When asked what movies I was looking forward to in 2011, Hobo with a Shotgun consistently topped the list. It’s no secret that I’m a huge fan of the current “grindhouse revival”, kicked off in 2006 with the aptly-titled Tarantino/Rodriguez double header, Grindhouse. Since then, we’ve seen modern takes on blackploitation (Black Dynamite), biker flicks (Hell Ride), spaghetti westerns (Sukiyaki Western Django) and whatever the hell Nude Nuns with Big Guns is supposed to be. The great thing about these throwback flicks is they’re made to resemble the way you remember classic exploitation films, not necessarily how they actually were. We often forget how subjective our memory is, and while your 13 year-old self couldn’t help but relish in the mind-blowing awesomeness of movies like The Amazing Mr. No Legs or Bloodsucking Freaks, go ahead and watch them now. The strings show, the plots stop dead for 20 minute chunks, and they just don’t work. They’re little gems of weird cinema and still well worth a watch, but charming ineptitude aside, their audacious punch often doesn’t mitigate our adult scrutiny. These latter day exploitation films play like 90-minute versions of old-school B-movie trailers; “…every shot is a money shot.”, to quote Eli Roth. The other great thing about this new wave of trash films is they’re getting even better as they go, in utter defiance of the law of diminished returns. This is especially true of the official Grindhouse releases, with both Planet Terror and Death Proof proving to be good, not-so-clean fun, Machete reaching near operatic heights of insane bloodshed, and now Hobo with a Shotgun comes along, loaded with so much bad taste and brutal-yet-cartoonish violence that it may be the final word on the sub-genre.
Rutger Hauer stars as the Hobo, riding the rails straight into a shit-hole called Hope Town (making him an actual hobo and not just a homebum as the term is often incorrectly applied). Within mere moments of his arrival, the Hobo becomes acquainted with the crime-ridden nature of the city, witnessing local crime lord Drake (Lexx‘s Brian Downey) and his two sons (Nick Bateman and Gregory Smith) performing a brutal execution in front of a fearful mob. Growing increasingly fed up with Hope Town’s criminal element, the Hobo finally acts, preventing young hooker Abby (Molly Donsworth) from being raped by Drake’s son, Slick, and attempts to turn him in to the local authorities. He finds out very quickly that the cops are on Drake’s payroll, and he’s mutilated for his trouble. Abby finds the Hobo bloodied in a dumpster and takes him in, forming a bond between the two. Finally, after witnessing yet another atrocious crime, the Hobo snaps, grabs a shotgun and begins his crusade, dispensing his own brand of street justice.
I’ve never really had anything bad to say about Zach Snyder in the past. I found his remake of Dawn of the Dead passable (it’s a tall order to stand toe-to-toe with Romero’s classic, so he should take “passable” as a compliment), and his next two films, 300 and Watchmen, were admirable adaptations, yet one suspects they succeeded largely by virtue of their adherence to the source material. Granted, Watchmen did deviate from it’s source in relation to the ending, but I’ll blaspheme and suggest that this improved upon the original, doing away with the cheesier aspects of the “Architects of Fear” climax native to the comic (That’s right, comic; If you wanna be a pretentious asshole and call it a graphic novel because you can’t accept that “funny books” can be art, then you shouldn’t be reading them). I’ve never seen his “sword & sorcery & owls” film, Legend of the Guardians, but I hear surprisingly good things. That, too, was an adaptation. Soon one began to wonder what the director would do if allowed to pen and shoot a film purely of his own design, which brings us to Sucker Punch. Here Snyder was given full reign to do as he wished, complete with upwards of $80 million to do it with. What have we (and likely the higher ups at Warner Bros.) learned from this little experiment? Never do that shit again. Zack Snyder cannot create without a blueprint, or perhaps just won’t, because that’s not really what he’s done here. He’s borrowed from countless previous works of film and literature (Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, Kill Bill and Moulin Rouge to name a few) and generically regurgitated current genre infatuations (gun porn, steampunk, mecha), then half-assedly duct taped it all together with a plot that simultaneously objectifies and sympathises with the victimization of its female cast and his trademark editing style (slow it down, speed it up, repeat).
