Carnival of Souls

"I don't belong in the world."

The line that separates the world of the living from the world of the dead has been a subject that has long fascinated writers in the horror genre, and in turn, lead to some of its most prolific, and influential entries. Carnival of Souls, is just such a film.

The film opens with three girls involved in a seemingly innocent drag race. The race takes a nasty turn, however, when one of the cars plummets off of a bridge and into the river. Only one of the three girls, Mary, emerges intact from the watery grave, and something has changed in her. She is cold, and indifferent, aloof even. Unfortunately for Mary, her emotional state is only the beginning of her troubles. Soon she begins experiencing strange transcendental states, and eerie fatalistic dreams, both carrying the same terrifying message: that the world of the dead is not finished with her yet.

Cited as an influence by David Lynch, Carnival of Souls has no shortage of disturbing imagery, and the look of the film, along with its grimly macabre soundscape, instill the viewer with a tone of dread and foreboding that only increases with each passing scene. Indeed, writer-director Herk Harvey (who also plays the mad stranger that is stalking Mary's dreams) manages to strike a wildly disquieting tone for the film.

Like few films before it or since, Carnival of Souls manages to use it's low budget and small production values as an inspiration to get creative instead of an excuse to be lazy. More than anything else, it's due to this imagination and resourcefulness that it became the gothic classic that's it's still regarded as today.

Lost in Translation

“Well you figure, you sleep one-third of your life, that knocks out eight years of marriage right there. So you're, y'know, down to 16 in change. You know you're just a teenager, at marriage, you can drive it but there's still the occasional accident.”

A touching and poignant look at two people lost in the middle of their lives, Lost in Translation follows Bob Harris and Charlotte through their philosophic misadventures in urban Japan, each there for their own reasons.

Bob Harris arrives via plane and is immediately swept aside by press men and yes men into the crowded celebrity lifestyle that he’s been living for most of his life. Charlotte is already at the hotel, bored and disenchanted, slowly falling out of love with her husband. Something sparks however when these two run into one another and suddenly they feel the void between themselves and their lives closing…but with time running out, they have some hard decisions to make about what their new friendship means to them.

Sofia Coppola has already shown she had a talent for film-making in her debut, The Virgin Suicides but here, in her sophomore effort, she trumped herself. Charlotte and Bob feel so real because they are written this way (moreover because this story, at least in some context, may have actually occurred).

The colors are bright, the music is ethereal and the performances will be highlights of their respective stars careers for a lifetime. A true, modern classic.

Shite Films: Blade Trinity

"She likes to listen to her iPod when she fights. It's like her own personal soundtrack."

You may not believe that the above line, a line that tawdry, could possibly be presented in a real film that was given a theatrical release. You would, however, be wrong. Co-written by director David S. Goyer (a man who is actually capable of being an excellent writer, if you can believe that) the script for Blade's 3rd and final installment trundles along like a broken tricycle, rolling and squeaking the series to it's abysmal end.

Following the wonderfully fun original , and it's surprisingly innovative sequel, Blade Trinity is very reminiscent of Scream 3, another movie that ended its respective trilogy by souring the entire concept, while destroying any sense of reasonable, believable narrative. The film goes off the rails almost immediately, by centering the entire conflict around a cliche of an omniscient villain, and introducing some goofy new characters that no one cares about (also like Scream 3).

Lets start with the cheesy, over the top, villain. It's Dracula. Yes, Dracula of all people (?), has arrived in the Blade universe, and with none of the goofy fun of his similarly out of place appearance on Buffy the Vampire Slayer. No, Dracula, looking like a goofy metal-band reject, and carrying himself like a WWE wrestler (more on that later), possesses zero menace, is given no clever lines, and concocts a scheme so lame and unoriginal that it lends the proceedings no suspense whatsoever, and makes for an utter eye-roller of a finale.

Now, let's move onto the boring new characters that nobody cares about. First up we have Hannibal King, which is basically Van Wilder: Vampire Hunter. His role consists of being comic relief and taking his shirt off, unsurprising considering he's played by the fabulously one-note Ryan Reynolds.

