Life's A Happy Accident

Life has plunged me into a strange abyss of late. I'm getting a new film ('Circus of Dread') prepped with some amazing people (Bill Oberst Jnr, Domiziano Acrangeli), finishing post- on a making-of ('John Doe'), nudging two other features to the post-production finish line ('Fertisle' and 'Pond Scum'), and rewriting two long works of fiction. Busy, yes, but wandering in a bizarre landscape of creative confluences, the ever-expanding commitment to originality, sundry life needs, optimism, negativity, inspiration, and pants-on-seat labor.

The great Bill Oberst Jr, who has deservedly been called 'The New Lon Chaney", 

has joined the cast of my new movie Circus of Dread.

The incredibly versatile and brilliant Italian veteran of  over 137 movies and TV shows, Domiziano Arcangeli, also joins the cast of Circus of Dread.

As always, good health is a primary concern. I pop more vitamins and minerals than my late granddad popped antibiotics, but considering the fact that I haven't been sick or seen a doctor for several years now, my morning cocktails must be doing something right. I take a multi-vitamin from youngagain.org and a mineral supplement; I take a combo of Glutamine,  Fructooligosaccharides, and Acidophilus for intestinal health; the CoQ10 (real Japanese Ubiquinone) is for heart health, and the Beta Glucan strengthens immunity; Vitamin D3, though called a vitamin, is, in fact, a vital natural hormone. Blood sugar levels are kept in check by the avoidance of sugar and heavy carbs and assisted by Taurine, an essential amino acid, and Green Tea Extract. Cholesterol levels are normalized by my magical Citrus Pectin tablets, and a product called GermanZyme (enteric coated for proper digestion) smoothes digestion. Not bad for a bloke who doesn't "do drugs".

Mental health is an ongoing adventure for us all, it seems, and we gravitate to the arts so we can better digest the slings and arrows of life itself. I've stuck with Mad Men from the beginning and are often rewarded with brilliant writing, creeping revelations, and top notch performances. This week's episode delivered a hard punch to the gut with the death of a key character. His measured fall from grace made for great TV and even greater food for thought.

AMC, the network behind Mad Men, unleashed The Pitch this year, a reality series portraying the culture of  ad agencies who compete for common business. As I've worked on and off in advertising, having directed close to two hundred commercials (mostly at the budget end), I find the series both fascinating and depressing; since working amongst ad men was both for me, the series accurately depicts the business as the ego-driven, idea-hungry, dog-eat-dog beast it is. What makes the ad world difficult to navigate for creative types is its many layers, layers you're not always privy to. As a director of a commercial, your job is to please both the client and the agency while putting something of your own personal stamp on the brief. The "personal" part is usually defrocked of its pointy bits, and you're usually happy to deliver something that is at least energetic and original (but not too original).  The Pitch does a knock-up job of conveying the complexities of the process, while not ignoring the fact that ad work is mostly hard slog for dubious reward. Recent episodes have focused more heavily on the personal lives of those involved, and the sacrifices necessary to make a dent and build a reputation. Recommended.

Not recommended is Pete Berg's ghastly Battleship, surely the worst film I'll see this year. I can't imagine anything worse. The generic trailers dropped my expectations to toilet level, so I drove in (more on that in a moment) anticipating little more than light on a silver screen. Well, the light sucked the proverbial elephant dick. Moronic and cliched in the extreme, this pro-military exercise in big bangs and dialog Ed Wood would have barfed at suffered a well-deserved death at the box office. Next time, Pete, try shadowing Michael Bay so you can see how a crap expert does crap well (sometimes).

