Dante 01 (2008)

Review #0052

This short review was originally written in French, my native tongue. Here is a translated, and updated version for all of you, fine English-speakers from around the world:

Dante 01 is a solo effort from Marc Caro, who is well-known for his collaboration with Jean-Pierre Jeunet on awesome films such as Delicatessen (1991) and La cité des enfants perdus (1995). Now I won't go as far as saying that he is the weakest link, but I will simply point out that while he directed only one feature film during the last fifteen years, Jeunet alone was responsible for the vastly under-rated Alien: Resurrection (which will probably be remembered in twenty years as the last good Alien film) and the international smash hit Amélie.

SYNOPSIS: Dante 01 is an orbital station hovering over fiery planet Dante. It is home to a small, experimental lab/prison that uses its criminally insane inmates as guinea pigs for pharmaceutical testing. The film opens with a small ship docking at the station, carrying in its bowels a sexy, but unethical Vietnamese doctor called Elisa and a frozen, Messianic prisoner called only Saint-Georges (the same name as a famous dragon slayer). The story revolves around bitchy Elisa's use of nasty, mood-altering nano-machines and mute Saint-Georges' arduous integration among a population of unstable psycho ward inmates who will soon discover that he is much more than he first appears to be.

APPRECIATION: Elaborated from a linear screenplay riddled with genre clichés and vacuous mythological references, this boring effort with a faint allegorical flavor falls flat during the first verbal exchange between Elisa and the lead doctor aboard Dante 01, which leaves the green filters, manic POV shots, CGI nanomachines and other visual gimmicks as sole motors of a flawed narrative. Left to fend for themselves, forced to mechanically deliver incongruous lines of dialogue, the actors cannot even hope to give life to the vain archetypes of the screenplay. It's a shame too because colorful Dominique Pinon seems ill at ease in the unlikely role of a criminal mastermind and he thus gives a performance that's a far cry from those of Delicatessen and Amélie.

You should definitely skip this film, except if you're a Caro or Pinon completist. I mean it.

*1/2
Style, sure. But no substance, an abrupt conclusion and wasted acting jobs.


Here is the original French text which I had written right after seeing the film (and which conformed with the model foregrounded by major québécois critical body Mediafilm):

Doté d'un scénario linéaire qui multiplie ad nauseam les clichés du genre et les références mythologiques creuses, cet ennuyeux huis-clos à saveur allégorique tombe à plat dès le premier échange verbal, si bien que seuls les filtres verdâtres, plans subjectifs vomissants, nanomachines de synthèse et autres excès visuels semblent propulser le récit. Livrés à eux-mêmes, forcés de débiter des platitudes sans nom dans un français international franchement déshumanisant, les interprètes n'arrivent pas à élever leurs personnages au-dessus des archétypes gnangnan du scénario. C'est quand même dommage pour le délicieux Dominique Pinon pour qui le manque de latitude constitue une muselière.

The Cronenbergian Maieutics (essay)

This essay was originally written as a term paper for the class on Canadian Cinema given by Professor Douglas at Concordia University. Before publishing it, I had a long, hard think about intellectual property, and about my actual grip on the material that came from my brain, but which I mistakenly offered to academia at no cost at all. I finally decided that I had the final say since I came up with it, and amply cited my sources all the way through. So there. I hope that all idea stealers from all universities eat lead. That said, Mr. Douglas was a mighty fine man whom I never would accuse of any wrongdoing. After all, he is the man who made me aware of a little 1919 Canadian film called Back to God's Country, which featured the fully naked Nell Shipman (!!). Talk about a cool teacher!

The Cronenbergian Maieutics

“Your skull is a cage and things are trapped in there that would be a lot better off being set free, so if you can explode that cage, you can also liberate yourself” (Simon: 53). Such a take on Scanners’ cervical explosion by its director somewhat implies a Socratic ideal, however radically it is updated. Freedom of the hidden corners of the mind is its aim and its symbol, the broken head. In fact, Scanners’ exploding head echoes the sculpture from the apartment of Rose’s final victim in Rabid, a modernist work depicting a human head split open. William Beard says that sculpture expresses the film’s view of man as a “schizoid creature whose spirit is at war against its body although they’re irrevocably tied together” (L’Esprit Viscéral : 89) and he goes on to link it to Ben Pierce’s “powerful sculptures” (also in Scanners)1. Departing a little from this lecture and keeping in touch with Cronenberg’s, I argue for a total victory of the body (i.e. bodily instincts and impulses) over the rational mind in his films, be it a liberation or a curse. The filmmaker’s capacity to provide such a victory, supported by an imagery of the broken head, is no less than a bloody version of Socrates’ maieutics. It is the Cronenbergian maieutics: the ability to extract, through the horror genre, the intrinsic and primordial concerns of the mind (mostly the masculine mind) from under the normative façade of our society.

Of course, the dualism between the calm façade and what lies beneath is closely linked to the clash between mind and body in Cronenberg’s work, this façade being no more than the rational self repressing the visceral self. Many critics have pointed to the Cronenbergian architecture as this façade, containing “ the repressed forces of sexuality, passion and desire waiting to be unleashed upon a credulous society” (Handling : 182). In this respect, the opening of Shivers and its praising of the concrete Starliners towers (situated on Nuns’ Island, no less) is brilliantly thought of as a commercial, a way of presenting a sterile and politically correct front to outsiders while hiding the actual goings-on in the building (i.e. the slicing up of Annabelle by Emil Hobbes and the eventual take-over by sex-crazed zombies). Similarly, the Mantles’ cabinet in Dead Ringers remains a mask of professionalism, even during the brothers’ descent into madness. However, this surface becomes scratched during a particularly eloquent rendering of Beverley’s addiction: the camera pans on the wasteland that has become his office, soiling the established order of things by his slippage from the rational world to an alternate drug-induced reality, gluttonously demanded by his aching body. Beard suggests a similar “ironic contrast between the decorative expressions of a society that thinks it is in control and the disorder and violence which break its established order – and its sober sense of esthetics” (L’Esprit Viscéral : 88) in Rabid. He rightfully notes the abstract painting in Rose’s room, which we see before and after the attack on Lloyd: it becomes canted and bloodied whereas it was straight and clean, not unlike the virtuous society that accepted the Keloid institute, now facing the consequences of its beliefs (i.e. Rose’s mutant body). Keeping in touch with Cronenberg’s link between bursting heads and a liberation of the self, his celebration of squirting blood as a bodily manifestation against reason, Beard also includes an example from Shivers in his argument. As in Rabid, where the framing remains the same in the two subsequent establishing shots of Rose’s room, an identical framing device emphasizes the shift from order to disorder during Nick Tudor’s illness. His bathroom, at once clean and sterile, a model of sexual repression (Nick has seemingly ceased sexual relations with his wife while engaging in such activities with Annabelle, from whom he gets the disease), becomes a bloody mess after his passage (he regurgitates a parasite), the sign of an eventual release of Nick’s sexual energies (exemplified by his later attack on Janine).

