The Dark Night of the Soul: The Use of Light and Seasons in Let The Right One In

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The first time I watched Let the Right One In, I wondered if I was watching something that was going to go down as a classic. It certainly has the hallmarks: great script, performances of remarkable depth (especially from Lina Leandersson and Elif Ceylan, both of whom contributed to Eli), and themes that run relevant no matter what the era. Focusing on a severely bullied child and his relationship with a centuries-old vampire, we watch Oskar and Eli’s bond develop over the course of time into something pure and powerful. If you watch the setting, you’ll find that the progressions of light and the seasons mirror the emotional development and bond of these two characters.
When we begin the story, it’s black. Snow is then introduced, but over half the screen remains shrouded in darkness. As Eli arrives at the apartment building for the first time, Oskar presses his hand to the window to touch his reflection. He’s clad only in his underwear, surrounded by darkness in his reflection. He then utters his first line: “Squeal like a pig.” Oskar is rehearsing revenge against his tormentors, though we’re not fully aware of this fact that this point of the film. We only see a nearly-naked boy attempting to connect to a blurred version of himself in the darkness.
Reaching out to try to connect to anyone.
This serves as a precursor to Oskar’s life at school. The next day, in a life before Eli, it’s overcast in the daytime. We see Oskar’s isolation and bullying firsthand. We know that he is alone. So when he meets Eli, it’s fitting that it’s nighttime: there’s not much hope; it’s dark; he’s alone; the only person that will talk to him is the smelly, dandruff-afflicted little girl that tries to make friends on a snow-covered jungle gym. It’s not the most auspicious circumstances for friendship. In fact, when Eli first observes Oskar, he’s stabbing a tree and rehersing his revenge against his schoolyard bullies. He’s hopeless and growing violent. He half-heartedly gives Eli his Rubik’s cube to solve, with the thought that he’ll receive it back withoutm much progress to it being solved in a few days.
The tone doesn’t immediately change at this point for either Oskar or Eli. Oskar retreats to his bedroom and collects clippings of various crimes and murders. Eli, who is left starving after a botched attempt to obtain blood by Håkan, resorts to a dark underpass to obtain sustenence. It’s still bleak for them both: they’re still alone, and so the setting is still the black dead of winter. It’s when Eli solves and returns the Rubik’s cube that we see trees beginning to bud and sunshine peeking out. Their growing bond ushers in spring. It’s a rebirth for them both.
Funny how this appears once they start to bond.
That’s not to say that the light and seasons are uniformly bright and cheerful from here on out. This is still a movie concerning true horrors, after all. Oskar is confronted by his bullies again and whipped after school when it’s very dark outside, showing that he still has a way to go in his suffering as he learns to stand up for himself. While Oskar and Eli begin their morse code communication through walls, we see Oskar’s forest-clad walls as opposed to Eli’s cracked, barren walls, a stark contrast of Oskar’s emotional attachment and Eli’s bleak existence as a vampire. It’s nighttime when Oskar takes Eli out for chocolate, which leaves Eli sick.
Interestingly enough, once Oskar leaves to visit his father, the setting is clear and bright, despite the snow. The escape and the freedom associated with it is reflected in the weather. It’s when his father’s friend (or lover, if you interpret it that way) shows up with alcohol that the world turns dark again. The reality of how broken the situation with his father is literally blackens Oskar’s world. Hitchhiking home in the middle of the night in the snow is a pretty extreme method of running away from the situation, yet that’s what we get. Oskar’s happiness is brief, as is the light. He returns to Eli to draw more strength.
