(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the kind of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A young boy learns that space aliens are taking over the minds of earthlings.”
 
But … does he though?
 
The answer is that this synopsis depends entirely on one’s perspective, and that, too, is based on which version of Invaders From Mars.  Sorry, folks, but I’m not afraid to spoil the fact that Invaders – in the U.S. domestic release – is little more than a dream – the figment of a boy’s nighttime imagination – while the European cut adds scenes that tweak the ending to show that what takes place between the credits (as they say) was real and anything but a dream.  While I have read some commentary (on the web) suggesting that the U.S. story may or may not have been a dream (the ending does try to have it both ways, depending upon one’s interpretation), I suspect anyone who really mulls over the flick reaches the conclusion that, yes, it was nothing more than the product of a slumbering mind.
 
Now, calm down, haters.
 
I’m in no way, shape, or form trying to diminish the impact that Invaders has had on filmdom or some of its most learned practitioners.  I’ve nothing but respect for those who’ve both been influenced by it and then gone out and tried to do the same with their respective projects; what I’m trying to say above simply characterizes that the story as presented is open to interpretation.  Though I’m admittedly not much a fan of tales that pull such last reel trickery, I can still see the scenes of greatness and obvious inspiration that director William Cameron Menzies squeezed into this slim epic.  I just don’t see it as being the ‘slim epic’ others do, and I can tell you why.
 
Chiefly, Invaders is about as uneven a theatrical yarn as one can be.  At an incredibly lean 73 minutes, it still contains a wealth of bloat – stock footage inserted by producers who needed it to justifiably be longer in order to be a legitimate theatrical feature – that vastly gets in the way of Menzies’ superior efforts.  It wouldn’t be hard to argue that, ultimately, there’s a perfect 30-minute episode of The Twilight Zone snuggled in there; but I still can’t dismiss the never-ending and unnecessary procession of trucks and tanks and soldiers that kills the story’s central momentum every single time its used … and it’s used plenty.
 
Yes, yes, and yes: it’s easy to see why so many accomplished filmmakers were drawn to the work.  Even a casual viewer watching with only one eye would have to be a complete dunderhead to miss the stylistic framing employed through several sequences.  The alterations between warmth and cool between certain locations might send an obvious message to those who like those kinds of elements.  Like a great painter, Menzies clearly went to great lengths to plan out each shot: though the man hasn’t been credited with inventing film storyboarding, it isn’t hard to see – even in this production – that he damn near perfected it.  None of that excuses what inevitably happened to Invaders in post-production, however, and the story suffers as a consequence.
​

So it’s grand that the feature can instead be remembered for kinda/sorta saying something about where we were as a people in the early 1950’s.  The proliferation and expanse of the atomic age gave folks something to be truly frightened of – given that our species could’ve (and can still) faced an extinction level event in a matter of minutes – and it clearly fed into a great deal of film and television outings.  While Invaders’ script – as crafted by Richard Blake and John Tucker Battle – never quite comes out and declares that voices of authority shouldn’t be trusted, it’s still crystal clear that they should minimally be questioned when pushing all of collectively toward doom.  Not everyone is bad in here – the military does get some very positive treatment, a bit of a surprise since they were so closely tied in with the development of the bomb – and young David McLean (as played by Jimmy Hunt) perseveres to find someone who will ultimately listen to his cries for help.
 
The picture is one of the first that used what many dismiss nowadays as a Science Fiction trope: instead of doing the dirty work of destroying our world themselves, these Martians will takeover the brains of ordinary men and women, putting them to good, destructive use.  Naturally, what young child wouldn’t be alarmed when all of a sudden his mother and father weren’t behaving like themselves, and the resulting paranoia fuels so very much of what David endures.  It’s only after he’s fully incarcerated (yes, sitting in real jail cell) that he finds Dr. Pat Blake (Helena Carter) and Dr. Stuart Kelston (Arthur Franz) will not only hear him out but also verify what he’s saying might be true.  Hopefully – with their help, too – young David can also have his juvenile record expunged.
 
From there, the U.S. military is called in, all rather easily if you ask me.  Once Col. Fielding (Morris Ankrum) witnesses firsthand how victims are being pulled under the ground by the aliens, an electronic stem is implanted at the base of their brains, and they’re let loose to do the bidding of the curious overlord (she appears only as a head kept in a crystal glass globe), all bets are off.  He marshals the full might of U.S. ground forces (let the aforementioned processions begin!) and orders his own invasion to counter the invasion originally begun by those dastardly Martians.  Those of you who’ve rarely seen so much stock footage are in for a real treat.
 
Lastly, I’d be remiss if my duties if I failed to mention that Invaders scored a 1954 Hugo Awards nomination in the category of ‘Best Dramatic Presentation.’  Interestingly enough, the trophy actually went home with a similarly-themed but obviously bigger budget affair – George Pal’s seminal The War Of The Worlds.  Lo and behold, Invaders was also up against Jack Arnold’s It Came From Outer Space in the competition.  Think what you will, but I think that these three flicks showed mankind that somethin’ was most definitely headed toward Earth in our future, and like-minded fare still plays to pretty respectable box office returns decades later.
 
Invaders From Mars (1953) was produced by Edward L. Alperson Productions.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Ignite Films.  As for the technical specifications?  Wow.  This brand new 4K restoration – restored from the original camera negative and master positives – looks and sounds incredible.  Yes, there’s a fair amount of grain here and there, but I suspect this is owed chiefly to flaws in the source material.  As for the special features?  The 4K release boasts several interviews with some notable participants reflecting upon the film’s enduring legacy along with a brief short examining the restoration process.  Furthermore, there’s a gallery, theatrical trailers, and product packaging that includes a 20-page collector’s booklet with pictures and an essay on the restoration.
 
Recommended.
 
No, I’m not as enamored with Invaders From Mars (1953) as are so many.  The feature suffers from far too much extraneous material for my tastes, and I’d even argue with those who insist some of it needed to be there.  (Frankly, it didn’t.)  The performances are interesting, at best, and the effects work – what little there is – is only passable compared to some of what was taking place in other pictures of the day.  I do respect how the film both introduced and handled so many of Science Fiction’s cinematic tropes – many of which are likely the source of laughter these days – but I can appreciate how being the first to try some of this might not mean you were the best at it.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Ignite Films provided me with a complimentary 4K Ultra HD Blu-ray of Invaders From Mars (1953) for the expressed purpose of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ

Ach.  Some days, folks, it hurts to get outta bed and read the news.

