​Stuart Gordon’s Re-Animator is one of those rare films I’ve taken over thirty years to have something to finally say about it.
 
I first saw the thing all the way back in the great 1980’s, and – though I could be wrong about the location – I’m pretty sure it was at a college friend’s home where I stayed over school break.  If I remember correctly, it had come out on home video (VHS) fairly recently, and one of the clerks in the corner video store strongly recommended it to us when we were searching for something different.  We took the suggestion, and – again, I may have the particulars a bit off here – I’m pretty certain we sat through it not once but twice.  That’s what young minds used to do back in the day, folks, when there was absolutely nothing else within thirty miles of desolate farmland for entertainment – we watched things twice.
 
As I recall, my buddy loved the thing through and through, but I was a bit guarded.  I recall having a whole lot of questions the first time the screen faded to black.  While the picture clearly had a great mash-up of ideas – both gratuitous and cerebral – there was still something that kept me from warmly embracing it.  I agreed it was likely going to become a huge, huge, huge cult hit (which it most definitely has), but I argued that those who liked to think a bit more about stories would stumble over its storytelling deficiencies here and there.  However, we both liked it enough to rent it once more for its screening at our fraternity house once school resumed … and, yes, it had just the right appeal for a college-aged audience to moan and groan over in the proper measure.
 
Still, it was a picture that stuck in the back of my mind as the years went by.  I’d stumble across references to it in my reading on films, and I definitely kept an eye out for the subsequent projects of writer/director Stuart Gordon, actor Jeffrey Combs, and scream queen Barbara Crampton.  Yes, their involvement in other properties encouraged me to pick up and watch something that otherwise wouldn’t have appealed to me, and the respect I hold for each of them has finally prompted me to sit down and pen a reflection on my first experience with them.

(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for my final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come, then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“After an odd new medical student arrives on campus, a dedicated local and his girlfriend become involved in bizarre experiments centering around the re-animation of dead tissue.”
 
Folks, it goes without saying that I’ve always (always!) been afflicted with a singular curse: I think too much about stories.
 
As one who has dabbled quite a bit in the weaving of my own fictional tapestries, I’ve always gone to great pains to try to make absolutely certain that every piece within a broader tale makes sense.  A story is, mostly, the assembly of pieces; and – like anything disassembled – it can be put together a variety of ways.  For me, each component should have a time and a place.  It should be given the proper amount of attention needed in order to establish both its existence and, ultimately, its purpose; and when these various fragments aren’t clearly defined for the audience the resulting confusion is owed to an inferior storyteller.
 
This isn’t a complaint.  It’s a fact.  Everything in any given story both has and should make sense.  If it doesn’t, then it’s either a distraction or unnecessary … and it should go.
 
For a number of reasons, there have been multiple edits of Re-Animator over the years.  Chiefly, this is owed to the fact that – early in its release – there were rated and unrated prints (anyone interested can do a bit of research to know more about this, and the Arrow Films release discusses it in solid detail).  I’ve no way of knowing with absolute certainty which incarnation of the flick I saw back in the great 1980’s, but I can say it’s a bit different from the one I’ve seen recently.  Both do have similar narrative problems (as I see it), so I do feel a bit vindicated in confessing my reasons for not fully embracing all of its magic decades later.
​

As I mentioned in my intro, I found Re-Animator a bit confusing at first blush.  Events both happened and things were said by various characters in the film that didn’t quite make sense.  While I’ll refrain from a full accounting of unanswered bits, I can’t help but write down a few of them.  Like … what’s with Dr. Hans Gruber’s exploding eyes?  What could possibly have caused that?  Like … why is third year medical student Dan Cain (played by Bruce Abbott) so creeped out in dealing with dead bodies?  Hasn’t he seen any before?  Like … why would a hospital morgue both have a security guard and a freezer that locks from the inside?  Did anyone think that the bodies were going anywhere?  Like … if Herbert West’s singular reagent only works on the brain, why does he demonstrate it to Dr. Hill on cat tissue?  And … where in Holy Hell did Dr. Hill’s apparent psychic powers come from, and why do they work on some folks and not others?
 
All right, haters.  Calm down.  I never said I disliked the movie because that would be far from the truth.  I find so very much of Re-Animator endearingly horrific, but – as I’ve already said – I do tend to think about story.  These questions – and there are many, many others, folks – are the kind of things that crept into my consciousness while watching this release only just yesterday (twice again!), and just as they percolated to the surface three decades ago they did so then.  Such glaringly obvious stumbling should’ve been cleaned up at some point … but I can say that – by partaking of Arrow’s special features – a good number of these queries were answered, meaning that perhaps my occasionally disjointed mind was correct in seizing upon them originally.
 
The differing cuts is only one of the guilty culprits, and director Gordon explains both in the commentary track as well as the accompanying documentary on the film’s making that Dr. Hill (David Gale) had been experimenting with perfecting mind control.  That one admission cleared up a great number of the shortcomings involving both his characterization as well as the entire zombie-fueled big finish (and it is a big finish); and I can’t believe that so many suggestions were actually left in the original film.  There were enough indications to warrant the genius had some kind of hidden ability, and I think it was a huge disservice to audiences that some explanation – even one that could’ve been part of a quick reshoot – wasn’t provided.  It could’ve been small.  It could’ve been quick.  That one small tweak could’ve honestly worked wonders … at least for me.
 
Setting aside any of the other narrative hiccups, Re-Animator is still a visual treat, and I say this well into its fourth decade.
 
Abbott plays the flick’s ‘everyman’ with a good sense of humor.  He makes his and Megan’s relationship work to the point wherein the audience roots for the couple, hoping they can eventually iron out the complications keeping them apart.  I’d argue that the script perhaps weakened his resolve a bit too dramatically in a few spots, giving him a bout of shock when it all turns to blood a bit too quickly, but – as they say – it is what it is.
​

Crampton?  I think it’s safe to suggest that Re-Animator definitely put the actress on the figurative map.  Fans have flocked to watching both this film and From Beyond (1986) – Gordon’s follow-up but not a sequel – to behold both her physical and intellectual charms.  The woman oozes of not only sex appeal but also her innate ability to command a scene with convincing emotional weight.  She can be the victim or she can be the aggressor, and she knows how to handle damn near anything in between.  I’m also refreshed to see that she’s still in the Horror business, and I’m thrilled that her career has been earning the accolades she so much deserves.
 
And … where would cult and genre villains be without the skills of Jeffrey Combs?  Granted, he’ll likely never be employed as a babysitter, but the man possesses his own villainous charisma that can both be turned on/off in an instant or given the kind of layers a more dynamic premise/plot might require.  He’s been a part of so many projects throughout the years, and what I find so refreshing about his work is that even if he’s in a small role he never “phones it in.”  He’s always w-o-r-k-i-n-g.  He’s always emoting.  He's always giving audiences something to see – even if it’s in passing – and that’s admirable, to say the least.
 
Though he’s gone now, writer/director Gordon leaves behind an incredible resume that genre fans should continue exploring.  Re-Animator was his debut production, and its reception no doubt helped usher other opportunities his way in the years that followed.  He’s credited with crafting the story behind Walt Disney’s Honey, I Shrunk The Kids (1989) as well as directing such projects as Robot Jox (1989), Fortress (1992), Space Truckers (1996), and Dagon (2001).  If my words in this space accomplish nothing more than encouraging a few others to seek out and explore his work, then I’ve done my job … and that’d bring a smile to my face.
 
Re-Animator (1985) was produced by Empire Pictures and Re-animator Productions.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the fine folks at Arrow Video.
 
Highly recommended.
 
I’m glad that I went back and revisited Re-Animator all these years later.  While that first viewing so many years back wasn’t the perfect experience, the film still found some comfortable corner in my mind, took root, and continued to grow – entirely without my permission!  It stuck with me – the way some formative events do – and the revisitation helped me to finally resolve some questions lingering in those recesses of my gray matter.  And – if I do say so myself – this Arrow Video release is spectacular: while I’m usually no big fan of deleted scenes I’d encourage every single person reading this to watch these 20+ minutes excised from the final print as they do go a long way toward filling in several potholes and fleshing out the relationships between all of Re-animator’s central players.  Yes, yes, yes: I understand why they were cut … but seeing them demonstrates why some of the narrative unfolds a certain way, whether or not it all makes perfect sense. 

