I saw a final cut of THE GATEWAY MEAT, filmed in Massachusetts. I appear in the film, I get brutally murdered and got to write my own death scene. Unfortunately my face is bound up with duct tape and we shot for 8 or 10 hours and I couldn't see and was covered in cold fake blood all day. The DVD will be out soon. The film is AMAZING- oh my god- so gory! I was only in a small part and did not see the script so knew nothing about the plot of the film or anything about it except my scenes.
Also out soon on DVD:
Countess Bathoria's Graveyard Picture Show, which debuted at the Fantasia Film Fest, and which I co-wrote.
I am writing for The Independent Magazine website and will be interviewing Jeremy Kasten, director of the upcoming remake of The Wizard of Gore.
I have an interview in the next Girls and Corpses magazine with Erik Ruhling, author of Infernal Device, an illustrated book of torture devices.
Although I put it aside months and months ago it looks like my script A Fistful of Anger may be optioned.
I love a good sci-fi thriller. Wish I could have seen one tonight. Instead, I was stuckwatching Cloverfield, the newest canker sore on the upper lip of Hollywood. The plot can be summed up with twelve words: Lower Manhattan attacked by mysterious bloodthirsty creature. Panic, gore, and explosions ensue. Throw in a dramatic mockumentary format and some adolescent drama from the CW network, and that’s pretty much Cloverfield.
Since there are only so many forms science fiction can take, audiences demand new ideas to keep them entertained. How about a way to bring the viewer as close as possible to the action by shooting the entire film from the first-person perspective of one of the characters? The idea certainly looks good on paper. It even appeared promising in the preview. The problem is that the novelty of such a technique survives only about as long as it takes watch the commercial. Much sooner than expected, you find yourself wishing you hadn’t complained so much about those “tired old monster movies.” You’d give anything to see the cameraman’s reaction rather than listen to his ragged breathing and broken-record exclamations (then again, the few times the film indulges this desire reminds us that there is a reason T.J. Miller is kept behind the camera).
The opening of the movie introduces us to our players, their drama-encrusted lives and their so-called personalities. Rob (Michael Stahl-David) is the dangerously noble, unrequited love-stricken hero. The object of his intense affection is Beth (Odette Yustman), a pretty young thing whose distinctive characteristic is a complete lack of personality. Other members of the angst-ridden clique include Jason (Mike Vogel), Rob’s lazy brother, Lily (Jessica Lucas), Jason’s uptight girlfriend, Hud (T.J. Miller), Rob’s utterly helpless sidekick, and Marlena (Lizzy Caplan), the too-cool-for-school alterna-chick. Complexity is obviously toxic for these one-dimensional types, and the compressed descriptions above are actually complete. Just as the teen drama is about to hit a note only small dogs and those under 15 can hear, the film makes the only wise move of its short existence: it brings on the aliens.
Rob’s hero complex initiates this “adventure.” The group is almost out of Manhattan when he receives a phone call from Beth, who is somewhere in Midtown, badly hurt. Chivalrous Rob is compelled to ride to his Dulcinea’s rescue. Get that man a horse and some armor! He’s going to save the beautiful maiden! Rob’s unflappable heroism is only marginally charming the first time, and it’s damn near intolerable the rest of the movie, especially once the unruly horror and utter hopelessness of his quest are revealed. You just want to grab him and smack the hell out of him for thinking this is the correct course of action. Even the rats are fleeing in droves! Rob’s brainless nobility infects the other members of his crew, who become inexplicably determined to remain at his side as long as they can stay alive. I began to wonder what power this man has to generate such blindly trusting followers and where could I perhaps purchase some. Then again, without Rob’s determined willingness to sacrifice himself and his lemming cohorts, there wouldn’t really be much of a movie.
Rob’s heroism is half the fuel that keeps the film running. The other half is Hud’s dependence on Rob. Incapable of functioning on his own, Hud, the cameraman of this failed experiment is doomed to follow Rob wherever he goes, as are we and the other sorry members of this troop. The majority of the camerawork is shaky, as it should be considering Hud’s nonexistent film experience and all that terrified running. Yet, as luck would have it, he always manages to point it in the direction of the coolest action, getting the steady, high quality shots when it counts. Heck, we can’t waste all those special effects because Hud can’t keep his hand still, can we?