Next, we have Abigail Whistler, a wildly cliche "badass female character" played by Jessica Biel. She is sexualized shamelessly, and given feminine characteristics in the silliest, and most obvious of ways (weeping nude, while hugging herself in the shower, for example). The fact that she's Whistler's daughter seems to be entirely an afterthought, as it's pretty much irrelevant to the story, and her inane obsession with listening to an MP3 player while she kills vampires is so wildly out of place, it feels like it was inserted into the film by a teenager (or at the very least, someone who thought this might appeal to a teenager).

Finally, there's Zoe. A young girl who's entire purpose in this film is to be a cocky, wise-beyond-her-years child character. She taunts the villains after being kidnapped by them, has her innocence exploited in the meekest way possible, and, of course, tells one of  the villains (WWE wrestler, Triple HHH, of all people), in a deadpan voice, that her friends are coming to kill them (yawn).

Well, after introducing all of these useless twats, the film goes one step further and eliminates the only character that we do still give a shit about: Whistler. Yes, that's right, Whistler dies...again. And not only is his death used to eschew cheap sentimentality, it's also completely unceremonious, and happens within the first hour of the film (much like Cotton Weary's death in Scream 3).

Faulty in nearly every department, Blade Trinity is pure and obvious garbage. The final embarrassing gasp of just another series among many that should've died one film earlier.

Good Night, and Good Luck

“We cannot defend freedom abroad by deserting it at home.”

 The above quote rings with additional clarity in today’s so-called war on terror. And it’s no accident that George Clooney decided to make his debut as writer-director on this particular subject at this particular time. It is because this has happened before, because it is happening again, that we must pay special attention to past examples.

 It is the red scare of the 1950’s, an obsessively paranoid time in American history where man eyed his fellow citizen with uneasy mistrust. For the Cold War was not a battle of guns and bullets but of minds and ideologies. Enter scare tactician and Republican Senator, Joseph McCarthy, the self-appointed leader of this witch hunt. Facing off against him is CBS journalist Edward R. Murrow, a scrupulous reporter who smelled a rat and chased it through legal and professional mine fields to the end of the line.

 Shot in a stark but stylish black and white, Good Night, and Good Luck is both an intricate film and an important one. As additional films like the documentary, Control Room, have pointed out we are not getting the full story here, only the official one. It’s hard to believe that even in this modern era of free information that we’re still being so easily misled by the puppet masters in charge but such is the nature of man.

 As a film Good Night, and Good Luck delivers all of the integral pieces of a great picture: convincing performances (especially from lead David Strathairn), astute cinematography and script that gets the point across without becoming pretentious or overbearing.

Arlington Road

“Never wiser than when we're children. They say it and it's true. We'll never see things that clear again.”

Welcome to Arlington Road: an ordinary suburbia. Peaceful, quiet safe…but not for long. Because something is coming, a driven, determined force that threatens to destroy innocence in swathes.

Michael Faraday is a widowed college professor, an embittered man who lost his wife to the FBI’s call of order. But he has a duty, a duty to his son and to his community. Michael still believes in justice. That is until he begins to suspect that his new neighbors, particularly its patriarch Oliver, are harboring a secret: one so devious, so insidious that it will drive him to break boundaries, laws and promises in pursuit of the truth. Will he be ready when he finds it though?

Ehren Kruger’s script is like a thrilling page turner that changed mediums like nothing. It’s amazing that this is original material, uninspired by any other source. In turn, director Mark Pellington shows a deft flare for wildly stylish shots; this is a film where the cinematography and score work in tandem to drive up your pulse and get under your skin.

The real bread and butter of the film though are in the performances. Tim Robbins and Jeff Bridges square off wonderfully in emotionally demanding rules that would show cracks in lesser performers. Arlington Road shines as an underrated high point in both of their careers.

A film that has only become more effective in today’s paranoia-filled political climate, Arlington Road is a chilling thriller with a jaw-dropper of a finale.