On many instances, Cronenberg has argued that the ending of Shivers is not at all pessimistic, that it posits a new world order in which social conventions are meaningless and where the visceral self is liberated from a society “that thinks too much” (to paraphrase Rollo Linsky, on Emil Hobbes’ work). Now, if Romero’s zombies are symptomatic of a culture of mechanical consumerism and warmongering, Cronenberg’s zombies are the warm, pulsating counterparts of a cerebral society, a society “of self-repressive passivity and caution” (The Canadianness of David Cronenberg : 119). The horror genre is indeed the perfect vehicle to express hidden and intrinsic passions and, if it is alien to our realist tradition, it is precisely because Cronenberg tries to break down over-reasoning and the notion of a single reality in his films. In his criticism of Kramer vs. Kramer, he indeed rejects a more realist tradition (although it is an Hollywood example) as false, at the profit of the fantastic: “ I had just gone through divorce and I felt that that film was just completely false and that The Brood, fantastic though it was, was much more honest, emotionally and every other way” (Simon: 49). Interestingly enough, narrow-minded critic Leonard Maltin’s review of the film suffers from being embedded in restrictive Hollywoodian realism. “Eggar eats her own afterbirth while midget clones beat grandparents and lovely young schoolteachers to death with mallets. It's a big, wide, wonderful world we live in!” (Cinemania). To take such a film at face value, not to further the reading beyond the surface indeed seems very limitative, a proof of the same ideological selfishness which plagued Fulford in his review of Shivers. Maltin’s use of the words “world we live in” directly clashes with the director’s view that reality is subjective (Simon: 54). It further indicates a limited knowledge of the horror genre itself, which usually prompts a symbolic universe of fear to stand in for our reality. In short, his shutting down of the filmmaker on the ground that his reality is unacceptable (to the politically correct bourgeoisie) somewhat mirrors the actions of the extremist Realists from eXistenZ, who literally shoot down the builder of worlds Allegra Geller (who takes the place of the filmmaker).

Moreover, aside from revealing the hidden side of society, the horror genre also reveals the hidden side of the human body: its insides. Why, may I ask, are the tears shed in melodramatic movies and the emotions associated with them praised while the blood gushing of horror films and the violence from where it stems labeled as disgusting and trashy? I would tend to reject as hypocritical the assumption that movies directly affect behavior, especially when coming from Hollywood, an industry that systematically sees the viewer as passive. Therefore, I am tempted to agree with Cronenberg when he deplores the limited knowledge and acceptance of our bodies, disease and death, all elements deeply rooted in nature, but fought off as the enemies of a Cartesian society. Blood, although it is intrinsic to humanity, is an enemy because it reminds us of our mortality, of our attachment to physical existence whereas tears are of a higher level of consciousness: they represent the transcendence of human emotions2. As Mumford would say, it is abstraction of the human body that maintains the capitalist system in place: it is no longer the philosophical logic that defines humanness and reality, but rather mathematical logic, which exclude the instinctive side of human life at the profit of the mechanical one. An esthetic of consumption3 is the result of this displacement wherein the outer body becomes commercially determined. It is in this respect that Elliott Mantle’s suggestion of a beauty contest for the insides of bodies is the quintessential Cronenbergian irony: it is the disruption of a system that represses humanity as long as it is not completely plastic (in the case of the beauty contest) and calculable (in the case of science, as well as capitalism), toward one that celebrates humanity in its most primal form (here, an aesthetic of the insides, but generally, the release of dormant impulses).

This irony is central to his films as it is reflected in the relation between science and human nature. By its definition, the rational study of nature, science is necessarily contradictory according to the Cronenbergian mind/body dichotomy. It is always through science however, one might say the shortcomings of science, that human nature is revealed: through Hobbe’s blood parasites, Keloid’s neutral skin graft, Raglan’s psychoplasmics, Brundle’s pods…According to Beard, “the parasitic outbreak (or parasitic liberation) is also founded on the excesses of reason. […] Science must be understood as representing reason, and in Cronenberg’s films, catastrophic results stem from rational attempts at improving the human animal” (L’Esprit Viscéral : 75). It would seem that this failure of science necessarily comes from its desire to empirically know human nature and to rationalize it, while it is impossible to do so. In fact, all throughout Cronenberg’s filmography, science finds itself puzzled before examples of extraordinary biology: an unstoppable strain of rabies against which it is powerless in Rabid, the technically impossible triple cervix that challenges the Mantles’ every bit of reason in Dead Ringers, the oxymoronic creative cancer of Crimes of the Future…In all cases, the possibilities of the body overwhelm science to the point where it is absorbed, subdued by this body: Max Renn’s hand becomes one with his pistol in Videodrome, metal and flesh also meld together in Ballard’s leg after a car Crash whereas the whole game system from eXistenZ is made out of living tissues. In fact, this amalgamation is part of Cronenberg’s evolutionary theories. If affirming that “we’ve altered the earth, the magnetic waves in the air, and we’ve altered ourselves” (Kermode: 11) seems quite dogmatic, it nonetheless implies that technological progress parallels human physical evolution. In his films, it is our perceptual apparatus that is at stake, less the fact that “we create our own reality” (ibid), but rather that our reality is modified by our evolving techno-body. Its newfound capacity to completely change the world around us through its literal penetration by the machine is an example drawn from eXistenZ. The displacement of natural sexual desires toward artificial stimulation from the automobile fetish in Crash is also an example of this “reshaping of the human body through modern technology” (Cronenberg speaking through Vaughan). The quintessential example however, comes from his original manifesto on alternate realities, Videodrome. In it, a media prophet not unlike Marshall McLuhan, Brian O’Blivion, equates our perception of reality through sensual experience and its representation on television: “the television screen has become the retina of the mind’s eye”. He even goes on to say that life on television is more real than life in the flesh, breaking down the barrier between two apparently different realities. This barrier is further broken by the apparition of a living VCR (mirrored by the human VCR that Renn becomes) and the fact that the protagonist receives live messages from Bianca and Nicky through the television screen, the retina of the mind’s eye, because of its ability to showcase Max’s hallucinations. Moreover, the invasion of life by technology is also rooted in its implantation in rural areas. Cronenberg’s praise of the United Kingdom’s F1 industry, as a technological asset associated with the countryside, and as an inspiration for eXistenZ’ gamepod farm (within an interview to Positif) confirms what he believes: evolution will not be achieved by de-humanizing the world, but rather by hyper-humanizing it. His subsequent rejection of the megalopolis imagery at the profit of the purely organic (organic game system, organic gun…) when it comes to science-fiction is a further example of this. After all, Cronenberg often reasserts that humanity is not what it was 100 years ago4. In short, it would seem that it had to adapt to an increasingly technological world (especially when addressing the last 100 years4) in which the role of man resembles that of the machine more and more. The physical “revolution” of Cronenberg’s films might seem extremist, but its radicalism is as strong as it needs to be, given the strength of the progress of reason. The body is indeed revolutionary: it is Nick Tudor who kills Rollo Linsky, Max’s grenade-hand detonates Harlan, Allegra’s pods are a reaction against transCendenZ…

Concerning radical revolution let us go back to the notion of creative cancer. In itself, it seems to be a contradictory term. To the rational mind, it means creation through destruction. To Cronenberg, it simply means metamorphosis and awakening. Antonin Artaud once said that the plague and theater are alike. “Theater, like plague, is a crisis solved by death or healing. And the plague is a superior ill because it is a complete crisis after which there is only death or an extreme purification5. […] The theatrical action like that of the plague, is beneficial, because it pushes men to see themselves as they are, […] revealing to collectivities their dark power, their hidden strength, inviting them to face destiny with an heroic and superior attitude which they would never have had without it” (46). Likewise, Cronenberg’s diseases inevitably push men to reveal their true identities as lustful animals. Nick Tudor, a cold businessman becomes a sex beast once he is induced with Hobbes’ parasites. Seth Brundle becomes a brutal macho man (he shreds some guy’s arm in order to claim his girlfriend as sex-object) once he is Brundlefly… When it comes to collectivities’ dark power, Artaud certainly seems to entail a form of revolt. At the very least, it does involve a communal liberation. Now, here is Cronenberg’s take on the revolution of the body. While discussing a passage of The Brood (wherein Hartog (one of Dr. Raglan’s patients), refers to a tumor his mental desires have created as a “small revolution”), he asserts: “rather than actually dealing with the political revolution, I deal with the metaphorical political revolution of the body” (Simon: 52). Interestingly, he also tells us: “we all know there are societies that we felt were better off changed, even though there were civil wars and bloody battles that were required to achieve that” (ibid). It would therefore seem that disease is a revolutionary (communist?) weapon6. Considering that it is deeply imbedded in nature and an enemy of a clean and sanitized society, such a take is consistent with the whole Cronenbergian universe.

