alcock seems like a robotic shrew stuck on duplicitous mode. (Tip: I’m not faulting the actress here, as she can only use what she’s given. Rather, this is a reflection on the writing.) Yes, yes, and yes. I get that she has designs on the principal seat of power, and I’m reasonably certain I understand why. But her interactions with those around her prove that – like her uncle – she’s only been fleshed out as a scheming woman, and I guess I’m hoping there’s a bit more depth coming soon.
On the plus side, I have enjoyed most of what I’ve seen from young Emily Carey. She’s been an inspiration, and her arc as a character has been both relatable and well-plotted out for any in the audience to follow. She’s tried to be the dutiful daughter. She’s tried to be the good queen. Life and circumstances have conspired against her, so it’s perfectly plausible to see precisely how she’s arrived at this point in her journey. Her anger has grown more and more palpable, and the actress has done great work in conveying this creation’s angst and growing desire to move against those she’s long supported.
Still …
“We Light The Way,” however, ended up playing out more like a reminder of the lessons we learned already from Thrones, namely that weddings and unions never quite go off the way they should in this universe. Whereas they’re meant to be a union of souls destined to find peace and happiness, this universe as conceived by George RR Martin they’re the absolute antithesis of that. They’re filled with violence, hints of violence, or the promise of violence. Sometimes, there’s madness! Sometimes, there’ rape. In this world, marriage is coupled with as much bloodshed as they are social ritual (always an interesting visual combination), and someone’s definitely going to lose an eye over all of this.
(Someone did … and then some!)
So I guess the whole ‘more of the same’ could aptly be applied to House at this point.
I guess my hope with House Of The Dragon was that it would be both a journey through some familiar trails as well as the promise of something more. Thrones always managed to look up from time-to-time, even when the scripts kept promising that ‘Winter was coming.’ At this point, it looks like HBO and these storytellers are really only fascinated with the darkness of human nature, as I see no players in the wings waiting to show up and give audiences hope for a better existence. Jon Snow did that – even in the darkest times – but House offers slim pickings at best in that regard.
-- EZ
On the plus side, I have enjoyed most of what I’ve seen from young Emily Carey. She’s been an inspiration, and her arc as a character has been both relatable and well-plotted out for any in the audience to follow. She’s tried to be the dutiful daughter. She’s tried to be the good queen. Life and circumstances have conspired against her, so it’s perfectly plausible to see precisely how she’s arrived at this point in her journey. Her anger has grown more and more palpable, and the actress has done great work in conveying this creation’s angst and growing desire to move against those she’s long supported.
Still …
“We Light The Way,” however, ended up playing out more like a reminder of the lessons we learned already from Thrones, namely that weddings and unions never quite go off the way they should in this universe. Whereas they’re meant to be a union of souls destined to find peace and happiness, this universe as conceived by George RR Martin they’re the absolute antithesis of that. They’re filled with violence, hints of violence, or the promise of violence. Sometimes, there’s madness! Sometimes, there’ rape. In this world, marriage is coupled with as much bloodshed as they are social ritual (always an interesting visual combination), and someone’s definitely going to lose an eye over all of this.
(Someone did … and then some!)
So I guess the whole ‘more of the same’ could aptly be applied to House at this point.
I guess my hope with House Of The Dragon was that it would be both a journey through some familiar trails as well as the promise of something more. Thrones always managed to look up from time-to-time, even when the scripts kept promising that ‘Winter was coming.’ At this point, it looks like HBO and these storytellers are really only fascinated with the darkness of human nature, as I see no players in the wings waiting to show up and give audiences hope for a better existence. Jon Snow did that – even in the darkest times – but House offers slim pickings at best in that regard.
-- EZ
- Published on
In most cases, dramas bore me.
I know, I know: that’s a pretty controversial statement for one who both dabbles in penning his own stories as well as makes it his day job to talk about both filmed and written stories. Perhaps it’s more accurate for me to say that I find ‘too much of the same thing’ to be a bit tedious; and that’s why I’m always striving – both as a critic and as an author – to spin something in a different light. There’s an inherent freshness to looking at the conventional unconventionally, and others far more insightful than I learned that lesson long ago.
In fact, I’ve long argued that’s why I do love foreign films so much.
Having grown up in the United States, I learned fairly early that so very much of what gets produced here runs through the mill that is the American studio system. Rather than foster creative potential and encourage it to find greater expression, studios tend to tamp it down, to force even square pegs into round holes, and – as a consequence – some truly original premises end up being smashed into something that resembles something else entirely. This is why Die Hard (1988) begat ‘Die Hard On A Bus’ (aka 1994’s Speed) or ‘Die Hard On A Plane’ (aka 1997’s Air Force One).
It isn’t so much that we copy so much as it is that the movers and the shakers only think it terms of what both worked before and made buckets of money.
But foreign films – at least, the ones I’ve spent time exploring to some degree – have more often than not been a breath of fresh air. I don’t doubt that they might suffer from their own worst derivative impulses, but my experiences with them have shown that these storytellers tend to have a greater track record of seeking out something a bit different, a bit more unique. It could be a subject matter or it could be just a whole different milieu than that to which I’m accustomed.
It's why I’m always thrilled to introduce a picture like Tomu Uchida’s A Fugitive From The Past to readers. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to so much of what I’ve seen, crafted against the backdrop of history I’m completely unaware of. I may leave it a bit uncertain as to its killer’s true motivation, but I’ll likely spend a lifetime pondering if I would’ve done the same if such circumstances befell me.
I know, I know: that’s a pretty controversial statement for one who both dabbles in penning his own stories as well as makes it his day job to talk about both filmed and written stories. Perhaps it’s more accurate for me to say that I find ‘too much of the same thing’ to be a bit tedious; and that’s why I’m always striving – both as a critic and as an author – to spin something in a different light. There’s an inherent freshness to looking at the conventional unconventionally, and others far more insightful than I learned that lesson long ago.
In fact, I’ve long argued that’s why I do love foreign films so much.
Having grown up in the United States, I learned fairly early that so very much of what gets produced here runs through the mill that is the American studio system. Rather than foster creative potential and encourage it to find greater expression, studios tend to tamp it down, to force even square pegs into round holes, and – as a consequence – some truly original premises end up being smashed into something that resembles something else entirely. This is why Die Hard (1988) begat ‘Die Hard On A Bus’ (aka 1994’s Speed) or ‘Die Hard On A Plane’ (aka 1997’s Air Force One).
It isn’t so much that we copy so much as it is that the movers and the shakers only think it terms of what both worked before and made buckets of money.
But foreign films – at least, the ones I’ve spent time exploring to some degree – have more often than not been a breath of fresh air. I don’t doubt that they might suffer from their own worst derivative impulses, but my experiences with them have shown that these storytellers tend to have a greater track record of seeking out something a bit different, a bit more unique. It could be a subject matter or it could be just a whole different milieu than that to which I’m accustomed.
It's why I’m always thrilled to introduce a picture like Tomu Uchida’s A Fugitive From The Past to readers. It’s both familiar and unfamiliar to so much of what I’ve seen, crafted against the backdrop of history I’m completely unaware of. I may leave it a bit uncertain as to its killer’s true motivation, but I’ll likely spend a lifetime pondering if I would’ve done the same if such circumstances befell 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 my final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the product packaging:
“In 1947, a freak typhoon sends a passenger ferry running between Hokkaido and mainland Japan plunging to the ocean depths, with hundreds of lives lost. During the chaos, three men are witnessed fleeing a burning pawnshop in the Hokkaido port town of Iwanai. The police suspect theft and arson, and when Detective Yumisaka discovers the burned remains of a boat and the corpses of two men, he sets about tracking down the shadowy third figure …”
There’s a bit more, but if even that sounds a bit long let me assure you: A Fugitive From The Past is a three-hour crime epic that deserves your attention.
I know that many folks don’t like long films. I also know that many aren’t fond of subtitled pictures. While there are several exceptions I could point out that certainly show that both longer, subtitled flicks have been embraced, I’ll forego most of my arguments suggesting that this one may fall nicely into such good graces and leave it simply this way: if you like good characters in smartly constructed dramas, then this one is for you.
Naturally, this isn’t to say that Fugitive doesn’t feel a bit bloated in a few places. Director Tomu Uchida pads a few sequences in here with takes that are probably longer than necessary. In some cases, I think I got to the crux of what he was trying to accomplish in doing so; in a few others, I think the point was made and, yes, he could’ve moved on and along. So much of his tale is about how these intersecting characters deal with developments, and – think what you may – occasionally such characterization cannot be organically substantiated quickly. It’s both a procedural and a finely-tuned character study – fairly evenly divided between those two halves – and it necessarily stretches longer than most films.
Still, the structure of the film’s central mystery alone is greatest trick.
From the product packaging:
“In 1947, a freak typhoon sends a passenger ferry running between Hokkaido and mainland Japan plunging to the ocean depths, with hundreds of lives lost. During the chaos, three men are witnessed fleeing a burning pawnshop in the Hokkaido port town of Iwanai. The police suspect theft and arson, and when Detective Yumisaka discovers the burned remains of a boat and the corpses of two men, he sets about tracking down the shadowy third figure …”
There’s a bit more, but if even that sounds a bit long let me assure you: A Fugitive From The Past is a three-hour crime epic that deserves your attention.
I know that many folks don’t like long films. I also know that many aren’t fond of subtitled pictures. While there are several exceptions I could point out that certainly show that both longer, subtitled flicks have been embraced, I’ll forego most of my arguments suggesting that this one may fall nicely into such good graces and leave it simply this way: if you like good characters in smartly constructed dramas, then this one is for you.
Naturally, this isn’t to say that Fugitive doesn’t feel a bit bloated in a few places. Director Tomu Uchida pads a few sequences in here with takes that are probably longer than necessary. In some cases, I think I got to the crux of what he was trying to accomplish in doing so; in a few others, I think the point was made and, yes, he could’ve moved on and along. So much of his tale is about how these intersecting characters deal with developments, and – think what you may – occasionally such characterization cannot be organically substantiated quickly. It’s both a procedural and a finely-tuned character study – fairly evenly divided between those two halves – and it necessarily stretches longer than most films.
Still, the structure of the film’s central mystery alone is greatest trick.