The light does stick around when Oskar finally stands up to Conny on a school trip. The action is violent and causes the loss of hearing in Conny; however, as an audience, we’re thrilled that Oskar stood up for himself. The day is cheerful and bright, with spring beginning its first flush. It’s also at this time that Jocke’s body is discovered. We’re still not entirely at that point of peace, but we’re making progress. The death intruding upon the sunshine demonstrates that while it’s not complete, there is definite progress to Oskar’s quality of life.
Eli, on the other hand, continues to struggle. Eli requires the darkness due to the many secrets he possesses. Eli laps blood during a nighttime outing with Oskar; however, he sends Oskar away to avoid harming him. Also at nighttime, Eli confesses his vampiric nature as Oskar gets a glimpse into Eli’s past (including Eli’s missing male genitalia). It’s worth noting that as their bond grows, and Eli becomes more transparent, the sun shines brighter and the seasons progress further. This culminates when Eli kills Lacke rather than have him harm Oskar. Covered in blood, Eli wraps his arms around Oskar, who offers thanks. It’s significant that Oskar’s reluctance to kill Lacke and Eli’s defense of Oskar happens during the daytime. It’s their first daylight interaction, and it cements their intimacy.
Eli’s subsequent flight away from the situation leaves Oskar devestated. We get the mirror image in the window again, along with a type of watery haze. We hope that Oskar isn’t as alone, and that his transformation has stuck. However, like a false spring, Oskar still has some growing to do, but he’s not going to do it alone. Oskar’s final confrontation with the bullies happens at night, in a pool. He’s isolated again at the start, but this time, he’s reborn with the help of Eli. The light in the pool appears brighter after Eli kills two of the bullies and Conny’s older brother Jimmy. Our final take away of them before they depart the pool: two equally bright, happy smiles. These two have pulled through a long, harsh winter and are ready for sunlight.
A pair of bright eyes after a near-death experience.
While we see the snow and darkness again, we liken it to a closing of life in Blackeberg. There is death, destruction and general unhappiness for Oskar and Eli there. The snow falls again, but this time, it takes up more of the screen. It’s not as pitch black; there’s more beauty to the pattern, more of a chance to see crystals and recognize flakes. We see the beauty of the darkness that we couldn’t see at the start of the film.
In arguably the most touching scene of the film, we see bright sunshine streaming through the train windows at the very end as a singular Oscar watches the world go by. We hear quiet tapping from the trunk in his compartment, to which he answers in morse code. The word he spells out? “Puss,” which is Swedish for “small kiss.” They have an inside tradition that holds special meaning, they would do anything to protect each other, and they love each other very, very much. As an audience, we love that these two wound up together.
What does this demonstrate to the weary audience that has followed them on this journey? Like the seasons, our problems will not disappear overnight. In fact, many problems will require confidence and outside help in order to fully come through them. It also shows us that damage, while it doesn’t go away, can make the right person love you no matter what. Just as we finally see the beauty in the snow in time for spring, Oskar and Eli accept each other no matter what. The loneliness and suffering of each does not matter anymore. Like the inevitability of the springtime, it too will pass out of the dark winter and into something better.