As it is within the dominant ideology, the male is closely associated to reason within Cronenberg’s films while the female entails naturalism, motherhood and primitive sexual energy. Is the director such a misogynist then, given that he champions a victory of intrinsic humanity over reason, which constantly fails to control or modify our profound nature (i.e. our female side)? His innocence is indeed somewhat proven by his assertion to the effect that “the most basic human is a female and then the perversion, the late development, is a male” (Simon: 55). Given the inherent logic of his work, the male is bound to eventually lose, as an embodiment of reason. Within the two main, and bipolar, readings of Shivers, concerning the benefits of a sexual liberation, the male is always at the lower end. On one hand, if you consider the parasite a curse, it is Emil Hobbes who is to blame, as a criminal against the established norms. On the other, if you see parasitic invasion as ultimately beneficial, Annabella becomes a wicked messiah7, converting frigid Nick Tudor and his kind. In this case, Roger St-Luc (stripped of his abject sanctity) is also truly liberated of his normative Puritanism by the nurse Forsythe (he initially refuses the sexual contact she proposes him). Discussing Cronenberg, John Waters (who shares a similar fetish for car accidents) points out to a similarity between unnamed sex club and the arms-filled cellar of Starliner towers wherein sexual promiscuity is likewise encouraged, as an alternative discourse perpendicular to traditions of matrimony and repression. The Fly provides further examples wherein the male is inevitably a loser, even more so than the female character, who’s doomed to give birth to a freak. Indeed, it is Seth Brundle’s love for the machine (which itself is a way to counter natural transportation) that causes his demise. It is very ironic that he would become one with the teleporter he wishes to use in order to create an artificial hybrid. Indeed, in doing so, he is disregarding natural birth (the child Quaife is bearing is already part fly, part human) at the profit of mechanical fusion: disregarding nature at the profit of science. This is also a good example of the dreadful consequences of an active, yet purely theoretical knowledge of nature that plagues Cronenbergian men. In fact, the Mantles also collapse because of Claire Niveau’s triple cervix, a scientific impossibility that disrupts their Cartesian worldview and their superficial understanding of femininity (challenged in every way by Claire, the one woman that the twins’ failure to grasp leads to their demise as theoreticians of a restrictive knowledge of the female body). Likewise, Max Renn’s self-confidence, as a man knowledgeable of primitive sexuality and desires, is shattered to bits by his encounter with Nicki Brand. She is indeed the embodiment of what he only seems to know through fiction: raw, masochistic sexual experience. In front of such a display, the shattering of his theoretical (even capitalist – deviant sex is his bread and butter) approach to visceral sex and violence only leads to his emotional breakdown (from lonely macho to dependant victim). Let me use Michael O’Pray’s words (in his discussion of “the damaged men at the heart of Cronenberg’s films” ) to describe Max’s fate: “upon gaining the self-knowledge they [the male protagonists] initially lack, [they] are psychically or even physically destroyed, sometimes both” (10). In fact, O’Pray argues for a clear shift between the “disengaged, passive, ultimately fragile” (ibid) males and “a series of ‘strong’ women characters – committed, at one with their desires, capable of action and often the emotional nexus of the narrative” (ibid). Piers Handling mentions “the radical maladjustment of the male protagonist, particularly his moral failure and, more obviously, that of his relations with women” (187) as a further example.

It would seem that there is indeed something in all of us that needs to be let out. It is something that has been repressed for the sake of capitalism, yet something that is exploited by capitalism. It is something that we all possess, yet that we have not all come to terms with. It is our humanity, an inherent part of nature that tries to live (or dies) in the concrete jungle of modern life. In our quest for the eradication of disease, we have forgotten that we must live with it. In our desire to live forever, we have forgotten to embrace death, a fact just as natural as life. What we fear is perhaps not disease or death. Perhaps it is humanity… In Cronenberg, every rabid zombie bite, every lustful parasite infection, every falling nail and every exploding head is a celebration of life. Because life, disease, and death can indeed be one and the same, his cinema is truly humane. Indeed, whereas It’s a Wonderful Life is simply uplifting, Rabid is truly humanist. Now, let the Christmas movie renting begin!

Notes

1- You will probably remember, if you’ve seen the film, Pierce’s studio wherein he and Cameron Vale meet. There is one particularly gigantic sculpture, depicting a damaged human head, not unlike Vale’s…
2- It is interesting to notice that eXistenZ is a mere fantasy provided by transCendenZ (which itself is arguably no more aligned with reality). Now, both game systems are radically different. The former is organic and plugs directly into an anal-like slot within the human body. The latter is plastic (therefore, much closer to a contemporary console) and attached to the head and hand (nervous center and outer perceptual organ). It is aligned with reason, whereas the former is aligned with the body. Therefore, it seems Geller and Pikul’s fantasies stipulate a return to nature (eXistenZ), away from the refuge against it, provided by reason (transCendenZ).
3- The Keloid clinic in Rabid provides the alteration of the body as a commercial exchange. In that respect, the idea of enfranchising this practice is symptomatic of an increased commerce of the body. “I don’t want to become the Colonel Sanders of plastic surgery”, says Keloid cynically. “Why not? It’s one of those brilliant, inevitable ideas” retorts Murray Cypher. Here, capitalism (Cypher) sides with science (Keloid) in order to merge their views of the body as a mere object in a trade. This leads to the abuses suffered by Rose’s body (doubly aligned with nature because it is the female body). The revolt of this abused body provides punishment for both Cypher and Keloid as their capitalist system crumbles under a form of reversed phallocracy. The phallus, the male weapon, becomes, through revolution of the body, the female weapon against male supremacy.
4- “In terms of a physical evolution as a species, everything has changed in the last couple of hundred years since the Industrial Revolution” (Porton: 6).
5- What happens to Max Renn after he shoots himself? Is death the result? Or is it indeed an “extreme purification”, the access to the “New Flesh”? Max’s cancer is indeed creative, but what exactly does it create? Is it a deceptive, hallucination-inducing ill? Or is it a truly evolutionary disease?
6- What of the rabid zombies in Rabid? Aren’t they aligned with 1970’s Montreal separatists? After all, they’re the ones hunted by the P.E. Trudeau stand-in… On Rabid’s rabies, Cronenberg said: “Metaphorically it’s an idea, like Bolshevism or Islam, or any idea that takes hold and infects people” (Simon: 46). Therefore, it really seems to be a revolutionary disease.
7- She is impregnated by God (Hobbes), but it is she who propagates His word through her acts of love.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

ARTAUD, Antonin. Le Théâtre et Son Double, Éditions Gallimard, Saint-Amand (Fr.), 1964, 220 p.