The film follows Baby Doll (Emily Browning), who is wrongfully imprisoned in an asylum following the accidental death of her kid sister, the result of Baby’s attempt to stop their stepfather from molesting them. Orderly and part-time rapist Blue (Oscar Issac) agrees to fudge the paperwork so Baby Doll will be lobotomized later that week. At this point, the film shifts to Baby’s perspective, and as her mind crumbles under the weight of her predicament, she re-envisions the asylum as a brothel, with Blue cast as a villainous pimp, while she and the rest of the mental patients (Abbie Cornish, Jena Malone, Vanessa Hudgens and Jamie Chung) are seen as cabaret performers and sex workers. Baby and the others hatch a plan to gain their freedom, the major points of which are seen as a series of over-the-top battles that takes the girls from the combating undead Germans in trenches of WW I to slaying dragons in a fantasy-themed universe. Throughout their trials, they are aided by the Wise Man (Scott Glen) in their quest to recover the items needed to make their escape, before the mysterious High Roller (Jon Hamm) comes to take Baby away (in actuality the doctor coming to perform the lobotomy).
Surrounded by controversy by its nature; an artistic film with a legitimate sociopolitical message or exploitative torture-porn trash?
by Adam Rosina
If you’ve ever fooled yourself into believing in the existence of a just and loving god, I present to you A Serbian Film (Srpski Film in its native Serbia) as evidence to the contrary. If the world was truly a good and decent place watched over by a benevolent deity, something like this would simply not exist. It is the most soul shattering and (sadly) accurate cinematic portrayal of human cruelty and capacity for sadism ever made. Nothing even remotely comes close to the sickness of this film. Not Salo. Not August Underground. Nothing.
The film, directed by first-timer Srdan Spasojevic, tells the story Miloš (Srđan “Žika” Todorović), a former porn star with near-superhuman sexual endurance who’s fallen on hard financial times. He gets a job offer through an old fuck-movie colleague to work on an art porn flick (later revealed to be an outright snuff film) for an ungodly amount of money. Wanting to provide for his wife and young son, he reluctantly agrees, and is slowly walked through a series of increasingly bizarre and violent sex scenarios under the direction of the mysterious Vukmir (Sergej Trifunović). Miloš’ grip on reality slips as his sexual appetite and disgust grow, until it’s revealed that he’s been drugged all along with a combination of mind altering substances and bull Viagra (not even making this shit up). He is taken captive by Vukmir and his film crew to be coerced into a series of still more depraved acts of sexual violence. From here on out the film rockets toward a climax so shocking it doesn’t put Oldboy’s twist ending to shame so much as it bends it over the chair and fucking humiliates it several times over.
Another year, another underwhelming Oscar ceremony. Sure thing The King’s Speech cleaned up, as expected, winning four of the Big Five. Inception did well with the tech awards, but as it is a genre picture (and thereby considered only slightly above pornographic movies in the eyes of the Academy), it was otherwise snubbed. Here’s a breakdown of the awards that I had particular gripes about, or was wholeheartedly behind. (WARNING : Enormous shitstorm about Inception’s poor performance ahead. Proceed at your own risk.)
Best Art Direction : Alice in Wonderland If you read my piece on this film (in the April/May 2010 Issue), you know how I feel it film and anyone involved in its creation. If you haven’t, here’s the short of it: Motherfuck all of you. But speaking about the art direction in particular, this was easily the most visually underwhelming and outright godawful looking of Burton’s films. You know, the director who made his name crafting visually striking films? I dunno if I blame the art department or Burton for putting them on a leash; either way, this was far from award-worthy.
Best Cinematography : Inception
Absolutely no complaints here. Goddamn beautifully shot film.
Best Supporting Actress : The Fighter (Melissa Leo)
Complete upset for me. I felt sure that Hailee Steinfeld had this one in the bag. No slight against Ms. Leo; she delivered a great performance, but Steinfeld stole the show right out from under Bridges and Dammon in True Grit, and for a fourteen-year old newcommer, that’s quite the accomplishment. Regardless of this loss, I expect nothing but good things from this little lady in the future, and look forward to seeing her grow as an actress (there was absolutely no way to say that without unintentionally sounding like ten tons of pedo-creepy, believe me, I tried).
Best Screenplay : The King’s Speech
And so the bitching commences. Lemmie get things straight before I proceed. I didn’t hate The King’s Speech. I felt it was an all-around well made movie. It just did nothing for me. It was just too safe. Too, at the risk of sounding immature and uncultured, boring. That said, David Seidler did an adequate job with the script. It’s just that neither the script, nor anything else about the film seemed all that remarkable. More to come on that later. My hopeful was of course Nolan, but it was clear long before the actually ceremony that there simply wasn’t a chance in hell of that going down.
