Cloverfield

"Something else. Also terrible."

There is something odd about a monster movie that isn't about the monster. The brief but evocative hints at backstory indicate doom for our protagonists but ultimately a human victory, with an aftermath where survivors attempt to catalog and categorize the events*. Yet when we try to put it all together, these efforts don't quite obtain: how did a tape survive the carpetbombing of Manhattan? how does this victory jibe with the spooky backmasked "It's still alive"? "Cloverfield" makes little sense as the name of the monster itself (as the title card's "sightings of case designate" seems to indicate) or the name of the case file (to today's literal-minded military); as yet a third name for US-447/Central Park it is powerful and allusive, but chronologically impossible. We are successfully kept off-balance by these hints--we know far more than the characters but far less than the people preserving and presenting this record of events.

The movie famously opens with mundane recording of the lives of beautiful young people, mostly a going-away party featuring soapy recrimination and the cameraman's embarassing crush on Lizzy Caplan. Only after 20 minutes does an explosion remind us that a monster is coming to eat everyone. After a brief feint toward satire, as American voyeur society quickly realizes that a cell phone camera won't stop a Cthulhoid horror, the movie uses the simplest of plots (1. Find way off the island 2. Rescue pseudo-girlfriend) to set up some decent set pieces and action sequences and some good scenes of people freaking right the fuck out: a few scary bits (night-vision view in the subway tunnel), gory bits (Caplan EXPLODING, awesome), sudden surprises (monster got some Spud Webb vertical leap); standard stuff, serviceably executed.

The most terrifying part, though, is our heroes navigating the roof of a half-collapsed apartment building with no monster in sight. But Cloverfield doesn't feel like a monster movie with a motivated, personalized, allegorical** villain anyway; it's a disaster movie with an impersonal, implacable force of nature. Between the no-name cast and annoying camera work, I feared this would be a reworking of the worst parts of Blair Witch Project; I was pleasantly surprised.

*Abrams has also offloaded much of the narrative to a viral marketing campaign à la LOST. It expands the story into strange doings around the underwater-drilling, satellite-launching Japanese corporate concern Tagruato, involving their popular beverage Slusho! and its sea-mined secret ingredients (shades of Brawndo and Slurm). Yeah, I know; but at least he avoids smoke monsters, time travel, and jungle polar bears this time. So far.

**So, so relieved that the destruction of Lower Manhattan wasn't about terrorism like Godzilla was "about" nuclear blah blah blah. So relieved.

Planet Earth: Jungles

Technically the seventh in a series, Planet Earth: Jungles begins in the tradition of its documentary-style predecessors. Thusly guised, it begins with a humble sample of the characters populating this world, and we the viewers are hard pressed not to identify with them: the spider monkey, engaged in the interminable rat-race for figs; the bird of paradise, for whom sexuality is an exhausting display. But even the most lighthearted moments are permeated by reminders that this is the world’s largest population and it is vulnerable. As David Attenborough narrates with an uneasy calm, the lower level of the forest is starved of sunlight. It is here, in the lightless gnarl, that we are given something to fear.

We are abruptly cut to a lamentable everyman: a red jungle ant in the final stages of a peculiar madness. Borne away from the colony by its former workmates (their faces tiny, humorless masks of grim resignation), the camera stays on the body through its death and the following weeks- it is here that we meet our monster. The cordyceps fungus buds gradually from the miserable once-ant, as though testing the air of this new reality. Not since the Alien series has the monstrous been so eerily merged with sexual imagery. The fungus is a quivering phallus, penetrating from its now-hollow host the world outside it. In the scenes that follow, the creature’s cousins demonstrate their horrible works: lush panoramas of shapeless colour, spilling from the shells of their insect bearers. It would be Lovecraftian if those abominations didn’t at least have the decency to bear orientable features like tentacles and wings. While I was too frightened to complete the film, it is natural to assume the parasite spreads across the planet and ultimately fills the Earth itself, coalescing through the surface to turn its filaments toward an unknowing universe. What makes the cordyceps especially frightening its incongruity with the logic of the world it inhabits; Planet Earth presents a nature where death and predation are the cornerstone of life itself and this kind of consuming, psychological death something wholly other. Thank god that horror’s cathartic fancy is just that.