What’s Left Unsaid: The Role of Silence in Battle Royale

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The best actors can own an entire scene without having to once open their mouths. There’s no chance for ridiculous annunciation or offbeat breath draws. There’s less of a chance for, as Jon Lovitz put it on Saturday Night Live, “ACCCCCCTING!” If you can suspend my disbelief long enough to make me see not just an actor, but a character, you’ve done your job well; if you can do it without relying on words, it’s a sign of a level of sophistication at which many actors fail to arrive. Bearing that in mind, I have to applaud Battle Royale for the litany of good actors it provided. For a film that featured a massive amount of violence, the most impactful moments occured when the actors did not utter a line.
Starting at the beginning, we see the winner of the previous Battle Royale post-victory. She’s covered in blood, her smile reveals braces, and she’s clutching a doll. There’s something beauty-queen-esque about her smile: that look of winning, of having clawed her way to the top. Juxtaposed with the blood, the doll and the braces, this girl is jarring when we first see her. She scared the crap out of me without having to say a word.
Something tells me her platform isn’t world peace.
Working our way through the film, we get to witness those small indicators that something is wrong, even though the discomfort isn’t explicitly voiced. Did you catch the look on the Mr. Hiyashida’s face as the students’ bus passes armed military vehicles? Yeah, that look of fear. He knew something was wrong and didn’t want to say anything to alarm the kids. The whole expression takes under 15 seconds, but it’s there, and it’s effective. Just as effective? Nobu’s interaction with Kitano during Kitano’s introduction to the game. Kitano gets to address his attacker, the kid that stabbed him some time ago. Nobu doesn’t verbally confront Kitano at first: he shifts guiltily in his chair, moves around, then makes a face at him. This is an interesting choice: the kid knows he’s in trouble, that he’s been confronted for an ill deed, and that he’s being publicly picked on by someone who now has a lot more power than previous interactions. Nobu’s response is childish. It reinforces that there’s still a child in there. As much as I disliked Nobu in the film (but not in the book, which, if you haven’t read, you absolutely need to – it’s even better than the film, which is a masterpiece), he’s still a child.
When Nobu dies, Nanahara does not yell and scream. He cries while everyone else watches silently. There are mixtures of pity and indifference in the facial expressions, but we are able to read these emotions without dialogue. Eventually, Nanahara has to be restrained, but Nakagawa only has to give him a look to calm him down. She tempers a rash reaction that would have killed him with one look. Her silence is her power. Nakagawa does not have to make a dramatic speech. She quietly reassures. And we believe her. We know that she’s trying to help Nanahara live to see the end of the battle. She’s successful because he picks up on this too. All without a word.In terms the gathering of the bags, this group does this quietly as well, yet we all read their expressions. The pain, the rebellion, the sorrow. Out of the 15 or so kids we see grab bags, we only have three speakers, one of whom is Kawada demanding a new bag. There’s no dramatic speech because it won’t do any good. The fight is inevitable. These kids grasp the finality of the sitation. Even Kiriyama, who does not speak for the duration of the film, clutches his bag as though it’s a baby; he willingly signed up for the game of the film, and so in a sense, this is his baby.
Ironically enough, Kiriyama is the one that survives to the final four and executes the most kills. His silence is just as much an asset as a gun. He does not have to deliver speeches, or give backstory. He’s the worst type of Big Bad Wolf: the one that you can’t sympathize with because there’s nothing really human in there. We can’t connect in small ways, even if it’s pity (like with Mitsuko): we don’t know. All that we know is that he will creep up on you, smile and kill you. The smile conveys that he takes glee in the act. He does not feel remorse. We don’t want him to win because there’s no inkling of a soul there. He doesn’t beg for his life when confronted. His lack of explanation renders him a type of strength that the other students don’t have.
There’s really no expression to read here.
In fact, talking becomes a type of weakness for the characters in that it wastes time, especially when dealing with Kiriyama. While Mitskuo is an effective killer, she continually rages about the injustices she experiences in her social life, which weakens her. She screams when fighting Kiriyama; ultimately, he survives while she dies. Likewise, Mimura stages a silent rebellion with typing and computer hacking once he figures out that the necklaces have microphones; however, when his group gets attacked, he starts yelling as his friends die. There’s a direct correlation between the act of speech and the lowered chances of survival against the silent killer.
The most damning example we have of speech decreasing the chances of survival is the group of Lighthouse Girls. Yukie, Yuko, Haruka, Yuka, Chisato, and Satomi all fall prey to in-fighting, which causes a gun fight and eventual death for all. While this stems from an act of murder (poison intended to kill Nanahara), the group makes accusations, quickly turns on each other and resorts to killing each other off in no time flat. Really, it takes a grand total of about 5 minutes for them to off each other. That doesn’t bode well for the power of speech.
Man, make one comment about the soup…
When do we get to see the positives of silence without the murder? Kawada cares silently for a recovering Nakagawa. Nakagawa’s wordless dream sequence of eating ice cream with Kitano instills a sense of pity in her. Kawada’s quiet death – which he likens to going to sleep – is peaceful and moving despite that he’s covered in blood and has rampaged for nearly three days with our heroes. These instances make the characters more human. We read their expressions and, despite the language barrier, we can sympathize with them. We feel their sense of peace and search for understanding. We connect.
Battle Royale is, at its core, a deeply violent film about a horrible socio-political situation involving children. It’s horrifying, even more so because we see these kids as people. Any actor could have come in and read the lines. The actors of Battle Royale came in and became these people, lending their faces and emotions to the sacred teenagers to give them more facets. Some dramas can’t accomplish what a horror movie did. The credit goes to the acting and direction. Well played, kids. Well played.