Like a bunch of folks online this morning, I saw news of Alan Arkin's passing.  Then -- after doing a bit of searching -- it honestly started to look like it might've been one of those nefarious Information Superhighway hoaxes that go 'round the world these days.  But as of a few moments ago it does appear as if major news organizations have done the confirmation process, assuring those of us who read their space that the incredibly talented actor has shaken off his mortal coil.

My God, what an incredibly gifted actor this guy was.  Just a quick glance at IMDB.com right now shows that -- throughout a storied career -- he'd built a resume of nearly 30 award wins (from a variety of organizations).  With over one hundred screen appearances to his name, I think his genre credentials are a bit slim for you young Turks, but us old dogs have nothing but respect for this guy.  We've truly lost a giant.

His first big immersion into Science Fiction was 1980's SciFi/Comedy Simon.  Marshall Brickman wrote and directed Arkin in this story of a man who is brainwashed to believe he's in reality a being from another planet.  While The Stinkers Bad Movie Awards nominated it in their category of 'Most Painfully Unfunny Comedy,' the Academy Of Science Fiction, Fantasy, And Horror Awards still gave Arkin a nod in the category of 'Best Actor' for their 1981 Saturn Awards.

​1983 saw the actor return to the SciFi/Comedy fold -- this time with a Musical -- when he joined co-star Christopher Lee in The Return Of Captain Invincible.  Poking fun at aging superheroes, Arkin played for former Nazi hunter who comes out of retirement when Mr. Midnight (played by Lee) proves he isn't finished trying to destroy mankind just yet.  While this one is largely a forgotten flick (so far as I can tell), it did garner a bit of praise while screening on the film festival circuit.

​And speaking of superheroes?  In 1991, Arkin appeared as part of a terrific ensemble aboard Walt Disney's adaptation of The Rocketeer.  Though I found the film a bit half-baked, I did like the cast, and its effects work was definitely some of the best of their day.  Every now and then, this is a property that gets floated around for either reboots or continuation, and I think that could be grand.

Perhaps the actor's biggest dip into something resembling pure Science Fiction was his turn as Detective Hugo aboard Andrew Niccol's Gattaca (1997).  The film was a critical favorite, garnering an incredible amount of praise; and it did perform reasonably well at the box office.  I'm not sure how well it has stood the test of time; come to think of it, even SciFi fans I'm friendly with never went ga-ga over it but found it worth the price of admission.

As I mentioned above, there's a solid library of work out there for folks to consider this weekend, maybe in some free time or the like.  His was an almost effortless skill, and I think it deserves a bit of further recognition considering today's sad circumstances.

Our deepest thoughts and prayers are extended to the friends, family, and fans of Mr. Arkin.  May he forever rest in peace.

​-- EZ

If I'm being perfectly honest with the readership, then I'd have to admit to never having all that much faith that 1995's screen incarnation was going to be that big of a hit for anyone involved.

I had read the comic book here and there, and I just didn't get into it all that much.  I guess it was a character that showed promise -- so far as I cared -- but I didn't quite see Dredd with the face and/or the voice of Sly Stallone in my head when I read it.  That little variable can produce an effect on moviegoers -- even fans of a particular property -- and I probably ended up seeing this one theatrically against my better judgment.  Stallone had done well in Science Fiction before -- 1993's Demolition Man is a great popcorn flick -- so I went in anyway.  Plus ... Diane Lane?  Have I ever mentioned how lovely she is?  Again: I didn't see her as being a great choice for one of the judges, but Diane Lane is still Diane Lane, and that likely brought me in as well.

Though I've never been much of a Rob Schneider fan, I thought he ended up being one of the bright spots in an otherwise dreary and formulaic affair.  He brought some laughs and filled out the part of an affable enough screen sidekick, clearly playing against Stallone's straight-faced visage, and I guess it's best to be thankful for that small favor.  Armand Assante is always worth viewing, and the delicious Joan Chen -- who won over fandom in no small fashion with her turn aboard TV's Twin Peaks -- rounded out the principles nicely enough.

​Though I haven't seen this one in years, it's the kind of project that I kinda/sorta wonder if it had been both greenlit and fast-tracked because the Batman films had reinvigorated interest in comic book properties.  With Stallone being a box office draw more often than not, perhaps it was some studio's desire to get him into that world as quickly and as painlessly as possible, with a search of intellectual properties coming up a bit slim with the exception of Dredd.  Whatever the case may be, it just didn't quite work for me, and I'm not sure that the film has gained any fans in the passage of time.
​

In taking the good with the bad, Stallone has been involved in a handful of stinkers over the years, but Dredd didn't quite rise to that level.  Still, those lovable knuckleheads at the Razzie Awards nominated him for their 1996 'Worst Actor,' but the Italian Stallion didn't go home with that trophy.

At the 1996 Saturn Awards (sponsored by the Academy Of Science Fiction, Fantasy, And Horror Films), Judge Dredd enjoyed a solid four nominations -- 'Best Special Effects,' 'Best Make-Up,' 'Best Costumes,' and 'Best Science Fiction Film' -- but all went home alone that evening ... well, so far as any of us know they went home alone, meaning no statues.
​

As always, thanks for reading ... and live long and prosper!

​-- EZ

Perfection is a hard act to follow.

Now, far be it from me to christen 1984's The Terminator and 1991's Terminator 2: Judgment Day as perfect films.  If I had to, then I could probably pony up a few issues that I had with each of the flicks separately ... but collectively?  Well, when you look at them together, they're actually a pretty awesome one-two punch to introduce an incredible franchise to the worlds of Science Fiction and Fantasy.  Aren't they though?  Aren't they just about the best first and second films in any intellectual property out there today?  Certainly, they're among the rare air, and I believe most folks -- even people who aren't exactly fans specifically of SciFi -- would likely agree.

So, again, I say, "Perfection is a hard act to follow."

In some respects, I think Terminator 3: Rise Of The Machines was destined to fail.  Coming on the heels of that one-two punch, how could anything truly reach for the bar that was set so damn high?  I don't say this in any way to fault the efforts put forth by director Jonathan Mostow, any of the attached screenwriters, or even the cast and crew.  At some point, an entry was bound to miss the mark; and seeing that creator James Cameron had left to pursue other projects then maybe -- just maybe -- Rise had an uphill battle that not even a T-800 could climb.