Without spoiling all of it, Fugitive clings to both the conventional and unconventional in what ends up feeling to be a tug of war. Crimes are committed – several of them – and, in a few cases, we’re shown competing accounts of them. Granted, acts of violence can be linked to multiple causes; but Uchida’s visual trickery here ties back directly to a character’s point-of-view, so it’s meant to be more artistic than (perhaps) authentic. Come the film’s conclusion, we may or may not have a clear picture of the feature’s central murders … but – in one respect – that’s okay. We’re left to put those pieces together any way we choose as what matters at this point is the perpetrator’s insurmountable guilt; the motivating factor is pointless.
Like life, Fugitive shifts its main point-of-focus several times, so much so that it’s easy to question just who the story is and isn’t about. The truth there is that it’s more about the depicted history: events are seen differently by the various characters, and the true drama here is both how they react to it as well as how they choose to live their respective lives as a consequence of being changed by it. Each of us is never ‘one thing’ for life. We bob and change through the waves thrown at us. Uchida’s film does the same, proving that we’re equal parts effectors and effected by these movements … and a truer idea never existed.
That’s the thing about life: it’s never truly predictable … other than the whole we’re born, we die, and – in between – we pay taxes. Like the ocean (that’s seen throughout so much of the picture and rarely is it truly serene), there are high tides and there are low ones. There are turbulent waves and there are calm seas. We never can quite tell what we’d do until we find ourselves in the thick of it to truly know who we are, just how far we’ll go to both keep a secret and maintain our status quo, and in many ways that’s really all there is at the heart of Fugitive – folks who make fateful, life-altering decisions ‘in the moment’ and then have to figure out how to live with the aftermath. We’re always riding those waves … and some of us are better swimmers, sailors and – ahem – sinkers than others.
In this respect, Fugitive makes the most of three grand performances. Rentarô Mikuni shines as the man hellbent on starting over but yet can’t quite shake the curse of his secret past, no matter how hard he tries. Junzaburo Ban mystifies as the stalwart small-town police detective who can’t let the past go – the case that got away – so much so that it nearly destroys not only him but also his faithful, loving family. And Sachiko Hidari excels as the simple-minded prostitute so overcome with gratitude to the man who changed her life that it very well may inevitably cost her her own. Good drama makes the most of the collision of their varied trajectories, and Uchida’s film deliciously delivers the goods in heartbreaking fashion.
Like life, Fugitive shifts its main point-of-focus several times, so much so that it’s easy to question just who the story is and isn’t about. The truth there is that it’s more about the depicted history: events are seen differently by the various characters, and the true drama here is both how they react to it as well as how they choose to live their respective lives as a consequence of being changed by it. Each of us is never ‘one thing’ for life. We bob and change through the waves thrown at us. Uchida’s film does the same, proving that we’re equal parts effectors and effected by these movements … and a truer idea never existed.
That’s the thing about life: it’s never truly predictable … other than the whole we’re born, we die, and – in between – we pay taxes. Like the ocean (that’s seen throughout so much of the picture and rarely is it truly serene), there are high tides and there are low ones. There are turbulent waves and there are calm seas. We never can quite tell what we’d do until we find ourselves in the thick of it to truly know who we are, just how far we’ll go to both keep a secret and maintain our status quo, and in many ways that’s really all there is at the heart of Fugitive – folks who make fateful, life-altering decisions ‘in the moment’ and then have to figure out how to live with the aftermath. We’re always riding those waves … and some of us are better swimmers, sailors and – ahem – sinkers than others.
In this respect, Fugitive makes the most of three grand performances. Rentarô Mikuni shines as the man hellbent on starting over but yet can’t quite shake the curse of his secret past, no matter how hard he tries. Junzaburo Ban mystifies as the stalwart small-town police detective who can’t let the past go – the case that got away – so much so that it nearly destroys not only him but also his faithful, loving family. And Sachiko Hidari excels as the simple-minded prostitute so overcome with gratitude to the man who changed her life that it very well may inevitably cost her her own. Good drama makes the most of the collision of their varied trajectories, and Uchida’s film deliciously delivers the goods in heartbreaking fashion.
Lastly, I’d be a fool if I failed to relay the following: from what I’ve read and learned from the supplemental materials on the disc, this Fugitive has never (ever) been released for home video purchase outside of its native Japan – an incredible, incredible oversight that Arrow Video has now corrected. It’s a flick that’s been dubbed by experts as, arguably, considered one of the country’s top ten – many put it inside the top five – and that alone makes it worth a viewing. Feel free to disagree – regular readers here know that I’m not always in agreement with the film intelligentsia – but methinks this one – though a bit long – is worth a single viewing. It’s a compelling drama populated with great characters, and it deserves to be discovered and studied.
A Fugitive From The Past (1965) was produced by Toei Company and Toei Tokyo. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated via the very reliable Arrow Video. As for the technical specifications? Though I’m no trained video expert, I thought the sights and sounds here were exceedingly well done: there are some sequences involving camera trickery that are meant to be part of the overall ‘experience,’ so don’t be alarmed. As for the special features? The disc comes with a wealth of interesting ‘professorial’ discussions that are billed as ‘scene specific commentaries,’ which is a bit inaccurate as each of these academics (for the most part) really discuss various theories involving the film as a whole (with an exception here and there). There is also an introduction to the film by writer and curator Jasper Sharp that delves a bit more (than necessary, I felt) into director Uchida’s library of pictures. Lastly, the disc boasts many of the usual extra – images, trailer, etc. – along with a collector’s booklet with associated essay. A very nice collection … as all of us should come to expect with the name of Arrow attached to this.
Highly Recommended.
Make no mistake: A Fugitive From The Past is a mystery, but it’s one with perhaps one of the more unconventional constructions ever. There’s no doubt who the guilty party is, but – come the ending – you’re left with one than a single ‘interpretation’ of just how some of the crimes were committed, leaving you to, perhaps, make up your own mind about just what went down when it did. Otherwise, the viewer is left with a pretty interesting police procedural surrounding the intersection of these relatable characters with each twist and turn proving (yet again) that no good deed goes unpunished.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Video provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of A Fugitive From The Past (1965) by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review; and their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
A Fugitive From The Past (1965) was produced by Toei Company and Toei Tokyo. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated via the very reliable Arrow Video. As for the technical specifications? Though I’m no trained video expert, I thought the sights and sounds here were exceedingly well done: there are some sequences involving camera trickery that are meant to be part of the overall ‘experience,’ so don’t be alarmed. As for the special features? The disc comes with a wealth of interesting ‘professorial’ discussions that are billed as ‘scene specific commentaries,’ which is a bit inaccurate as each of these academics (for the most part) really discuss various theories involving the film as a whole (with an exception here and there). There is also an introduction to the film by writer and curator Jasper Sharp that delves a bit more (than necessary, I felt) into director Uchida’s library of pictures. Lastly, the disc boasts many of the usual extra – images, trailer, etc. – along with a collector’s booklet with associated essay. A very nice collection … as all of us should come to expect with the name of Arrow attached to this.
Highly Recommended.
Make no mistake: A Fugitive From The Past is a mystery, but it’s one with perhaps one of the more unconventional constructions ever. There’s no doubt who the guilty party is, but – come the ending – you’re left with one than a single ‘interpretation’ of just how some of the crimes were committed, leaving you to, perhaps, make up your own mind about just what went down when it did. Otherwise, the viewer is left with a pretty interesting police procedural surrounding the intersection of these relatable characters with each twist and turn proving (yet again) that no good deed goes unpunished.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Video provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of A Fugitive From The Past (1965) by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review; and their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
Yes, yes, and yes: I did see that Louise Fletcher's passing made the news over the weekend, folks, and thanks to everyone who dropped me a quick note to make sure I was in-the-loop. Even a few of you regular readers remembered that I'd penned a piece about the actress' work in Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (right here), so that you for keeping me on my toes. I wanted to try to get up an 'In Memoriam' post on Sunday, but the time simply got away from me.
In short, I think it goes without saying that few reach the level of acclaim that did Ms. Fletcher in her career. To play a memorable role or two is certainly laudable, but her Nurse Ratched from 1975's One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest transcended the pictures of the day so much that it grew into its very own pop culture meme at a time when no one even knew what memes were (yet). Folks who were around in the day can certainly attest to that singular legacy, and I think she's a talent that genuinely deserves to be discovered and re-discovered in the pantheon of screen actresses.
Brief sidebar: I once was keenly misunderstood for my take on Nurse Ratched by a group of film nuts when I said that Fletcher's work in that film had an undercurrrent of sexiness. They thought I stated categorically that I thought Ratched was sexy, to which I had to explain further. Nurses are a sexual stereotype of heterosexual males (sorry, can't speak for the other persuasion), an archetype that's produced 'sexy nurse costumes' to perpetuate the fantasy even further. My point was -- much like the ladies of a certain era fell head-over-heels for Star Trek's Mr. Spock, thinking they could break through his sexless Vulcan exterior -- there were a contingent of males who concluded the same with Nurse Ratched. It didn't have anything to do with sex deliberately; it was that undercurrent of sexiness associated to nurses that I was trying to elaborate on, and I was misunderstood.
But, yes, Ratched -- in Fletcher's delicate hands -- was a phenomenon; and I think in many ways those lingering memories of such an incredible performance elevated the woman's status when she stepped into the shoes of Kai Winn on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. For those who would claim otherwise, I'd tell you to ask your older Trek enthusiasts such as myself if the association went by unnoticed, and I trust you'll earn an earful.
This immeasurably talented lady was no stranger to genre projects. One of her earliest screen roles was a guest appearance aboard One Step Beyond (1959) ... and the opportunities only grow richer from that point forward.
In 1980, she headlined Mama Dracula, a rather obvious vampire comedy about bloodsuckers needing the blood of virgins to survive: since the Sexual Revolution, you can imagine those have been in short supply.
In 1981, she joined the cast of Strange Behavior for South Street Films. The dark SciFi/Fantasy explored one scientist's efforts of turning one town's teenagers into vicious murderers.
In 1983, she enjoyed two meaty appearances in genre films, one a bit campy and one a bit cerebral: Michael Laughlin's Strange Invaders saw aliens taking over a small midwestern town while Douglas Trumbull's Brainstorm had a team of specialists tapping into the human mind's potential.
And -- for what it's worth -- the list goes on and on. While some of the roles may've been small, they were certainly awarded a level of depth by the lady's gift at characterization. In fact, go back and watch any of her appearances aboard Deep Space Nine, and you can marvel at the way she almost effortlessly conveys both meaning and any number of possible subtexts to each and every scene she's in. I've always thought it the mark of a greater player who can make you think about the motivation ... and Fletcher always made me think.
Thoughts and prayers are extended to the friends, family and fans of Louise Fletcher. May she rest in eternal peace.