Weekend Movies: Five Reasons to Watch Tusk

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I’ll admit it: when I first heard about Tusk, all I could think was, “Jesus, that sounds fucking weird.” I was right – it was very weird. However, it was also a good time. Which made me wonder why more people haven’t seen it. So, in the grand tradition of persuasion, I’m putting together a little list of reasons why you should give this movie a shot. If you don’t like it, then get off my lawn.
#1 – It’s an original idea.
In a world of remakes and adaptations, original ideas are becoming more and more rare. Studios are looking for a way to make a buck on something that has had proven success. This is how we get a theatre filled with adaptations of young adult novels (more on that another day) and ’80s hits getting a fresh coat of sickly beige paint. More often than not, I hear people bemoan, “Why can’t they think of something new? I don’t need another remake!” You want something new that isn’t a half-assed remake of a really awesome ’70s horror movie/T.V. Show/miniseries? Tired of having to slug through Shailene Woodley alternating between her two facial expressions (if you need help, I’ll give you this one: disbelief and “I smell dog shit”)? Then give a movie about a man being turned into a walrus a shot. Can’t say it’s been done before.
#2 – It’s a technical step above Smith’s other movies.
I’m a sucker for lighting and good camera work. The lighting and sets in this movie are really good for the mood: it’s rich and bright at the beginning, then progresses to a sepia tone in Howe’ house before transitioning into an overcast captivity and metamorphosis. In terms of direction, it knows when to show us something, when to get blurry and when to sit back and let us watch like we’re spying on the characters. Smith uses this to create a tone that fills the audience with a sense of foreboding, which can be difficult to do for modern audiences. We’re left not knowing what we’re going to see because we’re accustomed to seeing the worst from other filmmakers. That’s the sign of a maturing filmmaker. As a longtime fan of Smith, it’s nice to see him growing rather than just sticking with the formats of his other films.
Seriously, check out the colors in this.
#3 – It still retains the fun factor of a Kevin Smith movie.
Kevin Smith knows how to write dialogue. The man has a talent for writing a joke and listening to the way that people talk. He loves to make puns, something of which I’m a sucker for as well. The Eh To Zed – the name of the Canadian convenience store in the film – had me giggling because it’s so simple that I’m surprised others haven’t thought to make the joke before. Some are more inappropriate than others, and that makes them all the more fun. The Not-See Party is so wrong you can’t help but laugh. And come on, the explanation of Howe’s nickname of “The First Wife”? Having been someone’s first wife, even I laughed at that. Tusk knows how to make a joke, even if the jokes make us mildly uncomfortable from time to time.
#4 – Speaking of fun, check out the cast.
There’s a reason why Smith keeps using the same actors in his movies: you can tell, even in a horror movie, that everyone has a ton of fun working together and really loves what they’re doing. It shows in the performances that are turned in. Michael Parks is batshit wonderful as the villian. Justin Long can go from sarcastic to emotionally scarred to absolutely terrified in this movie. Haley Joel Osment, fresh off of The Spoils of Babylon (which, if you haven’t watched, you should, if only to watch Osment chew scenery with bravado), is equal parts Jiminy Cricket and willing participant. Together, Osment and Long had me believe that they were good friends because they interacted as friends do: they don’t always agree with each other, but they’re there when shit gets real. Johnny Depp was a weak point for me, but I’ll excuse it because he looks like he had a blast. Even Harley Quinn Smith and Lily-Rose Depp looked like they were having fun. (Side note: I can’t wait to see the ladies in Yoga Hosers.) Really, that’s enjoyable to watch, and at the end of the day, watching a cast that really liked what they were doing enough to sign on for the other parts of the trilogy makes you want to keep watching.
Yeah, this just looks like fun.
#5 – The movie does pack some depth.
Smith wrote this movie after goofing around on a podcast, and there’s silliness galore in the movie. What’s rather unexpected is the way that he fleshes out his characters. Wallace, a vicious podcaster that makes his living shredding moments of stupidity and humiliating other people, has to fight for his humanity in the face of a terrible transformation. The smooth explanation of Howe as to why he hates humans so much is delivered in a weary, even fashion that demonstrates how living with horrors can warp you if left unchecked. Even if it gets obvious at times (cough cough Alley’s speeches cough cough), it does have moments of love and care crafted in there. Smith liked these characters enough to give them motive and feeling; crappy movies don’t even attempt this. Someone who’s willing to present a multi-dimensional character obviously cared enough about that character.
So, that’s it. Five reasons to watch Tusk. It might be weird, it might be completely unplausible, but it demonstrates the growth of a filmmaker and the power of a different idea. Give it a shot – what have you got to lose?

A Whole New World: “Lover’s Vow,” The Little Mermaid and Transformation in Tales From the Darkside: The Movie

