- Published on
“Now this is all about freedom … the freedom to sit on your big fat ass all day and watch the single greatest sporting event known to man.” – The Chairman
Genre master Roger Corman has made an incredible number of films – some forgettable, some not-so-much – but perhaps the one I remember most from my youth was the quintessential ‘need for speed’ picture Death Race 2000. In it, the legendary Frankenstein (played by the late David Carradine) and a handful of other seasoned driving veterans endured a cross-country race wherein drivers chalked up points each time they ran down helpless pedestrians who almost always somewhere miraculously got in their way. It was essentially a brutal viewing experience – with a bit more story thrown in for good measure – that created a bit of controversy for its day; but it was honestly meant to be little more than a road trip of all good fun.
Lo and behold, the original Race would eventually receive a legitimate sequel an astonishing four decades later – with an all-new cast and crew, of course – when Death Race 2050 kinda/sorta revisited the idea via writer/director G.J. Echternkamp’s modern sensibilities. In fact, I’ve read online that some don’t much consider the flick a sequel so much as they do a weak remake/reboot. Whatever the case may be, I’m glad to see that the idea was too good to stay shelved for so long, and someone resurrected Frankenstein for today’s discriminating audience.
Who couldn’t use a bit more shlock in their entertainment diet?
This time out, the popular Manu Bennett took the wheel as Frankenstein, and the cast was rounded out with Malcolm McDowell, Marci Miller, Burt Grinstead, Yancy Butler, and Shanna Olson in key roles. Here’s its plot summary as provided by the good folks at IMDB.com:
“Five long decades after Death Race 2000 (1975), in the overpopulated United Corporations Of America, the annual Death Race is about to begin. This time, Frankenstein is up against no-nonsense challengers. How many points will he score?”
Purists are quick to point out that 2050 isn’t the only time the original has served as inspiration for a revisitation, however: in 2008, action star Jason Statham headlined the Paul W.S. Anderson loose remake of the original, this time setting the bulk of the action somewhat ‘behind bars’ in a bleak, blighted future wherein convicts suited up behind the wheel for similar action. (In fact, that incarnation has spawned a few sequels in its own universe, as well.) But – in my humble opinion – that darker and grittier attempt took away the camp feelings of the original, and I do so prefer my dystopian tomorrow with a few laughs.
It goes without saying that 2050 wasn’t exactly a barn-burning success. Direct-to-DVD fare gets very little advertising these days, and the film took a bit of a critical drubbing from those who got the chance to screen it either before, during, and after its time in the limelight (IMDB.com shows it currently with a 3.7 on its 10.0 scale), but – as I always say – to each his own. Diff’rent strokes, diff’rent folks.
Start … your … engines!
Genre master Roger Corman has made an incredible number of films – some forgettable, some not-so-much – but perhaps the one I remember most from my youth was the quintessential ‘need for speed’ picture Death Race 2000. In it, the legendary Frankenstein (played by the late David Carradine) and a handful of other seasoned driving veterans endured a cross-country race wherein drivers chalked up points each time they ran down helpless pedestrians who almost always somewhere miraculously got in their way. It was essentially a brutal viewing experience – with a bit more story thrown in for good measure – that created a bit of controversy for its day; but it was honestly meant to be little more than a road trip of all good fun.
Lo and behold, the original Race would eventually receive a legitimate sequel an astonishing four decades later – with an all-new cast and crew, of course – when Death Race 2050 kinda/sorta revisited the idea via writer/director G.J. Echternkamp’s modern sensibilities. In fact, I’ve read online that some don’t much consider the flick a sequel so much as they do a weak remake/reboot. Whatever the case may be, I’m glad to see that the idea was too good to stay shelved for so long, and someone resurrected Frankenstein for today’s discriminating audience.
Who couldn’t use a bit more shlock in their entertainment diet?
This time out, the popular Manu Bennett took the wheel as Frankenstein, and the cast was rounded out with Malcolm McDowell, Marci Miller, Burt Grinstead, Yancy Butler, and Shanna Olson in key roles. Here’s its plot summary as provided by the good folks at IMDB.com:
“Five long decades after Death Race 2000 (1975), in the overpopulated United Corporations Of America, the annual Death Race is about to begin. This time, Frankenstein is up against no-nonsense challengers. How many points will he score?”
Purists are quick to point out that 2050 isn’t the only time the original has served as inspiration for a revisitation, however: in 2008, action star Jason Statham headlined the Paul W.S. Anderson loose remake of the original, this time setting the bulk of the action somewhat ‘behind bars’ in a bleak, blighted future wherein convicts suited up behind the wheel for similar action. (In fact, that incarnation has spawned a few sequels in its own universe, as well.) But – in my humble opinion – that darker and grittier attempt took away the camp feelings of the original, and I do so prefer my dystopian tomorrow with a few laughs.
It goes without saying that 2050 wasn’t exactly a barn-burning success. Direct-to-DVD fare gets very little advertising these days, and the film took a bit of a critical drubbing from those who got the chance to screen it either before, during, and after its time in the limelight (IMDB.com shows it currently with a 3.7 on its 10.0 scale), but – as I always say – to each his own. Diff’rent strokes, diff’rent folks.
Start … your … engines!
As always, thanks for reading ... and live long and prosper!
-- EZ
-- EZ
- Published on
Just how great a legacy does character actor Earl Boen leave us with his departure from this realm?
Well, answers to those questions do get very complicated, especially when we're dealing with on-screen (or behind-the-screen) talent; and that's mostly because it's difficult to measure something as nebulous as a professional resume against the backdrop of the entire history of entertainment. Still, I'd argue that Boen made a contribution worthy of a few words on my part, especially with my affinity for Science Fiction.
He's the only actor -- along with Arnold Schwarzenegger -- to appear in the first three films of the Terminator franchise, and that's certainly no small feat. This screen time might be more broadly considered a bit of diminishing returns, given his passing role in Rise Of The Machines (2003); and yet I'd argue his character, like Schwarzenegger's central cyborg, was given even substance to make these appearances worthwhile. Heck, even the transition of just how centrally he tied in with the whole franchise tied him up-close-and-personal to the life of Sarah Connor in the first two films.
But enough of that work ...
He certainly started out small, filling out secondary roles in film and (mostly) television, scheduled work in such franchises as TV's Wonder Woman, Buck Rogers In The 25th Century, and A Man Called Sloane before digging deep into SciFi/Fantasy with a spot as one of the recruited warriors aboard Roger Corman's Battle Beyond The Stars (1981). Though I've never read for certain, I'm guessing that it was at this impasse that his skills caught the eye of director James Cameron (who worked in the art and production department on that film), and this likely led to Cameron's casting the man as the police pyschologist Dr. Silverman, thus making screen history in whatever small way.
There was much, much more -- his IMDB.com page indicates that he amassed nearly three hundred different screen roles, some of which was voice acting in film, TV, and video games. I encourage those interested in knowing more to check out that profile right here, and I think you'll see he was an experienced Thespian, the likes of which I'm glad we have in SciFi and Fantasy.
Alas, none of us lasts forever, though talent does get a longer life with what they leave for us to explore in the days ahead. Prayers and wishes are nonetheless extended to the family, friends, and fans of Mr. Boen. May he rest in peace.
-- EZ
Well, answers to those questions do get very complicated, especially when we're dealing with on-screen (or behind-the-screen) talent; and that's mostly because it's difficult to measure something as nebulous as a professional resume against the backdrop of the entire history of entertainment. Still, I'd argue that Boen made a contribution worthy of a few words on my part, especially with my affinity for Science Fiction.
He's the only actor -- along with Arnold Schwarzenegger -- to appear in the first three films of the Terminator franchise, and that's certainly no small feat. This screen time might be more broadly considered a bit of diminishing returns, given his passing role in Rise Of The Machines (2003); and yet I'd argue his character, like Schwarzenegger's central cyborg, was given even substance to make these appearances worthwhile. Heck, even the transition of just how centrally he tied in with the whole franchise tied him up-close-and-personal to the life of Sarah Connor in the first two films.
But enough of that work ...
He certainly started out small, filling out secondary roles in film and (mostly) television, scheduled work in such franchises as TV's Wonder Woman, Buck Rogers In The 25th Century, and A Man Called Sloane before digging deep into SciFi/Fantasy with a spot as one of the recruited warriors aboard Roger Corman's Battle Beyond The Stars (1981). Though I've never read for certain, I'm guessing that it was at this impasse that his skills caught the eye of director James Cameron (who worked in the art and production department on that film), and this likely led to Cameron's casting the man as the police pyschologist Dr. Silverman, thus making screen history in whatever small way.
There was much, much more -- his IMDB.com page indicates that he amassed nearly three hundred different screen roles, some of which was voice acting in film, TV, and video games. I encourage those interested in knowing more to check out that profile right here, and I think you'll see he was an experienced Thespian, the likes of which I'm glad we have in SciFi and Fantasy.
Alas, none of us lasts forever, though talent does get a longer life with what they leave for us to explore in the days ahead. Prayers and wishes are nonetheless extended to the family, friends, and fans of Mr. Boen. May he rest in peace.
-- EZ
- Published on
Horror – like Comedy – can be a difficult proposition.
What is functionally frightening varies person-to-person. While some audiences find pictures exploring demonic possession to be the zenith of the genre, I’ve also found them exploitive and inadequate, never posing enough answers for my inquiring mind. Slasher pictures? Well, they have an interesting vicariousness to them, but their stories tend to simplify the psychology to the point of absurdity, and I’m not all that moved by the effort. Ghosts? I don’t believe in them, so buying into these particular tales is an uphill battle right out of the gate. See what I mean? Because the requirements of what each of us looks for in a great picture varies, storytellers end up pushing their yarn into particular tracks, hoping that those most interested in this particular type of Horror finds it.
Consequently, the filmed versions of H.P. Lovecraft’s works have been a mixed bag for me as a reviewer.