-- EZ
In short, I think it goes without saying that few reach the level of acclaim that did Ms. Fletcher in her career. To play a memorable role or two is certainly laudable, but her Nurse Ratched from 1975's One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest transcended the pictures of the day so much that it grew into its very own pop culture meme at a time when no one even knew what memes were (yet). Folks who were around in the day can certainly attest to that singular legacy, and I think she's a talent that genuinely deserves to be discovered and re-discovered in the pantheon of screen actresses.
Brief sidebar: I once was keenly misunderstood for my take on Nurse Ratched by a group of film nuts when I said that Fletcher's work in that film had an undercurrrent of sexiness. They thought I stated categorically that I thought Ratched was sexy, to which I had to explain further. Nurses are a sexual stereotype of heterosexual males (sorry, can't speak for the other persuasion), an archetype that's produced 'sexy nurse costumes' to perpetuate the fantasy even further. My point was -- much like the ladies of a certain era fell head-over-heels for Star Trek's Mr. Spock, thinking they could break through his sexless Vulcan exterior -- there were a contingent of males who concluded the same with Nurse Ratched. It didn't have anything to do with sex deliberately; it was that undercurrent of sexiness associated to nurses that I was trying to elaborate on, and I was misunderstood.
But, yes, Ratched -- in Fletcher's delicate hands -- was a phenomenon; and I think in many ways those lingering memories of such an incredible performance elevated the woman's status when she stepped into the shoes of Kai Winn on Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. For those who would claim otherwise, I'd tell you to ask your older Trek enthusiasts such as myself if the association went by unnoticed, and I trust you'll earn an earful.
This immeasurably talented lady was no stranger to genre projects. One of her earliest screen roles was a guest appearance aboard One Step Beyond (1959) ... and the opportunities only grow richer from that point forward.
In 1980, she headlined Mama Dracula, a rather obvious vampire comedy about bloodsuckers needing the blood of virgins to survive: since the Sexual Revolution, you can imagine those have been in short supply.
In 1981, she joined the cast of Strange Behavior for South Street Films. The dark SciFi/Fantasy explored one scientist's efforts of turning one town's teenagers into vicious murderers.
In 1983, she enjoyed two meaty appearances in genre films, one a bit campy and one a bit cerebral: Michael Laughlin's Strange Invaders saw aliens taking over a small midwestern town while Douglas Trumbull's Brainstorm had a team of specialists tapping into the human mind's potential.
And -- for what it's worth -- the list goes on and on. While some of the roles may've been small, they were certainly awarded a level of depth by the lady's gift at characterization. In fact, go back and watch any of her appearances aboard Deep Space Nine, and you can marvel at the way she almost effortlessly conveys both meaning and any number of possible subtexts to each and every scene she's in. I've always thought it the mark of a greater player who can make you think about the motivation ... and Fletcher always made me think.
Thoughts and prayers are extended to the friends, family and fans of Louise Fletcher. May she rest in eternal peace.
-- EZ
- Published on
NBC’s Quantum Leap first premiered on March 26, 1989.
Almost immediately, audiences fell in love with not only the character of Dr. Sam Beckett (played by Scott Bakula) – the scientist who curiously found himself a man lost in time with the mission of setting things right that once went wrong – but also his slightly eccentric sidekick Admiral Al Calavicci (Dean Stockwell) – the colleague who appeared holographically in the past usually with information required to both set the plot in motion as well as clarify what Sam’s task was in order to leap to his next adventure. Imbuing what could’ve been two cerebral characters with an almost ‘Abbott and Costello’ sensibility, the program was first-and-foremost about human beings and the choices they make that propel both the good and bad trajectories of their individual and shared existences. These were people who met people for the purposes of saving people, and Leap – unlike other shows – stayed true to its formula because it worked each and every time it was tried.
The SciFi/Fantasy show was the mastermind of veteran TV producer Donald P. Bellisario, who also credits work in such franchises as Battlestar Galactica, Tales Of The Gold Monkey, Magnum PI, Airwolf, and JAG on his impressive resume. Under the man’s stewardship, Leap went on to garner an incredible six Primetime Emmy Awards wins as well as attention from such organizations as the Academy Of Science Fiction, Fantasy, And Horror Films; the American Society Of Cinematographers; the Directors Guild Of America; the Golden Globes; and the Writers Guild Of America. It was that rarity of rarities – an intelligently-written televised adventures serial that was almost universally cherished by any and all who discovered it.
In its original run, Leap came to its conclusion with the airing of “Mirror Image” on May 5, 1993, loosely bringing the saga of Sam Beckett and Al Calavicci to its close with some controversy: as fate would have it, the episode gave our faithful leaper the chance to go back and correct Al’s first romance, thereby setting in motion a series of temporal changes to the present. Depending upon one’s interpretation of these events, the Quantum Leap Project may or may not even exist in what would’ve been Sam’s present (think “audience time”), and viewers learned that the good doctor was apparently in control of his leaps all along. The episode ended with the reveal that Sam, in fact, never returned home.
Any bit of research will tell you that the ending as aired was likely not as originally intended by Bellisario and his team. There’s been a healthy bit of suggestion that the hour was retooled somewhat due to the fact that NBC was dragging its feet over giving the program what would’ve been a sixth season renewal, likely to have been its last. Recent reportage online even goes so far as to clarify that the original premise for a sixth season would’ve seen a happily married Al Calavicci stepped into the Imaging Chamber to pursue Sam finally physically into the past with the mission of finally bringing him back home … but, alas, it wasn’t meant to be. “Mirror Image” was changed to serve as a series finale.
Almost immediately, audiences fell in love with not only the character of Dr. Sam Beckett (played by Scott Bakula) – the scientist who curiously found himself a man lost in time with the mission of setting things right that once went wrong – but also his slightly eccentric sidekick Admiral Al Calavicci (Dean Stockwell) – the colleague who appeared holographically in the past usually with information required to both set the plot in motion as well as clarify what Sam’s task was in order to leap to his next adventure. Imbuing what could’ve been two cerebral characters with an almost ‘Abbott and Costello’ sensibility, the program was first-and-foremost about human beings and the choices they make that propel both the good and bad trajectories of their individual and shared existences. These were people who met people for the purposes of saving people, and Leap – unlike other shows – stayed true to its formula because it worked each and every time it was tried.
The SciFi/Fantasy show was the mastermind of veteran TV producer Donald P. Bellisario, who also credits work in such franchises as Battlestar Galactica, Tales Of The Gold Monkey, Magnum PI, Airwolf, and JAG on his impressive resume. Under the man’s stewardship, Leap went on to garner an incredible six Primetime Emmy Awards wins as well as attention from such organizations as the Academy Of Science Fiction, Fantasy, And Horror Films; the American Society Of Cinematographers; the Directors Guild Of America; the Golden Globes; and the Writers Guild Of America. It was that rarity of rarities – an intelligently-written televised adventures serial that was almost universally cherished by any and all who discovered it.
In its original run, Leap came to its conclusion with the airing of “Mirror Image” on May 5, 1993, loosely bringing the saga of Sam Beckett and Al Calavicci to its close with some controversy: as fate would have it, the episode gave our faithful leaper the chance to go back and correct Al’s first romance, thereby setting in motion a series of temporal changes to the present. Depending upon one’s interpretation of these events, the Quantum Leap Project may or may not even exist in what would’ve been Sam’s present (think “audience time”), and viewers learned that the good doctor was apparently in control of his leaps all along. The episode ended with the reveal that Sam, in fact, never returned home.
Any bit of research will tell you that the ending as aired was likely not as originally intended by Bellisario and his team. There’s been a healthy bit of suggestion that the hour was retooled somewhat due to the fact that NBC was dragging its feet over giving the program what would’ve been a sixth season renewal, likely to have been its last. Recent reportage online even goes so far as to clarify that the original premise for a sixth season would’ve seen a happily married Al Calavicci stepped into the Imaging Chamber to pursue Sam finally physically into the past with the mission of finally bringing him back home … but, alas, it wasn’t meant to be. “Mirror Image” was changed to serve as a series finale.
Well, it would appear that some of those elements have resurfaced as NBC has dropped back into the world of Quantum Leap with a not so much an all-new incarnation as it is a continuation of the original project. Under the same name – but with much new ownership as well as creative management – the Imaging Chamber is up and running once more. “July 13th, 1985” premiered on the Peacock Network on September 19th, 2022 … and – dare I say – this makeover was downright tepid.
Seriously: how do you screw up something so fondly assembled as was the original?
Well, it would appear that – first – you cast as assortment of actors almost market-tested to appeal to the widest demographic possible while leaving out any possible straight while males or any remotely normal people. (I’m guessing there’s an episode about one characters’ preferred pronouns in the offing, by the looks of things.) Next, you ignore the fact that what propelled so much audience interest from the original was the lovable friendship and chemistry displayed between the two leads and, instead, insert a heart-tugging dynamic between two lost lovers. Oh, will they get together again … or won’t they? (Why should I really care this early in the broadcast?) Lastly, you open the show with a caper that gives the lead the chance to show his ’smarts’ when what audiences tuned in for was his ‘heart.’
Sigh.
Good grief.
It goes without saying that I found “July 13th” an incredible disappoint. Actor Raymond Lee as Dr. Ben Song – arguably filling the biggest shoes in the entire Leap franchise – is so horribly out of his element here I can’t begin to imagine what producers saw in his audition … except, well, maybe his ethnicity? His deadpan, uninterested delivery even suggests that even he may have no idea why he’s in this role, so maybe he’s underplaying everything in hopes that it’ll catch his agent’s attention? While I’ll go so far as to agree that he and actress Caitlin Bassett (her character’s name is Addison Augustine, one that practically reeks of a scriptwriter’s invention) shared a nice moment before her beau leapt without explanation into the past, it was just that – a nice moment – and far too much weight was put into establishing a relationship that needed a bit more time fleshing out.
But no …
Based on the set-up of the episode, it’s pretty clear that this creative crew is playing the long game with their incarnation of Quantum Leap: Dr. Song has a secret as to why he went into the Imaging Chamber in the first place, and now that his mind has been customarily scrambled with a launch backward into history the team in his future will have to piece together a mystery that’ll likely be strung out over several episodes (if not seasons). Instead of giving audiences a traditional serial, it looks like this one is leaning more toward the telenovel; and even the premiere’s closing moment suggests we have more cast to meet in the future than we do in the past.
Fans have long held out hope that a new incarnation of Leap would finally both bring Sam home – at minimum – and perhaps fix those developments somewhat displaced in the original’s finale.