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Of the three segments from Tales From the Darkside: The Movie, my hands-down favorite is “Lover’s Vow.” In it, stuggling artist Preston (James Remar) witnesses a monster kill a friend; the monster agrees with spare Preston in exchange for his silence. Preston then experiences amazing luck: he meets and falls in love with Carola (Rae Dawn Chong), then quickly gains acclaim and fortune as an artist. He maintains his silence for 10 years, until he tells Carola about the incident with the monster under the pretense of the honesty of love and his desire to never keep a secret from her. She then reveals herself to be the monster in human form, transforms both herself and their children, kills him and turns into a stone statue. It’s dark. No really, it’s literally dark – the lighting, setting and costuming is all done in shades of black, brown and grey. It doesn’t have a happy ending. It’s a messy version of love. As a preteen when I first watched this film, I felt that it was oddly familiar. Something about the story stuck out for me. Then, re-watching it on an overcast afternoon this past weekend, it hit me: this is The Little Mermaid retold. I was a little amazed that I hadn’t picked up on that before.
When the segment first opens, we see a gargoyle statue looking down on Preston’s apartment. The way that it’s positioned, it’s been watching him for some time. That his bartender friend Jer is killed is a little too convenient: this act gets Preston alone with the creature, who exacts a promise. The wording is interesting: it focuses on Preston’s speech. “If I let you go,” it tells him, “you must swear you’ll never say you saw me. Never say you heard me speak. Never tell anyone how I look. Never repeat what I have said.” This is a direct parallel to the story of the mermaid, who cuts out her tongue in exchange for legs. The creature exacts this promise to bind Preston into the same silence to which the mermaid is bound.
Both the act of the murder and the promise prove to be a calculated way for Carola to worm her way into his life. Almost immediately, Carola appears. Preston’s first instinct is to protect her. Much like the story, he brings her to his home. Curious, she begins touching his work station at first. We see her inspect his work station as she remarks, “You’re the first real artist I’ve ever met.” She tests him successfully on their first meeting when she sees his wounds from the creature, as he does not tell her where he got them. The wounds, in fact, harken back to the original story: the mermaid is in pain when she walks on her new legs, but continues to do so in order to maintain her transformation.
Oh, don’t mind me. I’m just stalking an artist.
Carola’s test receives another try the next day. Preston leaves to check out the crime scene after he hears sirens. When he goes to leave, Carola doesn’t ask what’s wrong – she merely looks disappointed. When he doesn’t talk, she comes back with her bags and moves in. A third test arrives in the form of Preston’s drunken friend Maddox, who wants to know if Preston saw anything concerning Jer’s death. Carola witnesses Preston’s denial, ensuring their contract is intact. Within a short time frame, he’s a successful artist and she’s pregnant. All is well so long as he is silent. In the grand tradition of fairy tales, Preston does betray his promise, first with sight, then with speech. He creates sculptures and drawings of the creature, then hides them. This act of creation does not break the promise. Carola discovers part of the drawing, but does not say anything. It’s when he tells her about his experience that she changes. The secretive fragment of a drawing she seems to be able to live with because it does not violate the contract. It’s the act of speech that breaks the promise and voids their contract, causing her transformation.
Up until this point, it appears as though Preston has taken on the role of the mermaid; however, the wording of the exchange between Preston and Carola post-transformation is easy to miss if you’re not paying attention to the semantics. After all, Preston was the one that got the amazing Faustian deal: life, art career, beautiful partner, children. However, Carola explicitly states that he broke his promise, and it’s “too late.” When Preston begs her to stop the change, she replies that she can’t. This turns the situation into Carola’s Faustian deal: in order to remain human, Preston, like the prince, must uphold his end of the bargain. In story, this was the form of marriage, which the prince would not provide to the mermaid. When Preston does not uphold his end of the deal, she is compelled to kill him to save herself. In the story, the mermaid chooses to die rather than kill the prince to save her life. In this case, though, Carola has her children with which to contend. They transform as well. She chooses her life and their lives over their father’s life. She has stalked him, tested him and built a life with him. She declares her love for him. She is truly sorry that she can’t remain human, and that she is compelled to kill him. She does kill him, which alters the meaning of the story. Her regression back to the creature she is defeats the transformative purpose of the story, and places a different twist on the 80s theme of transformation.
Yeah, this totally didn’t go the way she planned it.
The notion of transformation is something that ran rampant in the 80s. How many movies featured someone masquerading as someone or something they weren’t? Roxanne, Can’t Buy Me Love, Soul Man – just a few, but all featured a lead that felt the need to lie about their appearance and/or circumstances in order to achieve something. Typically, these stories involved a romantic partner that would not have gone for that lead under normal conditions. In the end, the true nature prevailed, and the couple was able to move forward with the honesty. This is not the case in “Lover’s Vow.” The broken promise ups the ante in this respect: while most films of the 80s featured this theme and ultimately had the lead get the girl in the end, this one goes folk tale style on the theme: it treats the deception as contract enforcible by death. This is a rather damning take on the light-hearted transformations of the 80s. No, you can’t be just anyone. You can’t escape your true self. Sometimes, you sign up for something and you have to live with the consequences. You don’t criticize a theme more harshly than that.
Somehow, I don’t think these two kids are going to make it.
In the end, Carola reverts back to her creature form, hiding as a stone statue. Instead of watching over Preston’s apartment, she’s facing the other way with her children in a pose of mourning. Her transformation failed, and now she’s frozen in a state of emotional agony with her children. In the end, love didn’t transform. Love brought about the true self, ugly as it was.

Another World: Why the Film Adaptation of Night Watch Works

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By all means, I should have been upset with the adaptation of Sergei Lukyanenko’s Night Watch. I like it when films to follow their book source material; this one did not follow Lukyanenko’s novel of the same name. In fact, it combined the first part of his novel Night Watch with elements of his follow-up Day Watch, and even then, there were radical differences. However, I loved this film.
The first ten minutes alone of this film is enough to hook you. As we watch Darya attempt to kill an unborn Yegor, there’s a sense of real fear that she’s going to succeed. In the battle to subdue her, the camera work and special effects used enhance the scene without being the sole thing that drives it. Between Tiger Cub’s transformation and the slow motion attempted clap of Darya, you can’t take your eyes off of it. There’s tension and style, and we have Timur Bekmambetov to thank for that. He took a budget of approximately $4.2 million dollars and produced something this slick-looking. That’s fairly impressive. He uses the effects to enhance the story, not totally drive it. Michael Bay, take note.