Like so many, I know his name best for the great and gory Re-Animator (1985) and From Beyond (1986), both which came to bold cinematic life from the work of the late director Stuart Gordon. Simply put, Gordon’s style had a way of interpreting Lovecraft’s occasionally dizzying worldview in a way that viewers could relate to, giving it perhaps a prettier package than such mythology is owed. (God bless the 1980’s, am I right?) It may not have always been – say – intellectual, but it was as much fun the way a good movie should be as it was truly scary. Lovecraft had his own shortcomings – as an author and as a man – and he leaves behind a legacy that Gordon effectively mined for success in the home video era.
1970’s The Dunwich Horror, by comparison, is an incessantly tame, but don’t mistake it’s lack of chutzpah as laziness. The film occasionally hits some interesting chords for smart viewers, but – much like its central character suffers from the constant drugging – there’s an undercurrent of lethargy anchoring it in the slow lane … and that’s ultimately what keeps this attempt from being truly as groundbreaking as it could’ve been.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
What is functionally frightening varies person-to-person. While some audiences find pictures exploring demonic possession to be the zenith of the genre, I’ve also found them exploitive and inadequate, never posing enough answers for my inquiring mind. Slasher pictures? Well, they have an interesting vicariousness to them, but their stories tend to simplify the psychology to the point of absurdity, and I’m not all that moved by the effort. Ghosts? I don’t believe in them, so buying into these particular tales is an uphill battle right out of the gate. See what I mean? Because the requirements of what each of us looks for in a great picture varies, storytellers end up pushing their yarn into particular tracks, hoping that those most interested in this particular type of Horror finds it.
Consequently, the filmed versions of H.P. Lovecraft’s works have been a mixed bag for me as a reviewer.
Like so many, I know his name best for the great and gory Re-Animator (1985) and From Beyond (1986), both which came to bold cinematic life from the work of the late director Stuart Gordon. Simply put, Gordon’s style had a way of interpreting Lovecraft’s occasionally dizzying worldview in a way that viewers could relate to, giving it perhaps a prettier package than such mythology is owed. (God bless the 1980’s, am I right?) It may not have always been – say – intellectual, but it was as much fun the way a good movie should be as it was truly scary. Lovecraft had his own shortcomings – as an author and as a man – and he leaves behind a legacy that Gordon effectively mined for success in the home video era.
1970’s The Dunwich Horror, by comparison, is an incessantly tame, but don’t mistake it’s lack of chutzpah as laziness. The film occasionally hits some interesting chords for smart viewers, but – much like its central character suffers from the constant drugging – there’s an undercurrent of lethargy anchoring it in the slow lane … and that’s ultimately what keeps this attempt from being truly as groundbreaking as it could’ve been.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com citation:
“Wilbur Whateley travels to the Arkham Miskatonic University to borrow the legendary Necronomicon. But, little does anyone know, Whateley isn’t quite human …”
Honestly, I’ve read enough Lovecraft to know that I probably wouldn’t enjoy reading all that much more of it. I offer that not so much as a reflection on the quality as I do a general statement on his particular style: it’s just not something that moves me as a reader. While imaginative and understandably pioneering in its own way, it just doesn’t connect with me on any level, so I’ll leave that discussion to others.
Still, screenwriters Curtis Hanson, Henry Rosenbaum, and Ronald Silkosky (yes, this film went through several hands before finding life) did a pretty estimable job at taking a unfilmable work such as The Dunwich Horror and turning it into something for mass consumption. Director Daniel Haller also packed his feature with enough visual flourish to keep some of the tale’s more esoteric moments both convincing and compelling, so much so that the folks behind the Avoriaz Fantastic Film Festival nominated the picture for its 1973 Grand Prize. Though the film didn’t win, I think the nomination alone is justified and perhaps speaks to why audiences might want to spend 90 minutes getting comfortable with this release.
From what I’ve read, headliner Sandra Dee initially signed aboard the project as she saw its subject matter as being substantially different from anything she’d done before that it would rejuvenate her career. For those unaware, Dee’s workload to this point had involved playing somewhat virginal young ladies; her performances in the Gidget film series as well as a few other pictures had made her the heartthrob of young men and boys across America, and the actress wanted her return to the silver screen after a three year hiatus to demonstrate that she had outgrown such fare and was ready for a new direction. She saw Dunwich’s ‘Nancy Wagner’ as up to that task.
In that respect, her performance in the picture is merely ‘good enough.’ My reservations with it aren’t centered on Dee’s talent – which is never in doubt – but rather the problems with the script.
“Wilbur Whateley travels to the Arkham Miskatonic University to borrow the legendary Necronomicon. But, little does anyone know, Whateley isn’t quite human …”
Honestly, I’ve read enough Lovecraft to know that I probably wouldn’t enjoy reading all that much more of it. I offer that not so much as a reflection on the quality as I do a general statement on his particular style: it’s just not something that moves me as a reader. While imaginative and understandably pioneering in its own way, it just doesn’t connect with me on any level, so I’ll leave that discussion to others.
Still, screenwriters Curtis Hanson, Henry Rosenbaum, and Ronald Silkosky (yes, this film went through several hands before finding life) did a pretty estimable job at taking a unfilmable work such as The Dunwich Horror and turning it into something for mass consumption. Director Daniel Haller also packed his feature with enough visual flourish to keep some of the tale’s more esoteric moments both convincing and compelling, so much so that the folks behind the Avoriaz Fantastic Film Festival nominated the picture for its 1973 Grand Prize. Though the film didn’t win, I think the nomination alone is justified and perhaps speaks to why audiences might want to spend 90 minutes getting comfortable with this release.
From what I’ve read, headliner Sandra Dee initially signed aboard the project as she saw its subject matter as being substantially different from anything she’d done before that it would rejuvenate her career. For those unaware, Dee’s workload to this point had involved playing somewhat virginal young ladies; her performances in the Gidget film series as well as a few other pictures had made her the heartthrob of young men and boys across America, and the actress wanted her return to the silver screen after a three year hiatus to demonstrate that she had outgrown such fare and was ready for a new direction. She saw Dunwich’s ‘Nancy Wagner’ as up to that task.
In that respect, her performance in the picture is merely ‘good enough.’ My reservations with it aren’t centered on Dee’s talent – which is never in doubt – but rather the problems with the script.
After initially responding to the affections of Wilbur Whateley (played by Dean Stockwell, which I’ll address shortly), Wagner spends nearly the rest of the film in a drug-induced stupor (see what those affections got you?), which sadly gives Dee very little to do. She reclines on a hillside, looking romantically – yet sleepily – into her suitor’s eyes. She joins him graveside for his grandfather’s burial, all the while looking like she’d be more comfortable taking a nap. She waits in the car while Whateley secrets off to steal the Necronomicon, mostly because she hasn’t the energy to do anything else. As much as the actress probably wanted this to be her big comeback picture, Dunwich isn’t. The script is mired in her victimhood – understandably so – and other than spending the second half of it in a state of perpetual sexual arousal Dee just has so little to do in it.
In fact, I’ve read that Dee refused to do any nudity in Dunwich. (In all seriousness, there isn’t much in there, certainly not all that much assigned to the character.) The sequences of Wagner appearing beneath a thin, belted black veil on the cliffside altar were captured with a body double, and – as I stated – this occupies a great amount of the film. I don’t know who producers ultimately cast to fill out those seminal moments in their project, but I can tell you the woman’s left butt cheek certainly leaves its own mark in film history. It conveys a level of eroticism usually reserved for full frontal! Frankly, I’ve never seen better acting from a hip.
Alas, Dunwich ends up being one of Stockwell’s more memorable efforts.
In the guise of Whateley, the actor is in full command of the screen at every opportunity. While dressed as a somewhat meek, bookish man, Stockwell displays a latent confidence in his eyes and posture that speaks to his secret agenda. He plays the small town outsider with a hidden charisma, showing that he’s fully committed to carrying out his affairs no matter the costs to the few around him. There’s almost a spiritual lyricism to his movements – when he’s handling the knife at his grandfather’s grave or mixing potions on the devilish hillside platform. Perhaps Dunwich’s best physically telling moment is when he takes the Necronomicon from which he’s casting his final spell and rests it ever-so-gently between Wagner’s thighs … right in the crotch. It’s a quick sequence – one most viewers might miss – but it’s the kind of visual subversiveness film aficionados like me will be debating the meaning of even on our deathbed.
Had there been more of this – more of these dark, vivid yet provocative touches – then Dunwich may’ve made for a tastier concoction.
Haller packs the film with some interesting tactics, fleshing out an interesting ‘point-of-view’ of the central creature as it terrorizes the countryside once unleashed from the attic, some of which gets rendered in monochrome effects trickery. There’s even the suggestion of a monstrous rape when Wagner’s coworker Elizabeth Hamilton (the comely Donna Baccala) tries to uncover just what secrets are hiding in the Whateley mansion, only to fall victim herself to just whatever it is was hiding in the house. But too much of it gets wasted in the slow, plodding delivery, leaving too much of the experience feeling like we were searching for a different villain when what mattered most were the two we already had.
In fact, I’ve read that Dee refused to do any nudity in Dunwich. (In all seriousness, there isn’t much in there, certainly not all that much assigned to the character.) The sequences of Wagner appearing beneath a thin, belted black veil on the cliffside altar were captured with a body double, and – as I stated – this occupies a great amount of the film. I don’t know who producers ultimately cast to fill out those seminal moments in their project, but I can tell you the woman’s left butt cheek certainly leaves its own mark in film history. It conveys a level of eroticism usually reserved for full frontal! Frankly, I’ve never seen better acting from a hip.
Alas, Dunwich ends up being one of Stockwell’s more memorable efforts.
In the guise of Whateley, the actor is in full command of the screen at every opportunity. While dressed as a somewhat meek, bookish man, Stockwell displays a latent confidence in his eyes and posture that speaks to his secret agenda. He plays the small town outsider with a hidden charisma, showing that he’s fully committed to carrying out his affairs no matter the costs to the few around him. There’s almost a spiritual lyricism to his movements – when he’s handling the knife at his grandfather’s grave or mixing potions on the devilish hillside platform. Perhaps Dunwich’s best physically telling moment is when he takes the Necronomicon from which he’s casting his final spell and rests it ever-so-gently between Wagner’s thighs … right in the crotch. It’s a quick sequence – one most viewers might miss – but it’s the kind of visual subversiveness film aficionados like me will be debating the meaning of even on our deathbed.