Ecclesiastes 1:9

Well, in the last twenty four hours, I have watched these movies, and I have nothing interesting to say about any of them:
Prom Night (1980)
April Fool’s Day (2008)
The Omen (1976)
Shutter (2004)
When A Stranger Calls (2006)

Although Prom Night turns out not to be the original movie upon which Prom Night 2008 was based, I feel this list makes King Solomon’s argument that there is nothing new under the sun, at least if he was talking about American movies made in the first decade of the new millennium (which, okay, I guess he wasn’t).

April Fool’s Day does go ahead and give credit to the writers of the 1986 movie, although from what I remember of the previous version, it is an entirely different story.

I’ve never seen the original version of When A Stranger Calls. The scariest thing about the 2006 version was when she opened the fridge and there were all these cans of soda, which made me want a soda, badly enough that I decided to walk down the block to the machine. When I got back, the second lock on my door – which I never lock – was locked! Possibly there is a scary stranger in my house as I type this and I will be brutally murdered in front of the open window before morning! Aren’t you scared? Yeah, me neither.

Here is what I think about Shutter: Joshua Jackson is adorable and charming and sexy for no discernible reason. I have a Joshua Jackson problem. I can’t explain it. Nothing stands out about the movie except that I want to make out with his stupid scruffy face all the time, even when he plays some totally worthless schmuck, which is always. (Wait, Fletch? Really?)

Dead Alive

Oh how I love Dead Alive. It’s not for the spectacular gore that I love it, although I am a fan of gore, and I appreciate the possibly unprecedented levels this film achieves in sheer volume if not in art. The blood and violence are always played for laughs – I only feel genuinely moved by the gore once in the whole movie: the infamous custard scene (*shudder*). Knowing exactly nothing about film making, I feel a little arrogant (and a lot inarticulate) trying to talk about what I love about this movie, because I think what I love is sort of technical. I’ll comment anyway. I believe Dead Alive demonstrates a real artistry that is nearly unique among low-budget horror films. The playfulness of the camera work always seems to serve the story. Something about the intense color (saturated? is that what it is?) and uncomfortable angles makes every scene just overdone and chaotic and farcical enough to keep me entertained. I also think that the story is neatly constructed, again in a way that is very rare in low-budget horror movies. Finally, if you’re not convinced that Dead Alive is deeper than it looks, remember, an unattended baby carriage is always a reference to Eisenstein.

Scream 3 (Lydia)

"I am not a Randy substitute. I'm a completely different character."
"Named Ricky, who works at the video store."
"...it's an homage."

On the whole, I am not really a fan of the Scream movies. They are often praised for their self-awareness, the fact that they take place in a world informed by horror movies and populated by people familiar with the rules of horror movies, but to me it was not until Scream 3 that Wes Craven's franchise really transitioned from slasher movie to parody of slasher movies. The story is like this: having defeated the killer in the first two movies, Sidney (Neve Campbell) is hiding from celebrity in the mountains; meanwhile back in Hollywood, filming is underway on Stab 3, the third in a series of movies based on Sidney's real life, when actors in the film begin to get murdered. The film opens with Liev Schreiber's cameo, much of which he spends complaining about the fact that he has only a brief cameo in Stab 3, and from that moment forward Scream 3 is constantly self-referential. Almost every character makes explicit through dialogue their relationship to the characters of the previous films and of the real life story on which the Stab films are based. In the scene that really won me over, Roger Corman plays a studio executive, who calmly explains to the director why violence in movies is a "big deal right now." The whole relationship between Gail Weathers (Courtney Cox) and the actress (Parker Posey) -- named Jennifer, who used to date Brad Pitt -- who plays her in the movie is always fun, and nobody acts like a bad actor like Parker Posey acts like a bad actor.

(Note: Inexplicably, Neve Campbell is in all my guilty pleasure movies.)

Rosemary's Baby

"Oh no, don't change the program on my account."

Roman Polanski’s first US-made movie, Rosemary's Baby exhibits a lot of the traits that I identify with Polanski’s subsequent genius. Polanski has created some of the most memorable portrayals of female victimization and madness. From La Locataire (The Tenant) to Chinatown to Death and the Maiden, his movies give us women who are forced into strange small spaces, sexually victimized, then constantly questioned when they ask for help.