As our guide to this nightmare, Hud traps the audience in his dimwitted perspective. Wait, wait. Let me clarify. Hud is NOT dumb. Dumb people can’t speak. Hud, on the other hand, is a magnificently rambling idiot, especially skilled at stating (and re-stating) the obvious and asking unhelpful questions. While at first his buffoonery was cute in a pathetic sort of way, in no time at all he is inflicting a painful torture with his moronic behavior and never-ending, mindless chatter. It was like sitting in a three hour lecture by Ben Stein on the glory of rain gutters. The poor guy was a malfunctioning talking doll that won’t turn off no matter how hard you slam it against the wall. If you listened closely, you could hear the inner voices of three hundred individual audience members simultaneously shouting “SHUT UP!”
Although abnormally short for a movie today, Cloverfield is miraculously capable of dragging itself out, much like an overenthusiastic actor in a protracted death scene. Every time the ever-shrinking gaggle of losers is given an opportunity for escape, they throw it away with both hands, prolonging the anguish at least another ten minutes. And the audience seems to understand that as long as Hud is clutching the camera (presumably recording all this for our pleasure), the story will continue. Unfortunately, none of the danger, fear, blood, or explosions can make him release the device. I began to wish there was a way I could throw myself to the monster and end the misery.
American film audiences should be insulted that filmmakers have such a low opinion of their intelligence and tastes. My only question is, why bother putting so much money and effort into a movie at all? For a fraction of the price, a movie could be just an hour of frantically agitated animated shapes and squiggly lines accompanied by the music of Slayer and sound of one of those machines that crush cars at the dump. Actually, Cloverfield could have been that. There wouldn’t have been much of a difference.
That Tim Burton directed Stehpan Sondheim's SWEENEY TODD ought to have been a marriage made in heaven. With Johnny Depp as the Demon Barber with the metaphoric extension of his EDWARD SCISSORHANDS into a razor, this ought to have been a layup. Unfortunately, SWENEY TODD is considerably short of heavenly.
In spite of an impressive production design, London rats and all, the demands of the film medium, no matter how stylized, still require more verisimilitude than a stage production. The absense of expository detail, the omission of "The Ballad if Sweeney Todd" only makes the incredible Sondheim score- which worked so well on stage- somewhat interruptive, no matter how much Johnny Depp is as a singer. Things that don't work on a literary lever that this truncated fim demends are the romance between the vagabond sailor and Joanna, and, since Burton is so intent on the Edwardian revenge theme, the ghoulish fun of the Sondheim original of Mrs. Lovett's entreprenurial bakery with cannibalistic pastries is mostly missing. And with the trimming of both plot and melolies, The climax of Sweeney Todd's tragic awareness seems underdeveloped. I did not feel for him at his moment of discovery and death.
Nevertheless, I liked the film The production design , as one might expct from Tim Burton, was outstanding. Both Depp and Bonham-Carter were effective, as were Alan Richman as the evil Judge and Mike Leigh stalwart Timothy Spall as the Beadle. And one cannot complain about the basic story and what remained of the Sondheim lyrics.
But - given the level of talent - and, indeed, genius, that went into the film, it is a disappointment.
LINDSAY SHAH SAYS:
"I walked into Sweeney Todd after a month of anticipation. Tim Burton is one of my personal heroes. Yes...his films are outward in their cartoonish darkness...but the way in which he creates a universe out of this could-be superficial aesthetic, I find multi-layered.
The music which the film began with seemed promising... I don't think I have to finish this sentence, but 'seemed' is the obvious key word.
The set design and costumes were flawless in their filthy, deconstructed style...simply what one expects walking into a Burton film. I felt that the style is too recycled by this film that the magic is left behind.
I felt myself desiring the inspiration that Burton gave me no choice but to own when these aesthetics were definitive.
The acting was not flawed, but this does not save the film. As with many of Burton's films, I felt that the story was secondary.
I long for the idyllic day when the amazing aesthetics of Burton merge with a writer who sees his universe in verse.
To conclude, I am an openly biased hater of musicals (!)
A welcome departure from movies geared to the lowest common denominator.
Remember when Gladiator came out? It was a huge success, raking in both box office cash and Oscars. But it also set off the dollar radar in Hollywood, who reasoned that the best way to bring in more of the same was to give the public exactly that. And so, we were subjected to some progressively inferior Big Battle Epics whose only positive contribution to the film-going community was a collective enlightenment as to Orlando Bloom's mediocrity. The process has begun once more, with the Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter franchises spawning a slew of fantasy adventures based on popular literary series. So far the results have been a mixed bag of enjoyable creations such as Stardust and The Chronicles of Narnia and disastrous attempts like Bridge to Terabithia and The Seeker. The latest addition to the pack is The Golden Compass, which thankfully belongs in the former group.