Also, I'd be remiss if I failed to mention that -- unlike so many fans of the franchise -- I'm actually quite fond of Rise.  Hate me if you must, but I thought the film -- in its conclusion -- delivered a kinda/sorta perfect coda to the property, showing its characters that despite how hard you might work to change the fate of the planet you very well might be doomed anyway.  Wasn't it Jeff Goldblum's line that warned each and every one of us (in Jurassic Park) that life (or nature) finds a way?  Well, in the case of Rise, I'd like to think that the universe found a way to reach out and strike back against the Terminator, the Connor family, and anyone else who dared to take a chance.
​
And, of course, I'm well aware of the backlash I may suffer for saying such a thing.  When you do offer a position that the majority of fans disagree with, they tend to rise up, call you names, and look at you like you shot their dog.  Mind you: I never said -- nor would I ever imply -- that Rise is the best in all of the Terminator series.  I simply am saying that where it all went -- the finality of the flick's message -- resonated with me.  Perhaps it's that I'm a bit older than most.  Perhaps it's that I do tend to gravitate toward darker material.  Whatever the case, I liked it, and I thought it set up the property for a great new direction ... but we've never seen a legitimate follow-up in that respect.  I will give you that.
​

To the film's credit, its production details were largely very well regarded within the industry, and anyone interested can take a gander over at Rise's awards page to see that -- and its stunt work -- did create a bit noise during the wider professional community.  That is no small feat, indeed.

As for what really matters to genre fans?

Well, the film earned an incredible four nominations (but no wins) at the 2004 Saturn Awards (which all of you ought to know by now is sponsored by the Academy Of Science Fiction, Fantasy, And Horror Films.  It's almost a given that the Terminator films draw nods in such categories as 'Best Make-Up' and 'Best Special Effects,' but Rise also earned relative newcomer Kristanna Loken a nomination in the category of 'Best Supporting Actress.'  Lastly, the film -- as a whole -- earned a shot at 'Best Science Fiction Film,' but that title went out to -- cough cough -- X2: X-Men United.
​

As always, thanks for reading ... and live long and prosper!

​-- EZ

Ah, the quintessential crime drama!
 
While there might be hundreds if not thousands of really great crime dramas out there, I suspect that the truly best examinations of the shenanigans of the guilty are slim in number.  Audiences and critics have long ago proclaimed Francis Ford Coppola’s The Godfather saga to among the top contenders, but I’ve no problem admitting that it just didn’t endear me the way other projects have.  And then, of course, you have practically anything that emerged from the efforts of Martin Scorsese; as much as I appreciate a few of his big pictures, I do so love his American Prohibition series Boardwalk Empire and consider it among the crème de la crème.  Naturally, there are more – productions from the great Michael Mann, David Fincher, and even Alfred Hitchcock – but as always I do tend to leave the ultimate choice up to you, the reader: I’m not here to tell you what to like, and I prefer just pointing you in the direction of something worthwhile.
 
In fairness, I haven’t seen all that many foreign crime flicks.  I have seen a good number – the stuff from John Woo is particularly interesting, yet I do prefer Johnnie To’s library over many American storytellers – but I’m always on the lookout for something to reinvigorate the desire.  Having only recently been treated to the greatness that was Hideo Gosha’s samurai films, I was pleased to also receive an all-new restoration of the writer/director’s Violent Streets.  As I’d never heard of it (again, no surprise), I did a bit of research before sitting down with it, and I’m glad I did: my extended reading really served as a solid primer on things to look for in the picture, enhancing my enjoyment of this one greatly.  Come the end of it – along with a second screening for clarity’s sake – it’s easily risen to the crop of being one of my favorite discoveries this year.
 
Let me tell you why after the break.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A retired yakuza is caught in the middle of a growing conflict between two rival clans.”
​

​There are a few things one can expect going into any crime story if it involves older gangsters.
 
First, you can bet most of these old timers will be played to simmering greatness.  At their age, they’re used to getting far more done with a steely-eyed glare than anything else.  That might be a bit more hard-boiled than most folks like, but – as many will say – it is what it is.
 
Second, you can be sure that these old dogs won’t be all that enamored with the way crime and its young purveyors have evolved.  Older men and women always have an expressed fondness for the way things used to be, and this fuels a good deal of their observed angst.
 
Finally, you can – without a doubt – expect that the main plot and possibly a good deal of the subplots will revolve around the concept of r-e-s-p-e-c-t.  It’ll be in short supply – especially in a tale that traffics in ‘final respects’ that way crime dramas do – and that, too, will make for some great reflection.
 
Some in the viewing audience will find these universal themes to be little more than storytelling cliches, but – despite such reservations – they’re merely part of what makes a life of bad deeds into the experience that it is.  Yes, I suppose the way some of these elements get so intricately woven into the plot and dialogue that they do run the risk of being lesser tropes at times; and yet it wouldn’t be even a serviceable crime drama if it ignored these staples.  This is why audiences come to such tales in the first place – a meager but acceptable list of expectations, if you ask me – so buckle up, batten down, and be quiet … as the film’s about to begin.
 
Gosha’s Violent Streets is no different in that regard.  It’s a sometimes bloody, sometimes vicious, and sometimes reflective yarn about the old meeting the new and the inevitable collision of worlds in conflict.  It has tough men, bitter women, plenty of gunplay, and a wealth of nuanced deception on the part of its expansive cast.  And – like any crime drama – audiences pretty much recognize the narrative structure for what it is – a necessary evil – and they might even know (or be able to predict) just how it’s all going to unfurl, mostly because every bad guy worth his weight in salt only goes down fighting in a hail of bullets.  That doesn’t spoil the ending, per se, because there’s plenty more to think about before the credits roll.
 

Honestly, there’s far more to this crime saga than the stewards at IMDB.com would have you believe, and – quite frankly – I found it the kind of thing that I could write about over and over.  Symbolism and other storytelling trickery were part of Gosha’s techniques, and what you and I think that barking dogs, clucking chickens, or an army of lifeless mannequins might mean will likely differ.  (Trust me: you’ll understand when you watch it.)  Yes, the backbone of it is that Violent Streets is an obvious rumination on gang violence of its day, but there’s much more to this than just what meets the eye.  Ultimately, what matters to me is the film’s central message, that being change begats violence begats change, and it rolls forever onward in a never-ending close of the new displaces the old up until we all take the inevitable dirt nap.
 