I’ll admit that I didn’t have as many quibbles with how it all came to an end – I thought it right poetic – but I realize as is almost always my case I’m in the minority. “July 13th” does suggest that there may be some tie-ins to the Al Calavicci character’s offspring (actor Dean Stockwell recently passed, so he’ll not be involved in this show). I’d also read online that NBC has allegedly asked for Scott Bakula to not appear in the show (the actor recently stated on Instagram he was not involved), so once again the powers that be aren’t interested in giving the faithful what they want.
Bad move, NBC.
But we’ll see what history has in store for your new Leap.
-- EZ
Seriously: how do you screw up something so fondly assembled as was the original?
Well, it would appear that – first – you cast as assortment of actors almost market-tested to appeal to the widest demographic possible while leaving out any possible straight while males or any remotely normal people. (I’m guessing there’s an episode about one characters’ preferred pronouns in the offing, by the looks of things.) Next, you ignore the fact that what propelled so much audience interest from the original was the lovable friendship and chemistry displayed between the two leads and, instead, insert a heart-tugging dynamic between two lost lovers. Oh, will they get together again … or won’t they? (Why should I really care this early in the broadcast?) Lastly, you open the show with a caper that gives the lead the chance to show his ’smarts’ when what audiences tuned in for was his ‘heart.’
Sigh.
Good grief.
It goes without saying that I found “July 13th” an incredible disappoint. Actor Raymond Lee as Dr. Ben Song – arguably filling the biggest shoes in the entire Leap franchise – is so horribly out of his element here I can’t begin to imagine what producers saw in his audition … except, well, maybe his ethnicity? His deadpan, uninterested delivery even suggests that even he may have no idea why he’s in this role, so maybe he’s underplaying everything in hopes that it’ll catch his agent’s attention? While I’ll go so far as to agree that he and actress Caitlin Bassett (her character’s name is Addison Augustine, one that practically reeks of a scriptwriter’s invention) shared a nice moment before her beau leapt without explanation into the past, it was just that – a nice moment – and far too much weight was put into establishing a relationship that needed a bit more time fleshing out.
But no …
Based on the set-up of the episode, it’s pretty clear that this creative crew is playing the long game with their incarnation of Quantum Leap: Dr. Song has a secret as to why he went into the Imaging Chamber in the first place, and now that his mind has been customarily scrambled with a launch backward into history the team in his future will have to piece together a mystery that’ll likely be strung out over several episodes (if not seasons). Instead of giving audiences a traditional serial, it looks like this one is leaning more toward the telenovel; and even the premiere’s closing moment suggests we have more cast to meet in the future than we do in the past.
Fans have long held out hope that a new incarnation of Leap would finally both bring Sam home – at minimum – and perhaps fix those developments somewhat displaced in the original’s finale.
I’ll admit that I didn’t have as many quibbles with how it all came to an end – I thought it right poetic – but I realize as is almost always my case I’m in the minority. “July 13th” does suggest that there may be some tie-ins to the Al Calavicci character’s offspring (actor Dean Stockwell recently passed, so he’ll not be involved in this show). I’d also read online that NBC has allegedly asked for Scott Bakula to not appear in the show (the actor recently stated on Instagram he was not involved), so once again the powers that be aren’t interested in giving the faithful what they want.
Bad move, NBC.
But we’ll see what history has in store for your new Leap.
-- EZ
- Published on
Despite what some in the industry may tell you, there really is no tried-and-true formula for crafting a film that will inevitably enjoy ‘cult status.’
Certainly, there are some pictures whose graphic sensibilities alone might cause a film to require a bit more time to be appreciated, thus going on to celebrity as it ages gracefully. Also, there are subjects that resonate both in their time as well as find lives of their own with subsequent generations of moviegoers. Of course, there are even talents – both at the beginning and ends of their respective careers – whose contributions to memorable characters or quotable scenes that tend to take on new meanings with folks who might find them years if not a decade or two later. All of these factors could very well play into one picture being elevated to cult status … or honestly? It could be none of the above.
That’s why I’ve always encountered my own challenge in explaining precisely why I think it is a particular motion picture may’ve gone on to a great afterlife; and such is the case with 1976’s Massacre At Central High. At best, it’s a curious oddity – not necessarily topical for its day, though some might suggest its exploration of violence in school is better suited for today. As a film, it isn’t all that good nor all the bad. It certainly doesn’t boast any impressive or subversive performances, nor any cavalry of oddball characters. But maybe – just maybe – it’s the respectable workmanship coupled with the fact that something like this could happen Anywhere, USA that compels those who seek out both forgotten and bygones products to sample its wares.
Like it or not, we’ve got a cult film on our hands! So let’s consider school is in session!
(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 my final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
Certainly, there are some pictures whose graphic sensibilities alone might cause a film to require a bit more time to be appreciated, thus going on to celebrity as it ages gracefully. Also, there are subjects that resonate both in their time as well as find lives of their own with subsequent generations of moviegoers. Of course, there are even talents – both at the beginning and ends of their respective careers – whose contributions to memorable characters or quotable scenes that tend to take on new meanings with folks who might find them years if not a decade or two later. All of these factors could very well play into one picture being elevated to cult status … or honestly? It could be none of the above.
That’s why I’ve always encountered my own challenge in explaining precisely why I think it is a particular motion picture may’ve gone on to a great afterlife; and such is the case with 1976’s Massacre At Central High. At best, it’s a curious oddity – not necessarily topical for its day, though some might suggest its exploration of violence in school is better suited for today. As a film, it isn’t all that good nor all the bad. It certainly doesn’t boast any impressive or subversive performances, nor any cavalry of oddball characters. But maybe – just maybe – it’s the respectable workmanship coupled with the fact that something like this could happen Anywhere, USA that compels those who seek out both forgotten and bygones products to sample its wares.
Like it or not, we’ve got a cult film on our hands! So let’s consider school is in session!
(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 my final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s product packaging:
“When new student David arrives at Central High, he discovers that it is lorded over by a gang of bullies who rule the school through intimidation and violence. David’s friend Mark encourages him to join this dominant clique, but instead David stands up for their victims, and the gang cripples him in retaliation. Soon David begins taking steps to end their reign of terror permanently, setting in motion an explosive cycle of killing that may not end until no one is left to graduate!”
Writer/director Rene Daalder didn’t have much of a film pedigree when he was tasked by producer Harold Sobel to bring the silver screen nightmare to life. Essentially, the superficial ideas at the heart of Massacre’s premise suggests that Sobel thought he was getting in the exploitation business: this cast of young and good-looking prospects would be put through their paces, and the script suggested that one-by-one they’d suffer some grisly endings once the school’s social structure went to hell in a handbasket … but therein lies the rub, as they say. As conceived by Daalder, Massacre was clearly about more than just some customary bloodletting; and anyone involved should’ve seen from a mile away that this was going to explore more than just one lunatic’s growing bloodlust.
Indeed, Daalder’s script strongly suggests that this particular high school world lives in a vacuum. Absolutely no time of any consequence is spent with any adult; while there may be a few seen here and there, those characters are little more than screen filler to give an air of authenticity to the captured proceedings. What story there is remains an almost clinical exercise in securing authority: who has it, how can it be lost, and what happens in that vacuum when no one appears to be in charge. Suffice it to say, this is a far cry from the usual teen-set high school melodramas – murders or not – and the director strived for something more to say about these journeys from adolescence to maturity.
David (as played by Derrel Maury) is a closet sociopath. While we’re given no origin story for where his tendencies toward violence originated, it’s pretty clear that he’s been feeling his oats for quite some time now. (There is a strong hint that he’s done this kind of thing before, as his pal Mark attests that he’s “helped him out” in the past.) With each successive murder, we’re shown that he’s grown almost emotionless about his actions – in his eyes, they’re just a means to an end, and there’s nothing personal about it – but somehow he’s managed to keep it all together by running.
“When new student David arrives at Central High, he discovers that it is lorded over by a gang of bullies who rule the school through intimidation and violence. David’s friend Mark encourages him to join this dominant clique, but instead David stands up for their victims, and the gang cripples him in retaliation. Soon David begins taking steps to end their reign of terror permanently, setting in motion an explosive cycle of killing that may not end until no one is left to graduate!”
Writer/director Rene Daalder didn’t have much of a film pedigree when he was tasked by producer Harold Sobel to bring the silver screen nightmare to life. Essentially, the superficial ideas at the heart of Massacre’s premise suggests that Sobel thought he was getting in the exploitation business: this cast of young and good-looking prospects would be put through their paces, and the script suggested that one-by-one they’d suffer some grisly endings once the school’s social structure went to hell in a handbasket … but therein lies the rub, as they say. As conceived by Daalder, Massacre was clearly about more than just some customary bloodletting; and anyone involved should’ve seen from a mile away that this was going to explore more than just one lunatic’s growing bloodlust.
Indeed, Daalder’s script strongly suggests that this particular high school world lives in a vacuum. Absolutely no time of any consequence is spent with any adult; while there may be a few seen here and there, those characters are little more than screen filler to give an air of authenticity to the captured proceedings. What story there is remains an almost clinical exercise in securing authority: who has it, how can it be lost, and what happens in that vacuum when no one appears to be in charge. Suffice it to say, this is a far cry from the usual teen-set high school melodramas – murders or not – and the director strived for something more to say about these journeys from adolescence to maturity.
David (as played by Derrel Maury) is a closet sociopath. While we’re given no origin story for where his tendencies toward violence originated, it’s pretty clear that he’s been feeling his oats for quite some time now. (There is a strong hint that he’s done this kind of thing before, as his pal Mark attests that he’s “helped him out” in the past.) With each successive murder, we’re shown that he’s grown almost emotionless about his actions – in his eyes, they’re just a means to an end, and there’s nothing personal about it – but somehow he’s managed to keep it all together by running.
But with Massacre, David is introduced to something that stirs him to action: Mark and his gang of high school pals have been kinda/sorta terrorizing their classmates as just another part of their daily rituals. They set the rules for the school parking lot: if you break them, then your car gets ‘marked’ or (worse) wrecked. They call the shots in gym class, even if it means snapping towels or pulling a switchblade. And if they return their library books late, they’re not going to pay any late fees. You with me on this? In educational terms, these are some real bad dudes.
While it’s not perfectly clear, I suspect these public displays of arrogance is what serves as the catalyst for David to become this secret ‘White Knight’ to the student body. One by one, he carefully extracts a measure of lethal justice on these bullies; and, one by one, they go down, each a bit more painfully than the last. Before you know it, Central High is free of oppression … but this is where Daalder’s script truly hits its stride.