Had there been more of this – more of these dark, vivid yet provocative touches – then Dunwich may’ve made for a tastier concoction.
Haller packs the film with some interesting tactics, fleshing out an interesting ‘point-of-view’ of the central creature as it terrorizes the countryside once unleashed from the attic, some of which gets rendered in monochrome effects trickery. There’s even the suggestion of a monstrous rape when Wagner’s coworker Elizabeth Hamilton (the comely Donna Baccala) tries to uncover just what secrets are hiding in the Whateley mansion, only to fall victim herself to just whatever it is was hiding in the house. But too much of it gets wasted in the slow, plodding delivery, leaving too much of the experience feeling like we were searching for a different villain when what mattered most were the two we already had.
The Dunwich Horror (1970) was produced by American International Pictures (AIP). DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Films. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I thought the feature’s sights and sounds were quite good: the information available only states that this was an all-new 4K remastering from the original 35mm camera negative, and it looks very good and crisp consistently. As for the special features? Erm …
Mildly recommended.
In some ways, I was surprised I didn’t enjoy The Dunwich Horror (1970) more. It had everything I typically look for in a quality supernatural film – solid cast, good script, strong villain, respectful production, etc. – but for reasons I can’t quite fathom it just failed to fully resonate. The pacing feels entirely off in a few places, and scenes stretch out much longer than they need to be. I’m left wondering if the flick came in a bit short and/or studio shenanigans asked for reshoots and/or pickups to get the picture in the shape the corporate suits required. Whatever the truth may be, the end result is that its narrative bloat detracts from what good choices director Haller made, and I’ve no doubt a leaner cut may very well have improved the whole affair.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Dunwich Horror (1970) 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
- Well, let me first state that – as always – Arrow should be commended for producing some of the best collections around (I seriously have a ton of respect for their packaging) … but – ahem – the disc boasts an audio commentary from English author Guy Adams and author A.K. Benedict that I found quite distracting. Rarely do the two actually provided substantive information about the film, instead choosing to engage in some banter only semi-related to it. While it was occasionally clever and/or funny, it just seemed like a real miss, never quite giving the flick the respect much less consideration it was owed.
- Instead, I’d recommend viewers spend time with The Door Into Dunwich, a 2+ hour conversation about the film and Lovecraft in general between comic book artist Stephen R. Bissette and novelist Stephen Laws. It’s a vastly more respectful dissection of the feature and like-minded pictures as well as the cast and crew and other Lovecraftian material. Though a bit dry in a few spots (lots of facts and figures can bog down the mind), these two clearly know their stuff and do a much better job in conveying why the flick deserves a bit of consideration, even though today’s audiences might find it a bit dated.
- Furthermore, the disc includes a 16+ minute essay by Science Fiction and Fantasy author Ruthanna Emrys that is far more respectful and interesting than the commentary, as well. While it doesn’t focus centrally on Dunwich, it’s still more on-track and incisive about Lovecraft than the two comedians manage to deliver.
- Also, there’s an overlong examination of Les Baxter’s score for the film done by David Huckvale (of BBC Radio). While quite good (the report, not so much the score, which I found a bit curious, at best), I think it could’ve been edited to be much shorter, mainly because I didn’t find the film’s music to be nearly as impactful as it could’ve been. Diff’rent folks, Diff’rent strokes …
- Lastly, the disc includes the obligatory theatrical trailer and image gallery.
- P.S.: online reportage also states that the Arrow release includes a collector’s booklet including two different essays. I was only provided an industry screening copy – sans the actual packaging – so I unfortunately can’t comment on the quality of those materials, having not seen them. (Argh!)
Mildly recommended.
In some ways, I was surprised I didn’t enjoy The Dunwich Horror (1970) more. It had everything I typically look for in a quality supernatural film – solid cast, good script, strong villain, respectful production, etc. – but for reasons I can’t quite fathom it just failed to fully resonate. The pacing feels entirely off in a few places, and scenes stretch out much longer than they need to be. I’m left wondering if the flick came in a bit short and/or studio shenanigans asked for reshoots and/or pickups to get the picture in the shape the corporate suits required. Whatever the truth may be, the end result is that its narrative bloat detracts from what good choices director Haller made, and I’ve no doubt a leaner cut may very well have improved the whole affair.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of The Dunwich Horror (1970) 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
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s product packaging:
“Captured in a daring raid by ex-CIA agent Eric Mathews, the merciless terrorist hit-woman Samira is brought to the U.S. where she undergoes experimental brain surgery. Transformed into an unstoppable bionic warrior, she returns to the Middle East, where she obediently wipes out all of her former comrades. But when a malfunction reactivates Samira’s human memories, she launches into a frenzy of cold-blooded vengeance …”
There’s a bit more, but as it gets really into some unimportant details I’ve chosen to leave it at that. Suffice it to say, Programmed To Kill bites off an awful lot of subject matter – terrorism, nationalism, anti-Establishment, fringe science, etc. – and if ambition was all that was required for success then this Allan Holzman directed thriller should’ve made the grade. Alas, it didn’t – decades later, the feature only has a paltry 3.7 audience rating on IMDB.com – and probably fell into obscurity fairly quickly, despite having the marquee presence of Sandahl Bergman, definitely a bit of a phenomenon in genre circles in the 1980’s … but more on that in a moment …
While Programmed has a reasonably interesting and somewhat timely script from Robert Short (mostly known in Hollywood for his effects work), the production smacks entirely of a low budget exercise. Location shooting isn’t all that grand, set decoration is slim to none, and its effects and pyrotechnics spectacles are all a bit underwhelming. Feeling in some ways as if the central idea of a cybernetic fembot was meant to capitalize on the popularity of 1984’s The Terminator (in some countries, Programmed was released under the name The Retaliator), one might think that the producers would’ve made a greater effort minimally to showcase Bergman as a Schwarzenegger clone. Sadly, she’s given zero charisma, choosing to merely choke the bulk of her victims and leave them with mouths bloodied as she strides calmly away.
What? Not even a clever Schwarzenegger quip?
Sigh.
To my recollection, leading man Robert Ginty as contract agent Eric Mathews was never a big name. A quick review of his resume shows a fair amount of TV appearances and smaller movies including visits to Project U.F.O., The Exterminator (1980), and Warrior Of The Lost World (1984). As Mathews, he never quite displays the level of cunning and commitment (much less competence) that Short’s script ascribes to him; instead, we’re expected to accept his bona fides at face value and go from there. Granted, he’s given the obligatory family to protect in the final reel – a wide-eyed teenager played by the late Paul Walker and a frustrated wife who predictably just wants him to leave the danger behind – but he’s as much a stock player here as are the faces that surround him.
And speaking stock choices?
Short’s script is plagued by too many cliches of its day. The general distrust of government stemming from the Vietnam War and Watergate eras practically required that the next generation hero be someone working from outside “the (federal) system,” so it became increasingly popular for the protagonist to be a private contractor instead of a legitimate government agent. And because these contractors were functionally independent, they had to have their own private network of like-minded experts and/or consultants to draw upon when either the science or any other professional ‘know how’ escaped them, and Mathews has his own roster. Lastly, our hero (or is that anti-hero) would inevitably come into conflict with not only “Uncle Sam” but also another group of rogue elements representing national interests; and, yes, all of these cookie cutter sensibilities whisk any measure of freshness away from the film.
From the film’s product packaging:
“Captured in a daring raid by ex-CIA agent Eric Mathews, the merciless terrorist hit-woman Samira is brought to the U.S. where she undergoes experimental brain surgery. Transformed into an unstoppable bionic warrior, she returns to the Middle East, where she obediently wipes out all of her former comrades. But when a malfunction reactivates Samira’s human memories, she launches into a frenzy of cold-blooded vengeance …”
There’s a bit more, but as it gets really into some unimportant details I’ve chosen to leave it at that. Suffice it to say, Programmed To Kill bites off an awful lot of subject matter – terrorism, nationalism, anti-Establishment, fringe science, etc. – and if ambition was all that was required for success then this Allan Holzman directed thriller should’ve made the grade. Alas, it didn’t – decades later, the feature only has a paltry 3.7 audience rating on IMDB.com – and probably fell into obscurity fairly quickly, despite having the marquee presence of Sandahl Bergman, definitely a bit of a phenomenon in genre circles in the 1980’s … but more on that in a moment …
While Programmed has a reasonably interesting and somewhat timely script from Robert Short (mostly known in Hollywood for his effects work), the production smacks entirely of a low budget exercise. Location shooting isn’t all that grand, set decoration is slim to none, and its effects and pyrotechnics spectacles are all a bit underwhelming. Feeling in some ways as if the central idea of a cybernetic fembot was meant to capitalize on the popularity of 1984’s The Terminator (in some countries, Programmed was released under the name The Retaliator), one might think that the producers would’ve made a greater effort minimally to showcase Bergman as a Schwarzenegger clone. Sadly, she’s given zero charisma, choosing to merely choke the bulk of her victims and leave them with mouths bloodied as she strides calmly away.
What? Not even a clever Schwarzenegger quip?
Sigh.
To my recollection, leading man Robert Ginty as contract agent Eric Mathews was never a big name. A quick review of his resume shows a fair amount of TV appearances and smaller movies including visits to Project U.F.O., The Exterminator (1980), and Warrior Of The Lost World (1984). As Mathews, he never quite displays the level of cunning and commitment (much less competence) that Short’s script ascribes to him; instead, we’re expected to accept his bona fides at face value and go from there. Granted, he’s given the obligatory family to protect in the final reel – a wide-eyed teenager played by the late Paul Walker and a frustrated wife who predictably just wants him to leave the danger behind – but he’s as much a stock player here as are the faces that surround him.
And speaking stock choices?
Short’s script is plagued by too many cliches of its day. The general distrust of government stemming from the Vietnam War and Watergate eras practically required that the next generation hero be someone working from outside “the (federal) system,” so it became increasingly popular for the protagonist to be a private contractor instead of a legitimate government agent. And because these contractors were functionally independent, they had to have their own private network of like-minded experts and/or consultants to draw upon when either the science or any other professional ‘know how’ escaped them, and Mathews has his own roster. Lastly, our hero (or is that anti-hero) would inevitably come into conflict with not only “Uncle Sam” but also another group of rogue elements representing national interests; and, yes, all of these cookie cutter sensibilities whisk any measure of freshness away from the film.
