Deepstar Six (Cunningham, 1989)

"Save Your Last Breath... To Scream."

The least of the aquatic horror films that sprung up around The Abyss. Far worse than Leviathan (which I still maintain isn't a terrible film). I can remember seeing the box for Deepstar Six countless times at the local video store when I was growing up and always being intrigued but unfortunately, this fits squarely into that (very 80's) horror category of films that utterly fail to deliver on the promise of their incredible VHS box art. The characters are all stock, the dialogue is atrocious, the creature is poorly designed and executed, and the narrative is cliche and lazy. The are only very minor pleasures to be had here and you really have to look for them - set design, the deep sea setting - but even those are more a case of the viewer really seeking out something from which to derive worth.

Let Me In (Reeves, 2010)

A very curious remake. I'm not entirely sure where I stand on this. Taken on it's own merits, Reeves's film is very, very good. And he does add a few new visual elements, including an incredible, visceral sequence towards the middle of the film. But the bulk of the reason that this film is so good is because it is essentially and undeniably Let The Right One In.

Dark Night Of The Scarecrow (De Felitta, 1981)

"Bubba didn't tell you that, Bubba didn't tell you anything. Bubba's dead."

"I Know."

An earnest, solid, workmanlike effort that attempts to scare with sound and suggestion rather than the violence we are so accustomed to seeing today. Durning commits himself completely to his villain role, and I can see why many people who caught this made-for-TV film back in 1981 remember it fondly, as it has a rather nostalgic quality about it, regardless of whether you've seen it before or not. Keep in mind that much of the popular opinion of this film is most likely inflated by memory, but still, watching this reminds one that there was a time when horror films were allowed to take their time and build up an atmosphere.

Sophie Scholl: The Final Days (Rothemund, 2005)

Sophie Scholl: The Final Days belongs with the class of refined, pedigreed historical cinema that Europe seems to churn out to such a degree that it has become a "brand" of sorts here in the United States, patronized by art-house theaters from coast to coast. And though it attempts nothing radical within the confines of this particular type of film, it is nevertheless a potent, artful achievement. Culled from testimonies and long-buried historical documents, it is an examination of the last six days in the life of the German anti-Nazi heroine. And though the action (in this case not quite the appropriate word) is confined mostly to a handful of rooms and a couple of characters, it is a gripping example of cinema as historical document, as well as a showcase for a handful of fantastic, carefully calibrated performances (especially Julia Jentsch, who plays Sophie). Rothemund has crafted a work of powerful restraint that manages to be staid and verbose without ever being tedious, a work that derives considerable emotional momentum not from moments of unbridled fury, but from moments of quiet control. IMDb listing.

The Molly Maguires (Ritt, 1970)

Ritt's bleak portrait of working class immigrants chasing liberty and the American dream belongs to the golden age of American cinema that began with Bonnie & Clyde, and is far more intelligent and artfully crafted than it is given credit for. James Wong Howe's incredible scope photography of the coal mines and Tambi Larsen & Darrell Silvera's Oscar nominated art direction lend the film a sooty authenticity, and the wordless nearly 15-minute long opening sequence immediately calls to mind P.T. Anderson's There Will Be Blood. As in his best work, Ritt doesn't allow his fondness for tackling social problems to overpower the narrative. A film in serious need of critical reappraisal. IMDb listing.

Killer's Kiss (Kubrick, 1955)

Stanley Kubrick's lean B noir, only his second feature length film, provides a revealing glimpse of his emerging personal style. And though Killer's Kiss is a relatively simple exercise, running a trim 67 minutes, it is fascinating how Kubrick chooses to tell this pulpy story of l'amour fou with images rather than dialogue. The final chase sequence is a thing of beauty.

Flash Point (Yip, 2007)

The cinema of Hong Kong has always been defined primarily (at least in an international sense) in terms of its action films. From the martial arts films of the Shaw Brothers in the 60’s and 70’s (Come Drink With Me, Five Deadly Venoms), to the pioneering work of Jackie Chan (Police Story) and John Woo (Hard Boiled) in the 80’s and 90’s (to name but a few, the list could go on and on…), Hong Kong has often been at the vanguard of action cinema, constantly innovating and redefining the look and feel of the genre and just as constantly being imitated.