 

Khabensky is the man.
So, let’s address the elephant in the room: the differences between the book and the film. In the book, Anton is not Yegor’s father, and Yegor is actually a very minor role for the first of three parts in the first book alone. Yegor isn’t the great other; in fact, he refuses to choose a side due to his distaste for the manipulations of both sides. Under normal circumstances, I’d be yelling “bastardized adaptation.” We need to bear in mind, though, that Lukyanenko collaborated with Bekmambetov to write the script. The author himself worked to make this come to the big screen. Here’s where we need to address a broader cinematic truth, one of which even I have difficulty with sometimes: not everything is adaptable and/or filmable. The Lord of the Rings, though good, is really fucking long. One book was over three hours, and that was cutting portions out. Done poorly, this can take your favorite novel and turn it into an endurance test. Sometimes, the material needs to get retooled to make it work for the length of time you have to tell your story.
So how was this handled so deftly? Lukyanenko builds characters in the film that follow the DNA of the story, but merge into a kind of alternate reality. In a way, he writes his own fan ficiton. What works is that he knows how to flesh these characters out onscreen. We like Yegor the scared child, and we accept that he’s angry with Anton. We like Olga and are curious about her backstory. We get vested in the suffering Sveta; we feel that the hand she’s been dealt in life is unfair. We want Zavulon to fall flat on his face. We care.
The Russian version of Starsky and Hutch is so much cooler.
The introduction makes us believe that Anton is the Great Other, and when it’s revealed that he’s not – that it’s actually Yegor, and that his mistake in 1992 has pretty much fucked humanity – there’s an element of surprise. Konstantin Khabensky is perfect as a man that has messed up and knows it. He gives us damaged and cool simultaneously. It works because it moves in a logical progression. It tries to tie up its loose ends. It gets us vested in these characters. It’s a compelling story. It ends on a down note as well, which makes me ;ike it all the more.
In the later books, Lukyanenko nods to the films when Yegor, well on the path to becoming an Inquisitor, bumps into Anton and tells him that he had a dream that he was his father. Anton replies that dreams are alternate realities. This alternate reality in film worked, at least for me.

Weekend Movies: Girls Will Be Girls

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I’ll cut right to the chase: this movie is fucking funny. It’s edgy, wry and just plain wrong at times. It features the mother from hell in the most humorous way possible. Let’s do this: five reasons to watch Girls Will Be Girls this weekend.
#1 – Drag humor with a twist
In the tale of an aging Hollywood has-been, her long-suffering confidant and the young upstart with a past that moves in with them, the leads are not just three men dressed as women. For the purposes of this film, they are women. They’ve been pregnant and have straight sex. We’re in on the joke, but no one else is in this movie. I’ve seen this concept done elsewhere, but here, it adds charm and sass.
Clockwise, from right: Coco, Evie and Varla
#2 – Evie Harris
Evie (Jack Plotnick) has the best lines of the movie. I would hate Evie in real life. I love Evie in this movie. She’s a fun drunk without a mind-to-mouth filter. She can’t remember her son’s name. She’s drunk before noon. She’s cock-happy and spreads destruction everywhere she goes. She’s inappropriate and unapologetic. And I love her. You will too.
#3 – Singing and Cheez Whiz
The sheer skill of the Cheez Whiz trick baffles me. I can’t try this at home. I’m just going to slow-clap and marvel.
#4 – Asteroid!
A movie within the movie. A disaster flick about an asteroid with the tag line, “EARTH MIGHT GET CRUSHED!” If Asteroid! was a real movie, it might have a chance of being shown as a double feature with The Room. You will never again hear the term “astrophysicist” without laughing. Watch it just for that.
“Oh Billy — what about the children?”
#5 – The writing and delivery
The first line of this movie is someone screaming “FUCK” after knocking over a picture. It’s delivered in a primal scream over a nearly one-minute period. That really does set the tone for the rest of it. Dick jokes, vibrators, Hollywood, motherhood, dating, abortions, the worst marriage proposal ever, dead dogs, money-making schemes – nothing is spared the quick wit and deadpan delivery. So many one-liners that I can’t quote right now. This is killing me.
Yes, that is Eric Stonestreet. He’s completely epic in this movie.
Sorry if this is vague, but I don’t want to spoil the best parts, and it’s so quotable. Do yourself a favor and check this one out. Be prepared to laugh.