BEARD, William. “L’Esprit Viscéral” from L’Horreur Intérieure: les films de David Cronenberg (French version of The Shape of Rage) (ed. Piers Handling and Pierre Véronneau), La Cinémathèque Québécoise, Montréal, 1990, pp. 57-135

BEARD, William. « The Canadianness of David Cronenberg », published in Mosaic 27, #2 (June 1994), pp. 113-33.

CIMENT, Michel & VACHAUD, Laurent. “David Cronenberg – L’homme n’a pas encore vraiment accepté son corps”, published in Positif #458 (April 1999), pp. 15-20

DORAN, Ann. “John Waters on David Cronenberg”, published in Grand Street v.15, #4 (Spring 1997), pp. 58-61

FREELAND, Cynthia A. “Feminist Frameworks for Horror Films” from Post-theory : reconstructing film studies (ed. David Bordwell, Noel Carroll), University of Wisconsin Press, Madison, 1996, pp. 195-218

HANDLING, Piers. “Un Cronenberg Canadien” from L’Horreur Intérieure: les films de David Cronenberg (French version of The Shape of Rage) (ed. Piers Handling and Pierre Véronneau), La Cinémathèque Québécoise, Montréal, 1990, pp. 179-196

HURLEY, Kelly. « Reading Like an Alien : Posthuman Identity in Ridley Scott’s Alien and David Cronenberg’s Rabid », from Posthuman Bodies (ed. Judith Halberstam and Ira Livingston), Indiana University Press, Bloomington, 1995, pp. 203-221

KERMODE, Mark. “David Cronenberg”, published in Sight and Sound v.1 (March 1993), pp. 11-13

MUMFORD, Lewis. “Cultural Preparation” from Technics and Civilization, New York: Harcourt-Brace, 1964, pp. 9-59

O’PRAY, Michael. “Fatal Knowledge”, published in Sight and Sound v.1 (March 1993), pp. 10-11

PARKER, Andrew. “Grafting David Cronenberg: Monstrosity, AIDS Media, National/Sexual Difference” from Media Spectacles (ed. Marjorie Garber, Jann Matlock & Rebecca L. Walkowitz) , Routledge, New York, 1993, pp. 209-227

PORTON, Richard. "The Film Director as Philosopher: An Interview with David Cronenberg." Published in Cineaste 24, #4 (1999), pp. 4-9

SANJEK, David. “Dr.Hobbes’s Parasites: Victims, Victimization, and Gender in David Cronenberg’s Shivers”, published in Cinema Journal 36, #1 (Fall 1996) pp. 55- 74

SIMON, Adam. “The Existential Deal: An interview with David Cronenberg” published in Critical Quarterly vol. 43, #3 (Autumn 2001) pp. 34-56

STANBROOK, Alan. “Cronenberg’s Creative Cancers” published in Sight & Sound, v.58, #1 (Winter 1988), pp. 54-56

TAUBIN, Amy. "The Wrong body.", published in Sight and Sound v.1 (March 1993), pp. 8-10

WOOD, Robin. « Un point de vue dissident sur Cronenberg » from L’Horreur Intérieure: les films de David Cronenberg (French version of The Shape of Rage) (ed. Piers Handling and Pierre Véronneau), La Cinémathèque Québécoise, Montréal, 1990, pp. 197-214

WOOD, Robin. “An introduction to the American Horror Film” from The American Nightmare: Essays on the Horror Film, Festival of Festivals, Toronto, 1979, pp. 7-29

“The Brood” (review), from Microsoft Cinemania 97, CD-ROM, Microsoft Corporation, 1996.

Haute Tension (2003)

For me, the New Wave of French horror began with a still from Haute Tension taken from the program of the 2004 Fantasia film festival. A square photo featuring gorgeous Cécile de France in a particularly fetching, tight white shirt that prominently features her apparently perfect breasts. Large streaks of blood stain her entire left side, including her slender arm. Her face is gashed and bleeding. But most importantly, she is wielding a very large circular saw. The weapon is huge against her small frame and it appears all the more deadly. In my copy of the program, I have circled it with a pen, and particularly the blade, which has a thick blue ring around it. Paler strands of blue are etched up to Cécile's belly. There is even a big blue arrow pointing at the blade. I have also underlined part of a quote from the TIFF's program. It simply reads: "one of the most brutal horror films of the new century" (C. Geddes). As you can see, my original enthusiasm for the film came only from a cropped photo and a bit of text... both of which explicitely held the promise of brutality. What I truly wanted to see was Cécile chopping people up with a large circular saw. I didn't care whether she played a good or bad character. I just wanted what the French are now so consistently offering us: girls and gore. Drop-dead gorgeous girls and nasty, brutal gore, which is what all contemporary pop horror should be about. Think about it for a second: why do people watch horror films? Don't kid yourself. They watch horror films for girls and gore. So why not give it to them? Personally, I was amazed with Neil Marshall's The Descent (2005) and I loved the fact that it featured an all-female cast. Call me what you will, a misogynist who enjoys seeing women suffer or whatnot, and you will be wrong. I'm just a guy. I like to see athletic actresses in wet spelunking outfits. Is that so hard to understand? Eros and Thanatos must walk hand in hand in order to create a truly affective horror film. And that's precisely why the French are now world leaders when it comes to horror cinema. Period.

Just my kind of girl

Embraced by gorehounds and film critics alike, Haute Tension constituted a breakthrough for director Alexandre Aja, who was soon approached, then absorbed by Hollywood where he shot two remakes (The Hills Have Eyes and Piranha) as well as a lame Kiefer Sutherland vehicle (Mirrors). Despite the appreciable input by returning collaborators Grégory Levasseur and Baxter who made the trip across the pond with him, Aja failed to recapture the brilliance of Haute Tension, although he came closest with his latest film, Piranha, which featured the single greatest 3D sequence in all of film history. I'm talking of course about the naked underwater ballet featuring Kelly Brook and Riley Steele. Even then, with those two flawless bodies hovering erotically in weightlessness, he didn't come close to the unbridled sensuality of Haute Tension. Not to mention the near flawlessness and relevance of its screenplay. Truly, Aja's is a case where a director will forever chase his initial masterpiece, one that will forever elude his grasp, especially if since he is now contrived by the huge Hollywoodian system and its network of censoring agents and prude lobbyists. As things stand, we will simply wish that he keeps turning out grandiose, over-the-top gore films such as Piranha while keeping a copy of Haute Tension (known elsewhere in the world under the vastly superior title Switchblade Romance) on all of our shelves for further reference. Sorry Alex, but it seems like the weight of the world has gotten to you too.