With Flash Point, director Wilson Yip and star/fight choreographer Donnie Yen once again attempt to push the action genre to more extreme heights, though the results are quite mixed. From a narrative standpoint, the film is rather perfunctory. Taking place in 1996, just before the return of Hong Kong to Chinese rule, it deals with the efforts of a police operation, headed by Yen’s Inspector Ma, to take down a Vietnamese crime family. All of the requisite beats one would expect from such a plot are present. And though Yip broaches the interesting theme of “returning home” – many characters comment on their migrant status – it isn’t developed beyond a superficial level. Anyone even remotely acquainted with Hong Kong policiers will find themselves on familiar ground.

Given this, it would be quite understandable to dismiss Yip and Yen’s film as yet another formulaic entry from a stagnating contemporary Hong Kong film industry, though such an assessment wouldn’t be completely fair. Yes, the plot is hackneyed, the acting is exaggerated, and the dialogue is mechanical and sometimes nonsensical (though I assume something was lost in translation), but to judge this film predominantly on these elements would be to miss the point almost entirely. For though it grinds to a halt in its quieter moments, Flash Point positively explodes during its louder ones, especially when Yen is in the spotlight.

At its core, Flash Point is an outlet for Donnie Yen’s continuing obsession with MMA (mixed martial arts), something he utilized to great effect in his first collaboration with Yip, Sha Po Lang. This particular approach (which blends styles as diverse as Muay Thai and submission grappling) would seem to be a direct reaction to the graceful bloodletting of Woo’s The Killer, or the wire-fu spectacles Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon and Hero. The action feels organic, the fights gritty, brutal, and unpredictable. Every punch is felt. In the current homogeneous action film landscape, Yip and Yen have created something fierce and angry, something that feels like the logical next step.

There is far too much banality in Flash Point for it to be considered a complete success, yet for all of its shortcomings, it still succeeds as a pure adrenaline rush. This is the action film as performance art, pushed to an almost abstract level, where the emphasis is on the technical beauty of the action, regardless of plot and characterization, and pleasure is derived from the sounds of bones crunching, and above all else the athletic prowess on display.

Bob le Flambeur (Melville, 1956)

A quiet fatalism runs throughout Bob le Flambeur, slowly revealing itself in the rain slicked streets, the nightly routine of boozing and gambling, the overcast dawns, and especially Bob Montagné's face, his furrowed brow, muscles constantly contracted, always staring down. The rain, try as it might, can't seem to wash away the sins of the many who roam Paris by night, and fate, no matter how much one might try, cannot be altered. And so Bob goes about, losing his money, over and over again.

An undeniable stylistic precursor to the Nouvelle Vague, Melville's film is the type that will always seem modern and fresh, no matter how many decades pass. There is a languid vitality to the film that is impossible to do justice to through words alone. This is a film that must be seen.

Juno (Reitman, 2007)

This year's Little Miss Sunshine. That seems to be the label of choice for all of the award season pundits when discussing Juno. And though the comparisons are apt to a certain degree (this sort of hip, colorful, American indie filmmaking has become a genre unto itself) Juno does a remarkable job of toeing the line. On occasion, it comes close, but director Jason Reitman and writer Diablo Cody never quite allow the film to implode into the realm of cloying quirkiness. Juno's cheekiness may be annoying at times, but it feels quite true to her emotional and physical maturity. Ellen Page is sure to be the beneficiary of much praise, but the performance to savor is J.K. Simmons, who imbues his role as Juno's father with humor and a wonderfully confused but unwavering love. Certainly not the year's best, but funnier, if quite a bit lighter, than last year's indie sensation.