-- EZ

Now, for the record, I can appreciate a good and bloody Zombie comedy as much as the next horror fan.
 
The marketplace has been full of so many appreciable Zombie films for the last decade or so that I think it’s only fitting that a few Zombie ‘laughers’ have come out on television or in general release.  There’s absolutely nothing wrong with poking fun at the obvious conventions of the traditional Zombie story … but I think comedies work best when there’s one overriding comedic slant.  Pick a lane and stay in it.  Bobbing and weaving between styles gets frustrating, and it may have audiences running for the exits much earlier than expected.  When you drift between mainstream comedy to satire to farce to all-out Three Stooges-style lunacy, you’re really only asking for trouble as the only man who has ever pulled that off successfully (and lived to talk about it) remains the incomparable Mel Brooks.
 
Despite some unevenness in Zombieworld, I still managed to have some fun with it.  You might, too.
 
(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 three paragraphs for my final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the product packaging:
“There is nowhere to hide … nowhere to run … the Zombie Apocalypse has come, and our world now belongs to the dead!  From Ireland, Canada, Australia, Europe and all over the U.S., the bone-chilling news reports tell the same gruesome tale – walking corpses terrorize and devour the living.  Only a few desperate humans find the courage to stand and fight for their last chance at survival.  But the hordes of undead keep coming, and there’s only one thing on the menu – us.”
 
Pay attention, folks, or else I figure a great many of you diehard Horror enthusiasts are likely to be really peeved: Zombieworld is not a Horror film.
 
I’m gonna repeat that: Zombieworld is not a Horror film.
 
Yes, like any Zombie movie, it has elements of Horror.  The workable DNA is clearly in place, but it isn’t meant to send shudders up your spine.  Make no mistake: this Zombieworld – much like Ruben Fleischer’s Zombieland (2009) with Woody Harrelson and Jesse Eisenberg – is meant to satirize the traditional Zombie genre.  Nothing in here is presented with the intent for you to keep a straight face … so as much as I’m doing my job making you aware of the above synopsis I’m also going to tell you to swallow it with a few grains of salt.  Yes, those far off lands of Ireland and Australia and the like do factor in the greater story – but the main idea behind all of this is that Zombieworld is best considered a series of interconnected short stories all linked together by a central newscast … and it’s that newscast that remains the film’s most predictable and least satisfying piece.
 
But the problems don’t quite stop there.
 
See, Zombieland – much like its smaller stories – are all over the map.  As a feature, it’s arguably directionless, save for the whole concept of poking fun at … well … zombies.  For example, one story might make it look like the Apocalypse has arrived … and imagine your confusion when you arrive at the next story, which features a regular ol’ mailman going about his daily task of – you guessed it – delivering the mail.  During the Apocalypse?  Well, it hasn’t quite happened in this story, if you follow.  It’s this kind of overall disconnect that causes more than a few narrative burps to folks like me – people who insist on watching even bad films closely.
 
Still, Zombieworld isn’t a bad film.  It is, nevertheless, wildly uneven.
 
The comic approach is used much in the same way it was tried previously in the cult flick, Amazon Women On The Moon (1987).  In that feature, audiences were treated to a narrator constant “switching channels,” and this basically delivered up a handful of shorter, less cohesive stories served up in stylized vignettes.  Zombieworld uses a similar construct – the film’s main character (if there is one) is a newscaster struggling to keep his humanity while slowly succumbing to the obvious bite on his neck as these stories progress.  But the script (as the way it’s built here) would have you believe that there was a news team present back in the days when Christ first raised the dead, and – while that may be a funny idea – it falls flat as a storytelling gimmick.
 
What does Zombieworld do well?
 
It keeps switching gears, all for comedic effect, which can be as invigorating as it is mildly frustrating.  It keeps rushing forward even when one short sequence misses the mark.  And it dishes up some of the coolest, hippest, yet most laughable practical in-camera special effects since the days of Sam Raimi’s The Evil Dead (1981), Evil Dead II (1987), and Army Of Darkness (1992).  It gushes with buckets of blood when it wants to, and – on that front – Zombieworld has ‘cult’ written all over it … for better or for worse.
 
Zombieworld (2015) is produced by Dread Central Media and Ruthless Pictures.  DVD distribution is being coordinated by the reliable Image Entertainment and RLJ Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  The sound quality remained quite good throughout most of the run-time (100 minutes), and the picture maintained a relatively smart bit of cinematography despite the fact that its individual segments were handled by different directors.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features, there’s a short film – “Marathon Apocalypse” – that basically includes some of the flick’s footage along with bits truncated, but it’s only a few minutes in length and it really wasn’t anything all that ‘special.’
 
Recommended, but …
 
If you like Zombie films, then there’s definitely something to love in Zombieworld.  In fact, if you like Zombie-comedies (of which there have been more than a few as of late), then you’re probably in store for a few good natured chuckles.  Unfortunately, the feature never quite settles comfortably into any single comedic tone, and it vacillates too strongly between farce and sheer lunacy to fit into any comfortable niche for my tastes.  Still, it’s an affable job performed by an array of affable characters.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Image Entertainment and RLJ Entertainment provided me with a DVD copy of Zombieworld 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

For those of you who haven’t thought all that much about it, there are a couple of quality ways a storyteller could capture the Apocalypse on film.
 
One way is the road followed by the usual studio big budget blockbusters.  You render it all with glorious special effects and glowing CGI, detailing city after city being bombarded with explosive forces while spectacularly ground into particles of glimmering, shimmering dust.  The other way?  That would be to go with a vastly lower budget and leave all of the pyrotechnics to the imagination of the viewing audience.  Instead, populate your film with close-up after dingy close-up of the people, their faces, and the rags they wear on their shoulders as they fight not only the elements but also one another in close, personal, and oft-times psychological battles to the finish.
 
This is the road travelled by Aftermath … and it’s a dark, dirty, desolate road, indeed.
 
(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 three paragraphs for my final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the product packaging:
“The devastating horror of a nuclear apocalypse is now reality, and nine desperate strangers find themselves clinging to life in a farmhouse cellar, while radioactive fallout descends on the darkened world above.”
 
To be fair, there’s more, but methinks you get the idea.  And – if you’ve seen the slipcase – then you’ve probably already made up your mind if Aftermath is your type of film.  As I detailed above, this isn’t a big box office spectacle; rather, this is probably the way the world will end … not with a bang but with a lingering whimper.  It’s stark.  It’s unforgiving.  And it’s relentlessly depressing.
 
It would seem that life hasn’t taught us very well if this film is any indication.  These strangers – forced together out of circumstance – find themselves having to trust one another only because of their predicament and not because they’re trying to be stewards to their fellow man.  As the tension mounts, they argue, fight, and unnerve each other, trapped as they are in the confines of what amounts to an old-style home basement.  The upside to their isolation?  The house actually is fairly well stocked with items that afford them a greater opportunity than others to survive (short wave radio, old-timer transistor radios, foodstuffs, etc.), so the script by Christian McDonald makes clever use of what other Hollywood types would probably describe as a modern day militia setting.
 
However, kudos to director Peter Engert for the staging and the cinematography.  These folks are definitely closed in figuratively and symbolically no matter which way he sheds light on their collective space, and it’s all done so well (after the initial set-up) that it effectively brings a doomed sense of claustrophobia to the production.  When they sleep, they’re nearly up against one another.  When they fight, they’re practically already up in another’s face.  Just as their world outside has been obliterated, any sense of space has gone out the cellar window as well.
 
Sadly, there isn’t much character development, and I found that a shame.  With all of these folks closed in close quarters for so long, one thinks McDonald could’ve come up with a bit more than what he did – essentially, he serves up nice yet somber moments that detail how these leftovers refuse at all costs to give up their innate humanity.  A few of them even have small arcs (for example, there’s a moment when the young doctor finds himself studying a picture from his wallet, but we learn absolutely nothing of relevance about the woman he’s with) that would’ve allowed some room for more.  Naturally, the same won’t be said for those who come hunting them, but still I would’ve liked to have seen a bit more in the growth department.  Instead, everyone settles in rather comfortably for what the audience is probably certain is going to be a rough ride indeed.
 