Haute Tension focuses mainly on the relationship and sexual tension between two French college girls, Marie and Alex. They are the best of friends, but unbeknownst to Alex, Marie is also in love with her. When the pair hits the country for a weekend of quiet study at Alex's family cottage, they are soon disturbed by a particularly brutal killer (played to perfection by legendary Philippe Nahon) who slaughters the family and kidnaps Alex. As the knight-in-shining-armor that she wishes to be, Marie chases the killer in order to save her princess. That's the basic storyline. Lean and mean stuff, my friends, lean and mean stuff containing nothing in the way of convoluted explanations or counter-productive plot twists. Of course, from where you stand, that is if you haven't already seen the film, it probably sounds corny and done to death. But that's precisely how it gets you: by laying out a very conventional framework and making you question its relevance, not only in regards to genre, but most importantly, in regards to gender. That said, setting up both a female heroine and a female victim is not an innocent move. Not innocent at all. Especially since there is a romance involved, and a very complex one at that. Not only is this a treat for the audience (not having to suffer dumb, brawny guys), but it also constitutes a welcome break from some of the most enduring horror movie conventions, namely those that tend to promote rigid gender roles and archetypical characters such as the damsel in distress or sacrificial woman. It further transforms the archetype of the virginal heroine into something tremendously more ambiguous and interesting. And there is much more gender confusion along the way that I will not spoil but which will undoubtedly complicate any psychoanalytical reading of the film. While challenging horror movie conventions, this gender confusion seems to act also as a radar scrambler for pissed-off feminists, some of whom seem to enjoy female victimization as it helps validate their rigid theories. All this makes the film a true gem for horror film analysts, which is probably why I get such a kick out of it. And which is probably why I grant it such a high rating. Both the film critic and the horror fan in me have a huge boner for this film. And I do not use the term lightly.

Psychoanalytical perdition: Cécile de France reaching

for an outstretched phallus

The play on gender conventions is the film's greatest asset. This includes all nullifying effects that its central gender confusion has on the attempts to make psychoanalytical readings of the film (as well as on the shameful tagging of phallic/non-phallic weapons). But there is also a major point to be made for the near perfection of the screenplay and devilishly competent direction that allows the filmmakers to craft a work of rare concision. Clocking in at a lean 91 minutes, Haute Tension is extremely dense and wholly relevant. Just like Cécile's luscious body, it contains not one ounce of fat. The are some mild narrative inconsistencies here and there, but these are necessary to keep the spectators guessing. Other than that, the screenplay is flawless. Just consider the post-credit sequence as a case-example. Within a couple of minutes, it manages to set up an extremely complex and brilliantly exposed relationship of attraction/repulsion between the two main characters. In that regards, the car is a perfect stage for this opening sequence as it provides not only a valid narrative starting point (since the girls are on their way from the city to the country), but also a plethora of potential camera positions allowing many degrees of separation between the two women. The small bit of exposition we experience during their short ride, although it might appear as a mere exchange of platitudes, is actually very telling as it ties the opening 'dream' sequence to the narrative and, through a savvy use of framing (and over-framing), describes with utmost sensibility the high-strung emotional nature of those two characters' relationship. In the end, you need not look much further for character development as it is all here, and all done cinematographically, not theatrically. The fact is that there is actually very little screen time in the film dedicated to character development, but that screen time is used with such intelligence that it easily propels the film to where it needs to be in the budding moments of the main drama, while avoiding the need for traditional expository devices (there is usually at least half a dozen minutes in every horror film that's wasted early on for clumsy expository dialogue). Add to that a pivotal scene of nudity, and one of masturbation (both featuring bits of superb female bodies) and you've got all the exposition you need. And we immediately move on to the massacre!

Alex is sleeping and Marie is wiggling her slender fingers underneath her jeans when mysterious headlights appear on the horizon. A dirty brown truck pulls up to the cottage and a creepy blue collar guy disembarks. And when I say 'blue collar', I mean the most disgusting, most extreme incarnation of them. You don't need to look twice to figure out that he's the killer, and you don't have to wait long for confirmation either. Now, I won't fully disclose what happens in the cottage, but I will tell you this: the first two executions are amongst the most surprisingly original and satisfying in recent years. They were a huge hit at Fantasia, where I saw the film the first two times. People were screaming and clapping like crazy. Personally, I had my mind blown. And there wasn't anyone with whom I saw the film later on who didn't make some sort of gasping noise upon seeing those delicious atrocities. And thus we are introduced to the killer, a disgusting, dirty man who destroys Alex's whole family in the most brutal way possible, then kidnaps the pretty young woman. This man is truly a virile mammoth who dwarfs heroine Marie by making her appear frail and fragile in comparison. He's an overwhelming yang to her puny yin. And Nahon makes a damn good job of bringing him to life, grinning nastily to reveal dirty teeth and talking in a husky and self-assured voice that greatly contrasts with Marie's. His fat, red cheeks, his hairy hands, dirty nails and greasy clothes, everything about him reeks of unbridled masculinity whereas Marie is purely feminine. The only area in which she has the upper hand is in the size of their respective weapons: whereas the killer carries only a tiny switch-blade, Marie wields a butcher's knife. Again, this situation would indicate that everything is in its right, but it is actually not since the rigid gender gap between heroine and villain will come to be totally redefined during the course of the film. Suffice it to say that Marie uses this confrontation to gain some confidence in herself and reassert her own identity. This leads to a very, very brutal and visceral confrontation between herself and Alex's captor, both of whom share one thing: sexual desire for the poor, victimized girl. But both of whom are exact opposites: disgusting and brutal man-beast vs clean and virginal girl. In the end however, you will find that they both bleed the same red blood... and they bleed it in pints!

Talk about a beastly motherfucker (Philippe Nahon as le tueur)

Now I'd like to add a few words about the soundtrack. Although it might appear bare at first, it actually plays a crucial part in setting up the story and exposing the characters' motivations. The use of Didier Barbelivien's atrocious ballad, À toutes les filles (que j'ai aimées avant) [literal translation: To All the Girls (That I Have Loved Before)] as the killer's theme song is nothing short of brilliant as it sets him up to be no more than a retarded teenager in the body of a hulk. It makes him that much more unpredictable and cruel, while suggesting a very long career of female abduction. More brilliant even is the choice of Runaway Girl by U-Roy as the song Marie listens to while masturbating. At once, it summarizes the protagonist's angst and foreshadows her transformation into the knight-in-shining armor. Again, if we consider the soundtrack as another cornerstone of narrative construction, we can see how concise the film really is, using every bit of space available to insert material relevant to the plot. And remember, most of this narrative construction is done in a purely cinematographic fashion (using framing, editing, sound...), and not in the traditional theatrical fashion (using only dialogue). Truly, here is a rare achievement in recent horror film history.

Although I would love to write a lengthier (and meatier) article about this awesome film, I couldn't do so without spoiling it for the viewer. Moreover, I could start boring my readers at with this overwhelming passion of mine. I will thus simply recommend you see Haute Tension right away. And although some of the finer French expressions might be lost in the translation, you should nonetheless be able to appreciate the technical flawlessness of this film as well as its outstanding brutality. For any gorehound out there, it comes highly recommend without any after-thought. For those of you whom I have not yet convinced, I suggest you watch the film two times. It's short and there's bound to be many things you can appreciate in there, if only the naked body of Maïwenn LeBesco. In my book, Haute Tension easily earns a top 5 spot in the Best Horror Films of the 00s, coming just short of Tomas Alfredson's sublime adaptation of John Lindqvist's novel, Let the Right One In (2008).

4/5 A perfectly crafted horror film that's simple and effective, with plenty of gore and gender confusion. A treat to both the film analyst and the casual horror fan.

Dead End (2003)

Review #0051

"That fucking film, dude..."

Buckle up. It's going to be a bumpy ride. Just look at mom's face.