In the absence of any totalitarianism, the oppressed now rise up and become the oppressors. Each of these victims suddenly finds himself or herself wanting a piece of that power, and they’re willing to team-up and collaborate against their former friends in order to fill that hole in the pecking order created with David’s handiwork. The former wallflowers, the pot crowd, the chubby loser, and the volunteer student librarian are all suddenly at odds with one another – instead of aligned against a common enemy – and, as one might guess, David’s none too happy with their newfound expression. In fact, he’s about to turn the tables on them yet again, this time with an eye for eliminating anyone and everyone who gets in his way.
Unlike other films set in school, Massacre is unforgiving in its portrayal of the potential recklessness of these American youth. Daalder creates a microcosm within our society, structures it with its own rules of conduct, and then shows the possible consequences of allowing a harmful status quo to propagate in ways unimagined. It’s sometimes dark and sometimes chilling, but it never shirks away from the formula as prescribed. Whether or not it’s an entirely accurate picture is unimportant as it’s these ideas that propel the narrative from the start to its closing scene. On that front, it stays true to the school.
As to why the film has grown legs of its own?
As I suggested above, that’s a hard egg to crack.
While some might read my review and feel that Massacre revels in its own excesses, I don’t think that’s the case here. The violence – while prevalent after the story’s set-up – never rises to the level of gratuitousness as is all-too-common in most exploitation features, especially ones featuring teens. Sure, there’s a smattering of blood here and there – and there’s more than a single pair of breasts – but it’s all rendered with what I’d call an almost tasteful restraint. Furthermore, there’s really no singular performance that stands out amongst the cast. Though there are a few recognizable faces in there, they certainly don’t call attention to themselves. Robert Carradine is so exceptional here as the ‘loner with a possible art fetish’ that it’s hard to believe he'd steal the show in Revenge Of The Nerds just a few years later; and Andrew Stevens makes for a great-looking bad boy in typical teenage fashion.
Still, I’m inclined to think that those who’ve both found and praised/promoted the picture have seen the value in its subversive message about high school culture.
While it’s not perfectly clear, I suspect these public displays of arrogance is what serves as the catalyst for David to become this secret ‘White Knight’ to the student body. One by one, he carefully extracts a measure of lethal justice on these bullies; and, one by one, they go down, each a bit more painfully than the last. Before you know it, Central High is free of oppression … but this is where Daalder’s script truly hits its stride.
In the absence of any totalitarianism, the oppressed now rise up and become the oppressors. Each of these victims suddenly finds himself or herself wanting a piece of that power, and they’re willing to team-up and collaborate against their former friends in order to fill that hole in the pecking order created with David’s handiwork. The former wallflowers, the pot crowd, the chubby loser, and the volunteer student librarian are all suddenly at odds with one another – instead of aligned against a common enemy – and, as one might guess, David’s none too happy with their newfound expression. In fact, he’s about to turn the tables on them yet again, this time with an eye for eliminating anyone and everyone who gets in his way.
Unlike other films set in school, Massacre is unforgiving in its portrayal of the potential recklessness of these American youth. Daalder creates a microcosm within our society, structures it with its own rules of conduct, and then shows the possible consequences of allowing a harmful status quo to propagate in ways unimagined. It’s sometimes dark and sometimes chilling, but it never shirks away from the formula as prescribed. Whether or not it’s an entirely accurate picture is unimportant as it’s these ideas that propel the narrative from the start to its closing scene. On that front, it stays true to the school.
As to why the film has grown legs of its own?
As I suggested above, that’s a hard egg to crack.
While some might read my review and feel that Massacre revels in its own excesses, I don’t think that’s the case here. The violence – while prevalent after the story’s set-up – never rises to the level of gratuitousness as is all-too-common in most exploitation features, especially ones featuring teens. Sure, there’s a smattering of blood here and there – and there’s more than a single pair of breasts – but it’s all rendered with what I’d call an almost tasteful restraint. Furthermore, there’s really no singular performance that stands out amongst the cast. Though there are a few recognizable faces in there, they certainly don’t call attention to themselves. Robert Carradine is so exceptional here as the ‘loner with a possible art fetish’ that it’s hard to believe he'd steal the show in Revenge Of The Nerds just a few years later; and Andrew Stevens makes for a great-looking bad boy in typical teenage fashion.
Still, I’m inclined to think that those who’ve both found and praised/promoted the picture have seen the value in its subversive message about high school culture.
As has been said, it is its own world. Yes, your days in high school may one day be looked back on as ‘the best days of your life,’ but there’s also a darkness to living and learning amongst close quarters that’s occasionally compared to Hell itself. There are cliques, jocks, bullies, prom queens, class clowns, and plastic people aplenty; and – for a time – they’re all wrapped up in their own measures of self-importance (and sometimes arrogance), but good intentions are missed. It isn’t all good report cards and prom dances. And there’s a true uncovering of social rituals that takes place in these years. That and the hormones, the puberty, and the boys and girls blossoming in the way they do at that time …
Is it too much to suggest that maybe it drives you so mad you just wanna kill someone?
That’s precisely how massacres are started.
Massacre At Central High (1976) was produced by Evan. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the impressive Synapse Films. As for the technical specifications? Holy Moses! Bear in mind that – while I’m not trained video expert – I thought that this High-definition 1090p remaster looks and sounds absolutely incredible. Dare I say that independent films this old have never looked this good?! Very nicely done. As for the special features? Besides the new mastering, the disk boasts some audio interviews with the cast and crew; an all-new ‘making of’ documentary titled Hell In The Hallways; theatrical trailers as well as TV and radio spots; and the usual stills gallery. It’s a very good collection but I give my highest marks to the all-new documentary: the reflections are mostly fun, and their observations are definitely spirited, implying that a fun time was had to all.
Mildly Recommended.
At best, Massacre At Central High is at mid-1970’s oddity – a little film that could. Somehow this curious little destructive version of Peyton Place has defied the odds, found an audience, and achieved cult status. While some might suggest that it’s because the flick perfectly encapsulates the – snicker snicker – American high school experience (which is does not) – it’s success is likely owed to the fact that writer/director Daalder never lets any moss grow. He keeps chucking event after event after event – with an idea after idea after idea – at a pretty relentless pace, never taking a breath to acknowledge the growing pile of bodies in the plot’s wake. If he did – or if the audience did – little of this would make much narrative sense.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Synapse Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Massacre At Central High (1976) by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review; and their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
Is it too much to suggest that maybe it drives you so mad you just wanna kill someone?
That’s precisely how massacres are started.
Massacre At Central High (1976) was produced by Evan. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the impressive Synapse Films. As for the technical specifications? Holy Moses! Bear in mind that – while I’m not trained video expert – I thought that this High-definition 1090p remaster looks and sounds absolutely incredible. Dare I say that independent films this old have never looked this good?! Very nicely done. As for the special features? Besides the new mastering, the disk boasts some audio interviews with the cast and crew; an all-new ‘making of’ documentary titled Hell In The Hallways; theatrical trailers as well as TV and radio spots; and the usual stills gallery. It’s a very good collection but I give my highest marks to the all-new documentary: the reflections are mostly fun, and their observations are definitely spirited, implying that a fun time was had to all.
Mildly Recommended.
At best, Massacre At Central High is at mid-1970’s oddity – a little film that could. Somehow this curious little destructive version of Peyton Place has defied the odds, found an audience, and achieved cult status. While some might suggest that it’s because the flick perfectly encapsulates the – snicker snicker – American high school experience (which is does not) – it’s success is likely owed to the fact that writer/director Daalder never lets any moss grow. He keeps chucking event after event after event – with an idea after idea after idea – at a pretty relentless pace, never taking a breath to acknowledge the growing pile of bodies in the plot’s wake. If he did – or if the audience did – little of this would make much narrative sense.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Synapse Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Massacre At Central High (1976) by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review; and their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.
-- EZ
- Published on
Circle jerk = a situation in which a group of people engage in self-indulgent or self-gratifying behavior, especially by enforcing or reinforcing each other’s views or attitudes.
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away (snicker snicker) I attended a small private college in Anytown, USA. In one of my several classes talking about film, a professor (who shall be nameless) took the occasion one day to wax on eloquently about “mankind’s claim” that Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey was not only the greatest Science Fiction film ever made but very well was considered the best film ever made.
Now, at this juncture in my cognitive development, I was a firm supporter of Citizen Kane’s rightful claim to that title. Not one to keep silent, I spoke up, asking where it was written that 2001 was ever considered a greater accomplishment than Kane was … to which I got an earful. Pushing back as politely as I could, I argued that I’d never heard of anyone making such an assessment, and – while I didn’t doubt the instructor had read or perhaps thought such a ranking possible – I wanted to know which experts felt that way so that I could go out and read their analysis. Essentially what I was told was that 2001 was, clearly, the superior film because of its central message.
Get ready, folks.
I asked, “What is 2001’s central message?"
As you might guess, my professor laughed at me, and he did stop short of encouraging others to laugh. (FYI: seriously, no one did.) When he perhaps perceived he was a bit on an intellectual island at this point, he attempted to turn the class loose on me, instead asking them to tell me what they thought 2001’s central tenet was. Fate can be cruel; and, alas, only a few had even seen the picture, but someone ventured a soft statement something like, “I think it’s about man’s place in the universe.”
To which I asked: “Which is what? Go anywhere you want but don’t go to Europa?”
Again, my long-established standing on 2001: A Space Odyssey isn’t that it’s a bad film, as I’d be a fool to argue anything remotely close to that. But when thinking about a story one has to begin from a point of shared understanding, the single greatest example of which is comprehending what the story is saying about its subject matter. It shouldn’t just talk about an idea (or a series of ideas); it should definitively say something about it. On some level, I think, every film must be relatable in that way. Its message should be universal, otherwise its arguments appear like more time spent “in the weeds” than anything else.
This is where I’d argue that the Kubrick film heartily flirts with a wealth of great ideas – some big, some small – but never definitely hits the nail on anything particularly significant. It’s a mental exercise meant to make its audience think about man, evolution, space, perhaps our existence, and maybe even our place in the universe; and, yes, maybe on some superficial level it might preach we should all exercise a bit more caution in what we do … but I’d still argue that its true meaning as intended by both Kubrick and co-scripter Arthur C. Clarke might be elusive and perhaps best left that way. In the final estimation, it’s a film that can say practically anything you want it to say about its ideas, kinda/sorta leaving you – the audience – to cast the defining vote.