Aftermath (2012) is produced by Eastlake Films and LightWave Entertainment.  DVD distribution is being handled by the reliable RLJ Entertainment and Image Entertainment.  As for the technical specifications?  Well, Aftermath boasts some mostly good cinematography, but the set-up sequences that account for the film’s first twenty minutes (or so) were photographed in extremely dark settings; in fact, one could argue that it’s so dark at times it’s nearly impossible to tell fully what’s going on.  That was a bit of a mess … but after those opening moment (basically once the group settles into the home’s cellar) the lighting improves immeasurably.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features, then here’s your subtle reminder: it’s the Apocalypse, silly!  There aren’t any!
 
Recommended.
 
Granted, Aftermath is without a doubt relentlessly depressing.  (And I do mean “relentlessly depressing,” folks.)  After a cautionary (and poorly lit) set-up, the film settles in to detailing what a grim fate awaits those who are unfortunate enough to survive the Apocalypse … if you really want to call this ‘surviving.’  Engert’s cinematography and the film’s set production go a long way toward selling the premise; and – if you’re still with it come the desperate finale – then hopefully you’ve learned something from this drearily foreboding tale.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Image Entertainment and RLJ Entertainment provided me with a DVD copy of Aftermath 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

C'mon now, folks.

You know me.  I've long said that -- while I'm willing every now and then to wander into some of the usual controversies -- I make a concerted effort to avoid an awful lot of what fuels most entertainment websites these days.  I don't mind sounding off on a topic here and there because it's quite fun to take a stand and maybe even ruffle a few feathers.  Still, I'm also quick to point out that not only making but also maintaining a multi-billion dollar entertainment franchise is no easy thing, especially in the modern era wherein practically everything a creator does gets second-guessed in the public square that is social media.  While pundits are quick to pile on, I'd much rather take my time and actually have something interesting to observe in this space, and that's why I rarely rush to review every single thing that comes down the pike.  Wisdom takes time, and I'd rather pony up an important observation when asked; pardon me if I just don't 'think' as fast on my feet as do others.

​However, enough of you have been contacting me via other means, wanting to know my thoughts on some of the latest and greatest Star Wars happenings.  Yes, I've seen the rumors of Kathleen Kennedy's impending demise (need I remind you that these blurbs have been around long before?), and, yes, I saw the news this morning about Damon Lindelof exiting -- apparently of his own decision -- the Star Wars project he began.  And, yes, I'm probably just as unimpressed with Season 3 of The Mandalorian as are some, but I'd suggest that it's likely for some different reasons than the majority are Tweeting and/or blogging and/or vlogging about these days.  Quality can't be rushed, and I can't help but wonder if the lackluster reception might be owed to a combination of elements rather than any single factor ... or maybe that's just me.

​In any event, because I'm getting asked, I'll put up a few random observations just off the top of my head this morning.
​

Kathleen Kennedy

Honestly, folks: if she's fired, then she's fired.  That's a bout I really don't have any dog in.  Yes, I'd agree that she's largely mismanaged the property in some interestingly creative ways, but let's not forget that many of Star Wars' most ardent fans even took issue (for a time) with George Lucas allegedly surrounding himself with folks who wouldn't tell him no.  The man behind that galaxy far, far away endured an awful lot of criticism over the Prequel Trilogy -- so much so that there's a contingent out there who to this day insist the only way for him to fully clean up the mess he made (their words, not mine) is to remake the Original Trilogy.  Need I say yet again that that's never going to happen?

So ... yeah, Kennedy has probably surrounded herself with a veritable Skeleton Crew of social justice warriors who thought pushing SW hardcore into the world of -- cough cough -- equity storytelling was the way of the future.  And to some degree ... who could blame them?  All of the Hollywood studios are doing this, and the reasons do vary.  A great deal of it is owed to it being, largely, what they're investors demands are; and anyone who's been in an environment wherein the guy who signs the paychecks sitting across from you knows that when he/she speaks you pretty much do what you're told.  Granted, KK may've demanded much of this, but I've no way to know the true facts and figures so I stay outta that territory generally.

​As for Kennedy's -- cough cough -- legacy?  Well, again: I've written reviews of a few items that have come along while she's been in the high chair, and I'll let those words speak for themselves.  I doubt she had an awful lot to do with finished stories on any of the films and/or shows, but as the prime motivator behind these visual adventures she likely gave plenty of notes about what she wanted and what was ultimately expected.  I've read online that Grogu's return to the wider Mandalorian saga was a demand -- Favreau planned to leave that bugger with Luke Skywalker and depart for other pursuits -- and I get why that made business sense.  Sometimes what makes for good business makes for poodoo storytelling, so maybe there's something to all of this scuttlebutt after all.
​

Damon Lindelof

Sigh.  Quick answer?  Not a fan.  Long answer?

Well ... let's just agree that Lindelof was most likely a suggestion from JJ Abrams to KK, and that likely comes on the heels of JJ and Damon's creative relationship going back over a decade or more now.  Lindelof rather famously wound down TV's Lost to its bitter/bittersweet finale, and even that produced more than a little bit of controversy.  While I'll admit to pretty much hating all of that show's last season, I was honestly a bit more put off by Lindelof's 'take' on the show when he stated that fans weren't really watching Lost for all of those mysteries but rather because they loved the characters.

Cough cough.

I watched it for the mysteries.  Characters come and go.  Story endures.  A good story, in fact, transcends characters; and that's largely why Hollywood keeps going back to certain properties again and again and again with reboots, remakes, and revisitations.  The story matters.  Sure, you have to have characters in there somewhere, but even bad characters can ruin a good story.  It's hard to find a bad story made better to good characters.  At least, that's my argument, and I'm sticking with it.

But given that perhaps what's being said in the marketplace about KK, is it any wonder that perhaps Lindelof's script wasn't perhaps strong enough to keep him around?  The news sounds like he walked away, and I can't help but wonder if some of that might be owed to his own lackluster reputation (my opinion, not yours) and the rather obvious change in management being so openly discussed.  Would you want to hang around in that shop right now?  I'm not so sure I would, so if he walked, then he walked.  'Nuff said.
​

​The Mandalorian: Season 3

Argh.  This one hurts a bit, and it hurts for personal reasons that might get too deep to explain quickly and easily, but I'm going to give it a shot.

Yesterday, I praised Shazam! Fury Of The Gods (review here).  I watched it over the weekend, and I thought it was a pretty terrific comic book movie.  (Mind you: I never said it was a great f-i-l-m, and, yes, there's a difference.)  Later in the day, I got a email from a random reader (clearly not a regular) who kinda/sorta took me to task for liking something that so many in the online entertainment community trashed.  I responded (politely) by saying I don't base my thoughts on movies on the consensus of opinion, and I never have.  I like what I like.  'Round these parts, I encourage you to like what you like.  If I hate on anything, it's usually actors and the like who allow politics to get in the way, but I never disparage anyone for liking anything I may dislike.  That's really my only Golden Rule, and I stick to it.

My ultimate point with Shazam 2 is that -- being as old as I am -- it was a rare theatrical experience that made me feel -- as a viewer -- an awful lot like I did when I was young and watched Superman: The Movie on the silver screen.  While I don't think Batman (1989) was perfect, there were parts of it that achieved that same result.  1994's The Crow lit a fire in my soul.  2011's Captain America: The First Avenger is really the only one of the Marvel films that had that same feeling, but I'll admit to not having seen each and every one of the flicks in their library.  2012's Dredd is a breathtakingly brilliant comics-to-film experience.  But if any picture -- especially one evolving from a comic book property -- can hit me so squarely in the feels, then yeah I'm probably always gonna lead with my heart than with my mind.  It's just how I'm wired.

And that is exactly where I'm at with The Mandalorian at present.