No Thanks: 5 Films To Put You Off Motherhood

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Films serve many a purpose: social commentary, allegory, whimsical mind-wandering. They also serve as a medium for the expression of various fears, including the fears associated with parenthood, motherhood in particular. There are the usual suspects – The Omen, Rosemary’s Baby, The Shining, The Bad Seed, etc. – but we’re going to give those movies the day off. Just in time for Mother’s Day, we’re going to take a look at five films you may or may not have seen that may cause you to reach for that jumbo pack of condoms at the drugstore.
Grace (2009)
Grace delves into a fear that, despite how often it happens, still makes us uncomfortable: the delivery of a baby you know will be dead. After a car accident claims the lives of her husband and unborn baby, the grieving Madeline (Jordan Ladd) chooses the carry her dead fetus to term. Labor is often viewed as a painful, necessary means to a joyful end: we know that there will be something chubby and cute at the end of it. Going into it knowing that there will be no adorable, crying baby at the end is an entirely different, wrenching experience beyond words. To have that baby then begin to move plunges you on a journey that explores how far a mother would go to keep her baby with her, even if it’s not entirely alive.
This isn’t going to end well.
Inside (2007)
On Christmas Eve, the widowed, heavily pregnant Sarah (Alysson Paradis) must fend off a woman (Béatrice Dalle) who breaks into her house and attempts to perform a c-section with a pair of scissors. Reading about a scenario like this on the news is one thing; watching 82 minutes of a home invasion with the intent to cut the baby out of its mother is fucking horrifying. It’s graphic and grim. Your uterus will want to crawl behind every other organ and hide. It’s very good, but you will not want another person to come near you after watching it, much less put yourself in the potential position as Sarah.
I don’t even like strangers touching my pregnant belly.
Pan’s Labyrinth (2006)
This one tackles so much n the parenthood umbrella. The stand out for me was the delivery from hell. There’s a terrible sense of dread that will fill you as Guillermo del Toro shows us a laboring woman in a blood-soaked bed, then her daughter fearfully watching a maid carry the sheets out of the room. I wouldn’t blame the kid one bit for wanting nothing to do with childbirth after that. God knows I didn’t.
That’s it, Ofelia. Close your eyes and think of the fairies.
The Babadook (2014)
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: this film is extremely honest in how draining it is to have a child that is not like the other children. Samuel (Noah Wiseman) is exhausting, and his mother Amelia (Essie Davis in fatigued perfection) tries her best to muddle through their existence. Enter a book about a boogeyman and their fragile grip on the waking life goes to shit. It’s terrifying, but one of the underlying themes is the honest look at dealing with the child that you get, who may not necessarily be the child that you wanted. there are a lot of women out there that go into motherhood daydreaming about dance recitals, baseball games and snuggly afternoons on the couch. The Babadook laughs at this notion and force-feeds a heaping dose of the motherhood experience that you never imagined. Most women couldn’t handle a Samuel; he’ll make you think twice before you pre-order that baseball glove for your yet-to-be-conceived son.
Yeah, this is one of the touching parts.
Jude (1996)
Between the graphic birth scene and the, how shall we say, workforce reduction of the children, this one will make you want to avoid sex, babies and small children for some time. A single friend of mine saw this movie and decided she didn’t want to date for a while. Just in case.
You poor sods have no idea what’s in for you.
There you have it. Five films to put you off of motherhood. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

Boom, Headshot! John Wick and the Importance of Taking Out Your Cinematic Enemies