I don't quite remember why I picked up a VHS copy of Dead End. I must've read one good review and thought that the 2$ price tag was fair. I had only a mild interest in it which could best be described as a collector's impulse, or the inexplicable drive to amass, as if to compensate for loss or absence in other aspects of life. In any case, I didn't expect much from the film. And while it isn't much indeed, it's the best it could've been considering its ambitions. When I first saw it, I was happily surprised. When I saw it again, I was even more happily surprised because it does what it has to do so well while being totally unpretentious about it. Dead End is a textbook exemple of how to successfully do a B-rated horror film. And this sort of little films sure come in handy on cold, lonely, winter nights.

On Christmas Eve, a typical American family including the square-jawed, grey-haired dad, granny-ish mom, rebellious teenage son, studious, blonde daughter with a jock boyfriend, all are driving on a dark road towards the house of some relatives. At some point, dad inexplicably takes a detour, stating that he was bored with the Interstate, and feared sleep. As we all know, detours are never a good idea in horror films. Evidently, here is no exception as strange events start unfolding. There's a mysterious woman in white near the road, a ghastly apparition with a nasty gap on her forehead and a silent baby wrapped in sheets. There's a hearse roaming the road, hellbent on capturing the souls of the recently deceased and a small, empty cabin which is actually the only interior in all the film (save for the car itself). Creepy stuff happens which I can't reveal without spoiling the fun, and all the while, the characters' exposition continues. The road stretches hundreds of miles without any intersection as the characters desperately try to find a way out. The plot is simple enough, and pretty linear. Nonetheless, there are enough twists and turns to keep you interested until the mystery finally unravels and you go: "Damn, that was a crazy ride, but it was worth it!"

The woman in white is a fox: beautiful, cunning and deadly.

Cool people will inevitably tell you that they figured out the ending a couple of minutes in, which is entirely plausible considering the number of hints that the spectator has to work with. For those of us with regular insight, or more to the point, for those of us with a distrust in screenwriters so strong that they will not be convinced of any obvious truth until the drop of the curtain, the scenario will have you guessing all the way through. At any rate, the ability to predict the film's ending shouldn't impair its appreciation. It could actually heighten it, for there is no twist ending here, but a carefully planned one. You just have to observe how the mystery unfolds to capture the relevance of every scene. And reflect on how everything is precisely in its right place. Personnally, I find that it is always better to know a film's ending before even walking in the theater. That way, you can enjoy the film on a technical level without being a slave to the narrative. In saying this, I am trying to convince curious people that in this case, the ending does not make the film. It merely closes it, leaving you begging for more.

All in all, Dead End's success relies on two key elements: a strong scenario that successfully walks the thin line between humor and horror and a highly capable, and obviously willing cast led by bona fide B star Ray Wise. Ol' Ray is splendid as the over-burdened father. His stone-faced approach makes it feasible for him to handle touchy, dramatic scenes with the same ease as darkly humorous ones. 25-year-old TV actor Mick Cain first appears miscast as the family's wisecracking teenage son, but he actually does a pretty good job of bringing to life what is essentially an obnoxious brat which you will love to hate. Both guys have this zany energy that could only stem from self-enjoyment in their work, but it is ultimately Lin Shaye who steals the show as the manic-depressive mother who twitches her way through the second act, and eventually dies of an auto-erotic brain massage (!!). Truly everyone here did what they could to make this humble effort a success, including the people behind the camera.

The directors make the most of their budget by deciding to suggest carnage rather than to show it. The result is an heightened sense of horror stemming from our own input. Most of the time, there is only a small part of a corpse protruding into the frame, or the mere hint of an atrocity (such as a severed ear or the schematic drawing of a corpse) to feast upon, which is fine considering that showing poor gore could only undermine the legitimacy of the film. And besides, seeing is not as much fun as imagining, especially when cued by the characters' horrified faces. There's actually a real sense of dread emanating from the aftermath of each execution as characters fall into diverse states of madness and the chessboard is rearranged accordingly. Add to that the oppressive atmosphere stemming from dark woodlands surrounding the characters and you've got a pretty solid horror film all around. Apart from the epilogue, which I thought was over-long and over-explanatory while featuring some of the worst acting in the film, there is nothing really bad here. On the other hand, there are many interesting little novelties, or at least rarities, such as the death by brain massage or the "jerking off in the woods" part (I might have to take cues from the film, me who has actually jerked off in the woods once), little irreverent bits, which would not necessarily have been possible in a bigger-budget film.

Guessing might just be more fun than seeing.

I have mentionned the strong scenario, but it is actually amazing to see how brilliant and relevant its unfolding is. This here is truly a great cathartic adventure for the characters, all of which have dirty secrets that slowly seep out, adding not only to the characters' background, but to the sense of despair and desillusion with family life and the sacredness of some of the more incongruous family tradition, such as the dreaded (and obligatory) Christmas reunion. Christmas is actually a pretty shitty time of year for most adults. They need to drive hundreds of miles on slippery roads, in the dark, while listening to stupid carols and whining kids, all that to meet a bunch of people whom they hate, but whom they have to hypocritically treat with respect, lest their teetering marriages come to an end and they risk losing half of their possessions. Really, Christmas is particularly cathartic, especially since alcool and high-strung emotions are likely to be involved, which will loosen tongues and allow truth to rear its ugly head. This is actually a perfect set-up for an horror film. From the getgo, it gives you dark roads and dark emotions. True horror is only a few steps away in the nether regions of family life. But we all know that, through crisis, family members band back together, which is what happens here through an intriguing mechanic of attraction/repulsion which perfectly exemplifies the highs and lows experienced by all families. Of course, there are no intricate psychological subtelties here, only well-written, well-acted characters who appear entirely believable, almost more so when beginning to teeter on the brink of insanity and despair.

So, what we have here is both a great gimmick film, sort of a mystery monster movie, but also a somewaht interesting character study. The thing is that Christmas reveals a person's character (and his dark secrets) better than any other event. It is the great cathartic force behind the film. Sure, the more grisly aspects of the film may well constitute the meat of it. But eventually, it is the continual exposition of the characters which holds it together (in that, it might act as the gravy). Every event in the film is meaningful because it triggers and outpouring of secrets as the characters become more and more psychologically unstable. Everything in here is perfectly integrated in the grander scheme, as it should be. There is a reason for every scene that goes beyond the need for a new kill, and there is an evolution of the characters that follows accordingly. Hell, who said all horror films were dumb slashers?

All in all, what's great about Dead End is the smarts put in, but most importantly, the willingness and sheer enjoyment that the makers of this film hold for their work, which are prominently shown in every scene. Sure, the people responsible for this might just be there to make a buck. To make their salary and solemnly claim: "Another day, another dollar". Maybe they don't care about film fans, about horror, or about film in general... Nonetheless, they do the best they can. They're impeccable professionals. And you can admire that, as you should in every other domain: dedication to one's work. Maybe not passion, but at least a sense of responsibility which I should dare call honesty. A beautiful, but rare thing, this...

Don't judge a book by its cover... Otherwise you might think that Catcher in the Rye is shit.

I have considered many aspects of the film in my appreciation of it, but the main point I should try to make concerns its incredible potential amongst genre fans. Now, I wouldn't say the film is innovative. Sure, it does have its moments of mad brilliance, and yes, it does contain things I had never seen before. Nonetheless, it remains somewhat generic. The major thing that distinguishes it from other B-series, or straight-to-video, and ultimately ephemeral efforts is excellence. I'm talking almost perfect here. Perfect because it doesn't have lofty goals or pretentious, philosophical aspirations. Perfect in what it is trying to do.