I have an inclination to claim that it would be easy to read Polanski’s work as misogynist. Some very rudimentary internet research seems to indicate that lots of people agree with me that it would be easy…and that it would be a mistake. That is, lots of people are talking about how everyone misinterprets his work, but I can’t seem to find a single article which actually calls his work sexist (the man himself, oh yes, but not the work). The explanation may lie in his personal life—he famously fled to France after pleading guilty to (and before being sentenced for) statutory rape and he is reportedly a real bastard to women on set.But I suspect there’s more to it than that.

I think this tension between misogyny and honesty exists in these films, even in the absence of any outside knowledge about the filmmaker. I think it’s hard to tell the truth about women without risking a hint of misogyny. The interesting thing about these women, and let’s return to talking about Rosemary Woodhouse now, is the way that they conform to the difficult standards set for women. They are not ugly or rebellious or man-hating. Rosemary is in every way the perfect twentieth century wife: she is bright and beautiful, educated, upbeat, sexually unrepressed, eager to be pregnant, and skilled with a wallpaper brush or a tray of hors d’oeuvre.

I can’t seem to find it right now, but I think it was in a review of The Evil Dead that Roger Ebert said something like [quote, I’m paraphrasing], This is not a violent movie, but a movie about violence. In a sense Rosemary’s Baby is a film about sexism, but like The Evil Dead in its relationship to violence, it is not quite a condemnation of sexism. It revels in sexism, and invites us to participate in that. And thus we are forced to examine our own relationship to the darkest sides of our own humanity.Rosemary consents to being raped by the devil.“Oh no, don’t change the program on my account,” she says. It is this internal tension, between naming her own desire and her need not to be a bother, that makes her so fascinating and so psychologically disturbing and ultimately so true.

Prom Night (2008)

I've never seen the original, so yes I guess I'm doing this backwards. I'm experimenting with a sort of extreme reader response criticism, by writing notes while I watch the movie (and, incidentally, eat the most amazing spicy chicken cacciatore I just made up).

Opening credits: not particularly interesting, so far, but this cover of "Time of the Season" is taking liberties with the lyrics, I swear. Isn't it time OF the season FOR loving? Isn't that REALLY different from "time FOR the season OF loving"?

Cast: Blondy girl, and her wholesome black friend girl.

They talk about the Back Story, letting us know that for Some Reason, blondy girl's mom doesn't think she should join the [I didn't catch what team].

Hm...in the picture on the mantle, blondy girl doesn't appear to have the visible scar she now has. I'm full of suspense about the back story!

Action starts fast. Where's Joey? What's this baseball bat doing here? Joey's dead, blondy hides under the bed and watches mom get brutally murdered by a dude with scraggly brown hair and ugly boots, then...

(OMG, you'd never guess...)

...then she wakes up! In the therapist's office, where she is undergoing Plot Exposition Therapy.

Cut to hair salon with black friend and slutty friend. I have something to say about how sex is treated in this movie - I'm interested in comparing it to the original (my guess is that the original is less preoccupied with sex but at the same time does not bother, as this movie does, to make the point that it's Okay not to Do It. I could be wrong about this, but it seems to me that contemporary movies are more and more likely to make some big political deal about how some character is Choosing To Wait). In this scene black friend asserts that she has sex with her boyfriend and redhead friend (who I called slutty friend before, and I guess I was wrong, so I'll switch to her actual name, Claire) says how he's not getting any tee hee hee.

Back at home, blondy is getting ready for prom, with the cheerleader's mom, who gives her a very meaningful taupe scarf of some sort. Her mom would have wanted her to wear it.

This girl is surprisingly ordinary looking. What's with white teeth? I mean, unnaturally white. I'm pretty sure the uncle just asked the date if they were going to Do It, and the date assured him that they are not. "No sir, you have nothing to worry about."

Cut to police station, where nerd/hipster white cop gives a fax of Charlie Manson to tough black detective, who rewards him with a lot of plot exposition. Turns out Charlie Manson was a teacher (how come this dude could get hired and I couldn't?) who became obsessed with blondy, then killed her mom so they could be together. The detective explains that they expected the death sentence but the jury came back with insanity (NB: I'm pretty sure that's not how the legal system works. Aren't you usually not competent to stand trial if you are Technically Crazy?) and he's been in a mental institution until he did some thing that involved a neat little splatter of blood and an air duct. The scene ends with "We should go tell the aunt and uncle. This is gonna rock their world." Which to me seems like an odd choice of words.