In fact, Programmed is downright laughable – likely unintentionally so – when it adheres so fervently to this formula. Mathews is handed several action sequences that play out rather poorly, from a car chase where he shoots the gas can mounted to the tail of a fleeing Jeep to the awkwardly staged fisticuffs that erupt the first time he and Samira go head-to-head. (FYI: he ends up face first and all wet in a conveniently placed swimming pool.) Sticking so faithfully to the expectations of the traditional thriller had Programmed feeling aesthetically very much like it had been ‘programmed’ from the start, with nothing wholly organic to give the end product a life all of its own.
If anyone put in a bit more effort that tried to elevate the project, then Bergman deserves a small bit of recognition.
The actress found a bit of fame in the role of Valeria, the warrior who warmed Schwarzenegger’s heart in 1982’s Conan The Barbarian. Indeed, in that picture it was her death that spurred the Cimmerian to ultimately accept his destiny to rid the world of the evil Thulsa Doom. Then, the actress found an even bigger role in She (1984), a Fantasy production loosely based on the H. Rider Haggard novel. In it, Bergman again crossed swords with a plethora of villains in a post-Apocalyptic world, proving once more that she was ably suited when the script called for a mixture of strength and sensuality. Lastly, 1985 saw her reacquainted on the big screen with Arnold where they both played second fiddle to Bridgitte Nielsen in Robert E. Howard’s Red Sonja. Though the movie was largely critically panned, I’ve often enjoyed its campier sentiments as well as some respectable production work. Bergman’s Queen Gedren chews scenery in a few spots, and the picture – while not great – is still better because she’s in it.
In Programmed, Bergman’s introduction is handled well enough. When viewers first meet her, the actress convincingly wears the face of the modern revolutionary: as a terrorist gunning down innocent civilians in the street, she’s enjoying herself, guns a’blazing. As the attack draws to a close, she has the presence of mind to nab a few American children to take back to the den as hostages. However, once she’s transformed into the role of the film’s cybernetically-infused antagonist, Short’s script – along with Holzman’s direction – robs her of any emotion. Instead, she strides and struts around with a mostly blank face, even after her latent human memories emerge to counteract the CIA programming. In fact, we don’t see any emotion from the lady whatsoever until the final reel: once she realizes that bulldozer bearing down on her might spell her demise, she’s finally pulled from her robotic stupor … only a bit too late to save herself and the entire motion picture.
Still, films are always collective pursuits. When not everyone on board delivers the best that they’re capable of, then the group suffers as a consequence. An inferior script along with the inferior vision of a director banished the thriller to obscurity … and Bergman’s talent just wasn’t strong enough to rescue it from the trash bin on cinema history.
Programmed To Kill (1987) was produced by Retaliator Productions and Trans World Entertainment (TWE). DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the reliable folks at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I thought the flick’s sights and sounds were mostly very good; there are a few sequences wherein I suspect some flawed set-ups likely contributed to the poor quality of the resulting image. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? Then you have a disc boasting an all-new 2K scan of the 35mm Interpositive, the theatrical trailer, an alternate opening sequence, an interview with screenwriter Short, and an audio commentary featuring director Holzman and filmmaker Douglas Hosdale.
Only mildly recommended. Maybe even barely, considering how few marks it hit.
Methinks the issue with a forgotten film like Programmed To Kill (1987) is that it feels all too often like a product of its time: a mildly creative riff on a theatrical success (i.e. The Terminator) that was produced quickly and cheaply and without much thought and preparation. Likely, this was meant to get out into the marketplace – to the video stores shelves of the day – in order to capitalize on something else, rather than deliver something that could uniquely stand on its own two feet. While there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that – the entertainment industry is a business, first and foremost – I think it’s a crime to waste a commodity like Bergman on a script that gave her so little to do. She and her fans deserved better.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Programmed To Kill (1987) 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
If anyone put in a bit more effort that tried to elevate the project, then Bergman deserves a small bit of recognition.
The actress found a bit of fame in the role of Valeria, the warrior who warmed Schwarzenegger’s heart in 1982’s Conan The Barbarian. Indeed, in that picture it was her death that spurred the Cimmerian to ultimately accept his destiny to rid the world of the evil Thulsa Doom. Then, the actress found an even bigger role in She (1984), a Fantasy production loosely based on the H. Rider Haggard novel. In it, Bergman again crossed swords with a plethora of villains in a post-Apocalyptic world, proving once more that she was ably suited when the script called for a mixture of strength and sensuality. Lastly, 1985 saw her reacquainted on the big screen with Arnold where they both played second fiddle to Bridgitte Nielsen in Robert E. Howard’s Red Sonja. Though the movie was largely critically panned, I’ve often enjoyed its campier sentiments as well as some respectable production work. Bergman’s Queen Gedren chews scenery in a few spots, and the picture – while not great – is still better because she’s in it.
In Programmed, Bergman’s introduction is handled well enough. When viewers first meet her, the actress convincingly wears the face of the modern revolutionary: as a terrorist gunning down innocent civilians in the street, she’s enjoying herself, guns a’blazing. As the attack draws to a close, she has the presence of mind to nab a few American children to take back to the den as hostages. However, once she’s transformed into the role of the film’s cybernetically-infused antagonist, Short’s script – along with Holzman’s direction – robs her of any emotion. Instead, she strides and struts around with a mostly blank face, even after her latent human memories emerge to counteract the CIA programming. In fact, we don’t see any emotion from the lady whatsoever until the final reel: once she realizes that bulldozer bearing down on her might spell her demise, she’s finally pulled from her robotic stupor … only a bit too late to save herself and the entire motion picture.
Still, films are always collective pursuits. When not everyone on board delivers the best that they’re capable of, then the group suffers as a consequence. An inferior script along with the inferior vision of a director banished the thriller to obscurity … and Bergman’s talent just wasn’t strong enough to rescue it from the trash bin on cinema history.
Programmed To Kill (1987) was produced by Retaliator Productions and Trans World Entertainment (TWE). DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the reliable folks at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I thought the flick’s sights and sounds were mostly very good; there are a few sequences wherein I suspect some flawed set-ups likely contributed to the poor quality of the resulting image. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? Then you have a disc boasting an all-new 2K scan of the 35mm Interpositive, the theatrical trailer, an alternate opening sequence, an interview with screenwriter Short, and an audio commentary featuring director Holzman and filmmaker Douglas Hosdale.
Only mildly recommended. Maybe even barely, considering how few marks it hit.
Methinks the issue with a forgotten film like Programmed To Kill (1987) is that it feels all too often like a product of its time: a mildly creative riff on a theatrical success (i.e. The Terminator) that was produced quickly and cheaply and without much thought and preparation. Likely, this was meant to get out into the marketplace – to the video stores shelves of the day – in order to capitalize on something else, rather than deliver something that could uniquely stand on its own two feet. While there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that – the entertainment industry is a business, first and foremost – I think it’s a crime to waste a commodity like Bergman on a script that gave her so little to do. She and her fans deserved better.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Programmed To Kill (1987) 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
Even since literature introduced us culturally to the whole Rip Van Winkle premise – that a person could somehow awaken after centuries of slumber – Science Fiction and Fantasy films have been tinkering with the idea.
Indeed, Universal Pictures and Glen A. Larson launched an entire franchise surrounding the idea in 1979 when they delivered a contemporary version of Buck Rogers In The 25th Century first to the silver screen and then to the small one. In it, Captain William ‘Buck’ Rogers experienced a stellar phenomenon that put him to sleep for much more than a nap, and he awoke centuries after his initial launch from Earth. A few years after the series, Universal and director Fred Schepisi even took another swing at the idea, this time with a bit more dramatic panache: Iceman (1984) saw a Neanderthal man frozen in ice thawed, revived, and studied by a team of scientists on an arctic mission. Trust me when I say that – while there have been many, many more – what really matters most is that storytellers rarely let a good idea go to waste, so they’ve found countless variations on it in order see that – like its fateful sleepers – it never dies.
In 1984, Albert Band International Productions, Inc. and Empire Pictures teamed up for another go at tackling the cryogenic traveler when they delivered Ghost Warrior (aka Swordkill) to theaters. According to IMDB.com, the picture enjoyed its theatrical debut May 15 at the Cannes Film Market before securing release in countries around the world. Directed by J. Larry Carroll from a script by Tim Curnen, the SciFi/Drama starred Hiroshi Fujioka as Yoshimitsu, a samurai warrior who by way of a frozen slumber finds himself displaced a few centuries only to wake up in 1980’s America where he’ll sadly learn that crime and punishment are still in fashion.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com citation:
“A deep-frozen 400-year-old samurai is shipped to Los Angeles, where he comes back to life. Dazed and confused, he goes on a rampage. Can the female scientist and her colleague who revived him stop him before it’s too late?”
Indeed, Universal Pictures and Glen A. Larson launched an entire franchise surrounding the idea in 1979 when they delivered a contemporary version of Buck Rogers In The 25th Century first to the silver screen and then to the small one. In it, Captain William ‘Buck’ Rogers experienced a stellar phenomenon that put him to sleep for much more than a nap, and he awoke centuries after his initial launch from Earth. A few years after the series, Universal and director Fred Schepisi even took another swing at the idea, this time with a bit more dramatic panache: Iceman (1984) saw a Neanderthal man frozen in ice thawed, revived, and studied by a team of scientists on an arctic mission. Trust me when I say that – while there have been many, many more – what really matters most is that storytellers rarely let a good idea go to waste, so they’ve found countless variations on it in order see that – like its fateful sleepers – it never dies.
In 1984, Albert Band International Productions, Inc. and Empire Pictures teamed up for another go at tackling the cryogenic traveler when they delivered Ghost Warrior (aka Swordkill) to theaters. According to IMDB.com, the picture enjoyed its theatrical debut May 15 at the Cannes Film Market before securing release in countries around the world. Directed by J. Larry Carroll from a script by Tim Curnen, the SciFi/Drama starred Hiroshi Fujioka as Yoshimitsu, a samurai warrior who by way of a frozen slumber finds himself displaced a few centuries only to wake up in 1980’s America where he’ll sadly learn that crime and punishment are still in fashion.