Summer of Sam

“Since when does your hairstyle determine whether or not you're a fuckin' killer?”

It’s a blistering hot summer in the South Bronx, and New York City is about to burn. Something’s in the air, and a terrible personification of the “me” decade is about to make himself known through six ringing echoes in the black of night. Sam says hello.

1977. The Brooklyn Dodgers are storming the playoffs, disco is still an inferno and the Son of Sam is firing a big .44 into the heart of America. Meanwhile Vinnie is cheating on his wife, Dionna, with anyone possessing tits, Ritchie returns to the old neighborhood as a British punk and Ruby is dumped by her boyfriend. Soon the personal lives of the aforementioned and the fearful panic rotting the big apple will boil over into violence and bloodshed—and no one’s going to walk away with clean hands.

Summer of Sam is one of Spike Lee’s most ambitious and uncompromising films to date. Its strength lies in its honest depiction of the flawed characters it follows through the chaos of ’77. Putting Lee’s usual racial-motivated subject matter on the back burner, this particular story focuses on prejudice of a different nature: the prowling, seething man who looks upon change personified and calls it the villain.

John Leguizamo, Mira Sorvino, Jennifer Esposito and especially Adrian Brody give exceptional performances in the chief parts while a great soundtrack carries the scenes to grueling heights. Lee’s camerawork is spot-on and the interruptions provided by the killer gel perfectly with the stories that surround him.

Summer of Sam is a frightfully frank look at the mob mentality and the human mind under the guise of fear.

Gates of Heaven

 "There's your dog; your dog's dead. But where's the thing that made it move? It had to be something, didn't it?"

What is the basic value of a life? Does animal life have less value than human life? These are some of the questions explored in the debut documentary from filmmaker Errol Morris: Gates of Heaven.

Gates of Heaven concerns itself mainly with what happens when an animal dies. Morris examines burials, cremations and rendering plants as a way of dealing with this loss, and, in the process, opens the door to a passionate debate between those who inhabit both sides of the fence.

On paper, this can sound banal and tedious, or even sentimental. But Morris' approach to the documentary art form gives the film room to breathe, and develop, at its own pace. There's no narration, no exposition, and Morris himself never appears before the camera. What he does is record dozens of hours of footage (with everyone from mourners and insiders to businessmen) and then sift through them for the common threads that make up all of the layers in this surprisingly complex subject. His approach allows both the subjects and the issues to speaks for themselves, without any poking or prodding from the director.

Calling Gates of Heaven a film about dead animals is like calling Schindler's List a film about dead people: it doesn't even scratch the surface of what this film has to say. Provocative, touching, and inspiring, this film is a wonderful surprise, and one of the finest documentaries ever made.

Sleepy Hollow

“The Horseman comes. And tonight he comes for you.”

In Tim Burton’s last truly great film, he applies his dark vision to a very old tale: The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. Now this old fable was always a chilling piece of fiction but here, under Burton’s watchful eye, it becomes much, much more.

Detective Ichabod Crane is a man of reason, a civic servant who subscribes to the belief that science can explain all manner of creature on this earth. His assertion is challenged though when he finds himself investigating a triple murder in the remote township of Sleepy Hollow. Here, in this gothic village, he will come face to face with the supernatural—and be forced to deal with the repercussions on his reason that follow.

Delightfully grim and bloody, Sleepy Hollow relishes in its horror and creates one scene after another, designed to push the squeamish viewer to his limit. As such, it’s as much fun to watch as it is disquieting. The black sense of humor and somewhat campy portrayals echo back to the old ages of cinema, while the film itself remaining fresh in presentation. Johnny Depp is at his charming best, Christina Ricci offers a purity rarely seen in her performances and Christopher Walken has a brief but effective cameo as the Hessian warrior who would eventually become the headless horseman.

A mystery of the highest (and bloodiest) order, Sleepy Hollow is best viewed on a dark, snowy night by the crackling warmth of a fire.