​Season 1 made me feel like this was Star Wars again -- the same experience I had in the dark theater watching the very first film -- and I cherished that.  Season 2?  Well, it was pretty damn close as well, though there were some issues here and there with some rather obvious long-form tinkering.  And now ... Season 3?  Well, like a lot of you, I'm lost.  I won't say that the show is directionless, but I will say that I'm not all that impressed with its first three episodes for various reasons.  In fact, I found this third episode -- the one so many YouTubers have been proclaming "the best episode ever" -- to be downright boring and damn near inconsequential.  I realize that take may be controversial, but -- like you -- I gotta call it like I see it.

​-- EZ

Over the years, I’ve made no secret about the fact that – as comic book characters go – I’ve always leaned more towards DC Comics than I ever did Marvel’s slate of heroes.
 
Now – again, folks, for those who accuse me of being a hater – I don’t hold a grudge against any of the Marvel line-up.  Iron Man?  He’s just fine.  Spider-Man?  A bit whiney, I think.  The Hulk?  Well, he’s got anger issues.  (Snicker snicker!)  But seriously, to each his own when it comes to the wide, wide world of superheroes because – ultimately – each of us likes what we like, critics be damned.  When pushed to come up with something substantive on the topic, it just boils down (for me) to the fact that I read much more DC growing up than I ever did Marvel, and that’s because those characters simply made more sense to me.  That’s why I don’t begrudge anyone leaning the other way: for whatever reasons, those folks connected elsewhere, and there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that.  It’s just the spice of life.
 
So, yes, I do welcome a new DC film with open arms, much more than I’ve ever gotten excited about Marvel’s properties.
 
Naturally – over the weekend – the wifey and I took in a screening of Shazam! Fury Of The Gods (2023), so I wanted to show up today to offer a few words in defense of the movie.  Yes: I am defending it, mostly because I think it’s received a helluva lot of negative press in the marketplace of ideas, and I think I have an explanation for why.  As can happen any time I open my big mouth, I might be wrong: I have been before, I could be now, and I’ll likely be wrong about something tomorrow.  Such is life.  But I’d still argue that this sequel is getting dragged by a whole lot of folks for all the wrong reasons.
 
For starters, I see Fury Of The Gods much more of an authentic comic book movie than most of what the Marvel company has rolled with for some time.  While each of their respective entries might have that original kernel or spark of an idea that heartily ties it back to some graphic sensibilities, their films seem to have gone in the direction of either pushing an agenda or serving as only one piece of an evolving storyline.  (Please, don’t get me started on the whole Phase Two, Phase Three, and Phase Four crud, because it’s tiring, I don’t have the energy, and – frankly – I wouldn’t want to look uninformed as I’ve already said Marvel just ain’t my thing.)  But things like diversity being so openly pushed tend to always have me looking elsewhere only because I don’t go to movies to be educated and/or indoctrinated.  Like you, I’m free to think what I like.  Layering a story with lesser political messages waters down a character and maybe even that hero’s central motivations: it can be done organically, but more often than not it’s used like a club to beat an unsuspecting audience over the head and that just doesn’t appeal to me.
 
In contrast, Shazam 2 just focuses on – here it comes – family.
 
Imagine that?
 
Instead of spending twenty or thirty or forty minutes trying to both define what a family is and isn’t, the script rather naturally shows it to you with – gasp – a family actually working together.  It doesn’t shy away from the good, the bad, and the occasionally ugly about arguing, either: this cast – both young and in their superhero identities – are allowed to be who they are – without being judged by anyone else – and it feels part and parcel of this mini-universe.  They laugh together.  They cry together.  They poke fun together.  And – ultimately – they triumph together, rising up against whatever adversity the universe throws at them.  They didn’t need a law to succeed.  They didn’t need public opinion on their side.  They stayed true to one another – even sacrificed for one another – and that worked.
 
Lesser directors and/or producers would have more likely gone to great pains to show just how the Shazam family isn’t the traditional family to begin with.  They’re white, black, and other all thrown together under the same roof.  They don’t look at one another as anything other than brother, sister, father, and mother.  This is how regular folks live their lives in defiance of governmental regulation, social posturing, and media messaging.  Merely, they exist … and they do it damn fine without having to rise up and proclaim anything other than being true to themselves.
 
This reality flies in the face of everything our cultural betters have been telling us for years.  According to them, you can’t have equality (or even “equity,” the new watchword) without some kind of rule being passed or having Uncle Sam require something via legislation.  Given that structure, all of this family – the Vasquez clan – should be mired in gloom.  Instead, young Billy Batson finds himself consumed with what’s going to happen to him once he turns eighteen.  Will he be shunned by those who’ve loved him over the years because he’s a foster child, or will he still be loved?  Such a simple narrative focus shouldn’t be allowed in Hollywood, much less delivered to the masses, so it’s only natural that the media drag the picture as outdated garbage messaging.  Give Shazam access to the girl’s bathroom.  Isn’t that what he’d really want?
 
Furthermore, Shazam 2 doesn’t shy away from confronting the difficulty of being in a family, extended or otherwise.
 
Without getting too deeply into the plot (and, folks, it ain’t all that complicated, which is another reason why critics tend to hate it), the villains are sisters in that they descend from the same god.  Springing from the same loins doesn’t always mean that the children are going to get along, as it quickly becomes clear that each kinda/sorta operates from their own respective agendas.  One seeks a kind of peaceful unity with mankind, while another seeks total supremacy over what she sees as an inferior species.  While they might occasionally join forces (when it serves them), they’re otherwise at odds, disagreeing over their place in our world as well as what to do about adversaries they come up against.  Suffice it to say, this family is probably more in line with Hollywood’s contemporary position – no good can come of blood relations – and the fact that they don’t inevitably win the day likely doesn’t sit well with so obvious a failure.
 
But look … at the end of the day I’m the kind of guy who goes to a comic book movie to be entertained – not preached to – and, on that front, Shazam 2 is fabulous.  It might drag in a few spots, and, sure, the prevalence of CGI over practical effects has never quite sat well with this old dog.  (I am really, really, really trying hard to learn new tricks, folks.)  Postproduction trickery does work against some otherwise impressive visuals here and there.  And still the message at the heart of the film – that of sometimes sacrificing what might otherwise come fast and easy in defense of the family – resonates whenever it’s given some appreciable mileage.
 
So the Shazam family might not be hoping through time to save the universe as we know it, and yet they do a damn fine job reminding me why sometimes it’s OK to save your own … mostly because you might save a whole lot more in the process.
 
Highly recommended.

-- EZ

It was the 1970’s, and terrorism – it would seem – was no longer a phenomenon that happened in only in countries around the world far away from American shores.  Those who practiced this dark form of political influence had set their sights on the great fruited plains, and U.S. citizens more and more were opening their eyes to the stark reality that a well-plotted attack could inflict great damage on them and their neighbors for the first time in history.  This was well before September 11, 2001 would truly change the face of possibilities – and it was well after the events of December 7, 1941 – but the dangers of terrorism was truly starting to seep into the wider American consciousness.
 
So it was certainly understandable why Thomas Harris’ 1975 debut novel Black Sunday turned some heads.  Depicting a full-blown terrorist attack on the stadium hosting the Superbowl – that great American celebration of all things football – brought the scope of international terrorism to the West’s biggest doorstep, a place where television cameras would already be rolling to capture each and every moment of the big game.  It goes without saying that Hollywood knew a good thing when they saw it (or read it, I should say), so the rights were purchased by the Robert Evans Company, and a screenplay was commissioned.  Renowned director John Frankenheimer was inevitably attached, and an international cast was round up to give the work the required authenticity.
 
Despite having an awful lot of positive attributes going for it, Black Sunday was not the blockbuster all involved probably thought it would be.  Wikipedia.org reports that it grossed just under $16 million on a budget of $8 million, and that’s not quite the kind of return producers likely anticipated.  In the postmortem of its lackluster performance, a number of causes – including a like-minded thriller being released only months earlier – could be said to have kept it from achieving box office glory … but I’m inclined to think that perhaps the American ticket-buying public wasn’t really ready to face the prospects of so many innocent civilians being placed in so deadly a predicament.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Black Sunday is the powerful story of a Black September terrorist group attempting to blow up a Goodyear blimp hovering over the Super Bowl stadium with 80,000 people and the President of the United States in attendance.”
​

My whole life I’ve been a huge fan of classic hard-boiled novels.
 