This past Thursday, we threw a party to celebrate our two-year anniversary at Club Diablo in Buffalo, NY. It was a great night and we’d like to thank everyone that came out to party with us! Hear are a few photos from the evening.
most of the Auxiliary gang [left to right] Steve Prinsen, Aaron Andrews, Adam Rosina, Jennifer Link, Molly Hoeltke, Mike Kieffer, Luke Copping, Meagan Hendrickson, EJTower, and Paul Morin
Have you ever wondered what would happen if you combined Watership Down and Modern Warfare, then animated it in CG? Me neither, but I wish I had. That’s exactly what you get with Cat Shit One, IDA Movie’s new animated series, directed by Kazuya Sasahara and based on Motofumi Kobayashi’s manga, and it is awesome. The name’s sure to throw a few people off (when the manga was released in the states, it was retitled as the sickeningly punny Apocalypse Meow), not only because of its comically profane “engrish”, but also because there aren’t any cats (or shit, for that matter) to speak of in the series. The protagonists are anthropomorphic rabbits (another pun, as the Japanese word for bunny is “usagi”, thus “USA G.I.”) cast as American soldiers in a Blackwater-type merc outfit stationed in the Middle East. The 23-minute short (supposedly the first of many episodes) primarily concerns cowardly Botasky (voiced by Tom Flynn) and all-around badass Sgt. Packy (Will Prescott) staging a rescue op that quickly goes from bad to worse. The animation, while not up to Pixar caliber, is quite impressive for a production of this size. The bunnies and camels (as the Middle Eastern antagonists are somewhat-offensively portrayed) are beautifully rendered as they gun each other down in ever-so-graphic detail. The gritty and realistic violence (throat-slitting, headshots, and grenade explosions are all on display here) makes for an interesting contrast with the ultra-cutesy character designs. The only thing that serves to disappoint is the sub-par English dub cast, although as Japanese Animation dubs go, it could have gone much worse. If you’re an anime fan, gamer, military enthusiast, or just a general lover of bizarre shit, do yourself a favor and check out Cat Shit One, which is available to watch for free on IDA Movie’s YouTube channel until February 19th (it’s also available on DVD and Blu-ray, but I can’t in good conscience recommend shelling out the cash, considering the short runtime).
I love Tetsuo: The Iron Man. I mean, really love it. Like, filthy bathroom stall love. It’s easily my favorite cult film, if not my absolute favorite film of all time. Director Shinya Tsukamoto (A Snake in June, Nightmare Detective) used stark B&W photography, a combination of stop motion animation and live action, and a hyperkinetic editing style seemingly designed specifically to induce motion sickness to tell a tale of ever-encroaching technological malevolence, obsessive erotic desire and MOTHER FUCKERS TURNING INTO METAL BEASTS AND DUKING IT OUT ON THE STREETS OF TOKYO. It’s wonderfully nonsensical and supremely disturbing (one legendary sex scene gave horrifying new meaning to the colorful euphemism “drilling a girl”) nature has earned it accolades from the likes of cyberpunk author William Gibson and NIN’s Trent Reznor, and cemented it as a bona fide classic among fans of underground Japanese film and extreme cinema in general. Tsukamoto’s follow up, Tetsuo II: Body Hammer, was disappointing by comparison to the instant classic that came before it, but not without its own merits. Now, 22 years after the release of the original, Tsukamoto returns to the film that launched his career with the release of Tetsuo: The Bullet Man.
Made specifically for the North American market, Bullet Man is Tsukamoto’s first English language film, and from the looks of the above trailer, he is clearly having an easier go at directing in the foreign tongue than his buddy Takeshi Miike has in the past (see Miike’s Imprint for an idea of how wrong this could have went). A further appeal to Western audiences is the casting of US born actor Eric Bossick (mostly known for his motion capture and voiceover work in video games) in his big screen debut. What little story that can be gleaned from the trailer seem to follow the same beats as the first two films, with a meek salaryman (Bossick) experiencing a traumatic event (here the death of his son), after which his rage fuels his transformation into the titular Tetsuo as he seeks revenge, all the while being pursued by a mysterious aggressor (again played by Tsukamoto himself). The film favors the series’ trademark stop motion and prosthetic makeup effects over CGI, and while I was initially concerned these techniques would not hold up after two decades, after watching the trailer I have no doubt Tsukamoto made the right call, as the special effects are just as effective as they were in the original. The trailer is somewhat misleading in its claim, “Featuring Music by Trent Reznor”, but worry not, hardcore Tetsuo fans. Longtime Tsukamoto collaborator Chu Ishikawa (of band Die Eisenrost) returns to score Bullet Man with his signature brand of percussion-heavy industrial noise, with Nine Inch Nails only contributing the film’s closing theme.