For me, the film was a sleeper hit. I bought it in a lowly bargain bin many years ago for two measly dollars with which I can't even buy a hotdog at the Bell Center. The other night, I took it out of my library and put it in my old VHS player. The only thing I could then remember is having been surprisingly happy when I first saw it, alone on a cold winter night, wrapped in a blanked and chilled to death by the intolerable sense of dread that permeates the film (and which I found again intact the second time around). For me, the association was simple: I had just watched a confused mess of a film and its setting had reminded me of Dead End. Inside of myself, I couldn't bear the fact that me and my friends were watching Five Across the Eyes while Dead End sat on the shelf, collecting dust. It didn't seem fair for Andrea, Canepa, Wise and crew. So I had no hesitation, and God, am I glad to have trusted my instincts. The film was a hit! One of my friend kept saying: "That fucking film, dude..." as the plot twisted and turned. In the end, the cold hard truth is that, for the price you're likely to pay for this film, it's most probably worth it. You won't expect a thing, you will think, as I did: "This film can't possibly be good, just look at the cover!" But that's where you would be wrong: Never judge a book by its cover.

***  A textbook example of how to create a great B-movie.

Footnote 02/14: Removed half a star from the rating. Guess I got carried away after the film saved me from embarrassment on a night where I made the mistake of renting Five Across the Eyes (see full story here).

Five Across the Eyes (2006)

Non-review

Seeing how Fangoria gave a positive review of this film, I decided to rent it, thinking that it had to be at least remotely good. I was thus confident with myself when two friends came over that night, and I brandished the jewel case with a faint grin, showing them the round sticker branded with the coveted 16+. We were all excited by then, titillated if you will by the promise of strong gore. But that feeling soon let go. The menu appeared and some crazily unnerving dance beat came blasting out my speakers. Almost instinctively, we got up and starting dancing like crazy. We couldn't help it. We were like dislocated automatons, mocking with our frenzied dance moves an opening beat that seemed suspiciously out of place. It was all a laugh riot... but then the laughter stopped. I had settled down and make the mistake of pressing "Play".

When I first saw the opening shot of Once Upon a Time in the West, I thought to myself: "Here is a rare film that you know will be awesome right from the first instant". Well, Five Across the Eyes gave me exactly the opposite impression. The film is dreadfully shot, atrociously framed, monstrously edited, the acting is abominable and the soundtrack is completely out of synch with the atmosphere. Less than twenty seconds into the film, one of my friends turns to me in anger and shouts: "Don't tell me we can't do better than this shit" as if willing to grab my camera, go out into the night and shoot something, anything that could be proof of our technical superiority to the makers of this film. I had to concur, then I asked for a vote: "Do we keep on watching this shit, or..." We decided not to, considering that no amount of gore could possibly salvage this half-brained abomination. Fortunately, I had an ace up my sleeve that could quench our thirst for a decent horror film. I trotted to my library, stating that I knew a good, little known but solid effort in the same vein. I picked up Dead End, my key to salvaging our night. I put it in and we had a blast. As for Five Across the Eyes, I will forever have a hard time convincing myself that it is a film worth reviewing, or, to put it another way, worth sitting through. I mean, if you don't know how to frame a shot and don't know how to edit. If you find it appropriate to open an horror film with rocking dance music, you're not likely to "get it" halfway through. You either get it or you don't. Personnally, I was immensely relieved to see that the people behind Dead End could at least muster a well-composed two-shot. A two-shot for Chrissake! And that latter film didn't even bear Fangoria's seal of approval on the back cover! What a strange world we live in...

Ozu must be turning in his grave...

I shall not give Five Across the Eyes a star rating because there might, possibly, have been something in there that could've elevated this technical mess above the pit. And I do also find it unfair to rate a film of which I have seen less than a minute, a very convincing minute, but a simple minute nonetheless. I will simply suggest that you trust imdb ratings for once, and accept the generous 3.3 rating the film gets there thanks to the gorehounds' legendary leniency. Then I will invite you to read my review of the vastly superior Dead End.

Monsters (2010)

Review #0050
"I dare any naysayer to do better"

Before I go into more details about the general awesomeness of this poverty row masterpiece, it is imperative to set the record straight. Despite its title and premise, Monsters is not a genre film, and I believe that the absence of critical consensus stems from the fact that too many critics have analyzed it as such. Sure, there are monsters in the film, much more than many of those critics would have you believe, but overall, the film itself is not monster-centric. In other words, Monsters is not another tired tale about expendable humans running to their demise. It is rather a tale about humanity, about love, about beauty... and the beauty of monsters.

There is no critical consensus about the film, but there is one aspect, which has been universally discussed: its budget. With a price tag of about 15,000$ (less than half the cost of an SUV), Monsters seems like an otherwordly effort. Needless to say, it doesn't feature the White House being blown to bits by a huge raygun, but it still manages to craft a new world order which is entirely believable, much more so than other films of its ilk. Of course, the viewer is asked to use his imagination to fill in some gaps, but all of the important elements, such as skyscraper-high aliens, gutted buildings, huge-ass containment walls, mile-long alien tentacles, drowned fighter jets and pulsating alien pods, are all graphically depicted and shot in full view. This is no Blair Witch Project here, but a whole adventure set in a full-fledged, organic world. Director Edwards hasn't gone for the mystery-monster approach, which is fine considering that his use of offscreen space is fair at best. He shows us a lot, especially in the final scene, which could easily become a moment of anthology. So, do expect to see monsters when you walk in the theater, just don't expect over-demonstrative garbage such as Independance Day. And don't expect a stalk-and-slash, Feast-y kind of film either. What you will get instead is an inside look at the film's world from a truly human standpoint. Along with the protagonists, you will witness the many faces of a humanity in crisis, from the lofty highs of Tijuana nights to the depressing lows of juvenile deaths, sampling almost the whole gamut of human dispositions. Monsters is a self-revealing trip that you should undertake with open-mindedness, in the hopes of perhaps coming out of a better, more humane person. At least a person who can happily star-gaze while strolling in the gutter.

So, you need both open-mindedness and imagination to truly appreciate the film. Thus, I want you now to concentrate. Close your eyes and imagine a vast strip of land covering the North-American continent from coast to coast, eating a large chunk of Northern Mexico and Southern U.S.A. Now imagine this chunk of land was filled with hulking aliens walking about, infecting trees and toying with moss-covered fighter jets. These monsters can't be defeated by the army and are starting to cross the lines of defenses meant to contain them. The film begins in media res with a POV night-shot taken aboard a military truck speeding through the deserted streets of a large Mexican city. The truck is suddenly hit, and chaos ensues. You see shots of panicked soldiers firing their assault rifles intercut with shots of a towering, tentacled beast standing next to a billboard. The creature doesn't move a lot, but you can still see it in full-view. The next day, you are witness to the aftermath of this monstrous encounter: gutted buildings near collapse, army trucks zoom past and people are rushed to the hospital. Among these people is the fashionable daughter of an American media mogul on a solo trip to evade her coming wedding to some dude she doesn't care for. Sent to her rescue is a freelance photographer working for one of the father's tabloids. At first unwilling, he finally accepts to escort her back to the States. And there begins their journey across Mexico, and eventually across 'the infected zone', during which they will become enamored with each other.