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters. If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment. If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
From the film’s IMDB.com citation:
“A deep-frozen 400-year-old samurai is shipped to Los Angeles, where he comes back to life. Dazed and confused, he goes on a rampage. Can the female scientist and her colleague who revived him stop him before it’s too late?”
Full disclosure: as much as I love genre projects, I’ve also had a soft spot in my heart for the classic samurai picture. I have a small assortment of them in my personal library, including the incredible Criterion Collection release a few years back of the entire Zatoichi cinema franchise. They just have this simplicity of good versus evil to them – along with a smattering of philosophizing about where goodness and villainy come from and evolve – that I appreciate. There might be a character or two in these films who engages in some moralizing, trying to push the players in an all-new direction … but you can bet that blades will be pulled by the final reel, and blood will be spilled. Justice is always served, and it’s dispensed by a man who has lived his life by the samurai code.
So you can imagine my glee at discovering Ghost Warrior, an 80’s flick – produced by genre legend Charles Band, no less – that brought Fantasy and Samurai together in a single 80+ minute feature? Somehow this one had escaped my research for so many years, and it’s likely owed to the project’s unevenness in, perhaps, every measurable regard. With a title as bland as Ghost Warrior, there’s no indication as to what you’re getting in exchange for a rental much less an outright purchase, and the lack of any marquee participants (leading man Fujioka isn’t a known commodity in the U.S., and he’s surrounded by second- and third-tier talent from start-to-finish) probably anchored the property to obscurity. While I do think that’s a crying shame – as films go, this one isn’t all that bad – and perhaps this Kino Lorber release will deliver its own form of justice to this fallen warrior.
As tends to happen in B-Movie territory, most problems evolve from an underbaked script, and Curnen’s shoulders just weren’t mighty enough to put this samurai on the proper path.
Yoshi is given an entirely perfunctory set-up: nameless villains have apparently absconded with the love of his life, and he rides out to both stop and confront them in the process. Though he wins his fair lady’s release, he’s quickly double-crossed when the attacker whose life he just spared rises up and hurls a knife into the woman’s gut, killing her. Yoshi’s vengeance is swift, only now he suffers an arrow to the chest, forcing him to plunge off a cliff and into the freezing waters below. A few centuries later, cave explorers happen across the samurai’s frozen body; and – without so much as a passing explanation – the action suddenly shifts to California, where Dr. Alan Richards (played by John Calvin) headlines a team of crack physicians with the skills, equipment, and know-how to bring Yoshi’s frozen body back to life.
At this point, Curnen’s script settles into the traditional ‘fish out of water’ formula, gauging Yoshi’s responses to technology vastly greater than anything of his day. Richards brings in what we’re led to believe is a crack specialist on Japanese culture – Chris Welles (the comely Janet Julian) – but even the character’s narration as written and delivered by the actress admits her singular weakness is that she isn’t very good at speaking Japanese. (?!?!) That and the fact that her only demonstrated understanding of Japanese society seems to be tied to a local Japanese antiques shop truly stretches the bounds of believability nearly too far for the film to effectively ever recover.
So you can imagine my glee at discovering Ghost Warrior, an 80’s flick – produced by genre legend Charles Band, no less – that brought Fantasy and Samurai together in a single 80+ minute feature? Somehow this one had escaped my research for so many years, and it’s likely owed to the project’s unevenness in, perhaps, every measurable regard. With a title as bland as Ghost Warrior, there’s no indication as to what you’re getting in exchange for a rental much less an outright purchase, and the lack of any marquee participants (leading man Fujioka isn’t a known commodity in the U.S., and he’s surrounded by second- and third-tier talent from start-to-finish) probably anchored the property to obscurity. While I do think that’s a crying shame – as films go, this one isn’t all that bad – and perhaps this Kino Lorber release will deliver its own form of justice to this fallen warrior.
As tends to happen in B-Movie territory, most problems evolve from an underbaked script, and Curnen’s shoulders just weren’t mighty enough to put this samurai on the proper path.
Yoshi is given an entirely perfunctory set-up: nameless villains have apparently absconded with the love of his life, and he rides out to both stop and confront them in the process. Though he wins his fair lady’s release, he’s quickly double-crossed when the attacker whose life he just spared rises up and hurls a knife into the woman’s gut, killing her. Yoshi’s vengeance is swift, only now he suffers an arrow to the chest, forcing him to plunge off a cliff and into the freezing waters below. A few centuries later, cave explorers happen across the samurai’s frozen body; and – without so much as a passing explanation – the action suddenly shifts to California, where Dr. Alan Richards (played by John Calvin) headlines a team of crack physicians with the skills, equipment, and know-how to bring Yoshi’s frozen body back to life.
At this point, Curnen’s script settles into the traditional ‘fish out of water’ formula, gauging Yoshi’s responses to technology vastly greater than anything of his day. Richards brings in what we’re led to believe is a crack specialist on Japanese culture – Chris Welles (the comely Janet Julian) – but even the character’s narration as written and delivered by the actress admits her singular weakness is that she isn’t very good at speaking Japanese. (?!?!) That and the fact that her only demonstrated understanding of Japanese society seems to be tied to a local Japanese antiques shop truly stretches the bounds of believability nearly too far for the film to effectively ever recover.
However, the film’s coup de grace is that, functionally, Curnen spends the bulk of hero’s quest merely recreating the moments of Yoshi’s past demise (in feudal Japan) for the sole purpose of giving the samurai a second chance at missed glory. Those baddies of his former life? Why, they’re brought back in the form of a gang of street thugs terrorizing the good city. That missing love interest? Well, he’s given a new gal pal with the available Miss Welles. That big showdown on the high cliffs? It’s going to be delivered again on the ridges of a city reservoir, only this time Dr. Richards will be playing the part of the sneering and dastardly criminal. Given that Yoshi never truly erred in his past life – certainly not to the point of requiring the narrative’s redemption – makes this a fundamentally flawed proposition, and the production feels uninspired all too often.
Given the single fact that there’s literally no one around to cross swords with in the big finish, this Ghost Warrior never had the ghost of a chance to truly rise to the occasion and maybe – just maybe – have been a contender.
Ghost Warrior (1984) was produced by Albert Band International Productions, Inc.; Empire Pictures; Harkham Productions; and Swordkill Productions. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I thought the sights and sounds were exceptionally well delivered; there are a few sequences that appeared a bit soft, but they were not in any way a distraction to the experience. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc boasts an interview with Special Makeup Effects Artist Robert Short, the theatrical trailer, and an audio commentary track by Film Historians Brandon Bentley and Mike Leeder. I’ve listened to the commentary, and – sigh – while I found it occasionally interesting (both hosts clearly know their stuff) the two spend far too much time talking about how they would’ve altered story elements they found ineffective to make for a more inclusive narrative. Their constant Monday morning quarterbacking – along with the fact that one of their microphones was apparently stuck on reverb or something – makes the track hard to recommend.
Strongly recommended.
Ghost Warrior (1984) isn’t so much flawed as others might suggest; rather, Tim Curnen’s script very early establishes itself as trying to parallel Yoshi’s past and present both textually and visually, so it descends quickly into an entirely predictable affair. Fujioka’s earnestness isn’t enough to carry the picture on its own, and far too many stock performances (i.e. token love interest, urban tough guys, hardened city cops, and evil scientists) give the film enough weight to sink it in any body of water … and that itself already happens twice in the picture. Still, as B-Movies go, it’s hard not to root for the temporal underdog, and that’s what props up an otherwise forgettable affair.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Ghost Warrior (1984) 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
Given the single fact that there’s literally no one around to cross swords with in the big finish, this Ghost Warrior never had the ghost of a chance to truly rise to the occasion and maybe – just maybe – have been a contender.
Ghost Warrior (1984) was produced by Albert Band International Productions, Inc.; Empire Pictures; Harkham Productions; and Swordkill Productions. DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber. As for the technical specifications? While I’m no trained video expert, I thought the sights and sounds were exceptionally well delivered; there are a few sequences that appeared a bit soft, but they were not in any way a distraction to the experience. Lastly, if you’re looking for special features? The disc boasts an interview with Special Makeup Effects Artist Robert Short, the theatrical trailer, and an audio commentary track by Film Historians Brandon Bentley and Mike Leeder. I’ve listened to the commentary, and – sigh – while I found it occasionally interesting (both hosts clearly know their stuff) the two spend far too much time talking about how they would’ve altered story elements they found ineffective to make for a more inclusive narrative. Their constant Monday morning quarterbacking – along with the fact that one of their microphones was apparently stuck on reverb or something – makes the track hard to recommend.
Strongly recommended.
Ghost Warrior (1984) isn’t so much flawed as others might suggest; rather, Tim Curnen’s script very early establishes itself as trying to parallel Yoshi’s past and present both textually and visually, so it descends quickly into an entirely predictable affair. Fujioka’s earnestness isn’t enough to carry the picture on its own, and far too many stock performances (i.e. token love interest, urban tough guys, hardened city cops, and evil scientists) give the film enough weight to sink it in any body of water … and that itself already happens twice in the picture. Still, as B-Movies go, it’s hard not to root for the temporal underdog, and that’s what props up an otherwise forgettable affair.
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Ghost Warrior (1984) 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
Here's the gosh-honest truth: I didn't love Star Trek: Deep Space Nine (1993-1999) -- which premiered on this day in television syndication back in 1993 -- nearly as much as I did the original Star Trek and Star Trek: The Next Generation ... but I learned to love it much differently than I did anything that came after it ... making it that last truly inspired visit to the universe as original created by the late Gene Roddenberry.
Let me explain.