After making its rounds at the festivals this past year, the film is finally getting a release here in the states, courtesy of IFC Midnight, in both Video-On-Demand format starting on January 19th and a limited theatrical run beginning on January 21st in NYC. No word yet on how limited of a release this is gonna be, but here’s to hopping more major US cities get a taste of Tsukamoto’s newest work of twisted brilliance.
Seijun Suzuki is Japanese cinema’s original renegade filmmaker. Since the 50′s, Suzuki has been making B-movies, mostly gangster pictures, that increased in originality and insanity as he went on, much to the chagrin of his employers and the indifference of most of the movie-going public. The Nikkatsu Company, Suzuki’s primary employer during the 50′s and 60′s, imposed heavy financial restrictions on his films in an effort to curtail the perceived incomprehensibility of his work. This only pushed him to create films more brilliantly anarchic and bizarre, but, unfortunately, just as unprofitable as his previous output. After the box office failure of Tokyo Drifter (a Yakuza epic shot in a style that emulated the Pop Art movement with elements of the musical, western and comedy genres thrown in for good measure), his budgets were slashed to such a degree that he was forced to shoot in black & white for his next two pictures. In addition, he was warned against using any of the radical techniques and themes he had previously worked into his films. Suzuki essentially took it as a dare. The studio threw him a grade-Z script for yet another Yakuza film, and demanded he rewrite it and begin filming immediately, a decision they’d later regret. The hectic schedule meant that the film was being rewritten as it was shot, the pressure pushing Suzuki to the height of his creativity. This film would come to shatter genre expectations and incorporate film noir, surrealism, absurdist humor and perverse sexuality in ways that Suzuki hadn‘t dared previously. The film that emerged was Branded to Kill, the biggest “FUCK YOU” to the studio system released up to that point (or arguably ever). It’s difficult to imagine the balls it took Suzuki, who had essentially been banished to Japan’s Poverty Row and explicitly told not to fuck around any more, to ignore his employers’ demands and to essentially deliver the cinematic equivalent of Metal Machine Music. But deliver it he did, and was promptly sacked for it.
Suzuki fought Nikkatsu in the courts for wrongful termination, not to mention the smearing of his name in the media and his blacklisting in the Japanese film industry. A great deal of support came from student film clubs, who helped to sway public opinion in Suzuki’s favor. Nikkatsu, nearly in financial ruin by this point, settled with the director (albeit for a pittance compared to what he originally demanded), but the damage to Suzuki’s career was already done. The blacklist persisted, and Suzuki would go ten years before directing another feature film. Jumping ahead to the ‘80s, North American audiences got their first taste of Branded to Kill, both through showings at film festivals and VHS (selected for release in an Asian film VHS series, entitled Dark of the Sun, by none other than Painkiller mastermind John Zorn). A entire generation of future filmmakers, Jim Jarmusch and Quentin Tarantino among them, would be influenced by the maverick director to create incredibly idiosyncratic, risk-taking films the likes of which the West had never before seen. Back in Asia, a similar phenomena occurred, and directors such as John Woo, Takeshi Miike and Chan-wook Park would be equally inspired to push the boundaries, both in structure and content, of what was expected of film, genre or otherwise.