That may sound a bit dour to some, but it’s pretty much a staple for any film involving aged or aging gangsters, of which Violent Streets most definitely applies.  Egawa (played wonderfully by gangster-turned-actor Noboru Andô) finds himself once more on the outs with Togiku Group, a band of yakuza he served alongside in the past.   Sometime back then, he did the honorably thing of ‘taking the fall’ to preserve the criminal organization.  Upon his prison release, his chosen retirement from a life of crime was nonetheless rewarded with the gift of a nightclub from the group, and he’s spent much of his golden years turning ‘The Madrid’ into a local sensation.  But when mob boss Gohara (Shigeji Takada) decides the club could today be better used as a bargaining chip with his encroaching rivals, Egawa ultimately realizes his only way out might very well be a return to violence.
 
So, indeed, Violent Streets is not without ample violence, and – much like in reality – it takes many shapes and sizes.  There’s bloodshed, murders, fistfights, rape, double crosses, and a little bit more sprinkled wonderfully across its 96-minute run time, giving connoisseurs of crime dramas plenty of action to mull over.  But perhaps a bit more than that, Streets works as a message film about how change inevitably leads to violence.  It always leads to human consequences.  It may not be today.  It may not be tomorrow.  But as constant as change is in this game of life, so will the bloody responses of those who resist it taking a foothold.  Of that, there can be no mistake.
 
Egawa left behind a life of crime, having grown weary of the toll it took on him and those around him.  Doing so meant that his girlfriend (Miyoko Akazi) would have little choice but to move on, eventually marrying Gohara in the process.  The resulting change – managing a night club in the heart of contested territory – has not only meant he’d have to return to a life of bloodshed (we see him throwing out some gangsters in the film’s opening) but also taking up relations with an alcoholic club waitress Akiko (Maki Kawamura).  Their romance results in bouts of Egawa slapping her around (in private) and forcing himself upon her, though we’re led to believe this is their normal coupling technique.  So it’s very clear that change has truly only brought the man more violence.
 
But this is a thread – change causing violence – that dangles at each and every opportunity throughout the film.
 
Some in Egawa’s employ are working secretly to force all-out gang war between the Togiku Group and their enemy, the Western Japan Alliance.  Attempting to force such a conflict, however, begins exacting a heavy price on each of them as both sides begin to suspect something a bit more nefarious might be afoot.  (Change leads to violence.)  In the process, one of Egawa’s men accidentally strangles to death a TV starlet they’ve kidnapped in a ploy to indict their gang rivals.  (Again, change leads to violence.)  A two-man hit squad – one gangster and his cross-dressing, blade-wielding counterpart – begin offing them in a search to recover the ransom money in a scam gone bad.  (Even more change leads to even more violence.)  The inclusion of a transvestite stage performer leading a secret life of crime as an assassin – a faux woman in a world formerly occupied almost solely by men – underscored just how deeply change was running in Japan of the early 1970’s, and the violence followed suit accordingly.
​

Writer/director Hideo Gosha concocts a legendary meditation on the cycle of cause-and-effect, crafting it much like a tree grows roots that might stretch in any conceivable direction.  No matter what one does, there’s just no escaping this certainty of change leading to violence on these Violent Streets.  In Gosha’s world, there’s very little difference between allies and enemies because progress can – in a moment’s notice – turn friend against friend, foe against foe, and brother against brother.  In even the flick’s closing confrontation, we’re reminded of that simple truth: Egawa and his one-time confidante Yazaki (Akira Kobayashi) are swept up in the frenzy of trying to kill one another when a battalion of gunmen from their rivals storm the showdown.  In the big finish, change steals even the duo’s thunder as both are brought down with a hail of bullets.
 
Violent Streets (1974) was produced by Toei Tokyo.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good folks at Film Movement.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I thought that the sights and sounds within were very, very good: some of the early scenes appeared to be a bit washed over, so the highs and lows don’t quite pop as well as they could perhaps with a better remastering in the future?  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc boasts a twenty-minute short with Tomoe Gosha (the director’s daughter) along with a video essay by film fanatic Patrick Macias.  Lastly, the product packaging includes a 16-page booklet with an essay from Japanese film expert Mark Schilling.  It’s a good collection, but honestly I would’ve loved a commentary track as there’s just so much in the film worth talking about.
 
Highly recommended.
 
Simply put, Violent Streets is a winner.  I’ve read that Hideo Gosha’s crime thriller wasn’t theatrically popular in its day, but it’s gone on to craft an impressive cult following over the years.  There’s a lot of style and polish wrapped up in here – along with some incredible performances that deserve more print than I could ever commit to them – and I strongly encourage those of you who have access to watching this one give it a go.  Dismiss the usual blemishes that kinda/sorta go with the times, and you’ll likely find it one of the finer bad guys vs bad guys features you’ve come across in ages.
 
Old gangsters never die.  They just reload.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Film Movement provided me with a complimentary Blu-ray of Violent Streets (1974) by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review.  This contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ

Author’s note: Folks, this is a recovered review from my days back in penning content for Amazon.com and some other sites.  Now that I’m fully independent of them, I’m culling through some of my older material, editing it a bit, and re-posting it in this space for posterity’s sake.  Enjoy!
​

 
Plenty has been written about the films of David Cronenberg. 
 
I hate to paint myself into a corner, but I’m one of the rare few who has failed to draw much inspiration from his collective works.  Oh, I find them smartly made and expertly assembled.  I think they’re exceedingly well told, as well.  But, in their own ubiquitous way, I’ve found them a bit too emotionally detached (in most cases), meaning that the stories truly mean little to me as a viewer.  Sure, I get the message – science has run amuck, society has run amuck, passion has run amuck, etc. – but I haven’t been touched in that mysterious way that compels me to think all that much about what’s being presented.  Rather, I’m drawn in by the presentation – perhaps I’m studying the magician’s handiwork when I should just be enjoying the show? – and it all ends up feeling a bit too clinical.  A bit too cold.
 