Any amount of reading will demonstrate that a great deal has been written about the film. In fact, stop right now and do a Google search under the topic of ‘What does the film 2001’s ending mean?’, and you’ll get a flurry of results, many of which might explore any number of pet theories extrapolating the significance behind each and every frame of film Kubrick shot for the ground-breaking feature. This is what I mean when I say that it can be about anything you want … and some would argue that’s the picture’s greatest strength. While I won’t proclaim it a weakness, I will suggest that it’s led to more confusion than it should.
2001 came at the height of the counterculture movement in the U.S. (I’m told this was a global phenomenon, but I still see it tied to America more than anywhere else.) This was a period in history when “the greatest brains among us” were telling us that the long-established social norms were no longer good enough, that society needed to be upended and a new world order founded on – ahem – peace, love, and drugs should be established. Well, how perfectly fitting that a film kinda/sorta loosely about overthrowing ‘the norms’ and ending with cinema’s longest drug trip sequence ever would be embraced by these revolutionary anarchists!
Supreme Caveat:
I said what I said; and, no, I’m not sorry. No, I won’t take it back. I don’t find 2001 accessible, and I see it more as an exercise for those who wish to undertake mental gymnastics than anything else. And you know what? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I realize my opinion is controversial, but that’s why I’ve created a little something-something called ‘Warp Core Breach’ – it’s meant to blow things up, especially the status quo.
Keep in mind that just because I perhaps don’t find 2001 the best Science Fiction thing since sliced Soylent Green shouldn’t even imply for one nanosecond that I don’t believe you (or anyone) should see it. As I’ve tried to be perfectly clear, the bulk of my hang-ups with it is that the journey ultimately means nothing to me on a personally level; so my failure to connect is my business and mine alone. What I’m talking about here is that a film experience requiring crib notes is not my idea of entertainment: that’s education … and there’s a time and a place for that in life, too. I simply prefer it in the classroom.
-- EZ
A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away (snicker snicker) I attended a small private college in Anytown, USA. In one of my several classes talking about film, a professor (who shall be nameless) took the occasion one day to wax on eloquently about “mankind’s claim” that Stanley Kubrick’s 2001: A Space Odyssey was not only the greatest Science Fiction film ever made but very well was considered the best film ever made.
Now, at this juncture in my cognitive development, I was a firm supporter of Citizen Kane’s rightful claim to that title. Not one to keep silent, I spoke up, asking where it was written that 2001 was ever considered a greater accomplishment than Kane was … to which I got an earful. Pushing back as politely as I could, I argued that I’d never heard of anyone making such an assessment, and – while I didn’t doubt the instructor had read or perhaps thought such a ranking possible – I wanted to know which experts felt that way so that I could go out and read their analysis. Essentially what I was told was that 2001 was, clearly, the superior film because of its central message.
Get ready, folks.
I asked, “What is 2001’s central message?"
As you might guess, my professor laughed at me, and he did stop short of encouraging others to laugh. (FYI: seriously, no one did.) When he perhaps perceived he was a bit on an intellectual island at this point, he attempted to turn the class loose on me, instead asking them to tell me what they thought 2001’s central tenet was. Fate can be cruel; and, alas, only a few had even seen the picture, but someone ventured a soft statement something like, “I think it’s about man’s place in the universe.”
To which I asked: “Which is what? Go anywhere you want but don’t go to Europa?”
Again, my long-established standing on 2001: A Space Odyssey isn’t that it’s a bad film, as I’d be a fool to argue anything remotely close to that. But when thinking about a story one has to begin from a point of shared understanding, the single greatest example of which is comprehending what the story is saying about its subject matter. It shouldn’t just talk about an idea (or a series of ideas); it should definitively say something about it. On some level, I think, every film must be relatable in that way. Its message should be universal, otherwise its arguments appear like more time spent “in the weeds” than anything else.
This is where I’d argue that the Kubrick film heartily flirts with a wealth of great ideas – some big, some small – but never definitely hits the nail on anything particularly significant. It’s a mental exercise meant to make its audience think about man, evolution, space, perhaps our existence, and maybe even our place in the universe; and, yes, maybe on some superficial level it might preach we should all exercise a bit more caution in what we do … but I’d still argue that its true meaning as intended by both Kubrick and co-scripter Arthur C. Clarke might be elusive and perhaps best left that way. In the final estimation, it’s a film that can say practically anything you want it to say about its ideas, kinda/sorta leaving you – the audience – to cast the defining vote.
Any amount of reading will demonstrate that a great deal has been written about the film. In fact, stop right now and do a Google search under the topic of ‘What does the film 2001’s ending mean?’, and you’ll get a flurry of results, many of which might explore any number of pet theories extrapolating the significance behind each and every frame of film Kubrick shot for the ground-breaking feature. This is what I mean when I say that it can be about anything you want … and some would argue that’s the picture’s greatest strength. While I won’t proclaim it a weakness, I will suggest that it’s led to more confusion than it should.
2001 came at the height of the counterculture movement in the U.S. (I’m told this was a global phenomenon, but I still see it tied to America more than anywhere else.) This was a period in history when “the greatest brains among us” were telling us that the long-established social norms were no longer good enough, that society needed to be upended and a new world order founded on – ahem – peace, love, and drugs should be established. Well, how perfectly fitting that a film kinda/sorta loosely about overthrowing ‘the norms’ and ending with cinema’s longest drug trip sequence ever would be embraced by these revolutionary anarchists!
Supreme Caveat:
I said what I said; and, no, I’m not sorry. No, I won’t take it back. I don’t find 2001 accessible, and I see it more as an exercise for those who wish to undertake mental gymnastics than anything else. And you know what? There’s absolutely nothing wrong with that. I realize my opinion is controversial, but that’s why I’ve created a little something-something called ‘Warp Core Breach’ – it’s meant to blow things up, especially the status quo.
Keep in mind that just because I perhaps don’t find 2001 the best Science Fiction thing since sliced Soylent Green shouldn’t even imply for one nanosecond that I don’t believe you (or anyone) should see it. As I’ve tried to be perfectly clear, the bulk of my hang-ups with it is that the journey ultimately means nothing to me on a personally level; so my failure to connect is my business and mine alone. What I’m talking about here is that a film experience requiring crib notes is not my idea of entertainment: that’s education … and there’s a time and a place for that in life, too. I simply prefer it in the classroom.
-- EZ
- Published on
Good morning ... and Happy Monday, gentle readers! Welcome to the start of a brand new week, and here's hoping you're getting off on the right foot today!
Now ...
Today's 'Because You Asked' is a little bit of what I call behind-the-scenes baseball. It comes from a young(ish) reader who was introduced to the site a few years ago (believe it or not!) from a friend whose teacher used to read an occasional trivia blurb from the site, a little something-something to kinda get his students talking about films. I won't put the question up directly -- I never do that -- but I'll paraphrase the focus: this reader wants to know why I spend so much time talking about older films and less emphasis on the newer ones. It's a great question -- one I get, honestly, fairly regularly -- though not in the same format. For example, I might get a question like "Hey, where is your She-Hulk coverage at?" I'll reply, saying that I'm not watching She-Hulk, so why would I give it coverage? Things like that.
But, yes, since you noticed, I do spend a lot of time talking about older films. That's very true.
The simplest answer is that, frankly, I enjoy older films more than I do today's releases. This isn't to say that older films are necessarily 'better,' but it is to acknowledge that -- for several reasons that relate to how stories are told -- I tend to fit in better with an older sensibility much better than I do today. Modern Science Fiction films are heavy -- heavy -- in the effects department -- with gobs and gobs of CGI -- and I'm not a huge fan of it. I understand why it's used so much; but I'd also argue that it's overused or -- even worse -- used poorly, and this ends up distracting me from enjoying the picture.
Also, if the latest and greatest releases playing either on the Boob Tube or at your corner cinema is what you're interested in, there are literally hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of blogs that already cover those. When you're a writer -- and you're trying to build both your own voice as well as your own audience -- it's hard to fit in when you're competing against so damn many others doing what you do. While I might go out and see the latest SciFi flick and I might even do a review of it on my MainPage, these pieces I don't as heavily promote as I do my analysis of older features. Again, it's hard to compete against a reviewer who has thousands of followers as well as a popular YouTube.com channel, so I leave that stuff to them. They do it very very well, and I'd likely not have as much to add to that subject as they do. So why compete? Also, why settle for being second, third, or fourth place? It just seems a bit self-defeating to this old brain.
Furthermore, I think my focus on evaluating films is a bit different from most.
As I've always said, I strive to find something of value to say about a motion picture. Understanding that there can be an awful lot of garbage said about a film, I like knowing that I've taken a bit of time, put a bit of extra analysis in, and reached an assessment that has value to myself and my readers. If watching an episode of a popular current TV show doesn't inspire me right away, I might mull it over for a day or two before penning a review. Were I working for a major media outlet, I wouldn't be allowed that kind of time to reflect upon the specifics. Achieving something of substance may not be an instant process: when I have, I go with it. If I haven't, then I don't want to waste your time ... much less my time in struggling to come up with something to say.
Lastly, this is the same kind of thinking I apply to smaller films. These may be releases that don't get all of the major publicity that the big stars demand, and these independent features do tend to both say something worth hearing, offer good performances, and establish a narrative or story worth investigating. Just because these storytellers couldn't spend as much as Martin Scorsese or Steven Spielberg doesn't mean they're inferior in any way; they just have to find more affordable solutions to resolve their production challenges ... and I tend to find those efforts more interesting.
For example -- and I use this a lot -- Robert Downey Jr. and Jon Favreau were famous for saying whenever they came up to some production kerfuffle in making the Iron Man films: "Don't worry about it; we'll fix it in post-production." They could say this because they have major bucks to spend along with an awful lot of expensive special effects to correct any errors they may have captured in making their story. Smaller productions? They don't have this luxury, meaning that they have to get it as close to perfect the first time. If they don't, then they have to figure out a way to use what they did capture ... and it's these folks I have a great deal of respect for. Their love of making something in the moment overrides the demands for money ... and that's how many of us out here in back-breaking reality live our everyday lives. We can't simply spend someone else's money to fix it later ... so we work a bit harder today.
So you see, sure, I may have something to say about each and every SciFi and Fantasy and Horror release that comes out in theaters right now ... but those films are being covered every damn day somewhere else ... so I'll eventually get around to my thoughts on them. In the meantime?
Meh.
I'd rather watch something older.
-- EZ
Now ...