As anyone who is a serious Trek enthusiast will tell you, Roddenberry himself always described his original series as a "wagon train to the stars." While I could nitpick those sentiments a bit here and there, I'd agree that, largely, James Kirk and company went boldly where no man had gone before in that vein. Each week, Starfleet's best and brightest went somewhere else, met new people, espoused new messages, and then packed up their troubles in the various coda's before warping off somewhere else next time. What I've always thought most endearing about those original adventures is that they indeed took audiences on flights of fancy to places wherein things weren't always coming up roses, if you understand the meaning of that phrase. Space was wild and unpredictable, and these various other planets housed species who didn't always see the universe the same way we did. Naturally, this different points-of-view made for some wonderful drama -- just how would these people come together, resolve conflicts, and learn how to either work together or keep their distances -- and I think that's why the show continues even to this day to inspire folks who find it decades after its launch.
Star Trek: The Next Generation -- fundamentally -- followed this formula as constructed by Roddenberry and Paramount. Oh, one could argue that the storytellers did a bit more with it. They certainly showed that the galaxy had progressed a bit, that the Federation had effectively 'colonized' space to a respectable degree, and that maybe there was still a bit for us Earthlings to learn about the dangers waiting for us in true exploration. Still, a lot of the original's sense of mortal danger was lessened to a degree: we'd advanced to the point wherein death -- it seemed -- was a fairly rare occurrence, and the stories reflected the cultural sensibilities of the 1980's (in which the show was produced), casting its officers more as 'managers' than they were 'pioneers' of Kirk's day. But TNG was TOS's child, and it functioned largely in that same corporate mold ... though I'll admit that they kinda/sorta 'missed the boat' in that the program rarely had the original's trinity perspective. In fact, anything remotely Kirk-like was almost always a villain in the show's plethora of stories ... but I'll leave it at that now because what matters most is DS9 kinda/sorta righted that narrative blight.
Let me explain.
As anyone who is a serious Trek enthusiast will tell you, Roddenberry himself always described his original series as a "wagon train to the stars." While I could nitpick those sentiments a bit here and there, I'd agree that, largely, James Kirk and company went boldly where no man had gone before in that vein. Each week, Starfleet's best and brightest went somewhere else, met new people, espoused new messages, and then packed up their troubles in the various coda's before warping off somewhere else next time. What I've always thought most endearing about those original adventures is that they indeed took audiences on flights of fancy to places wherein things weren't always coming up roses, if you understand the meaning of that phrase. Space was wild and unpredictable, and these various other planets housed species who didn't always see the universe the same way we did. Naturally, this different points-of-view made for some wonderful drama -- just how would these people come together, resolve conflicts, and learn how to either work together or keep their distances -- and I think that's why the show continues even to this day to inspire folks who find it decades after its launch.
Star Trek: The Next Generation -- fundamentally -- followed this formula as constructed by Roddenberry and Paramount. Oh, one could argue that the storytellers did a bit more with it. They certainly showed that the galaxy had progressed a bit, that the Federation had effectively 'colonized' space to a respectable degree, and that maybe there was still a bit for us Earthlings to learn about the dangers waiting for us in true exploration. Still, a lot of the original's sense of mortal danger was lessened to a degree: we'd advanced to the point wherein death -- it seemed -- was a fairly rare occurrence, and the stories reflected the cultural sensibilities of the 1980's (in which the show was produced), casting its officers more as 'managers' than they were 'pioneers' of Kirk's day. But TNG was TOS's child, and it functioned largely in that same corporate mold ... though I'll admit that they kinda/sorta 'missed the boat' in that the program rarely had the original's trinity perspective. In fact, anything remotely Kirk-like was almost always a villain in the show's plethora of stories ... but I'll leave it at that now because what matters most is DS9 kinda/sorta righted that narrative blight.
In the pre-airing publicity build-up to the show's premiere, Star Trek showrunner Rick Berman turned heads when he announced that Deep Space Nine intended to explore some mildly darker themes. While I think this has been kinda/sorta misinterpreted by many in the industry over the years -- heck, I even think it's been misrepresented by some involving with the show behind and before the camera -- I believe what the producer was honestly trying to say (but said it poorly) is that gone was the somewhat squeaky-clean image of Trek as we were now going to explore this particular corner of the universe with folks who might not always do things the 'Starfleet way.' This was a wild frontier -- one wherein the Federation often had little to know logistical footing -- and that opened the door for what he believed would be an all-new take spin on the old formula ...
... except it wasn't.
It was actually a return to form.
Think what you will, but the original Trek series didn't have the glossy veneer that The Next Generation imposed on its incarnation. If you remember, the Federation made more than its fair share of mistakes -- many of which played key to stories wherein the Enterprise was forced to clean things up a bit from the mess earlier officers and individuals had made -- and it was these conflicts that swung open the doors for exactly that trinity relationship between Kirk (the hero), Spock (the intellect), and Dr. McCoy (the passionate) to debate issue after issue. The original crew often found themselves in situations wherein they didn't agree with one another, and this forced them to spend the better part of 50 minutes attempting to achieve a solution. Those answers weren't always pretty, but they were probably about as effective as one might expect from television storytelling sensibilities.
Thankfully, Deep Space Nine brought crew disagreement back into the fold. These officers and civilians were forced to live under the same roof and face some incredible challenges ... domestic, scientific, and political. As the incredible run of 173 episodes unrolled, it was clear that -- like the Enterprise's original crew -- they weren't always going to agree. In fact, I think they had to 'agree-to-disagree' a bit too often -- it sadly became the program's fallback position all too often, if I'm being brutally honest -- but it made for some compelling moments, giving one of the most talented casts in all of Science Fiction and Fantasy programming some indelible material to explore.
So maybe they didn't exactly go where no man had gone before ... but they still did a damn fine job going where they did.
-- EZ
... except it wasn't.
It was actually a return to form.
Think what you will, but the original Trek series didn't have the glossy veneer that The Next Generation imposed on its incarnation. If you remember, the Federation made more than its fair share of mistakes -- many of which played key to stories wherein the Enterprise was forced to clean things up a bit from the mess earlier officers and individuals had made -- and it was these conflicts that swung open the doors for exactly that trinity relationship between Kirk (the hero), Spock (the intellect), and Dr. McCoy (the passionate) to debate issue after issue. The original crew often found themselves in situations wherein they didn't agree with one another, and this forced them to spend the better part of 50 minutes attempting to achieve a solution. Those answers weren't always pretty, but they were probably about as effective as one might expect from television storytelling sensibilities.
Thankfully, Deep Space Nine brought crew disagreement back into the fold. These officers and civilians were forced to live under the same roof and face some incredible challenges ... domestic, scientific, and political. As the incredible run of 173 episodes unrolled, it was clear that -- like the Enterprise's original crew -- they weren't always going to agree. In fact, I think they had to 'agree-to-disagree' a bit too often -- it sadly became the program's fallback position all too often, if I'm being brutally honest -- but it made for some compelling moments, giving one of the most talented casts in all of Science Fiction and Fantasy programming some indelible material to explore.
So maybe they didn't exactly go where no man had gone before ... but they still did a damn fine job going where they did.
-- EZ
- Published on
Well, well, well ...
In some corners of cyberspace, there exists a bit of controversy. I've stayed out of the debate, frankly, in part because I abhor certain arguments but fundamentally because I've only seen small parts of the BBC's Blake's 7. But these ardent fans insist that the shows Farscape (1999-2004) and Firefly (2002) owe a pretty huge debt to Blake's 7, stating that the properties thematically cover an awful lot of similar territory. While the issue never quite seems to rise to the level of being a copyright infringement, I think the general consensus is that they're all more alike than they are different, so maybe they feel some acknowledgement as the program's 52 episode run deserves recognition to serving to inspire the later shows.
Didn't someone once say something about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery?
Because I've only seen this one sparingly, I'm hesitant to honestly offer that much in reflection. I can say that it's a show I've always wanted to explore, but I've been unable to find it available for streaming wherein I didn't have to make some investment in another APP or 'channel' and the like. From what I can recall of my research, I've yet to find a US home video release (could be wrong on that count as I've not double checked in years), and I hate hate hate hate hate commercial interruption. (Hello, DailyMotion.com and YouTube.com: I'm talking about you!) So perhaps at some point in the future I will pony up a bit more substance.
In the meantime, let me just give the program the proper birthday/anniversary shout-out in this space. It first premiered on the BBC (in the United Kingdom) on this day back in 1978, and here's the series' premise as provided by the good folks at IMDB.com:
"A group of convicts and outcasts fight a guerrilla war against the totalitarian Terran Federation from a highly advanced alien spaceship."
-- EZ
In some corners of cyberspace, there exists a bit of controversy. I've stayed out of the debate, frankly, in part because I abhor certain arguments but fundamentally because I've only seen small parts of the BBC's Blake's 7. But these ardent fans insist that the shows Farscape (1999-2004) and Firefly (2002) owe a pretty huge debt to Blake's 7, stating that the properties thematically cover an awful lot of similar territory. While the issue never quite seems to rise to the level of being a copyright infringement, I think the general consensus is that they're all more alike than they are different, so maybe they feel some acknowledgement as the program's 52 episode run deserves recognition to serving to inspire the later shows.
Didn't someone once say something about imitation being the sincerest form of flattery?
Because I've only seen this one sparingly, I'm hesitant to honestly offer that much in reflection. I can say that it's a show I've always wanted to explore, but I've been unable to find it available for streaming wherein I didn't have to make some investment in another APP or 'channel' and the like. From what I can recall of my research, I've yet to find a US home video release (could be wrong on that count as I've not double checked in years), and I hate hate hate hate hate commercial interruption. (Hello, DailyMotion.com and YouTube.com: I'm talking about you!) So perhaps at some point in the future I will pony up a bit more substance.
In the meantime, let me just give the program the proper birthday/anniversary shout-out in this space. It first premiered on the BBC (in the United Kingdom) on this day back in 1978, and here's the series' premise as provided by the good folks at IMDB.com:
"A group of convicts and outcasts fight a guerrilla war against the totalitarian Terran Federation from a highly advanced alien spaceship."
-- EZ
- Published on
Again, full disclosure time, readers: I've only seen a few episodes of the BBC's Doctor Who spin-off The Sarah Jane Adventures.
Sigh. I know, I know.