Now, Brandon Cronenberg – son of David – has burst onto the scene; and, in one fell swoop, I’m forced to re-think everything I’ve ever thought I’d be saying about a Cronenberg.  This revelation comes as I found almost nearly everything in 2012’s Antiviral to be inspired, didactic, and (oh so) satisfying … in a bone-chilling sort of way.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the kind of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last three paragraphs for my final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“In a blackly satirical near future, a thriving industry sells celebrity illnesses to their obsessed fans.  Employee Syd March’s attempt to exploit the system backfire when they involve him in a potentially deadly mystery.”
 
In the not-too-distant future, our cultural obsession with celebrity has even brought medical science into the fray.  Patrons with enough cash to spend can now suffer the same flu that once afflicted their favorite pop star, media icon, or silver screen legend.  Naturally, everything comes at a price, but no celebrity is commanding a higher price-tag from the Lucas Clinic than screen siren Hannah Geist (an intoxicating Sarah Gadon), an effervescent blonde bombshell the paparazzi can’t get enough of (thick and heavy shades of Marilyn Monroe here).  Syd March (played by the increasingly impressive Caleb Landry Jones) keeps a day job injecting consumers with these viruses, but he’s secretly making a living behind-the-scenes by smuggling them out of the clinic inside his own body, parlaying them for greater personal profit on a burgeoning black market.  However, things go quickly from bad to worse when Syd secretly contracts Geist’s latest flu only to discover it’s fatal.  Before he knows what he’s done, the young entrepreneur finds himself caught between corporate conspirators who’ll stop at nothing to have the greatest and latest designer viruses for mass market consumption!

Antiviral is the kind of flick I could go on for days.  Indeed, it’s definitely going back in my queue for another look sometime this weekend.  Written and directed by Brandon Cronenberg, it boasts a brilliant script that indicts the audience as evenly as it does all of its players in the grand plot.  However, with each new twist and turn, Cronenberg’s smart story ratchets up the angst while never losing sight of its reality: life itself is not unlike a Hitchcockian plot.
 
Jones is particularly successful at conveying both the good and bad in his character.  With his streetwise, cocksure attitude, he can easily persuade those hungry consumers to reach for their wallets in order to share a one-of-a-kind experience with their idols; but he’s also blessed with a cynical outlook that underscores how he sees himself as little more than a drone shucking the latest wares in the next get-rich-quick scheme for the pharmaceutical industry.  He’s dressed just like every one of the cronies he waits in line with each day, and – with the eyes of a winsome, aging adolescent – he spies Geist on the television and in person with an honest envy that quietly asks, “How can I get me some of that?!”
 
By contrast, the media-version of Gadon practically exudes sexiness even with an act as simple as taking off her sunglasses.  Airbrushes images of her fill up magazine covers and modern art posters everywhere Cronenberg’s camera looks – in public and in private – and we’re never even shown the ‘real deal’ when Syd shows up in her posh hotel room to extract the virus: her eyes are protected under a sleep mask, but the next time we see her in private, we’re in for our own rude awakening as she’s started to succumb to the ravages of a designer infection manufactured exclusively for her DNA.
 
Be warned: there’s a fair amount of blood (and bloodiness) sprinkled throughout Antiviral.  I never found any of it gratuitous in any way; rather, it entirely serves the purposes of the narrative, one that explores exactly how intimate a price society demands for the price of celebrity.  And all of it is handled in a very film noir manner: red splashes almost entirely on white, and the contrast is indeed unsettling.
 
I will say that I was modestly put off by the simplicity of the ending – I thought that last reveal was a bit predictable given the boldness of everything that came before it.  However, like any good Hitchcockian mystery, it isn’t always how the victim survives his (or her) encounter; sometimes, the only way to endure is to live another day.  There may be little nobility in it … but it sure beats dying.
 
Antiviral (2012) is produced by Alliance Films, TF1 International, Telefilm Canada, Ontario Media Development Corporation, Rhombus Media, and a few others (if you’re that interested, check out the remainder at IMDB.com).  DVD distribution is being handled through MPI Media Group.  As for the technical specifications?  Wow!  This is one brilliantly rendered film, and the high quality sights and sound only add to the experience.  Lastly, if it’s special features you’re looking for, then you’re in for some treats: there’s an audio commentary with Cronenberg and cinematographer Karim Hussain as well as a relatively in-depth ‘making of’ documentary that explores the satire in good measure.
 
Highest recommendation possible.
 
I can’t remember a better time than the last year for there to be so many intelligent and smartly crafted science fiction films in release.  Upstream Color (2013) was one.  Vanishing Waves (2012) was another.  Now you can add Antiviral to that short list.  While those first two were very similar in tone and execution, Brandon Cronenberg’s picture maintains a sharper, more critical, and more nuanced eye with a purpose of stripping down our culture to its barest traits – our obsession with celebrity – and turns it entirely upside-down in the most biting way since perhaps some of Stanley Kubrick’s stuff or maybe even David Cronenberg’s catalogue (which I tend to find a bit overrated for my tastes).  Now, the son shows that ‘genius may just well run in the family’ with a debut project that certainly promises good things to come from the promising filmmaker.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at MPI Media Group provided me with a Blu-ray DVD copy of Antiviral by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ

I kid you not: there was this one time wherein I had written a review for an independent feature, and – after reading what I had said – the writer/director of it reached out to me via email for the sole purpose of telling me that it was people like me for which his film was never intended.
 
Now, I’m an adult, see, so I can ignore the usual insults as well as anyone else can.  It was clear that the fellow took issue with what I’d written about his little project, and I can understand anyone trying to debate with me the strengths and negatives of any flick.  But this guy?  He went a bit overboard, demanding that I return the film to the distributor (who had kindly shared a copy) and insisted that I take down my review from everywhere it had posted on the Information Superhighway.  (This was back in the day when I was posting stuff on Amazon.com along with a few other sites.)  So I responded to him politely and professionally, telling him that part and parcel of being a storyteller is being capable of understanding that not every audience is going to rave about your work, and yet this words were just not enough.  Because I didn’t get his vision, I needed to essentially remove myself from his reality, to which I ultimately told him to both ‘grow up’ and ‘get lost.’
 