Based on the first book of British author Phillip Pullman's His Dark Materials fantasy trilogy, The Golden Compass plunges us into an unfamiliar parallel universe where people's souls exist outside their bodies in the form of talking animal companions called daemons. The plot follows the adventures of Lyra (Dakota Blue Richards), a young orphan pathological liar who is somehow a key player in the fate of the universe. Lyra's uncle, Lord Asriel (an unshaven Daniel Craig with a slightly muddled accent) goes north on a mission to study Dust, particles of a mysterious power. Dust piques Lyra's curiosity, but her inquiries are answered by nothing but agitated warnings against further questions. Around the same time, Lyra's best friend Roger (Ben Walker) is kidnapped by the Gobblers, a parent's worst nightmare in any universe. Lyra resolves to both to find Roger and figure out what Dust is, but before she departs, the Master of Jordan College, where Lyra was raised, quietly gives her the titular golden compass, explaining that it will reveal the truth but warning that she must keep its existence a secret.
The remainder of the film is dedicated to entertaining us with the slightly episodic events of Lyra's adventure and follows her as she meets and immediately charms every character in her path, human and computer-animated alike. Golden Compass provides the plot engrossment and magnificent production design (thanks to Dennis Gassner, who also lent his award-winning talent to Road to Perdition and Big Fish) that fantasy audiences crave, proportioned and organized around electrifying characters, suspense, and action for the rest of us. Director Chris Weitz delves into his film's potential, but ego is pleasantly absent. We're also treated to a bevy of talent, most importantly Dakota Blue Richards as Lyra. As with many with child actors, the initial reaction is to take Richards' performance with a very large grain of salt. Richards has other plans, however, as this newcomer bullies her way past such expectations into the spotlight where she and Lyra seem to feel most comfortable. The rest of the ensemble have decidedly minor roles in this chapter. This is especially true of Daniel Craig's Lord Asriel, whose devotees will get a taste of the disappointment felt by many a Steve Buscemi's fan. Nevertheless, in such a visually and fictionally complex film, the supporting performances appropriately draw our attention without trapping it. Particularly deserving of mention is Sam Elliot, who slips on his cowboy boots once more, this time as high-flying (literally) Lee Scoresby, and they fit like he never took them off. And although giving Nicole Kidman praise is like carrying coals to Newcastle, her solid portrayal of the enigmatic Marisa Coulter at least deserves mention, if not another banal accolade.
Clues to the plot also are dispensed in dollops that may be cryptic to Lyra but are definitely confusing for the rest of us. Nevertheless, the overall story is impressively captivating (3.5 million U.S. copies can't be wrong), and we're given enough information to avoid complete befuddlement. Besides, stunning visual effects are a universal language. But by far the greatest quality of The Golden Compass is its accessibility, even to the uninitiated, without having to bang people over the head with introductory facts. The film works like an immersion program, surrounding the audience with unfamiliar words and phrases instead of hand-feeding definitions, a welcome departure from movies geared to the lowest common denominator.
Since The Golden Compass is part of a popular series of fantasy fiction, viewers can automatically expect two things. First of all, audiences should be prepared for an unavoidable sense of incompleteness. Although production of the next part, The Subtle Knife, will only begin if Golden Compass is a success, the movie has an ending so wide open it might as well have had a “to be continued...” graphic just before the credits. Second, there will be thousands of die-hard fans inspecting every detail, from dust to Dust, for fidelity. Unless you've read the books and your day's most important question has to do with your socks, you needn't bother yourself with such a search. No matter your level of initiation, just sit back and enjoy.
This review is written by Halyna Hutchins.
Cré na Cille (Graveyard Clay)
Director: Robert Quinn
Cast: Mac dara Ó Fátharta, Bríd Ní Neachtain, Peadar Lamb, Máire Ní Mháille
Cré na Cille, a brilliant adaptation of Mairtin O Cadhain's novel, was presented at the festival in Irish with English subtitles. The story, which draws upon the Dostoevsky short story "Bobok", takes place in mid 40s of the 20th century in Ireland. The director did a great job portraying the period, the characters, and the beautiful Irish countryside.
The film opens with the death of the main heroine Caitríona Pháidín. After her funeral she discovers herself at a local graveyard surrounded by souls of the dead. Caitríona takes to her grave all the anger and hatred towards her sister, who stole the love of her life. Throughout the film, viewers are introduced to Caitríona's cohabitants in the graveyard who constantly gossip and fight. Newly deceased people bring with them news of the latest outrages happening above ground making the main character even more furious. The dialogues, enriched by the actors' outstanding performances, are outrageously hilarious.
The US premiere of Cré na Cille became a wonderful present to Irish speaking American viewers. "The richness of the actors portraying the characters, the usage of language were absolutely fabulous", says a native Irish speaker from the audience, "extraordinary, enriching and very rewarding".