In them, there’s always a somewhat knighted main character – a private eye, a police detective, some professional errand runner – whose willing to both match wits and muscles with characters often twice his size.  Why?  Well, some would say that it’s because this main player coddles a secret death wish, but I’ve always argued that it’s only because our hero understands full well that the only way to vanquish his or her foes is to match the level of ruthlessness the villains bring to each and every equation.  If he doesn’t – if he shows any signs of weakness or misgivings – then he only opens the door to more bloodshed, setting in motion yet one more campaign of suffering to scar his already guilty conscience.
 
In that regard, a case could be made that it’s Major David Kabakov (played by Robert Shaw) who sets in motion this series of events depicted in against the backdrop of Black Sunday.  In the opening vignette when he and his Israeli commandos are quietly taking out the Palestinian terrorist group known as Black September, Kabakov breaks open a bathroom door only to come across a woman cowering against the back wall.  She’s frightened and defenseless.  In that moment, the major takes pity on her; when orders were to shoot to kill everyone on the premises, he opts to let her be … and this is the mistake that just might haunt him more than any bloody assassination he’s ever committed.
 
The lady wasn’t some terrorist’s lover.  She is Dahlia Iyad (Marthe Keller), the group’s mastermind.  And she’s now committed – more than ever – to inflict maximum damage on the United States and its global allies.
 
This is exactly the kind of premise hard-boiled prose relies on, and Black Sunday works efficiently within this territory.  The bulk of the movie is a tense cat-and-mouse chase between Kabakov and Iyad, all of it playing out like a visual chess match wherein the stakes are the lives of countless thousands.  Much of Iyad’s success is owed to the fact that she’s actually well on the way toward orchestrating an incredible attack already: as a ‘honey pot,’ she’s brainwashed Michael Lander (Bruce Dern) – a veteran POW of the Vietnam War returning home in disgrace – into aiding and abetting her plot to deliver carnage at the American Superbowl.  As one of the few pilots assigned to the Goodyear Blimp – the famed aircraft that hovers relentless over the big game – he grants her the level of access required to deliver on her dark crusade.
 
At nearly two-and-one-half hours, Black Sunday is a meaty picture, and it’s an experience not to be trifled with.  While I’ve read some suggestion that the film is too long to effectively deliver on its payoff, I’d disagree mostly because Sunday requires a modicum of set-up in order to be functionally believable.  The security for such a public event as the Superbowl is astoundingly complex already, and the fact that the President of the United States decides to be in attendance at the affair only raised the bar considerably higher.  The plot as conceived and translated from the Harris novel requires more than a small amount of finagling.  Also, given the fact that Iyad is being actively pursued by Kabakov and his American counterparts all while she’s trying to achieve an unimaginable attack also grants the story some added dimension that can’t simply unfold quickly.  This story takes time, so kudos to Frankenheimer and his talented cast and crew for achieving what they did.
​

Shaw is a great choice as the film’s commanding lead, and he rather compelling makes the most of every moment, even if it’s something as simple as standing in wait while others hit their marks.  He always was a bit bigger-than-life on screen, and his presence makes this picture the kind of theatrical experience audiences appreciate.  As the picture’s femme fatale, Keller delivers a fabulous counterpoint to Shaw: like him (but for different reasons), she’s occasionally conflicted about her mission but is eager to stay the course once the visibly broken Lander reminds her of the human cost to choosing a side in any international affair.  If there’s any player here who might be a narrative weakness, then it is Dern: this disillusioned outsider is a role he’s played before, so seeing him in so similar a part is a bit laughable early on.  Like Iyad, he manages to stay on track, but I can’t help wonder if audiences of the day passed on seeing the picture thinking that they’d already ‘been there, done that’ with Dern as the chief adversary.
 
Also, I’d be remiss if I failed to point out that the great American football game – the Superbowl – truly becomes one of the film’s big stars.  (Like Shaw, even football is bigger than life!)  The fact that Frankenheimer was able to capture live footage of Superbowl X between the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Dallas Cowboys with his stars in attendance on the sidelines and throughout the stadium gives Black Sunday an unquestioned realism, especially for its big impending showdown between the forces of good and evil.  While the ultimate act of terror is brought to the screen via some rather obvious (and dated) special effects trickery, it’s very clear that no holds were barred in delivering this theatrical spectacle as best they could at the time.
 
Black Sunday (1977) was produced by the Robert Evans Company.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the folks at Arrow Films.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights and sounds to be – for the most part – exceptionally good: there are a few sequences with some obviously dated special effects work in the big finish, and it’d be a crime if I didn’t point out that they were a bit limited.  Lastly, if you’re looking for special effects, then you do have a bit to get excited about.  I was provided a proof copy from the distributor, so I can’t speak to any of the advertised packaging materials (artwork, essay, etc.), but there’s a solid audio commentary from film producer Josh Nelson, a visual essay discussing the merits of the feature, and a documentary exploring the career of Frankenheimer.  It’s an impressive assortment, though I did find the commentary a bit slow in spots.
 
Highly recommended.
 
Black Sunday feels like the kind of theatrical experience that began life as a best-selling novel, an experience so big that – naturally – Hollywood wanted to adapt it on film.  Alas, the shortcomings of the whole book-to-film process occasionally rear their ugly head (not all characters get fleshed out the way they usually do in the novel; the effects work of the era might not exactly have been seamlessly up to the task of bringing it all to convincing glory; etc.), but the flick rather deftly incorporates headline-making events into a compelling yarn for audiences to enjoy again and again.  I thought Shaw’s work was good – a bit too reserved in a few spots – but Dern was the obvious choice as he’d done this kind of thing several times before already.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Arrow Films provided me with a complimentary copy of Black Sunday (1977) 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

In my youth, a new RoboCop movie was exactly the kind of release I would rush to on the first night it was available to the public-at-large.
 
Why?
 
Well, I just knew it had the kind of big-budget goodness that was best preserved in my memory by viewing it with a crowd.  Big laughs always mean more when shared with an audience.  Exciting, frenetic, mind-blowing action sequences usually draw collective astonishment from the onlookers.  And who doesn’t love applauding the hero when others are present and actively listening?  Now that I’m a bit older (if not a bit more jaded or cynical), I tend to take a week or two before watching such theatrical releases.  These days, I do try to get to a showing that’s fairly light on people.  It isn’t as if I’m anti-social; I’d just rather not risk any undue influence in order to serve up what I feel is a much more honest and more clinical valuation of the film, definitely one not inspired by what the yucksters sitting next to me thought.
 
Sigh.
 
I guess I’m gettin’ old, fans.  But if I can age as nicely as the RoboCop franchise can, then I’m in good company.
 
(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 two paragraphs for my final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s publicity materials:
“In the city of Detroit circa 2028 (seriously?  Detroit is still around after its financial collapse?), police detective Alex Murphy (played with conviction by Joel Kinnaman) uncovers a criminal conspiracy that looks to implicate some high-ranking officers on his squad.  At the same time, the multinational, war-mongering conglomerate OmniCorp is seeking the right candidate to put inside one of their latest creations – an urban combat suit – in order to expand their domestic sales and corner the market on profits.  When those in Detroit decide Murphy needs to go, billionaire businessman Raymond Sellars (a greedy Michael Keaton) seizes the opportunity to put a part-man, part-robot police officer on the streets.  But what happens when the former cop turned machine decides to investigate his own attempted murder?”
 
Where the original RoboCop (1987) was smart, smart, and smart, this new version is dumb, dumb, and – mostly -- dumb.
 
It comes compliments of director Jose Padilha, relatively still fresh from acclaim rightful earned from his 2010’s Elite Squad 2: The Enemy Within (which, incidentally, is a vastly better film than this is).  1987’s RoboCop script – penned by Edward Neumeier and Michael Miner – was crafted almost with a winking acknowledgement to the audience: don’t take any of this any more seriously as you need to, and you’re likely to have a helluva lotta fun with it.  The violence was gory and (I’ll admit it) gloriously gratuitous because that kind of visual flair lent itself nicely to their intended aesthetic of the picture.  Structurally, it had similarities to the great American Western – a lone gunman seeks to clean up a corrupt town – though there were some obvious swipes at capitalism, the ultimate ‘bad guy’ in anything churned out by Hollyweird in the past half century.
 