Here's the thing, though, about it: I've no doubt that I'll eventual get to it. Shows come and go -- in fairness to myself -- and, at the time of its launch -- the review kinda/sorta made it seem that this particular incarnation was going to be a bit more kid-friendly than the main stories within the televised Who universe. Though I've no way of knowing if that indeed was the case, I have read some reviews and heard from some like-minded folks on the Information Superhighway that, yes, it was crafted to cater a bit more to the truly young-at-age and not so much the young-at-heart. I don't believe that's any reflection on the program's quality; I think it just sums up what the BBC's hope was in bringing the show to life.
In case you missed it, Sarah Jane Smith -- as played by the late and lovely Elisabeth Sladen who left us in 2011 -- was an established commodity in Who. Sladen's Sarah Jane enjoyed an incredible 81 episode run during Doctor Who's original airings from 1973 through 1983. She also revisited the character a few times before, ultimately, returning to the rebooted/relaunched Modern Era of Who, dusting off the companion for an additional four appearances. It was likely Sarah Jane's long-standing popularity with audiences that put her front-and-center for the spin-off bearing her name ... but -- in case you missed it -- there's even a bit more to the actress' tenure folks don't know about.
Back in 1981, the BBC also experimented with a spin-off for the companion. K-9 And Company: A Girl's Best Friend cast Sladen alongside one of Who's best remembered creations: the robotic K-9 dog sought his own fortune and glory on the small screen. It aired on December 28, 1991, and -- while its viewership was reported to be over 8 million (per IMDB.com) -- the BBC passed on it for undisclosed reasons. Whatever the truth in there may be, the experience certainly never impacted the actress' popularity with fandom, so perhaps she was the natural choice when the network decided a more kid-friendly incarnation was possible in the 2000's.
So -- as I said above -- this wasn't the lady's first rodeo.
The show lasted an incredible 55 episodes airing between 2007-2020. The series' regular run ended in 2011, but after Sladen's passing the producers wanted to honor her legacy in this universe. Consequently, they crafted a bit of a send-off installment that aired in 2020 to properly honor her contributions to Who.
-- EZ
Sigh. I know, I know.
Here's the thing, though, about it: I've no doubt that I'll eventual get to it. Shows come and go -- in fairness to myself -- and, at the time of its launch -- the review kinda/sorta made it seem that this particular incarnation was going to be a bit more kid-friendly than the main stories within the televised Who universe. Though I've no way of knowing if that indeed was the case, I have read some reviews and heard from some like-minded folks on the Information Superhighway that, yes, it was crafted to cater a bit more to the truly young-at-age and not so much the young-at-heart. I don't believe that's any reflection on the program's quality; I think it just sums up what the BBC's hope was in bringing the show to life.
In case you missed it, Sarah Jane Smith -- as played by the late and lovely Elisabeth Sladen who left us in 2011 -- was an established commodity in Who. Sladen's Sarah Jane enjoyed an incredible 81 episode run during Doctor Who's original airings from 1973 through 1983. She also revisited the character a few times before, ultimately, returning to the rebooted/relaunched Modern Era of Who, dusting off the companion for an additional four appearances. It was likely Sarah Jane's long-standing popularity with audiences that put her front-and-center for the spin-off bearing her name ... but -- in case you missed it -- there's even a bit more to the actress' tenure folks don't know about.
Back in 1981, the BBC also experimented with a spin-off for the companion. K-9 And Company: A Girl's Best Friend cast Sladen alongside one of Who's best remembered creations: the robotic K-9 dog sought his own fortune and glory on the small screen. It aired on December 28, 1991, and -- while its viewership was reported to be over 8 million (per IMDB.com) -- the BBC passed on it for undisclosed reasons. Whatever the truth in there may be, the experience certainly never impacted the actress' popularity with fandom, so perhaps she was the natural choice when the network decided a more kid-friendly incarnation was possible in the 2000's.
So -- as I said above -- this wasn't the lady's first rodeo.
The show lasted an incredible 55 episodes airing between 2007-2020. The series' regular run ended in 2011, but after Sladen's passing the producers wanted to honor her legacy in this universe. Consequently, they crafted a bit of a send-off installment that aired in 2020 to properly honor her contributions to Who.
-- EZ
- Published on
I'm not as well versed with international film history as I'd like to be -- perhaps even as I should be -- but with the amount of reading I do in genre I'm very familiar with the name of writer/director Ruggero Deodato. It might not be for the reason I should recognize it, but -- as they say -- it is what it is. Essentially, I was introduced to his work via an audio commentary track wherein the man was given credit for completing a certain picture early in his career even though his name doesn't appear as the director in the credits. Apparently, this happened from time-to-time in Italian cinema; I can't speak to the efficacy of the information, and I'm only passing along a little something something that I had heard.
In any event, these film scholars went on into an entire verbal sidebar on Deodato's career, and they discussed one of the most fascinating things I'd ever heard occurring to any filmmaker as a consequence of assembling a project and putting it out into the marketplace for mass consumption.
Though I've only seen bits and pieces of -- ahem, pardon the pun -- Cannibal Holocaust (1980), I am more than well aware of the flick's reputation. Now, I'm not going to trouble my readers with even a casual accounting of all that's been said and written about the film, mostly because I do try -- when dissecting history -- to avoid passing judgment on any person and/or factoid out there. Suffice it to say, there's a lot of water -- bloody water -- under the bridge that was Cannibal's production, and one might do well to review the picture's Trivia Page alone over at IMDB.com. Seriously, it's an incredible amount of whatnot. But those speaking on the commentary track did mention Deodato's criminal charge resulting from a marketing tactic employed with the project. I've not verified it, and again I'm only passing on what I've heard.
Allegedly, the film's release caused a stir in its native Italy, so much so that the depiction of actual deaths of stars in the picture caught the attention of the highest authorities imaginable. Deodato was first charged with obscenity for his role in bringing the story to life; and -- when the onscreen talent couldn't be located -- the charges were upped to three counts of murder!
Yowza!
Now as the story goes, everyone involved with Cannibal's cast had to sign contractual agreements to disappear from public life for several months. (I believe it may've even been up to a year.) This was designed as a marketing tactic to further create the illusion of their demise onscreen from the film. Deodato and producers wanted to fashion as authentic deaths as he could, so what better way to do that -- on top of all of the bloodshed -- than to have the actors and actresses quite literally gone from society? Because these folks were out of the spotlight, these authorities believed that they were actually murdered -- snuffed out, as they say -- and Deodato was to be brought to justice for his part in the violent affair.
Even IMDB.com reports that the director had to contact the producers who in turn reached out to the talent and have them appear in court -- on his behalf -- in order to have the charges fully dropped.
To this day, that remains one of the wildest things I've ever heard from Horror film history, and it'll likely stick with me until my last days.
Alas, none of us lives forever, and word reached the Information Superhighway this morning of Deodato's passing. Out of respect for his body of work and the legacy he leaves behind, I wanted to pass along that story.
Thoughts and prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Ruggero Deodato. May he rest in peace.
-- EZ
In any event, these film scholars went on into an entire verbal sidebar on Deodato's career, and they discussed one of the most fascinating things I'd ever heard occurring to any filmmaker as a consequence of assembling a project and putting it out into the marketplace for mass consumption.
Though I've only seen bits and pieces of -- ahem, pardon the pun -- Cannibal Holocaust (1980), I am more than well aware of the flick's reputation. Now, I'm not going to trouble my readers with even a casual accounting of all that's been said and written about the film, mostly because I do try -- when dissecting history -- to avoid passing judgment on any person and/or factoid out there. Suffice it to say, there's a lot of water -- bloody water -- under the bridge that was Cannibal's production, and one might do well to review the picture's Trivia Page alone over at IMDB.com. Seriously, it's an incredible amount of whatnot. But those speaking on the commentary track did mention Deodato's criminal charge resulting from a marketing tactic employed with the project. I've not verified it, and again I'm only passing on what I've heard.
Allegedly, the film's release caused a stir in its native Italy, so much so that the depiction of actual deaths of stars in the picture caught the attention of the highest authorities imaginable. Deodato was first charged with obscenity for his role in bringing the story to life; and -- when the onscreen talent couldn't be located -- the charges were upped to three counts of murder!
Yowza!
Now as the story goes, everyone involved with Cannibal's cast had to sign contractual agreements to disappear from public life for several months. (I believe it may've even been up to a year.) This was designed as a marketing tactic to further create the illusion of their demise onscreen from the film. Deodato and producers wanted to fashion as authentic deaths as he could, so what better way to do that -- on top of all of the bloodshed -- than to have the actors and actresses quite literally gone from society? Because these folks were out of the spotlight, these authorities believed that they were actually murdered -- snuffed out, as they say -- and Deodato was to be brought to justice for his part in the violent affair.
Even IMDB.com reports that the director had to contact the producers who in turn reached out to the talent and have them appear in court -- on his behalf -- in order to have the charges fully dropped.
To this day, that remains one of the wildest things I've ever heard from Horror film history, and it'll likely stick with me until my last days.
Alas, none of us lives forever, and word reached the Information Superhighway this morning of Deodato's passing. Out of respect for his body of work and the legacy he leaves behind, I wanted to pass along that story.
Thoughts and prayers are extended to the family, friends, and fans of Ruggero Deodato. May he rest in peace.
-- EZ
- Published on
Every now and then, a reader will reach out to ask me about a particular film.
I know, I know: “Well, you write about film on your site, so why is that even worth bringing up?”
Well, the answer is a bit more complex than what I’ll provide today, but in the interests of keeping it respectful and reasonably non-controversial I’ll answer that I’ve always felt that not every Science Fiction, Fantasy, and/or Horror release that comes out is worth the investment in mental exercise. This isn’t to say – or even imply – that perhaps I disliked something or found it unfulfilling in any way; it’s just that sometimes after I watch something and consider it I find that I have very little of substance to say about it. For whatever reason, the picture didn’t touch me or connect on any way that moved me to the point of dissecting it any further than that … merely watching it.
If you haven’t guessed, then this brings me to Avatar: The Way Of Water (2022).
Yes, yes, yes: I’ve seen it. The wifey and I took it in on her day off.