Today's 'Because You Asked' is a little bit of what I call behind-the-scenes baseball. It comes from a young(ish) reader who was introduced to the site a few years ago (believe it or not!) from a friend whose teacher used to read an occasional trivia blurb from the site, a little something-something to kinda get his students talking about films. I won't put the question up directly -- I never do that -- but I'll paraphrase the focus: this reader wants to know why I spend so much time talking about older films and less emphasis on the newer ones. It's a great question -- one I get, honestly, fairly regularly -- though not in the same format. For example, I might get a question like "Hey, where is your She-Hulk coverage at?" I'll reply, saying that I'm not watching She-Hulk, so why would I give it coverage? Things like that.
But, yes, since you noticed, I do spend a lot of time talking about older films. That's very true.
The simplest answer is that, frankly, I enjoy older films more than I do today's releases. This isn't to say that older films are necessarily 'better,' but it is to acknowledge that -- for several reasons that relate to how stories are told -- I tend to fit in better with an older sensibility much better than I do today. Modern Science Fiction films are heavy -- heavy -- in the effects department -- with gobs and gobs of CGI -- and I'm not a huge fan of it. I understand why it's used so much; but I'd also argue that it's overused or -- even worse -- used poorly, and this ends up distracting me from enjoying the picture.
Also, if the latest and greatest releases playing either on the Boob Tube or at your corner cinema is what you're interested in, there are literally hundreds upon hundreds upon hundreds of blogs that already cover those. When you're a writer -- and you're trying to build both your own voice as well as your own audience -- it's hard to fit in when you're competing against so damn many others doing what you do. While I might go out and see the latest SciFi flick and I might even do a review of it on my MainPage, these pieces I don't as heavily promote as I do my analysis of older features. Again, it's hard to compete against a reviewer who has thousands of followers as well as a popular YouTube.com channel, so I leave that stuff to them. They do it very very well, and I'd likely not have as much to add to that subject as they do. So why compete? Also, why settle for being second, third, or fourth place? It just seems a bit self-defeating to this old brain.
Furthermore, I think my focus on evaluating films is a bit different from most.
As I've always said, I strive to find something of value to say about a motion picture. Understanding that there can be an awful lot of garbage said about a film, I like knowing that I've taken a bit of time, put a bit of extra analysis in, and reached an assessment that has value to myself and my readers. If watching an episode of a popular current TV show doesn't inspire me right away, I might mull it over for a day or two before penning a review. Were I working for a major media outlet, I wouldn't be allowed that kind of time to reflect upon the specifics. Achieving something of substance may not be an instant process: when I have, I go with it. If I haven't, then I don't want to waste your time ... much less my time in struggling to come up with something to say.
Lastly, this is the same kind of thinking I apply to smaller films. These may be releases that don't get all of the major publicity that the big stars demand, and these independent features do tend to both say something worth hearing, offer good performances, and establish a narrative or story worth investigating. Just because these storytellers couldn't spend as much as Martin Scorsese or Steven Spielberg doesn't mean they're inferior in any way; they just have to find more affordable solutions to resolve their production challenges ... and I tend to find those efforts more interesting.
For example -- and I use this a lot -- Robert Downey Jr. and Jon Favreau were famous for saying whenever they came up to some production kerfuffle in making the Iron Man films: "Don't worry about it; we'll fix it in post-production." They could say this because they have major bucks to spend along with an awful lot of expensive special effects to correct any errors they may have captured in making their story. Smaller productions? They don't have this luxury, meaning that they have to get it as close to perfect the first time. If they don't, then they have to figure out a way to use what they did capture ... and it's these folks I have a great deal of respect for. Their love of making something in the moment overrides the demands for money ... and that's how many of us out here in back-breaking reality live our everyday lives. We can't simply spend someone else's money to fix it later ... so we work a bit harder today.
So you see, sure, I may have something to say about each and every SciFi and Fantasy and Horror release that comes out in theaters right now ... but those films are being covered every damn day somewhere else ... so I'll eventually get around to my thoughts on them. In the meantime?
Meh.
I'd rather watch something older.
-- EZ
- Published on
To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t allowed to watch Rod Serling’s Night Gallery in its original airing on U.S. television.
Simply put, I would’ve been too young for the subject matter. Though I think I could’ve probably grasped the idea of what’s going on, it was a program that my parents understandably kept from me. Besides, back then, I don’t recall our television time being as limited as perhaps parents do today (not speaking from experience, mind you); there just wasn’t a lot on in prime time that would’ve interested the youngest among us.
And because the show has often been saddled with a reputation of being merely ‘Rod Serling’s other foray,’ I think it was one that never quite had the opportunity to grow (as did other cult shows) in TV syndication. As a consequence, it just never quite fell onto my radar, though I’m glad to see that it’s now getting a modern era makeover with the latest home video release from Kino Lorber.
Alas, I’d not been able to secure on via the usual distributor relationships, so I saved my pennies and recently picked up the show’s first season on home video all by my lonesome. Having just unwrapped its pilot telefilm, I thought I’d make a few observations for folks who watch this space and might be interested in the dark pursuits.
(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 my final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the series’ IMDB.com citation:
“Rod Serling presents tales of Horror illustrated in various paintings.”
For those unaware, Night Gallery was a late 1960’s / early 1970’s anthology that, largely, sprang from the mind of Rod Serling, the same TV genius who so lovingly crafted The Twilight Zone, which even today remains one of the benchmarks of quality programming. For any number of reasons, the show never achieved anywhere near the level of popularity as Serling’s predecessor, but it certainly follows the same narrative structure – present a wildly speculative ‘what if’ scenario and cast some reputable guest stars to enjoy the ride – with a bit of a ‘surprise twist’ tied to the last moments. Granted, the stories may not all work out this way, although I suspect most of them will adhere to that structure in some way, shape, or form.
Much like the Zone, Serling served as a narrator, one who would come out, spin some prescient wisdom, and then let the stories unfold as they would. His segments arguably helped direct the audience to what was really important about the forthcoming yarn, and no matter the subject matter or the context you could rest assured that if anyone knew what he was talking about it would be Rod. When he spoke, you paid attention … and you’d shortly learn what fools these characters were for not following suit.
The show was initially introduced via a 90+ minute telefilm. Internally, this flick was broken up into (roughly) three 40-minute segments, each morality play with their own respective cast and crew. Some big names of the era made guest appearances on the show, and why wouldn’t they? Anyone who was anyone in Hollywood knew Serling’s credentials, and I suspect they were all happy to play – even if briefly – in this dark and twisted universe.
Simply put, I would’ve been too young for the subject matter. Though I think I could’ve probably grasped the idea of what’s going on, it was a program that my parents understandably kept from me. Besides, back then, I don’t recall our television time being as limited as perhaps parents do today (not speaking from experience, mind you); there just wasn’t a lot on in prime time that would’ve interested the youngest among us.
And because the show has often been saddled with a reputation of being merely ‘Rod Serling’s other foray,’ I think it was one that never quite had the opportunity to grow (as did other cult shows) in TV syndication. As a consequence, it just never quite fell onto my radar, though I’m glad to see that it’s now getting a modern era makeover with the latest home video release from Kino Lorber.
Alas, I’d not been able to secure on via the usual distributor relationships, so I saved my pennies and recently picked up the show’s first season on home video all by my lonesome. Having just unwrapped its pilot telefilm, I thought I’d make a few observations for folks who watch this space and might be interested in the dark pursuits.
(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 my final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the series’ IMDB.com citation:
“Rod Serling presents tales of Horror illustrated in various paintings.”
For those unaware, Night Gallery was a late 1960’s / early 1970’s anthology that, largely, sprang from the mind of Rod Serling, the same TV genius who so lovingly crafted The Twilight Zone, which even today remains one of the benchmarks of quality programming. For any number of reasons, the show never achieved anywhere near the level of popularity as Serling’s predecessor, but it certainly follows the same narrative structure – present a wildly speculative ‘what if’ scenario and cast some reputable guest stars to enjoy the ride – with a bit of a ‘surprise twist’ tied to the last moments. Granted, the stories may not all work out this way, although I suspect most of them will adhere to that structure in some way, shape, or form.
Much like the Zone, Serling served as a narrator, one who would come out, spin some prescient wisdom, and then let the stories unfold as they would. His segments arguably helped direct the audience to what was really important about the forthcoming yarn, and no matter the subject matter or the context you could rest assured that if anyone knew what he was talking about it would be Rod. When he spoke, you paid attention … and you’d shortly learn what fools these characters were for not following suit.
The show was initially introduced via a 90+ minute telefilm. Internally, this flick was broken up into (roughly) three 40-minute segments, each morality play with their own respective cast and crew. Some big names of the era made guest appearances on the show, and why wouldn’t they? Anyone who was anyone in Hollywood knew Serling’s credentials, and I suspect they were all happy to play – even if briefly – in this dark and twisted universe.
The first segment was titled “The Cemetery,” and here’s its description as provided by IMDB.com:
“A seemingly haunted painting drives a greedy man insane.”
Right out of the gate, Night Gallery kinda/sorta demonstrates the danger of its conception: this is exactly the kind of thing Rod Serling had done before.
Perhaps having achieved so many high marks with The Twilight Zone, the creator may’ve found himself painted a bit into a corner as “The Cemetery” gets planted firmly in the ground that he’d vastly already mined. Serling’s prose here is quite good as it applies to the characters – Ossie Davis captures the perfunctory butler to an aging and decrepit recluse to great effect, and Roddy McDowall had long ago perfected such free-swinging swindlers. The screenwriter gives them more than enough small moments to clearly establish their respective circumstances, and it’s quite clear in the early moments that these two couldn’t be at greater odds with one another if they tried.
If anything, McDowall (as Jeremy Evans) might be a bit long in the tooth here. Serling kinda/sorta crafts the ‘black sheep’ to be a bit younger than what the actor is, but it’s easy to dismiss that grievance when the actor turns in such great work. There’s never any doubt that he’s shown up on the scene to bilk his dying dad out of his fortune, and that’s precisely how the plot progresses.
What we may not have expected?
Well, it would appear that dear old dad’s paintings have taken on a life of their own: Jeremy begins to detect very small, very subtle changes in them; and these alterations imply that the patriarch might very well have opted to haunt not only his own house but to seek out vengeance against those who have wronged him in his time on Earth, meaning that our guest actor had best not turn his back on things that go bump in the night.