While still being vastly superior to the RoboCop sequels that followed in the footsteps of the original, this 2014 reboot suffers largely from the singular distinction of being completely unnecessary.
 
It echoes back most of the major talking points of the original film – OmniCorp’s suits are still villainous, though with vastly bloated emphasis on corporate villainy, while Murphy’s family (Abbie Cornish as Clara Murphy, along with young John Paul Ruttan as son David) get real screen time in order to ground the film in what serviced as a stronger ‘humanity’ for audiences.  However, gone is that constantly winking eye; in its place is some forced histrionics dished out by everyone’s favorite foul-mouthed screamer Samuel L. Jackson as some futuristic Fox News wannabe talking head who rarely makes logical arguments.  (He does get a great laugh, though, by casting the U.S. Senate as “pro-crime.”)  I’m guessing filmmakers thought they were aping longtime Fox correspondent Bill O’Reilly, but Jackson comes off more like watered down and occasionally cocaine-fueled Stephen Colbert of Comedy Central fame.
 
Also, the first RoboCop distinguished itself with clever moments of newsroom satire, peppering the screen with visually exciting news stories and interviews that helped lampoon the crime-ridden world of tomorrow.  Unfortunately, scripter Joshua Zetumer’s story never quite figured out how to contemporize that aspect; instead, the screenwriter begins throwing things at the proverbial narrative wall, desperately hoping something might strike the same chord with audiences.  At one point, he even crafts a narrator describing the action taking place on the screen (a device that goes on for far too long and desperately needed a better sound mix than the one provided if producers wanted it to be understood); instead of complementing the film, it ends up creating probably one of the most alarming ‘WTF?’ moments in recent film memory.
 
The new RoboCop isn’t a total failure.  Rather, I see it as a reboot missing more than a few upgrades.
 
Mildly recommended.
 
Like most critics, I suspect the overwhelming question – “Was RoboCop really in need of such a flavorless reboot?” – truly kept me from enjoying this version as a legitimate SciFi offering when director Jose Padilha served up only a competent, CGI-laden action film, one largely intended for our video-game-friendly culture.  Performances work only so far as they’re needed for a video game (doting wife, loyal partner, crooked cop, corporate sleaze, etc.), and the real weakness here was a terminally flawed script that could’ve quite figure out what it wanted to be when it grew up.

​-- EZ

There is absolutely nothing P.C. (that being “politically correct”) about Rock Jocks!
 
Yes, you need to know that going in – or, at least, I think it helps – otherwise you’re liable to turn it off once the real fun starts.  Sure, it’s somewhat pottymouthed.  Maybe somewhat unconventional.  But mark my words: this is exactly the kind of motion picture your teenage son or daughter is likely watching once mom & dad turn off the lights and go to bed.  No, it isn’t pornographic, though certain acts will certainly be alluded to on more than one occasion.  And, yes, it’s a bit rowdy … and bawdy … and raucous … and even downright obnoxious at times.  Heck, this is probably the kind of flick that finds a solid audience at film festivals, comic book conventions, or other SciFi retreats where a good time is had by all because no one is concerned about the ‘appropriateness’ or ‘inappropriateness’ of the subject matter and performances.
 
It’s just movie fun.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and characters.  If you’re the kind of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last three paragraphs for my final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
In a top secret location, the U.S. government has been secretly saving the planet since the 1960’s when a downed UFO and its curiously Jesus-looking alien occupant gifted Uncle Sam with the technology to deflect meteors from bombarding our planet.  These heroes are dubbed “Rock Jocks,” and their graveyard shift team is made up of one malcontent after another – the female perfectionist (played by the immeasurably perky Felicia Day); the can’t-get-it-together single dad (Andrew Bowen); the foul-mouthed know-it-all (Justin Chon); the racist foreigner (Gerry Bednob); and the son of the ‘company’ hero (Kevin Wu).  Through in cult film favorites Jason Mewes and Robert Picardo, and you’ve got a nerd’s dream cast to end all dream casts!  Together, they spend the night at odds with one another and the judgmental government bureaucrat sent to shut them down forever … while the grand-daddy of all meteors gets closer and closer!
 
Stop right now …
 
Regular folks?  You probably ain’t gonna like this one.  Rock Jocks is a geek’s comedy, through and through.  A nerdboy’s flick.  A fanboy’s diversion.  It’s exactly the kind of small picture that lights a fire under a very specific community of film lovers and/or pre-pubescent and/or post-pubescent boys (and girls) interested in SciFi, general nerd-dom, video games, and – cough cough – Felicia Day.  If you find yourself fitting comfortably into that unique sub-segment of the general population, then I’d honestly be surprised if you sat through this harmless flick and didn’t at least have as much fun with it as I did.  No, it’ll never change your world; instead, it’ll show you how the disenfranchised of our clique will save it (being “save the world”) as only we could.
 
If you understand half of what I’ve written thus far, then Rock Jocks is for you.  I’m not gonna tell you it’s perfect because it’s not.  Justin Chon’s vile shtick goes on for far too long.  Gerry Bednob is increasingly difficult to understand.  Some of the characters could’ve been fleshed out a bit more, and some of the incessantly clever and/or quirky dialogue could’ve been dialed back just a bit.  Still, this is a pretty smart film – a debut, in fact, written and directed by Paul Seetachitt – and I’ll keep my eyes peeled for more like it.
 
It’s not quite what the doctor ordered, but it’s pretty close all the same.
 
Rock Jocks (2012) is produced by Bright Penny Productions and Intelligent Life Media in association with Dog & Rooster Productions.  DVD distribution is being handled through Cinedigm.  As for the technical specifications, the film looks and sounds fairly solid, though I’ll have to admit that I had some real difficulty in understanding Gerry Bednob when he spoke – it’s a very thick dialect that seriously could’ve been poked fun at with subtitles, but maybe that’s just me.  Lastly, the disc does offer up three very short behind-the-scenes interview segments, spread out across the ensemble cast, and they’re harmless fluff but definitely worth watching if you enjoyed the film as much as I did.
 
Strongly recommended … especially for those of you (like me) who considered yourself card-carrying geeks, nerds, and/or other social misfits.  While some of the performances and/or dialogue is unnecessarily over-the-top, there’s still even more about Rock Jocks to like.  Picking up on an idea started years ago in The Last Starfighter (1984), the hiring entity this time is Uncle Sam!  Only the best and brightest will be recruited to save the planet from being pulverized routinely by space rocks … just don’t look for this group of the best and brightest to always look, dress, think, and behave like the best and brightest.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Cinedigm provided me with a DVD copy of Rock Jocks by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review.

​-- EZ

Though some would tell you otherwise, I’ve long maintained that there’s a certain kind of film made chiefly for a certain type of audience.
 
In many respects, flicks that dominate the schedules of film festivals around the world typically qualify for this definition.  This isn’t to suggest in any way that the makers of these productions and the cast and crews associated don’t wish to be seen by wider audiences; instead, it’s just to clarify that – when all is said and done – the finished product isn’t always the kind of thing that gets embraced outside the festival marketplace.  No one wants to throw away good money on assembling these didactic goodies; it’s just that the audiences who want to watch and wax on about its messages, techniques, and performances are usually the festival-goers.  Though their reach is finite, these viewers still hungry to discover ‘the next big thing’ for our cultural betters, so what better place is there to look than amongst their own?
 