Back at prom, charlie manson has cleverly disguised himself with a baseball cap and will now check into the hotel. Hilariously, a lady teacher seems to have a crush on Lisa (black friend). Good thing lesbian teachers don't get all obsessed and cut up people's moms! Chrissy, the "rich-bitch" who planned the prom, is at least thirty. (note: actually, she's 26 .) Everyone dances ironically. Oh no, Lisa's boyfriend went to the desk to pick up keys to the room, and accidentally revealed to Manson which room they are staying in!

Our first non-flashback death is of the maid. Maria. Yeah.

I think I have a lot more to say, in addition to my thoughts about her unnatural teeth, about the beauty ideal this lady represents. It seems to me that she not so much is beautiful as signifies beauty through artificial means. Beautiful girls have blond hair - she has blond hair. Beautiful girls have blue eyes - she has freakishly blue eyes. She's wearing a pretty dress, but it fits very oddly.

Blondy goes to the room to get Midol for Claire (OMG cramps! period!) and they have an extraordinarily brief heart-to-heart (we don't have to see an actual conversation or evidence of intimacy, only the thing that signifies intimacy: Midol and Boyfriend Trouble). Blondy: "Do you want me to stay here until you feel like going down?" Claire: "No, thanks, I'll stay up here by myself and get murdered instead."

Detective Wynn is at the front desk. "Have you seen this guy?" "No," says the front desk clerk, "I've only seen a dude who looks exactly like that dude, but in a baseball cap." (He didn't actually say that.)

Claire's prick boyfriend says "Where is Claire?" and blondy is like "You gotta stop being a prick or you're gonna lose her" and prick boyfriend is like "yeah right, I doubt that." Irony! She's dead! Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha. Joke's on him! During and after the ensuing death of prick boyfriend, there is some cool juxtaposition of corpse clean-up with dancing, to cheery dance music.

I swear horror movies used to bother to explain the preturnatural strength of their villains, when they were preturnaturally strong. They were imbued with supernatural abilities by some catastrophic event, or they are truly evil, or they are demons. It seems like anymore, bad dudes are just able to do whatever evil they want, by virtue of being bad dudes.

(Not to keep harping on this, but is this girl pretty? She doesn't seem pretty to me.)

(Whoa. Turns out the dykey teacher is the gym teacher!)

Lisa goes upstairs to make out with her boyfriend. She sees Manson in the hall, but can't place him. Making out with her boyfriend, she suddenly places him, and runs out of the room to get murdered. The murderer steps on her dress, and she runs away, leaving approximately two thirds of her dress behind. For some reason, portions of the hotel are under a sort of construction that involves lots of creepily floaty plastic tarp and many easily startled pigeons. Obvs, the black friend is toast. Trademark neat little splatter of blood.

Detective Winn pulls a fire alarm and the nerd/hipster cop tells everyone to leave. But blondy can't leave yet - she has to run upstairs and get her taupe scarf thing. While she is in the room alone, the Manson dude comes in, and he seems to have a special power of making lights flash in a weird way. It's as if a light bulb on a string is swinging back and forth (this happened in both Them and The Evil Dead, but in a supply room and a basement respectively, I think, not in a fancy hotel room) interrupted by random flashes of bright blueish light. She manages to shut him out of the room, then hides...under the bed! Which is where Manson stashed the body of Claire. Actually, I think it's sort of cute that she's under the bed again. But she gets away, goes home, lots of boring pursuit ensues. The cops find the body of the bell boy Manson killed. Back at Donna's house, she's in bed with Bobby, then wakes up and goes to the bathroom (never wise) where the killer appears in the mirror behind her! And then...she...wakes...up. Yeah.

I forgot to check the rating, but this movie seems extraordinarily tame for a slasher movie. It's a problem that the market for this sort of movie is young enough to require a PG-13 rating, but at the same time they are attracted to these movies by the very things that caused them to be rated R in the days before PG-13 ever existed.

I just figured out that it's not a remake of the Jamie Lee Curtis movie at all, but coincidentally has the same title. I still want to compare them.

Actual ages of the cast:
Ronnie: 21
Donna: 22
Claire: 22
Lisa: 24
Chrissy: 26
Bobby: 29