Still, it’s a set of circumstances that debatably ends up playing out likely as audiences could predict knowing Serling’s penchant for surprise endings. What “The Cemetery” does (to some small effect) is it taps on yet another zinger – one I won’t spoil despite the fact that traditional spoiler rules have long since passed – directed at another culprit, one that maybe viewers weren’t expecting. While it’s a solid first outing in this all-new universe, I hardly think it delivered the level of amazement all involved intended.
“A seemingly haunted painting drives a greedy man insane.”
Right out of the gate, Night Gallery kinda/sorta demonstrates the danger of its conception: this is exactly the kind of thing Rod Serling had done before.
Perhaps having achieved so many high marks with The Twilight Zone, the creator may’ve found himself painted a bit into a corner as “The Cemetery” gets planted firmly in the ground that he’d vastly already mined. Serling’s prose here is quite good as it applies to the characters – Ossie Davis captures the perfunctory butler to an aging and decrepit recluse to great effect, and Roddy McDowall had long ago perfected such free-swinging swindlers. The screenwriter gives them more than enough small moments to clearly establish their respective circumstances, and it’s quite clear in the early moments that these two couldn’t be at greater odds with one another if they tried.
If anything, McDowall (as Jeremy Evans) might be a bit long in the tooth here. Serling kinda/sorta crafts the ‘black sheep’ to be a bit younger than what the actor is, but it’s easy to dismiss that grievance when the actor turns in such great work. There’s never any doubt that he’s shown up on the scene to bilk his dying dad out of his fortune, and that’s precisely how the plot progresses.
What we may not have expected?
Well, it would appear that dear old dad’s paintings have taken on a life of their own: Jeremy begins to detect very small, very subtle changes in them; and these alterations imply that the patriarch might very well have opted to haunt not only his own house but to seek out vengeance against those who have wronged him in his time on Earth, meaning that our guest actor had best not turn his back on things that go bump in the night.
Still, it’s a set of circumstances that debatably ends up playing out likely as audiences could predict knowing Serling’s penchant for surprise endings. What “The Cemetery” does (to some small effect) is it taps on yet another zinger – one I won’t spoil despite the fact that traditional spoiler rules have long since passed – directed at another culprit, one that maybe viewers weren’t expecting. While it’s a solid first outing in this all-new universe, I hardly think it delivered the level of amazement all involved intended.
From the episode’s IMDB.com citation:
“A rich blind woman gets a new pair of eyes that allow her to see for only one brief ironic moment.”
Again, today’s password is: irony.
The telefilm’s second installment – one simply titled “Eyes” – has a measure of TV distinction that bears mentioning: it was directed by none other than Steve Spielberg … and, might I say, he did a pretty impressive job with only 40 minutes? Spielberg peppers this impressive yarn with some solid visual trickery, making great use of the set décor, his talents’ positioning, and several sequences of near darkness. It’s an inspired take – one that easily rises above the first story – and rather compelling takes the audience aesthetically somewhere Serling’s The Twilight Zone hadn’t quite gone before.
Here, Serling’s script is also a vast improvement over the opening: he’s rather delicately fleshed out two main players – Barry Sullivan as Dr. Frank Heatherton and screen legend Joan Crawford as Claudia Menlo. What he deftly reveals is that neither of these players is perfect, but the one who’ll likely emerge on top is the one who’s willing to play dirtiest of them all. With a name like ‘Menlo’ (i.e. men are low, meaning subservient), Claudia easily bests the good doctor, but in customary Serling fashion Heatherton might get the last word after all.
But “Eyes” is a riveting installment of television because Spielberg went to some great lengths to make it something worth looking at deeply. As I said, there are staging marks that underscore character traits; and then – as a director – he’s constantly reminding us precisely of what Claudia has missed her whole life, that being the sense of sight. Naturally, we’re a bit aghast to learn just how far she’s willing to go even if it awards her a mere few hours to see things all of her own – just as is Dr. Heatherton – and that’s why I suggest you keep in mind that irony is the key here. Though it’s been said before, Claudia truly confronts the “be careful what you wish for” moral of the story in the segment’s final moments.
Kudos to Serling and Spielberg for achieving such an incredible tale so very early in Night’s life.
“A rich blind woman gets a new pair of eyes that allow her to see for only one brief ironic moment.”
Again, today’s password is: irony.
The telefilm’s second installment – one simply titled “Eyes” – has a measure of TV distinction that bears mentioning: it was directed by none other than Steve Spielberg … and, might I say, he did a pretty impressive job with only 40 minutes? Spielberg peppers this impressive yarn with some solid visual trickery, making great use of the set décor, his talents’ positioning, and several sequences of near darkness. It’s an inspired take – one that easily rises above the first story – and rather compelling takes the audience aesthetically somewhere Serling’s The Twilight Zone hadn’t quite gone before.
Here, Serling’s script is also a vast improvement over the opening: he’s rather delicately fleshed out two main players – Barry Sullivan as Dr. Frank Heatherton and screen legend Joan Crawford as Claudia Menlo. What he deftly reveals is that neither of these players is perfect, but the one who’ll likely emerge on top is the one who’s willing to play dirtiest of them all. With a name like ‘Menlo’ (i.e. men are low, meaning subservient), Claudia easily bests the good doctor, but in customary Serling fashion Heatherton might get the last word after all.
But “Eyes” is a riveting installment of television because Spielberg went to some great lengths to make it something worth looking at deeply. As I said, there are staging marks that underscore character traits; and then – as a director – he’s constantly reminding us precisely of what Claudia has missed her whole life, that being the sense of sight. Naturally, we’re a bit aghast to learn just how far she’s willing to go even if it awards her a mere few hours to see things all of her own – just as is Dr. Heatherton – and that’s why I suggest you keep in mind that irony is the key here. Though it’s been said before, Claudia truly confronts the “be careful what you wish for” moral of the story in the segment’s final moments.
Kudos to Serling and Spielberg for achieving such an incredible tale so very early in Night’s life.
Alas, not all that is green is good, and Night Gallery’s final saga I found a bit underwhelming … but first, the premise as provided by IMDB.com:
“An idyllic painting gives a Nazi war criminal in hiding some fleeting comfort.”
As I’ve often opined in this space: usually what keeps me from enjoying any story more than the next person is that – for whatever reason – the yarn’s internal logic fails me. Of course, this could be the end result of my overthinking either a sequence or suggestion, but if I can’t quite grasp ‘the big why’ of a character’s motivation then I end up reeling a bit with the journey I take with him or her.
Such is the case with “Escape Route,” a minor potboiler that stems from a good idea but really stops short of making sense.
In case you’ve missed your history, it’s not impossible to suggest that there are countries in South America who secretly played host to some Nazi officers who managed to both escape the end of World War II and any other detection for several years in their chosen exile. That’s essentially what Serling’s tale is here: actor Richard Kiley plays former SS-Gruppenfuhrer Helmut Arndt hiding out under the name of Josef Strobe. One day, his growing paranoia over being followed by possible Israeli agents has him ducking into a museum, and the former torturer finds himself – for reasons never satisfactorily explained to this viewer – drawn to the painting of a faceless fisherman in a rowboat.
Now I hate to be found guilty yet again of overthinking a 40-minute episode, but why? Why was Strobe particularly drawn to this painting? Did it remind him of the simpler days of his youth? Did it represent something so unmistakably tranquil that he couldn’t imagine living in any other place or circumstance? Or perhaps – like Hitler himself was – did Strobe secretly harbor a wish to have been a famed painter? While viewers might watch the segment and achieve their own measure of appreciation for the German’s fixation, I honestly just couldn’t ‘get’ it. Yes, yes, yes: I know full well that he had grown somewhat weary of feeling like he was always ‘on the run,’ but as we were never adequately shown or suggested such a fate for the man I just didn’t quite buy that.
However, I think director Barry Shear rather impeccably staged one fascinating element of Serling’s script here: there’s a protracted sequence wherein Strobe shares a conversation through his hotel room wall with a neighboring prostitute, Gretchen (played by actress Norma Crane). It’s rather brilliant set-up – both of their backs pressed to their respective walls – and the duality of who these two people are – both serving to make others happy yet being denied their own measure of happiness – is stunningly captured on film. You may watch it and make less of it, but I thought it just vividly rendered.
Otherwise, I’d have to grade “Escape Route” as the weakest link in an otherwise interesting launch to Night Gallery.
-- EZ
“An idyllic painting gives a Nazi war criminal in hiding some fleeting comfort.”
As I’ve often opined in this space: usually what keeps me from enjoying any story more than the next person is that – for whatever reason – the yarn’s internal logic fails me. Of course, this could be the end result of my overthinking either a sequence or suggestion, but if I can’t quite grasp ‘the big why’ of a character’s motivation then I end up reeling a bit with the journey I take with him or her.
Such is the case with “Escape Route,” a minor potboiler that stems from a good idea but really stops short of making sense.
In case you’ve missed your history, it’s not impossible to suggest that there are countries in South America who secretly played host to some Nazi officers who managed to both escape the end of World War II and any other detection for several years in their chosen exile. That’s essentially what Serling’s tale is here: actor Richard Kiley plays former SS-Gruppenfuhrer Helmut Arndt hiding out under the name of Josef Strobe. One day, his growing paranoia over being followed by possible Israeli agents has him ducking into a museum, and the former torturer finds himself – for reasons never satisfactorily explained to this viewer – drawn to the painting of a faceless fisherman in a rowboat.
Now I hate to be found guilty yet again of overthinking a 40-minute episode, but why? Why was Strobe particularly drawn to this painting? Did it remind him of the simpler days of his youth? Did it represent something so unmistakably tranquil that he couldn’t imagine living in any other place or circumstance? Or perhaps – like Hitler himself was – did Strobe secretly harbor a wish to have been a famed painter? While viewers might watch the segment and achieve their own measure of appreciation for the German’s fixation, I honestly just couldn’t ‘get’ it. Yes, yes, yes: I know full well that he had grown somewhat weary of feeling like he was always ‘on the run,’ but as we were never adequately shown or suggested such a fate for the man I just didn’t quite buy that.
However, I think director Barry Shear rather impeccably staged one fascinating element of Serling’s script here: there’s a protracted sequence wherein Strobe shares a conversation through his hotel room wall with a neighboring prostitute, Gretchen (played by actress Norma Crane). It’s rather brilliant set-up – both of their backs pressed to their respective walls – and the duality of who these two people are – both serving to make others happy yet being denied their own measure of happiness – is stunningly captured on film. You may watch it and make less of it, but I thought it just vividly rendered.
Otherwise, I’d have to grade “Escape Route” as the weakest link in an otherwise interesting launch to Night Gallery.
-- EZ