For what it’s worth, I’ve had this sentiment privately agreed to by a small handful of independent filmmakers, the kind of which who have frequented that circuit on a few occasions.  While that may not exactly prove my point, I think it still does imply that festival entries may have an uphill climb when it comes to impressing those who aren’t plunking down a few hundred bucks for the whole weekend engagement.  John Q. Public may not have the same requirements to meet his (or her) entertainment threshold, and he’s a bit more discriminating about throwing cash away on something that may be a waste of his time.  After all, he (or she) works hard for the money …
 
This sentiment – that of a project being conceived and executed entirely for a very specific mindset – overwhelmed me with my time watching A Wounded Fawn.  Everything about it – its premise, its construction, its aesthetic, and damn well its very title – leans decidedly highbrow if not downright scholarly.  While a heavy part of its ninety-minute runtime feels like an intellectual exercise, there’s just not enough meat on them bones (but there is buckets and buckets of blood) to satisfy someone just looking for a visceral escape from reality in the open arms of a traditional Horror haunt.  It does have the right pieces, but it’s packaged in such a way as to demand subservience to ideas not inevitably might prove much too elusive for a knuckle-dragger like me.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for my final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A serial killer brings an unsuspecting new victim on a weekend getaway to add another body to his ever-growing count.  She’s buying into his faux charms, and he’s eagerly lusting for blood.  What could possibly go wrong?”

Back in 2021, I had the good fortune of watching and review Jakob’s Wife (link) for my friends at RLJE Films.  This modern-day twist on the classic vampire tale starred Horror queen Barbara Crampton as a small-town minister’s wife who succumbs to the dark side, thus creating a hunger within herself that defied satiation.  The wonderful twist to the picture (so far as I saw it) was the fact that her decidedly religious husband Jakob (Larry Fessenden) adheres to the very old school definition of marriage – that being until death do us part – so he finds himself trapped into this descent into evil.  He loves her without question (I mean, have you seen Barbara Crampton?), and he authentically practices what the Bible has him preaching … so ultimately he has no choice but to continue loving her – warts, murder, and all – even at the cost of his immortal soul.  Though the film wasn’t perfect, I found it was perfectly told, and it left the audience wanting more.
 
So I was thrilled at the prospect to watch and review A Wounded Fawn, the latest feature from that same writer/director Travis Stevens.
 
Alas, the outcome this time was far from the same.
 
There’s an awful lot of good in Fawn.  Essentially, it’s a film told with a preamble and two acts.
 
The preamble rather aptly sets up this world, and it’s populated by artists, art enthusiasts, and those employed in related circles.  This set-up introduces us to Bruce Ernst (Josh Ruben), a closet sociopath with a penchant for fine things and bloody murder.  He’s a man that will stop at nothing to possess that which touches his deepest soul – items he describes at beautiful – and, yes, that means he’ll stoop to killing anyone who robs him of that opportunity.   We watch as this smart-dressed man follows home a fellow art auction attendee, concocts a scenario to have her let him into her home, and then kills her in cold blood, all to recover The Wrath Of The Erinyes, a sculpture depicting three Furies from Greek mythology attacking a lone man.
 
What this intro also suggests is that Ernst may or may not be off his rocker.  In the back corridor of the lady’s house, he sees a costumed figure – like something out of an ancient museum piece – bathed in red light.  Is this character truly there, or is this something like a vision in the tortured mind of a depraved man?  Could it be some supernatural spirit drawn mysteriously to this statue he covets, or is it nothing more than the machinations of a broken psyche?  At this point, we don’t know for sure, but – as is always the case with stories of this sort – we proceed with the promise of discovery lying in wait.
 
Act One brings Meredith Tanning (Sarah Lind) into the fold.
 
An art enthusiast and (apparently) museum curator of some kind, she confesses to her pair of friends that she’s finally going away for a long weekend in hopes of a romantic tryst with a new fellow.  At home, she packs her bag – complete with freshly-purchased and deliciously revealing undergarments – and privately celebrates her beau’s arrival.  Lo and behold, we rather quickly learn that the homicidal Ernst is her latest paramour, and the reveal clearly amps up the tension with what now looks to be a weekend of ceremonial bloodletting, though the lady is most definitely unaware.
​

It's here that this new Fawn’s wounds begin to show.
 
For reasons that honestly escape me, Stevens begins to pepper the film with some rather curious developments.  Tanning begins to see things – an angry dog crossing her path on the way to car, the fleeting look at a tortured woman’s face in Ernst’s trunk, shadows suggesting movement in the forest surrounding their secluded cabin – all of which begin to suggest that either the universe is delivering signs that she’s in mounting danger or something else otherworldly is taking place.  It isn’t all that long before Ernst as well is swept up in these somewhat supernatural happenings – lights turning on-and-off of their own accord, even more shadows of movement outside – which only further indicates that these two are far from alone in the wilderness.  Has his gory sacrifices unleashed some esoteric beast into our universe, or is all of this little more than cosmic coincidence?
 
Well, we’re never really given any answers, and – before you know it – Ernst has responded both to the voices in his head and the mysterious figure he’s either summoned or shows up conveniently when he’s feeling violent.  In his demented state, he kills Meredith – or has he? – and sets the stage for the befuddling Act Two.
 
Fawn is a flick that’s hard to talk about without spoiling some of the surprises, but – suffice it to say – Meredith’s “death” isn’t the last we see of her.  It would seem that her demise opens the door to real ‘Twin Peaks’ territory as now Ernst’s three victims – all female – embody the three Furies of his coveted statue while he becomes the fallen male.  (As fate – or a bad script – would have it, we learn rather clumsily in Act One that Meredith was one of the museum workers who ‘valued’ the piece before it could be sent to auction.  Whether or not this truly plays into why Ernst found himself attracted to her – much less how he would’ve known of her association to it – is never clearly spelled out.  It’s just one of Fawn’s rather awkward coincidences.  And there are more.)  Whatever the truth may be, Meredith and her angry sisters in death are back; and, as a consequence, Act Two ends up unspooling as a series of set pieces – staged dialogues between Ernst and these three entities, all with the killer’s increasingly agitated state – giving Fawn the feeling of obvious construction and not an authentic Horror experience.
 
As designed by Stevens and his talented cast and crew, the line between reality and fantasy blurs, but this doesn’t quite serve Fawn the way I think was beneficially intended.
 
Instead of making for a vivid nightmare, it instead confuses the audience which, ultimately, wants to know – in Horror, especially – what’s real and what isn’t.  Frights work best when we know from where they descend; phantasmagoric sequences tend to bog chills down to the detriment of the ride.  While color schemes and clever dialogue and symbolism might be important, viewers aren’t often keen on watching films that require study guides; but Fawn soldiers on, even to the point of occasionally being unwatchable … such is the case with Ernst’s inevitable demise at his own hand – or is it? – playing out over the closing credits … a time when most folks have finished their popcorn and are heading for the exits.  This isn’t ‘thinking for thinking’s sake’ so much as it is continuing to make a point well after one’s already been agreed upon, and it produces the effect of warping an otherwise interesting death over to obvious intellectual bloating.
 
And no one likes bloating.

​A Wounded Fawn (2022) was produced by BarBHouse, Genco Pictures, HorrorHound Films, and Snowfort Pictures.  The film is presently available for streaming on a variety of major platforms including The Roku Channel, Spectrum TV, and Shudder.  As for the technical specifications?  Wow.  The film looks pretty damn glorious; a good deal of it takes place at night (inside and outside), so be prepared for a few short sequences that could’ve been a bit better lit, but it’s nothing significantly distracting.  Lastly, as I watched this via streaming, there are no special features to rate and/or review.
 
(Mildly) Recommended, but …
 
I suspect that A Wounded Fawn will, ultimately, be fairly divisive.  Up to a certain point in its narrative, the plot is relatively conventional – a serial killer may or may not be manipulated by dark, supernatural forces – but once the second half begins the experience requires a fair amount of brainwork.  Is it real?  Is it madness?  Is this literal?  Or have we ventured into the territory of pure symbolism?  What exactly is and is not taking place becomes an oddly personal choice – I’m never a fan of make-your-own-adventure pacing, and I don’t think a lot of regular viewers are – boiling down the whole, bloody affair to a creative exercise that may or may not have been worth the price of admission.  Smartly filmed?  Yes!  Well performed?  Absolutely!  Satisfying conclusion?  Well … you be the judge.
 
In the interests of fairness, the kind folks at Shudder provided me with complimentary streaming access to A Wounded Fawn (2022) 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

There was a time when the name of Neil Marshall had a wealth of promise.
 