Charlie Wilson's War (Nichols, 2007)

Charlie Wilson's War is a product that looks like an Oscar contender, smells like and Oscar contender, and has the pedigree of an Oscar contender, but once finally revealed, is nothing more than nicely polished fluff. Let me clarify that in no way do I abhor Mike Nichols' film. It's just that any talk of this film as one of the year's best is quite baffling to me. There is certainly much to enjoy. Yet, there is something about Nichols' film, its inherent simplicity, the pandering nature of the entire exercise, that I can't quite get past.

This is pop history, nothing more, nothing less. A simplistic exploration of a complex period of recent US history that nevertheless feels strangely pretend. Too refined to be considered proper farce, the film also lacks the subversiveness and vitriolic energy that the best satire requires. And Nichols' filmmaking, while polished and professional, feels strangely hollow. Gone is his feel for the contours of human behavior, and the vitality, that marked much of his early work. So while Sorkin's script crackles and pops in all the right places (done exceptional service by Hoffman's perfectly mannered and hilarious turn as CIA man Gust Avrakotos), it does so in the service of nothing particularly meaningful. Unless of course, you are the type who would confuse lazy, obvious, finger-pointing, for something clever and meaningful.

In the end, when the entire aftermath of Wilson's clandestine campaign is reduced to a single minutes long scene in a conference room (and capped by a punchline quote), it becomes clear what Nichols' real intentions are. Charlie Wilson's War is a breezy comedy that one can enjoy for a brisk 97 minutes and forget nearly as quickly. For truly inspired satire, check out Nichols' Catch-22 instead.

Gabrielle (Chéreau, 2005)

In Joseph Conrad's short story The Return (of which the author himself remarked "I hate it"), Patrice Cheréau finds the basis for this potent chamber drama, an outwardly staid, inwardly powerful tale of marital strife. There is much to savor here; in the note perfect performances of Huppert as the titular Gabrielle, and especially Pascal Greggory as the confused cuckold; in Cheréau's carefully stylized direction; in Eric Gautier's stunningly polished images; in a score by Fabio Vacchi that manages to be both melodramatic and elegant. On top of all of these things, Gabrielle also manages to illuminate the communicative space between cinema and the theater. Cheréau's film is a masterpiece in a minor key.

The Adventures Of Baron Munchausen (Gilliam, 1988)

Terry Gilliam's fantastically baroque visual sense and his childlike playfulness are on full display in this oft overlooked film, a surprisingly potent examination of the creative soul and its place in an exceedingly rational world. It is rather unfortunate that a regime change at Columbia Pictures, the film's backer and distributor, and the ensuing behind the scenes power struggles, kept this film from reaching a larger audience and the acclaim it most certainly deserves. One of Gilliam's finest. IMDb listing.

All The Colors Of The Dark (Martino, 1972)

"They exist. They bear the mark of the devil inside them. They may be your neighbors. They may be your wife, husband, sweetheart. They may even be your children. Their time has come."

Sergio Martino's dizzyingly stylistic film - deeply influenced by Rosemary's Baby - with its mounting, omnipresent paranoia and its evil cult, belongs near the top of the giallo heap. Gialli have always been about style and aesthetics first and foremost, and not only does All the Colors of the Dark have ample amounts of both - including one of the most stunningly audacious opening scenes I have ever seen - it also fares admirably in a department which is usually lacking in this sub-genre (acting), with Edwige Fenech giving a committed performance as the film's troubled protagonist.

Film Rating: B+/A-
Scare Factor: C

View Date: 10/31
Shocktober Horrorfest View Date: #31

Day Of The Dead (Romero, 1985)

"The darkest day of horror the world has ever known."

I was simply unprepared for just how good Day of the Dead is. It was the only "Dead" film I hadn't seen before, and its reputation lagged far behind that of Night of the Living Dead and Dawn of the Dead, so i had always written it off as the least of Romero's "Dead" trilogy. But watching it immediately following a repeat viewing of Dawn... If this film isn't the equal of those first two masterpieces, it isn't that far behind. Since its disastrous release in 1985, Day of the Dead has been picking up steam, and a strong critical following. Let me assure you, this isn't simply wishful revisionism, it is happening for a reason.