Having reviewed an incredible number of independent films, I can assure you that I don’t get every feature I’m provided or seek out of my own accord.  My explanation is simple – I’m just as infallible as the next person, and I only speak to that which I do grasp in the narrative – and I think it’s the storyteller’s job – if he/she/they/it want to be successful in his/her/their/its own terms – to produce something that makes sense.  It needn’t have universal appeal if that isn’t what the maker desires.  If it doesn’t resonate – or if folks say they failed to comprehend the central point – then that doesn’t mean a failure (other than a failure to connect in this singular instance) … but you don’t go criticizing each person who watched it.
 
Instead, you kept telling stories.  Ignore the critics.  Judges be damned.
 
But don’t hate those who may not share in your vision.
 
That’s petty.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“While their mother is dying in the modern Gimli, Manitoba hospital, two young children are told a tale by their Icelandic grandmother about Einar the Lonely, his friend Gunnar, and the angelic Snjofridur in a Gimli of old.”
 
The dirty little secret of art criticism – whether folks admit it or not – is that not every work is meant for every critic.
 
Stories are told for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is to necessarily be understood.  Often times, storytellers wish to impart some measure of wisdom surrounding some central concept or idea; and in that risky endeavor some parts and pieces may inevitably be ‘lost in translation,’ as they say.  Meatier ideas might require more time to ingest – deep stories often require a second or third exposure to be truly appreciated – and even a film like 1941’s Citizen Kane wasn’t exactly revered so much in its day as it earned its exalted place in art history decades after first being unleashed on audiences.  Such is life, and such may be the case with Guy Maddin’s Tales From The Gimli Hospital.
​

This is one of those ‘artsy films’ (no disrespect intended) that I’ve heard about and yet never seen, but now – thanks to Kino Lorber’s all-new release – I’ve finally had the chance to take in … and I’m not ashamed to say I don’t quite understand its reputation.  As a story, it bobs and weaves across a loose structure, at times presenting accounts more dreamlike than anything real or authentic.  Basically a visualization of a grandmother’s telling of a local legend to her grandchildren, Hospital details a fragile friendship between two male patients in a small village, one that kinda/sorta ends in multiple tragedies.  The most startling element of the tale is the fact that these two men are connected in a way they couldn’t foresee – I’ll not spoil the beans, but it’s kinda/sorta as creepy as it is shocking – but it’s otherwise a great deal of striking black-and-white visuals wrapped up in a backwoods period setting.
 
Where I struggle with Gimli, however, is what to make of it all.
 
Cult films – of which Gimli most deservedly is – get embraced by audiences for any number of reasons.  Sometimes, a director’s style pulls viewers in.  Other times, it’s a mash-up of multiple genres that pits critics at odds over trying to say which category the tale owes most of its impact to.  Maddin’s yarn never quite becomes anything specific to me – Drama? Tragedy? Comedy? – and, thus, I’m at a loss to have anything substantial to offer in reflection.  Some sequences come across as pure fantasy while others have the undercurrent of satire; without knowing what’s actively being satirized, however, the impact never scores.  A scene or two late in the picture are pretty close copied frames from Fritz Lang’s M (1931), the screen’s first real exploration of psychosis, but I’m lost as to know why.  (In fact, Hospital’s opening and closing sequences are structurally very similar to what Orson Welles accomplished in the aforementioned Kane’s opening and closing sequences, but I couldn’t tell you why Maddin copied them here.  Is it flattery or was it unintentional?)  Are these patients mad … or are they merely rapturous with dark thoughts?  There are hints – some obvious, and some a bit of a stretch – but it’s far too vague for this regular Joe’s gray matter.
 
Tales From The Gimli Hospital (1988) was produced by Extra Large Productions, The Canada Manitoba Cultural Industries Development Office (CIDO), and Winnipeg Film Group.  DVD distribution (for this particular release) is being coordinated by the good people at Kino Lorber.  As for the technical specifications?  The product packaging boasts that this is a brand-new 4K remastering, and – while I’m no trained video expert – I thought the sights and sounds were very, very good.  (As black-and-white photography goes, Gimli does look fabulous in a good deal of its running time.)  Lastly, if you’re looking for special features?  The disc includes a new audio commentary from Maddin, a trailer of the project’s re-release, and an accompanying short film (“The Heart Of the World”) also from the storyteller.
 
Mildly recommended.
 
Sorry, folks, but I’m not afraid to say that Tales From The Gimli Hospital leaves me a bit perplexed.  While occasionally interesting, it’s still a bit long at 64 minutes, a great deal of it evolving over sequences a bit long and feeling far too experimental for me to grasp its import.  Sometimes a tale is just a tale; but given the amount of critical extrapolation written about the flick I expected to be a bit more challenged.  While its visually enticing, an awful lot of it just seems like it’s weird for weird’s sake.  This, too, shall pass.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Kino Lorber provided me with a Blu-ray copy of Tales From The Gimli Hospital by request for the expressed purposes of completing this view.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ

Folks, I’ve always had a bit of a struggle with the whole Evil Dead franchise.
 
You see, I was there – back in the day – when The Evil Dead (1981) and its kinda/sorta do-over Evil Dead II (1987) were all the rage in the home video marketplace.  They were both considered staples of the rental crowd – I kid you not, but these two flicks were damn near always and I do mean always out of stock because they were so popular – and, having watched them both with friends, I never quite got the fascination.  Being still reasonably young and – cough – reasonably impressionable, I could appreciate the obvious derring-do of a great independent chiller – as well as the visceral appeal of low-budget schlockery – but I just couldn’t quite grasp how it all worked.
 
(Yes, yes, and yes: I’ve already confessed far too many times to overthinking things, so spare me the lecture!)
 
I’ve always been a bit of a mechanics person.  (This is not to say that I’m mechanical, in any measure of the word.)  I need to know how something works, especially when it’s presented on screen and an intrinsic part of any Science Fiction, Fantasy, and/or Horror universe.  How it works is part of the process for me fully appreciating what storytellers are trying to do with the material, and – if it isn’t clearly spelled out – I can’t fully digest something if I’m only allowed part of the total meal.  Give it all, or give me none.  You can’t ‘half-ass’ anything just to make it look good.
 
And therein lies my continuing opinion of the Evil Dead franchise: it looks good.  Hell, I’ll even give you that it looks damn good on some occasions.  But it still confuses the heck out of me.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the film’s IMDB.com page citation:
“A twisted tale of two estranged sisters whose reunion is cut short by the rise of flesh-possessing demons, thrusting them into a primal battle for survival as they face the most nightmarish version of family imaginable.”
 