The director kinda/sorta roared onto the genre scene back with the 2002 release of Dog Soldiers.  This tale of werewolves in the Scotland wilderness clearly sunk its teeth into audiences and held firm.  Though I found it a bit untrained, I, too, became a convert to Marshall’s talent with The Descent (2005), a tense subterranean thriller that pitted four female spelunkers against a tribe of inner-Earth cannibals.  But 2008’s Doomsday had me again questioning whether the director had the right stuff to truly compete in the cinematic marketplace: the Dystopian actioner starring the terrific Rhona Mitra felt entirely derivative and half-baked, populating what was left of Earth with a bunch of Mad Max extras in a story promising salvation but delivering stagnation.  Indeed, things looked grim … both on and off camera.
 
To his benefit, Marshall found his career somewhat reinvigorated with an entry into the world of television production.  Solid genre properties like Black Sails, HBO’s Game Of Thrones, and NBC’s short-lived Constantine showed that he still had his mojo; and episodes of Timeless, Westworld, and Netflix’s Lost In Space reboot followed.  But the return to the silver screen with 2019’s box office disaster of Hellboy was a huge step backward … apparently in more ways than one.
 
If one is interested, then one can Google into the background of Marshall and his partner Charlotte Kirk.  I’ve read some of the reportage, and – without going into the particulars – I think it’s all more than a bit confusing.  Kirk – in her early career – has been linked to the dynamic fall from grace of an incredible handful of Hollywood heavyweights, perhaps so much so that it’s been suggested that she’s been blacklisted from several major studios as a consequence of her previous relationships.  (There has been the suggestions of extortion, but – again – I haven’t seen anything proven.)  Apparently, it was at this point in their respective careers that these two creative souls found one another and pledged a commitment to work together on projects.
 
Their first film – The Reckoning (2020) – came and went with little fanfare.  (I’ve seen it, and interested readers can find my review right here.)  Essentially, it’s a period piece set in the 17th century exploring the story of Grace, a young widow who gets accused of witchcraft once she rejects an elder’s advances (perhaps reflecting Kirk’s alleged Hollywood life?).  Marketed as a bodice-ripper, it was everything but, and I imagine that didn’t help box office receipts.  The Lair (2022) is their second attempt at fortune and glory; while I’ll say – in short – that it isn’t exactly a step in the right direction, the film still possesses the kind of B-movie charm that just might find an audience given a lot of blood, sweat, and tears … of which the film offers plenty.
​
​​(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 

From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“When Royal Air Force pilot Lt. Kate Sinclair is shot down over Afghanistan, she finds refuge in an abandoned underground bunker where deadly man-made biological weapons – half human, half alien – are awakened.”
 
The Lair is the kind of film I’ve often said is ‘perfectly imperfect.’
 
The central story – involving the downed RAF pilot Sinclair (played by the fetching Charlotte Kirk) – is really only the set-up for the main course, that being her discovery of a clandestine Russian bunker in the Nangahar Province of Afghanistan wherein some dastardly Soviet Era scientists performed some gruesome experiments augmenting human DNA with strands of alien.  For it’s in this miasma of B-movie tropes that this Lair has enough muscle, moxie, and military might that could effective in giving it a second life on home video.  Certainly, such cinematic realities did wonders for a whole library of features from the 1980’s, and if the film gods are willing then The Lair will suffer a similar fate.
 
At the risk of sounding like the resident misogynist, I will say that it’s a good thing that Sinclair did her make-up before getting into her jet that morning.  She looks good throughout the film, no matter the amount of sweat and blood they add to her complexion as the story unfolds.  As gruesome as these human/alien hybrids appear, she’s a fabulous counterpoint; given the fact that she’s constantly spouting lines that were likely rejected from the shooting script of The Dirty Dozen (1967) only serves to underscore that – so far as film country goes – we’re not in Kansas any more … which is an especially touching sentiment given Jamie Bamber’s laughably bad Southern drawl.  As the grizzled U.S. major in charge of his own particular band of military rejects, he’s only missing the token fat stogie of a cigar to truly sell the 1950’s era stereotype.
 
Still, what works – for the most part – is Kirk’s presence in the picture.
 
She almost swaggers through every scene with the kind of screen confidence often reserved for a John Wayne, Sylvester Stallone, or Steve McQueen.  In fact, in The Lair she’s part John McClane – that quintessential action star whose chief narrative characteristic is being in the wrong place at the wrong time – and her and Marshall’s script (they co-wrote this schlock) has her standing toe-to-toe with hardened soldiers not quite twice her size but pretty darn close.  When not even bullets can pierce these lumbering monsters’ hides, merely a headbutt from her dazes them just enough to save the day!  (Well, maybe not the day, but it at least gives them pause.)  When everyone else continues uselessly unloading their weapons at the enemies, she’ll rush headfirst – across the field of fire, no doubt, without receiving so much as a nick or a scratch (when others are getting their faces bitten off) – only to mix it up in hand-to-hand combat with these alien bastards.

If that’s the kind of logic you’re looking for, then The Lair is a veritable repository of unintended laughs.  While the Kirk/Marshall script clearly spells out that the United States’ military is not sending their best and brightest to the Afghanistan countryside (they’re all misfits who’ve chosen to escape prosecution in essence by taking this detail at the ass-end of the world), Sinclair remains a righteously moral and physical specimen all of her own.  Why, it’s almost as if this woman could do no wrong, and – if you read my opening – then perhaps that’s a message intended from this creative pair back to Hollywood.  Let’s hope the suits are watching, though I suspect they’ve chosen the latest Scorsese over this.
​

About the time that the screen features high-jumping lizard men and slow-motion walking into combat sequences, it becomes very clear – or it should – that we’ve left all reality behind, and The Lair becomes one of those pictures that defies conventional and – at times –unconventional wisdom.  Even though the fallen Soviet Empire was behind this DNA mix-up, the script naturally indicts America because the U.S. top brass knew all about it and did nothing to stop it.  (The U.S. is what’s wrong with the world, don’t you know?)  You might have to hold your laughs once the surviving soldiers opt to ‘hole up’ inside a weapons locker that opens outward, but you’d best simply release it.  Trust me when I say, “there more where that came from,” and this one continues its descent until the last gag.
 
Still, as I’ve tried to be absolutely clear, there’s nothing wrong with the frenetic chaos, logical failures, and plot holes that populate so much of these 90+ minutes.  As a B-movie, The Lair functions reasonably well: though a bit long in a few spots, I’d argue it’s a no-brainer, the kind I and my friends would’ve happily sat through back in my college days of the great 1980’s probably once, twice, or maybe thrice.  It moves fast enough that – at first blush – some might not even notice its trash effects, sloppy writing, and hammy acting.  A less attentive audience – one fueled by pizza, popcorn, and beer – might not even question why the hybrids didn’t use those face tentacles more often, especially given the fact that they often made victory achievable with much greater loss.  See it as cognitive dissonance caught on camera, and it functions like a carnival attraction.  What’s so wrong with that?
 
The Lair (2022) was produced by Rather Good Films, Scarlett Productions Ltd., Ashland Hill Media Finance, and a few other participants.  (A full accounting is found on IMDB.com.)  The film is currently available for streaming on a wide variety of platforms.  As for the technical specifications?  For the most part, I found the sights and sounds very impressive: there are a few sequences – particularly those shot at night – that were a bit difficult to fully see the documented action.  While not entirely distracting, it’s a bit disappointing.  As I watched the film via streaming, there were no special features to review.
 
Recommended chiefly for fans of B-movie actions (especially those with a SciFi/Horror angle), but most likely everyone else will find this one far too undercooked …
 
The Lair is the kind of film wherein it works best if (and only if) you turn your brain fully off.  Otherwise, you might find yourself reaching for pen and paper to make a list of the number of mistakes and/or plot holes big enough to drive a tank through.  In fact, if I were to sit down for a chat with writer/director Marshall, I’d be inclined to ask if he started out this project with the intent to make an action movie parody as the number of unintended laughs this one produced suggests he did.  But all of that doesn’t remove the insufferable campy charm that runs through the piece from start-to-finish … including the bad accents, the flawed logic, the inferior special effects, and even the perfectly placed Wilhelm scream.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Shudder provided me with complimentary streaming access to The Lair (2022) 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