Coming out of it, I did have some minor inspiration to put down a few thoughts with the clicking of keys on the keyboard, but as I ruminated over the flick a bit more I just couldn’t even find a starting point. I kicked it around a bit, even went online and read some of what others had written to see if I could get a bit more excited about the prospect, but I failed miserably. Now – several days later – I’ve received a few emails (not a lot, just a few) from folks who wanted my thoughts on it (stranger things have happened), so I do feel a bit compelled to post something. Out of respect to the readership, I’ll try to be as succinct as I can.
I know, I know: “Well, you write about film on your site, so why is that even worth bringing up?”
Well, the answer is a bit more complex than what I’ll provide today, but in the interests of keeping it respectful and reasonably non-controversial I’ll answer that I’ve always felt that not every Science Fiction, Fantasy, and/or Horror release that comes out is worth the investment in mental exercise. This isn’t to say – or even imply – that perhaps I disliked something or found it unfulfilling in any way; it’s just that sometimes after I watch something and consider it I find that I have very little of substance to say about it. For whatever reason, the picture didn’t touch me or connect on any way that moved me to the point of dissecting it any further than that … merely watching it.
If you haven’t guessed, then this brings me to Avatar: The Way Of Water (2022).
Yes, yes, yes: I’ve seen it. The wifey and I took it in on her day off.
Coming out of it, I did have some minor inspiration to put down a few thoughts with the clicking of keys on the keyboard, but as I ruminated over the flick a bit more I just couldn’t even find a starting point. I kicked it around a bit, even went online and read some of what others had written to see if I could get a bit more excited about the prospect, but I failed miserably. Now – several days later – I’ve received a few emails (not a lot, just a few) from folks who wanted my thoughts on it (stranger things have happened), so I do feel a bit compelled to post something. Out of respect to the readership, I’ll try to be as succinct as I can.
Avatar (2009) certainly deserves a mountain of praise for its visual artistry – as does the sequel – but some of my issues with it lie in the fact that I just don’t see this world as conceived and crafted by legendary director James Cameron as being all that original. Anyone who has watched a fair share of SciFi and Fantasy live action and/or cartoons over the years can arguably pick out bits and pieces of both Avatar flicks that they’ve seen elsewhere, perhaps even in Cameron’s own pictures. Indeed, many online even today consider the first picture a note-for-note rip-off of Ferngully: The Last Rainforest (1992); I’ve always stopped short of calling it an outright theft as, thematically, they may merely deliver the same message by different tracks. It’s a valid comparison, still, and that’s part of why I find this universe so blasé: as I said, we’ve seen it before. Elsewhere. It’s just Cameron’s interpretation.
In fact, Cameron’s Titanic – one could argue if one were inclined – is also the director’s particular version of a story that’s been told before on film and television. It isn’t as if the sinking of the famed ship was unheard of before he decided to tackle it. What he brought to the whole desperate affair was a contemporary storytelling sensibility – one with immeasurably more visual flash – and I think that’s ultimately what excited viewers. Much like George Lucas engineered the technology to update space fantasies with his original Star Wars, Cameron applied the same approach and has been rewarded (on more than one occasion) with huge box office receipts. Viewers are drawn to this incredibly immersive palette, and that’s where I tend to fall off the boat.
Where Avatar and its follow-up fail – as best as I can simplify – is that I’ve little to no investment in any of its characters.
In the original, Jake Sully (played by Sam Worthington) at least had a minor character arc. As a paraplegic, the Marine had been cut off from the world-at-large (to a degree) because of his physical limitations; and this new science – the kind that could transport his consciousness into a body with seemingly no limitations – delivered a life-changing experience he couldn’t deny. Once he had found himself and all of his original instincts again, he was almost duty-bound – as a character, at least – to act upon it. This became a natural ‘hero’s quest’ for the man, and he carried that motivation through the film’s closing moments.
In fact, Cameron’s Titanic – one could argue if one were inclined – is also the director’s particular version of a story that’s been told before on film and television. It isn’t as if the sinking of the famed ship was unheard of before he decided to tackle it. What he brought to the whole desperate affair was a contemporary storytelling sensibility – one with immeasurably more visual flash – and I think that’s ultimately what excited viewers. Much like George Lucas engineered the technology to update space fantasies with his original Star Wars, Cameron applied the same approach and has been rewarded (on more than one occasion) with huge box office receipts. Viewers are drawn to this incredibly immersive palette, and that’s where I tend to fall off the boat.
Where Avatar and its follow-up fail – as best as I can simplify – is that I’ve little to no investment in any of its characters.
In the original, Jake Sully (played by Sam Worthington) at least had a minor character arc. As a paraplegic, the Marine had been cut off from the world-at-large (to a degree) because of his physical limitations; and this new science – the kind that could transport his consciousness into a body with seemingly no limitations – delivered a life-changing experience he couldn’t deny. Once he had found himself and all of his original instincts again, he was almost duty-bound – as a character, at least – to act upon it. This became a natural ‘hero’s quest’ for the man, and he carried that motivation through the film’s closing moments.
Furthermore, in this world, he was surrounded by the Navi, a spiritually driven people that challenged him to see and interpret circumstances differently. These supporting players – some big, some small – helped him on the aforementioned quest (of sorts), albeit this was a more intellectual exercise than it was visible moments of heroism. While this spiritual awakening redefined Sully, I could easily see these changes as perhaps returning him to his core beliefs – things he had learned long ago but lost somewhere along the road through life – so it wasn’t destroying the man so much as it was getting him attuned to his heartstrings. This new person was better equipped for the quest anyway, so it had to happen one way or another.
However, the Sully of The Way Of Water truly has no grounding other than his commitment to family. Yes, yes, yes: all of what motivated him in Avatar is in there somewhere, but it’s clearly relegated to the backseat in favor of delivering an otherwise predictable affair – the rematch with his previously fallen foe, Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang).
Sigh.
Really? Cameron makes his audience wait over a decade for a sequel – with three, four, or five more yet to come (the reportage has been a bit confusing) – and all he has in the tank fundamentally was a rematch?
Don’t get me wrong. As I wasn’t any big ardent fan of the first film, I had little to no investment whatsoever in returning to this particular universe. In fact, when the wifey suggested we take it in, my initial impulse regarding sitting through a four-hour film was that I could happily wait for it to be available on cable or DVD. But as I mulled it over – hearing about how visually striking it was – I decided that, yes, this was one that I should see on the silver screen. Spectacles, after all, seem to be growing rarer and rarer in the cinemas; and I’m glad I did partake of this adventure up in the lights.
But … really? Just a rematch? On water?
However, the Sully of The Way Of Water truly has no grounding other than his commitment to family. Yes, yes, yes: all of what motivated him in Avatar is in there somewhere, but it’s clearly relegated to the backseat in favor of delivering an otherwise predictable affair – the rematch with his previously fallen foe, Miles Quaritch (Stephen Lang).
Sigh.
Really? Cameron makes his audience wait over a decade for a sequel – with three, four, or five more yet to come (the reportage has been a bit confusing) – and all he has in the tank fundamentally was a rematch?
Don’t get me wrong. As I wasn’t any big ardent fan of the first film, I had little to no investment whatsoever in returning to this particular universe. In fact, when the wifey suggested we take it in, my initial impulse regarding sitting through a four-hour film was that I could happily wait for it to be available on cable or DVD. But as I mulled it over – hearing about how visually striking it was – I decided that, yes, this was one that I should see on the silver screen. Spectacles, after all, seem to be growing rarer and rarer in the cinemas; and I’m glad I did partake of this adventure up in the lights.
But … really? Just a rematch? On water?
What’s next?
Another rematch?
In the air?
Walking on fire?
In space?
In the dreamworld?
Again, I’m sorry, folks. I’m not trying to rain on the whole genre parade. Really, I’m not. I’ll always concede that when it comes to sheer visual audacity that Cameron is in a league of his own most of the time, but so much of The Way Of Water just felt like elongated repackaging of the first film, right up to the similar beats of the traditional Cameronesque blockbuster ending. In fact, my initial thought was that the feature had, probably, eight or nine different endings … up until the time when the director truly decided his story was – finally – over.
Well … over until the next one starts it up again.
Dare I suggest that Cameron himself might be his own worst enemy?
I’m all in favor of auteurs continuing to spin yarns of this epic scale. Nothing big or bold deserves to be forgotten, but The Way Of Water will likely end up – for me – in the same category as the first: I’ll see it once and never revisit it. Perhaps he could use a partner, though, in the editing suite? Somehow who might encourage him to wrap the saga all up a bit sooner? A bit tighter? With little to no sacrifice of the sheer spectacle?
His recent interview comments even come to mind. On December 27th, it was reported that he deliberately shortened the flick by an astonishing ten minutes – ten whole minutes out of the remaining three hours plus – because of what he called excessively and unneeded gunplay.
Why … I wonder who wrote and filmed that excessive and unneeded gunplay, Jim?
-- EZ
Another rematch?
In the air?
Walking on fire?
In space?
In the dreamworld?
Again, I’m sorry, folks. I’m not trying to rain on the whole genre parade. Really, I’m not. I’ll always concede that when it comes to sheer visual audacity that Cameron is in a league of his own most of the time, but so much of The Way Of Water just felt like elongated repackaging of the first film, right up to the similar beats of the traditional Cameronesque blockbuster ending. In fact, my initial thought was that the feature had, probably, eight or nine different endings … up until the time when the director truly decided his story was – finally – over.
Well … over until the next one starts it up again.
Dare I suggest that Cameron himself might be his own worst enemy?
I’m all in favor of auteurs continuing to spin yarns of this epic scale. Nothing big or bold deserves to be forgotten, but The Way Of Water will likely end up – for me – in the same category as the first: I’ll see it once and never revisit it. Perhaps he could use a partner, though, in the editing suite? Somehow who might encourage him to wrap the saga all up a bit sooner? A bit tighter? With little to no sacrifice of the sheer spectacle?
His recent interview comments even come to mind. On December 27th, it was reported that he deliberately shortened the flick by an astonishing ten minutes – ten whole minutes out of the remaining three hours plus – because of what he called excessively and unneeded gunplay.
Why … I wonder who wrote and filmed that excessive and unneeded gunplay, Jim?
-- EZ