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I used to watch The Blacklist. I had to stop due to the constant head-shaking and disbelief that trained FBI agents could really be that incompetent. It made me too angry. Part of it was the writing, part of it was the acting, but all of it was infuriating. The Blacklist is just one example, though, of the idiot that doesn’t think to take out the enemy/pursuant/generic bad guy in a fictional world. It’s rampant in both film and television. It’s not a tricky concept: make sure that the bad guy doesn’t get back up. Do not give that person a second chance. If you’ve got solid writing, then you don’t need to take the easy way out of letting your villain get back up to surprise the hero.
You know which movie nailed this concept? John Wick. This film got so much right: it’s peppy, it’s action-packed, it has heart, and most importantly, it does not fuck around when it comes to taking care of business. Some have criticized Keanu Reeves for being the lead, but honestly, that stems from the dude stereotype he’s (unfairly, in my opinion) picked up over the years. The man did a great job. Case in point: upon receiving a note from his late wife, he presses it to his nose. Call it direction, call it scripting, but he broke my heart in that moment. I got attached and wanted good things for the character John. And he made me love the character even more when he had the brains to take out his enemies with a shot to the head.
Good aim AND knows how to wear the hell out of a suit.
When John begins his mission to get revenge against Iosef (played to crap-weasel perfection by Alfie Allen), he prepares himself with weaponry and quiet resolve. He then proceeds to take out attackers, enforcers and assorted mobsters with precision, skill and old-fashioned common sense. John does not suffer survivors. He takes people out when they get in his way, and he doesn’t give them a second chance to bite him in the ass. They get between one and two bullets in the head apiece, save for the odd person or two that gets fatally stabbed or a snapped neck. There are only two instances in this film when he allows someone to walk away: Francis, the doorman of the nightclub, and Perkins. In the instance of Francis, he offers a night off. This comes off as a professional courtesy rather than an act of misguided mercy (memo to the writers of the sequel: if you make Francis the big bad wolf of the second film, we’re going to have some words). As for the sparing of Perkins, he operates within the ethics of the hotel for hitmen: no killing on neutral ground. He defends himself, incapacitates his attacker, then leaves her to be dealt with by management. That’s not stupid; that’s a consumate professional. In the end, even Perkins get the headshot treatment from hotel management. She won’t be back for a half-baked sequel.
Nice knowing you, Perkins.
It’s extraordinarily refreshing to see a film that doesn’t go for the easy out. I was surprised at first because it’s been so long since someone actually had the smarts to make sure that the person trying to kill you is really dead. No Michael Myers-style revivals. No “I’ll leave a survivor to tell the tale”m mistakes. Nope. There are no cheap scares or surprises, no last-minute gun battles stemming from the mistake of leaving a pulse. We know that John is going to take out his attackers. He is efficient and does not leave anything to chance. He does not believe in mercy. This has kept him alive and makes him the top of his field. You don’t earn a nickname like Baba Yaga by leaving a sloppy mistake. John takes out the boogeymen, one headshot at a time. It’s about damn time.

Weekend Movies: Five Reasons to Watch Suburban Gothic

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The first time I saw the trailer for Suburban Gothic, I full-on laughed and decided that I needed to watch this movie. Fearless, I trekked far and wide to find it (okay, I was lazy and used the Amazon rental service on my streamer) and was happy to find out that it’s one of those movies that’s as good, if not better, than its trailer. Need a movie this weekend? Here are five reasons to give Suburban Gothic a try.
#1 – Sarcasm, Party of Two…
The sarcasm and sheer amount of dry wit in this film will keep you smiling for most of the 90-minute ride. If you’re a snarky little thing like yours truly, you’ll find that the dialog will run something like your inner monologue. Our protagonist, Raymond, lets his commentary fly at the slightest provocation. For a psychic, unemployed hipster stuck living with his disapproving jock father in the midst of a paranormal mystery, it’s a beautiful thing to watch.
#2 – The Jokes Are Edgy Without Being Offensive
Some jokes, no matter how good their set up, just fall flat. A tasteless nature and poor delivery will combine to make a joke fail fast. Some subjects really struggle with this combination. Sometimes, though, the stars align and we get a joke that’s both edgy and funny. There are a few in this movie. To be more specific, there’s a great one-liner about abortion. I cackled. I won’t spoil it, but it’s really funny. I have a newfound love of Kat Dennings.
#3 – The Special Effects Aren’t That Bad
Don’t let a small film fool you: there are some effects contained within that are so subtle they’re easy to miss, but entirely worth it. Watch the pictures on the bathroom walls. I had to pause the movie, rewind and point it out for my copilot to notice, and afterwards, was rewarded with a, “DAMN, that’s cool.” Goes to show you that good things can come from a small(ish) budget. It’s also nice to be reminded that special effects don’t always have to be an over-the-top, Michael Bay spectacle.
#4 – The Cast Gels Together Very Well
Matthew Gray Gubler and Ray Wise as a father and son that do not get along at all are both believable and hysterical. The way that they play off of each other totally had me buying this dynamic. There’s also the added bonus of Jeffrey Combs (a.k.a Dr. Herbert West) and one of my personal favorites, Jack Plotnick (Miss Evie Harris of Girls Will Be Girls). Barbara Niven is great as Raymond’s mother Eve, and Kat Dennings is the perfect foil Gubler. The script is good, but the casting makes it sing.
#5 – It’s Relevant For Any Graduate Feeling Lost
At the start of the film, Raymond is forced to move home after failing to procure employment following the receipt of his MBA, which we find out he didn’t really want to pursue in the first place. In a world where we have college students with staggering debt forced to move home with their parents, this film tackles an uncomfortable elephant in the room: the boomerang kid. We live in a society now that is seeing college kids that can’t afford to live on their own, and no one wants to talk about it for fear of coming off as a loser. Suburban Gothic presents the discomfort from all angles, from being an adult sleeping in a childhood room to finding time to view online porn without your parents bursting in. It also explores the flipside of this scenario: the experience of the parent trying to find quiet time once again after the bird has returned to the nest. It’s funny, stylish and relevant. Three good reasons to give it a try by itself.