Film Rating: A-
Scare Factor: C+

View Date: 10/30
Shocktober Horror Film Count: #30

Dawn Of The Dead (Romero, 1978)

"When there's no more room in HELL, the dead will walk the EARTH."

Dawn of the Dead, the second, and certainly most popular installment in Romero's "Dead" series is another masterpiece of horror, every bit the equal of Night of the Living Dead. There's something about the aesthetics of the film, the late 70's style evidenced in the Monroeville mall's cavernous interior (both vast and claustrophobic at the same time), that I really love. And amidst the horror and sadness, there is a playful quality to Romero's film that is absent in every other "Dead" film. Another enduring classic.

Film Rating: A+
Scare Factor: C

View Date: 10/30
Shocktober Horror Film Count: #29

The Eye (Pang Brothers, 2002)

"Some things are better left unseen."

The Pang Brothers' film, a sensation in Asia upon its release, and the recipient of quite a bit of praise here in the States, doesn't live up to its hefty reputation. Quite scary and atmospheric at times, but the brothers Pang have neither the control, nor the refinement to keep The Eye on the rails for its duration.

Film Rating: C+/B-
Scare Factor: B

View Date: 10/29
Shocktober Horror Film Count: #28

The Masque Of The Red Death (Corman, 1964)

"SHUDDER... at the blood-stained dance of the Red Death! TREMBLE... to the hideous tortures of the catacombs of Kali! GASP... at the sacrifice of the innocent virgin to the vengeance of Baal!"

Corman's adaptation of Poe's classic macabre tale The Masque of the Red Death is a pleasure to behold, though much of the credit for this must go to director of photography Nicolas Roeg. The story is intelligently adapted and economically told, and Vincent Price delivers another trademark performance as the devil worshiping Prince Prospero, but it is Roeg's sumptuous, beautifully saturated images and his gliding camera work, that lend the film an air of elegance and sophistication belying its modest budget.

Film Rating: B+/A-
Scare Factor: D

View Date: 10/29
Shocktober Horror Film Count: #27

The Woman In Black (Wise, 1989)

"A spine-chilling ghost story."

Herbert Wise's The Woman in Black may not have a significant reputation, but to consider its obscurity as an indication of its power to scare would be a terrible mistake. I'm in the thick of trying to cram as many horror films into the last few days of Shocktober as possible, so I don't have the time to write a more elaborate review, but I will say this, there is a scene in this film that frightened me more than any scene in any horror film I have seen in a long, long time. More thoughts coming soon...

Film Rating: B
Scare Factor: A-

View Date: 10/28
Shocktober Horror Film Count: #26

A Warning To The Curious (Clark, 1972)

Lawrence Gordon Clark's A Warning to the Curious, an adaptation of M.R. James's ghost story, is a subtly effective, artfully rendered chiller that works on its audience slowly but surely. Clark has a wonderful eye and ear for the coastal town of Seaburgh (where the film's action takes place), allowing us to feel what it's like to be in a place where it's hard to discern where the beach ends and the sky and sea begin. The grainy, degraded video sourced images certainly help, evoking an ethereally creepy, old world atmosphere. There is hardly any gore and the film is resolutely un-explicit, but it is precisely because of these factors that Clark's film has aged as wonderfully as it has.

Film Rating: B
Scare Factor: B-

View Date: 10/28
Shocktober Horror Film Count: #25

Society (Yuzna, 1989)

"It is a matter of good breeding. Really."

Certainly not the cult sleeper many seem to think it is, Society fails to live up to the potential of it's premise (an examination of the dark underbelly of upper class Beverly Hills society) simply because director Brian Yuzna and company think their film is far more clever than it actually is. The satire isn't quite as scathing, intelligent, or witty as it could have been, and the infamous special effects, while certainly still repugnant, are quite obvious. Still, it is an interesting and disturbing film, though it isn't hard to see why it has remained an "unknown" film in the genre.

Film Rating: C+
Scare Factor: C

View Date: 10/27
Shocktober Horror Film Count: #24