Great gosh a’mighty: those kids are gonna need therapy someday!
 
There are times when reviewing Horror pieces can get a bit cumbersome.  I’ve always chalked this up to the fact that Horror – unlike, perhaps, any other genre of film – requires more often than not the dialing down of one’s brainwork to truly appreciate what a particular storyteller and the cast and crew are trying to accomplish.  It may not make much sense – much less perfect sense – but that’s chiefly because the preoccupation here is with the visual trickery: working together, this team wants to just scare you silly.  In accomplishing that, rules can and likely will be broken, meaning the sum might be fudged a bit from the pieces instead of following a cold, bloodless (snicker snicker) equation.
​

I think that’s a fair assessment of the entire Evil Dead franchise.  I’ve just never understood how spirits possessing a body – already a lifeless, soulless sack of meat – can suddenly be shut down … well, except for the release and eventual build-up of further suspense.  It’s a development that defies logic – the inhabited human body is already just matter, so how a knife in the brain or the snapping of the spine instantly throws off the possessor’s powers and abilities is the ultimate theatrical conundrum.  It happens – again and again and again – and, rationally, it can only be a screenwriter’s convention, giving the tale a brief lull before the bloody action begins again anew.
 
But … rarely have I witnessed such delight in utilizing the incessant start-and-stop of hostilities put to as efficient use as it is in Evil Dead Rise.  This is the ultimate carnival Horror attraction – one fueled entirely on the substance of nightmares spoken or imagined – and writer/director Lee Cronin rather deftly weaves a dripping tapestry that elevates the thrill ride to impressive heights.  Cronin rarely relents, but – when he does – he returns to form with more splash and glam than ever before.  This is quite a visual feast – for those who treasure this type of insanity – and I suspect it might reinvigorate the franchise in ways Rob Tapert, Sam Raimi, and Bruce Campbell (all heavily involved since its inception) will keep going to the bank, flush with cash.
 
Thankfully, the trickery isn’t just limited to ample amounts of blood and gore – mind you, there’s far more in here than I think I’ve ever seen before.  Cronin uniquely stages a few set pieces as is viewed through an eye portal in the apartment’s front door, and it results in some rather limited yet genius perspectives that shows just how much story can be conveyed with quality sound and a few visual effects.  Leaving what’s truly happening to the imagination of the viewers is a tricky investment, but I thought it was honestly some of the best cinematography I’ve seen in Horror in quite some time.
 
And what puts the bloody icing on the bloody cake?
 
It’s a solid script – perhaps a bit trim on characterization here and there – but it’s bolstered by some impressive screen turns by some young actors without a lot of mileage under their professional belts.  Don’t ask me how the wee Nell Fisher (as ‘Kassie’) managed to hold it all together as well as she did given the horrific circumstances; once she’s fully submerged in an elevator car filled with blood, you’d think she’d have the wherewithal to call her agent and demand to know just what he/she/it got her into, but – like a trooper – she soldiers ever onward.  Morgan Davies (as ‘Danny’) displays a bit of range as the tween torn between acting his age while balancing his childlike impulses to go recklessly into a subterranean vault without adult supervision, setting in motion a series of events that ultimately undoes what remains of his failing nuclear family.  And Gabrielle Echols steals one scene after another (as ‘Bridget’), her family’s resident grow-up-faster-than-she-should have child who inevitably succumbs to mommy dearest’s dark charms, turning into every real parent’s screen nightmare.
 
Not for the squeamish, Evil Dead Rise accomplishes what many in Hollywood will tell you is impossible: it takes an old idea and makes it brand-spanking new.  If there is a God out there – or even a demon – it’ll enjoy a long life serving as an inspiration for others wishing to go into the dark in similar pursuits.
 
Evil Dead Rise (2023) was produced by Department Of Post, Ghost House Pictures, New Line Cinema, Warner Bros., and Wild Atlantic Pictures.
 
Recommended.
 
Here’s the thing: Evil Dead Rise is about as visceral a blood-splattered fun ride as one is likely to ever see assembled.  Its mechanics – how it all works, why it all works, and how it all persists – may be the subject of extreme Fantasy; but viewers who go in accepting full-well in advance that it’s a feature built on scares – and little else – will likely have a damn fine time with the relentless butchery.  Occasionally, writer/director Cronin even backs it all up with some winning cinematography.  This is Horror for Horror’s sake, though … an entirely brain-free exercise is sheer madness.
 
Enjoy!

​-- EZ

Ach.  Sometimes, it just doesn't pay to be an entertainment reporter.

When news broke back in and around January, 2023 about how actor Julian Sands had disappeared while hiking, I think it's safe to say that many of us feared the worst.  Time went by -- as it inevitably does -- and there was no update on the man, so I think those dark thoughts only got a bit more prominent, though unspoken.  Alas, word reached us yesterday that his remains were ultimately found -- thank goodness -- but it was as we had feared, and the talented soul had left our world for whatever awaits beyond.

A tall and lean fellow, Sands was particularly effective -- according to his bio on IMDB.com -- in thrillers and Horror, a realm many of us appreciate.  A rundown of his professional citations shows that to be true, but he could also do great things in contemporary dramas as well as achieve some wonderful results in voice acting, making his potential boundless.

​As for his genre credentials?

While he slipped in a few smaller roles before Warlock (1989), I think most fans recognize the foray into the fantastic from New World Pictures as being his true introduction to Horror.  It's a role he returned to in 1993 -- with Warlock: The Armageddon -- where the stakes were raised to include, apparently, all of mankind in the process.

​In 1996, he played Ken, a man who came from the future to save the past aboard the SciFi telefilm The Tomorrow Man, sharing the small screen with Giancarlo Esposito, Craig Wasson, and Sydney Walsh.  I thought I'd once read that the telefilm was actually the pilot for a television series, but I'm not seeing any indications of that on IMDB.com today, so I could be mistaken.

In 1998, genre legend Dario Argento cast sands to play the seminal 'Phantom' aboard a somewhat bloodier incarnation of The Phantom Of The Opera than its author Gaston Leroux likely ever intended.  While a bit luscious visually, the film -- so far as I'm concerned -- is little more than a Horror-flavored period piece, but Sands still turns in a good performance.

In 2005, he joined the TV juggernaut that was the wide, wide world of Stargate for a single episode.  However, it was a role he reprised in 2008's Stargate: The Ark Of Truth, one of two telefilms that were produced to round out the popular show's run on television.