I caught Battleshit at the Santee Drive-in in good old El Cajon, California. One of the state's last ozoners, it caught my eye as I sped past it at three o'clock in the afternoon. I zipped back along the I-8 freeway to check it out close-up. A flea market was coming to an end on its hallowed grounds, admission was free, and I was at liberty to snap a few pictures. Although I'd already seen and slightly enjoyed The Avengers, I thought I'd give Battleshit a shot. See, it didn't really matter what the movie was, I was going in, anyway. How often did I get to attend a drive-in movie these days? The last American drive-in I'd attended was the Bel Air drive-in in Detroit, Michigan, and that was almost thirty years ago. Then there were the needs of my female companion. Hell, she was itching for her first time; her first time at a drive-in, that is (!)

Shame it had to be Battleshit. Still, the experience was a good one, and it lifted my spirits to see a long driveway filled with cars almost an hour prior to the opening of the gates. Yes, sir, the drive-in has not lost its luster in El Cajon, California, and I wish it well, even if it has abandoned the exploitation fare that made it great in the first place. Perhaps that's unfair (slightly). Much of that exploitation fare is still being made, but it's being made by the studios. It now lacks the edge, of course, and you don't see jiggling breasts much these days. I did see a pair in a car parked close by, though. Put a smile on my face knowing some drive-in tropes don't die so hard.

No matter what anybody says, Mel Gibson's career is not dead. His Get The Gringo is a damn good time on the telly (Direct TV Exclusive), and it serves up plenty of action, some salty non-PC dialog, and a colorful menu of stunts and grunts. Mel didn't direct this one, but his stamp of cinematic brutality is all over this film's rugged hide. I'm a big Mel fan, and certainly didn't turn my back on him when that gold-digging wife of his posted a bunch of private phone calls. On the contrary, Mad Max's anger at someone he'd poured love and finance into was totally understandable. No doubt the man has some anger issues, but his heart's a sound one. I know a fella fairly close to Mel's world, and the skinny is he's a good bloke who doesn't suffer fools (fools like Joe E, for example) and is, in the Mitchum and McQueen tradition, the last Hard Man of Hollywood. Anyway, do Get The Gringo when it hits BluRay, or plays at a non-US cinema near you. You won't have any regrets.

On the BluRay front, there's been movement aplenty on my TV. I so enjoyed the BFI's BluRay restoration of Andy Milligan's wonderful Nightbirds and The Body Beneath. Turns out Nicolas Winding Refn was holding the best print of the movie, so he petitioned the BFI to restore it and release it, and gathered a murder of cinema crows such as Tim Lucas, Jimmy McDonough, and Stephen Thrower to write liner notes and deep biographical material. The result is one of the best cult releases of the year. Although I'd seen The Body Beneath before, although not looking this good, Nightbirds was a first for me. It portrays a relationship between two drifters, a man and a woman. The man's a fairly easygoing type, if a little moody, but the woman becomes increasingly aggressive and plain witchy. I couldn't help comparing Nightbirds to some of Koji Wakamatsu's work, in particular Go Go Second Time Virgin and Running In Madness, Dying in Love.  As with the early work of directors like John Waters, the appeal of Milligan's work is its raw intensity. You get the feeling that each film is Milligan's psyche vomited onto the screen. The Body Beneath, which explores vampirism, is an experience requiring patience, but its central premise of a vampire prolonging his influence via blood transfusions is a good one.

Again, duty beckons, and I must apologize for the recent dearth of new posts.

Life's a mostly happy accident.

Upcoming Films That Excite Me

 

 

 

Mel, Buttman, and Vinnie Barbarino

I've always been a Gibson fan. He's a true Hollywood Man of Violence in the tradition of greats like Lee Marvin and Robert Mitchum. I'm quite keen on his directorial efforts, too.

Although I was not terribly impressed by The Passion of the Christ when it first parted the cultural heavens, I've since come to admire it. Essentially, it's one of the greatest bible-sploitation films ever made. Mel took an untouchable biblical "event" and turned it into a a rousing blood and guts show. And he did it with style and verve. On top of that, he managed to get the church to run his publicity machine, the result being a monstrous box office windfall. When was the last time the church got behind a film so riddled with torture and dismemberment?