Back in 2004, Bethesda Softworks, a video game developer best known for the Elder Scrolls RPG series, acquired the rights to the Fallout series of games. The original Fallout, released in 1997, had been one of the most impressive and respected PC games of its day, combining hardcore RPG gameplay with a post-apocalyptic setting steeped heavily in trappings of the Atomic Age, all seen through a darkly comedic, ultra-violent lens. Its sequel, Fallout 2, was a critical and financial success in its own right and seemed to cement the franchise’s position as an industry mainstay. But in the following years, Interplay Entertainment, who published the series, mismanaged the Fallout brand into utter obscurity. When Bethesda purchased the license, they envisioned a union of the iconic post-apocalyptic setting of Fallout and the action/RPG hybrid style of gameplay that had made their Elder Scrolls series such a success. The end result was Fallout 3, a game that proved to be a greater critical and financial triumph than all previous Fallout games. Which is not to say their weren’t detractors. Many longtime fans of the series complained that Fallout 3 was too straightforward, utilizing the trappings of the franchise without embracing the gleefully fucked-up spirit of the Fallout universe. Too much Road Warrior, not enough A Boy and his Dog, essentially. And while naysayers may have been a bit overzealous in their critique of the game, they had a point. Bethesda did not turn a deaf ear to these criticisms, and when the time came to make a follow-up to Fallout 3, they turned to Obsidian Entertainment, a company that employs many of the same people who worked on Fallout 2and the aborted pre-Bethesda Fallout 3. With the development of the game safely in the hands of people who clearly “got” the unique spirit of the franchise, fans eagerly awaited the next installment of the Fallout saga. What emerged less than two years later was Fallout: New Vegas. Not a sequel proper, New Vegas is instead a spin-off, utilizing the same visual and gameplay style of Fallout 3 to tell a much different story in a whole new setting, while tying in story elements from the first two Falloutgames and returning to the series the black comedy and downright weirdness that had been noticeably absent from the previous entry. Forget the Capital Wasteland; welcome to the Mojave.
image source fallout.bethsoft.com
The plot of New Vegas takes place in the western section of the Core Region (the setting of the first two Fallout games), known as the Mojave Wasteland. You are assume the role of a courier, who is awakened after a failed assassination attempt with no memory of your would be-killers or your mysterious cargo. You set out to uncover the identity and motivation of your attackers as you make your way to the glittering metropolis of New Vegas, which is largely intact and operational, in contrast to most cities in the Fallout universe, which were decimated by the atomic weapons of the Great War over two hundred years ago. Along the way, you contend with atomic age robots, mutated freaks and fellow wanderers of the wastes, as well as find yourself caught in the middle of a war between the New California Republic, a democratic union that’s gotten too big for its own good, and Caesar’s Legion, a marauding, Roman-styled slaver army.
For some unknown reason, among both my critical peers and fellow horror movie aficionados, the Saw series of films is one of the most bemoaned of modern horror franchises. I’ve long been puzzled by this phenomena, and can come up with scant few answers for its existence. I suppose for the critics it’s the contrarian in them that enjoys savaging something that’s popular and successful. I myself have been accused of no less on a handful of occasions. For the horror fan, the symptoms are similar, but the causes, I suspect, run much deeper. Before the original Saw was released, there was a huge buzz among gorehounds surrounding the film, and many were laying in wait to claim it as their own. When Saw finally dropped, it was met with unprecedented mainstream success, and each sequel seemed to drive a bigger wedge between the films and the hardcore horror fan base. It’s gotten to the point where you can’t bring up the series in conversation without fanboys shit-talking you into a coma, then closing with a snicker to confirm their superiority. But never is a valid argument brought to bear, just the whining of a subculture that feels infiltrated and betrayed, which is a fucking riot. Most modern “horror buffs” are too young and willfully ignorant to realize that most of the classic slasher and exploitation films that they cherish were not only their own precious playthings but the nightmare fuel and date-night fodder of an entire generation. It’s a shame that the Saw films don’t get their due, because there’s a lot to admire in them.
The original was the debut film by two first time filmmakers, shot on an unbelievably low-budget of $1.2 million (most films spend roughly that on craft services), built around a tight, smart script. It didn’t skimp on the gore, and managed to get spectacular performances out of near-complete unknowns, while giving birth to, or at least popularizing (along with Eli Roth’s Hostel) the new genre of Torture Porn. Each successive film has delivered on the promise of the original, while maintaining a tradition of using practical special effects (a dying art in today’s Hollywood, with the likes of Romero, Rodriguez and Zombie going digital with their gore) and crafting a labyrinthine story arc that has only deepened as the series has gone on. There have been highs (the intertwined finale of Saw III and the healthcare crisis subtext of Saw VI being excellent examples) and lows (the second and fifth films do not engage one the way the rest of the series does), but Saw has emerged as one of the most consistently intriguing and entertaining horror franchises of all time. And perhaps consistency is one of the main reasons the Saw series is so under appreciated. Perhaps, by comparison, other horror film franchises’ blemishes begin to show. Is Jigsaw in the same league as Freddy or Jason in the horror pantheon? Only time will tell. But has the Saw series yielded one sequel as embarrassing or pitiful as either Freddy’s Dead or Jason Takes Manhattan? I think not.