​And -- dare I miss this one? -- he even joined TV's Smallville for a few episodes, bringing audiences another winning version of Jor-El, Superman's Kryptonian father.

There are more -- many more, in fact -- and I encourage folks to surf on over to the man's IMDB.com page (link) for the full rundown of the man's incredible 156 different screen credits, including some voicework in the world of animation and gaming.  He leaves behind an impressive body of work, and maybe there's a little 'something something' from his background that'll tickle your fancy with a good memory today.  Wherever he's at, maybe that'll even bring a smile to his wise face.

Thoughts and prayers are extended to the friends, family, and fans of Julian Sands.  May he forever rest in peace.

​-- EZ

There’s a great little exchange between the screen hosts Aaron Deese and Shannon LeGro in the final moments of The Dogman Triangle: Werewolves In The Lone Star State that crystallizes the existential struggle facing our cultural grasp into the study of cryptids.
 
LeGro – an author, researcher, podcaster, and producer regarding matters of High Strangeness – has been living a life dedicated to pulling back the layers of confusion surrounding unexplained phenomena, so perhaps there’s no one better than she is to offer an informed opinion on the subject of what many would call the Texas werewolves.  (FYI: that’s not a sports team, people.)  So when she speaks up and suggests that she’s not seen enough evidence to convince her that these things – whatever they’re called – are “flesh and blood,” I’m entirely willing to take her learned word for it.
 
But then Deese – a Texas-based researcher and podcaster who has spent an incredible amount of time investigating the Lone Star’s sightings of the Dogman and related occurrences – counters wisely that perhaps these creatures require a definition that explores alternate dimensions somehow interacting with our own.  Breaking that wall – if that’s what’s happening – must have an explanation, and perhaps that’s where our search efforts are better focused.  If such a scenario were true, it would mean that living, breathing, tangible proof will possibly lay beyond our reach for some time.  It’s a bold position, but it isn’t without merit.
 
Now, I’m right back where I was when the documentary started, unsure of what to believe and probably just as befuddled as those who’ve seen one of these elusive monsters and lived to talk about it.
 
(NOTE: The following review will contain minor spoilers necessary solely for the discussion of plot and/or characters.  If you’re the type of reader who prefers a review entirely spoiler-free, then I’d encourage you to skip down to the last few paragraphs for the final assessment.  If, however, you’re accepting of a few modest hints at ‘things to come,’ then read on …)
 
From the documentary’s IMDB.com page citation:
“Do real werewolves exist in the lone star state?  Dozens of terrified witnesses have recounted seeing something that seems to defy our own understanding of the animal kingdom.  Something primordial and horrifying.  A massive, upright-walking canid.  Now, author Aaron Deese joins investigator Shannon LeGro (On The Trail Of UFOs) on a road trip across the state of Texas in search of pieces to a puzzle that Deese is slowly assembling …”
 
To be fair, there’s a bit more to the published synopsis, but what I’ve provided works just fine to represent the particulars that get some much-needed face time in this well-made documentary focusing solely on what Deese’s research has led him to conclude: there’s a huge ‘triangle’ of territory within the Lone Star state replete with sightings on the famed Dogman.  Part wolf and part man, he/she/it/they/them has/have terrorized residents within this triangle for quite some time, and sightings continue from the distant past to this day.  While the film concludes as mentioned above – that we’re currently short an acceptable explanation for not only what these witnesses have sighted but also a plausible explanation as to how the monster got there – I think it’s safe to say that there’s definitely room for more scholarship and study … especially if scientists can set aside their preconceived notions and actually do some legwork in the field.
 
In this case … I do mean field.  The popular television phenomenon that was The X-Files assured us that the truth is out there … not in some test tube.
​

Ardent experts are not going to prove the existence of Bigfoot, werewolves, demons, or any one of any nation’s unexplained wildlife from the laboratory.  This kind of research is predicated on both eyewitness accounts as well as a comprehensive examination of the landscape (for footprints, samples, and other evidence); and, sadly, that’s something most brainiacs feel is beneath them.  In one respect, this is precisely why stories involving cryptids and the like continue to find life – almost like a new form of Americana – with regular folks: you’ll never convince them to ignore what’s right in front of their own two eyes!  Still, because those of us out here are a long way from being expert on anything, researchers all too frequently dismiss our experiences as either misunderstanding, hallucinations, or exaggeration, a tactic that’s been handily employed by the CIA, the FBI, and any other governmental agency since the 1940’s.
 
And, yes, I do find that very sad.
 
Still, so long as rumors persist, I’m thankful that there will always be folks like LeGro and Deese who are willing to risk their own blood, sweat, tears, and reputations to give these stories the life and attention I think they’re owed if not long past due.  Alternative media has pushed open the door to the land of opportunity for a whole new generation of watchers, readers, and listeners hungry for content that more adequately asks questions about who we are and (maybe even) what we’re doing here.  Let’s hope that their presence continues to put pressure on the mainstream media if for no other reason than the corporate suits will eventually help provide greater resources to examine a few of these enduring mysteries.
 
The Dogman Triangle (2023) was produced by Small Town Monsters.  The film is presently available for streaming on such platforms as iTunes, Amazon Prime Video, Vudu, and FandangoNOW.  As for the technical specifications?  While I’m no trained video expert, I found the sights and sounds to this documentary to be exceptional from start-to-finish.  It’s clearly a humbly produced affair, but it looks solid.  As this was a streaming opportunity, there were no special features to consider.
 
Recommended.
 
What I’ve found refreshing about the work from Small Town Monsters that I’ve had the good fortune to screen – including The Dogman Triangle – is that these are clearly labors of love assembled both by and for folks who are into this sort of topic.  High strangeness abounds across the Big Blue Marble – whether we’ll admit that singular truth or not – and I’m forever thankful that LeGro, Deese, and producer Seth Breedlove aren’t afraid to go where their work and interests take them.  It’s a refreshing portrait of a subject rarely covered.
 
In the interests of fairness, I’m pleased to disclose that the fine folks at Small Town Monsters provided me with complimentary streaming access to The Dogman Triangle: Werewolves In The Lone Star State by request for the expressed purposes of completing this review.  Their contribution to me in no way, shape, or form influenced my opinion of it.

​-- EZ