He stepped up next with Apocalypto, a rousing, bloody, action-adventure with a potent historical context and a dazzling storytelling style. And it was in a nearly dead language for Chrissakes! I respect that.

Gibson, a cop, investigates the death of his daughter in Martin Campbell's Edge of Darkness, a simplified feature version of a taut British miniseries (also helmed by Campbell).

Not as fascinating as the miniseries because there just isn't time to expand on the juicydetails, but it works fairly well as a slow burning, stripped-back revenge thriller. Mel is less hysterical than you might think from the trailers, and the action is not non-stop; there's quite a bit of chat, and there is a great turn from Ray Winstone playing a Mr. Fix-It type.

Since my favorite film starring Gibson of recent memory is Payback (the Point Blank remake), I couldn't help but compare the experience of watching both. Payback was much more fun and far more lurid, but Edge is still a worthy entry in the Gibson canon. He's still got presence and a trembling sense of unpredictability to burn.

Speaking of burning, John Stagliano ('Buttman') can singe the screen with his fine pornographic choices. His movies are hot because he loves what he's doing. With Stagliano, you get the impression that he'd be doing it whether he was making a buck or not.

His latest directing effort, Buttman's Beautiful Brazilian Ass, showcases the anal assets of a bevy of hot, fun-loving, Brazilian women. As is the Buttman style, the roaming camera leers, pokes, prods, and explores these women as Stagliano himself is heard moaning and editorializing.

He's the bone at home in every sense of the word.

Brazil is a favorite playground of Stagliano and his Evil Angel empire, and it's easy to see why he prefers it to Los Angeles. The attitude to sex is much more open down there, and the women he chooses (and that's the trick!) have an unbridled passion for shameless debauchery.

Best carnal turn here comes from the volcanic Monica Santhiago, an insatiable sex goddess whose fairytale curves will drop your jaw.

Aspects of this entry may disturb some viewers, however. Although Stagliano is not traditionally associated with the rougher side of porn, his foray into harder hardcore here is a paint-stripping effort. Actress Bella, who can certainly hold her own, engages in a brutal sequence where she is slapped, choked, pinched, punched and pounded while being drilled. It feels odd to see this in a Stagliano film, and I'm not sure it's what his disciples crave, but it's Stag's flick, and Stag can do what Stag wants with Stag's flick (he is, as a devotee of Ayn Rand, the Howard Roark of Pornography afterall).

Personally, although I find the rough stuff interesting from a psychological viewpoint, I don't enjoy seeing beautiful, sexy, voracious women at the receiving end of, admittedly, consensual abuse. The 'Buttman' I know worships women like this, and is usually reduced to a whimpering wreck in their presence.

Still, Buttman's Beautiful Brazilan Ass is a walk on the wild side with a master.

I enjoyed director Pierre Morel's Taken very much. It was paced to perfection, staged with skill, and exceptionally well acted by Liam Neeson.

From Paris With Love, Morel's latest, isn't near as much fun. Ironically, it's played for fun.

Maybe that why it's so not so enjoyable.

Jonathan Rhys Meyers is teemed up with Vinnie Barbarino (Travolta) to stop some bad guys from killing diplomats and disrupting an international summit. Meyers is a greenhorn and Travolta is an effective loose cannon who does stuff like smuggling his favorite gun through the airport's security devices.

It looks like Vinnie and Meyers had a great time making this movie, but I didn't have such a good time watching it. The action sequences are curiously ho-hum in execution, and the non-stop banter between Vinnie and Meyers gets a bit irritating. Did the "fun" approach relax everybody too much? The whole kit and caboodle just feels slack.

I should have relaxed and enjoyed the nonsense for what it was, right? Hey, I was relaxed, and I tried to enjoy it, I really did -- but. I wasn't exactly bored, but I wasn't nailed to the seat, either.

As Morel's follow-up to Taken, From Paris With Love shot me with a silencer.