Artistic economy: you don't need a huge mothership when
your audience is willing to suspend its disbelief

As with any fiction film, you will have to suspend your disbelief and accept the film's reality as it is. Considering the film's budget, you might have to do an extra effort and elude stupid questions such as "Why aren't there more monsters?" or "If the monsters are so big, why isn't the horizon within the infected zone filled with them?". Suspend your disbelief, my friends! Accept the very first law of fiction filmmaking: what you see in front of you isn't real, but you have to act as if it is. Then only can you accept a big-budget film idea executed with the least of means. Then only can you accept the idea of a country-wide infected zone on the basis of some billboards and graffitis depicting monsters, gaz masks and pulsating pods. There is a famous filmmaking motto that goes: "Five people's a crowd", meaning that, if framed correctly, five people can appear to be part of a ten-thousand people crowd. In this case, "Five monsters is an invasion". Gareth Edwards' paramount achievement is precisely doing so much with so little, delimitating 'the zone' on a map and fencing it with CGI walls to create it out of thin air, using a battered building or some rubble to simulate the path of destruction left by a monster, using one tank to suggest an entire platoon or using one promotional poster for 2-for-1 gaz masks to set the story. No excess here. No money squandered on lazy spectators who do not even want to use their imagination. But what's more important is that by tweeking the landscape so lightly, the film still takes full advantage of all local decors. Thus, despite an outlandish premise, every locale still manages to keep its authenticity. In one particular instance, real life drama beautifully interplays with the onscreen drama. There is a cemetary within the remains of a felled building, a cemetary for the victims of a monster attack. Within are people congregating around the graves, crying their dead. A bird eye's view shot of the cemetary shows us its humbling immensity. But this is no set. This is a real cemetary, with real people, living a real drama. In that one instant, we immediately feel for these characters, and thus simultaneously for the real people involved in the situation. Both the real and simulated mourning of the people before us becomes poignant. Human drama is at an height, catalyzed if you will, by a common menace that could suddenly unite the Mexicans and Americans. Drama born out of thin air. Magic. The magic of film, back on the screen.

Real life drama merges with onscreen drama: the protagonists visit Louisiana.

Refreshingly enough, Monsters is a very humanistic film that cares for its characters, which is fine considering how sudden doom often compromises exposition in such films. Here, there are only two protagonists and their evolution is not tragically cut short by their demise. Also, there are no flat, one-liner-spewing bit players to litter the scenery with corpses, nor is there a tiresome comic relief. Again, no waste. No ink squandered to pen life into expendable cannon fodder or obligatory characters. In fact, every character, or group of characters in the film has a purpose, to each reveal an aspect of humanity and help the protagonists grow and understand Earth as the crossroad of many worlds. Monsterscould thus be more aptly described as a road movie in which the travelers amass wisdom like moss on a rock, wisdom disseminated all around, in the dialogue with others as well as in the understanding contemplation of our common fate. And when the protagonists take time to observe it, even the monstrous 'menace' reveals itself as something entirely more beautiful and intriguing than what it first appears to be. Likewise, all Others appear threatening until we decide to try and understand them. The truth is that, whether from North of South of the Border, whether from down here or up there, we all have to share this humble earth. Insofar as life here goes, extra-terrestrials may just as well be our brothers and sisters. Like the two protagonists, who are alien to each other at first, but slowly fall in love, we too come to fall in love with the creatures.

Finally, a few words on acting. As far as it goes, the film rests almost solely on the shoulders of the two leads who do a decent jobs of creating not archetypes, but average types. They are helped a great deal by a strong script which is nicely paced, intelligent and full of tasty lines that perfectly flesh them out. Near the end, it does get a bit lazier, but then it is entirely redeemed by the visuals. What's truly amazing in the acting department is the almost seamless acting of non-professional locals scattered through the film's world. These "authentic" people grant the film its authenticity inasmuch as the locales contribute to the overall social realism of the film, they interpenetrate and thus create greater meaning.

As it stands, Monsters is a film that actually benefits a lot from its diminutive budget. Not only does it generate a rare form of social realism, forced if you will, by location shooting, but it also prevents any narrative excess. The film is a lean, mean machine. It does its thing without squandering anything in the process, nor without conceding any of those "greater" ideas which it is full of. It contains an uncompromising, and uncompromisingly beautiful vision realized with almost no waste at all. There are not too many characters, natural sets, natural lighting, non-professional actors and lots of suggestions and despite all this, all the A-list film ideas contained within are all fully realized. Gareth Edwards gives us a great present with this film, but he also asks us something in return: to participate in the adventure by creating in our minds what he couldn't onscreen. And let me tell you: the audience's imagination can go a long way, not only for this particular film, but in all things fantasy. If movie audiences in North America weren't so lazy and unimaginative, Hollywood could turn out major fantasy films at 25,000$ apiece and thus create a truly competitive film market, and not remain the un-American oligarchy that it is today. What's more is that we wouldn't have to suffer any more super-boring, overwritten Batman films, nor would we have to marvel at two-hour long TV episodes such as the last two Bourne films. People wouldn't wet themselves at the thought of a new Tolkien, Rowling or Meyer adaptation and films like spendocrat James Cameron's Avatar would be recognized for what they truly are: bourgeois efforts in unneccessary filmmaking.


***1/2  One of the greatest achievements in contemporary genre filmmaking.

Footnote 02/14: Removed half a star from the rating. I mean, 4 stars for what is essentially a sappy romance between two idiots? Got carried away again...

The Human Centipede (First Sequence) (2009)

A brilliant, Psycho inspired poster fit for a brilliant film.
But is it really?

We all know the story: mad surgeon kidnaps three tourists in order to merge them together into a centipede by severing their kneecaps and sewing the lips of two to the assholes of the other two. A fine little premise that has already taken the film a surprisingly long way from its home country of Holland. Roger Ebert even published a (surprisingly positive) review of the film, which he awarded no stars rather out of shock than out of loathing. Believe it or not, the film has also inspired an online, Atari-style game from Newgrounds. It might just be a simple reworking of the classic Centipede, but I think it perfectly exemplifies the widespread, and somewhat misleading enthusiasm generated by the film's oddball premise. In our beautiful information age, where the love for novelties spreads like wildfire, something like this was bound to happen. Because although the web is perhaps the only truly democratic medium left in the world, its main function seems to remain the shoulder tap: "Hey, kid. Look at this shit!". And what the global village actually entails is worlwide public humiliations for some, and instant celebrity for others, no matter how undeserving. In this state of affairs, The Human Centipede is a world-renowned gimmick first, and a 92 minutes film second. Rarely has it been appraised for what it really is: a very conventional torture porn entry whose steam comes not from the celebrated centipede concept, but from Dieter Laser's manic performance as the main antagonist.

Obviously, the film was sold out for the sole representation programmed this year at Fantasia (a second presentation was added later due to the overwhelming response from Montreal gorehounds). People really want to see this stuff! It's just too intriguing, especially if you've got a vivid imagination. It keeps you up at night, wondering how a creature like the human centipede could function, if at all. This is without pointing the obvious fact that such a construction necessarily implies a lot of shit-eating. That said, you cannot survive on eating shit alone. It is impossible. By definition, shit is food residue from the digestive process. It is food that has no nutritional value anymore. Now, the film doesn't explicitly imply that the whole centipede should actually survive, but the antagonist certainly seems to think so. And this goes against the "100% medically accurate" gimmick packaged with the film. What happened is director Six actually consulted a surgeon back in the Netherlands about the feasibility of uniting three people ass-to-mouth. And the explanations of the mad scientist are supposedly the result of that consultation. And it serves the film very well. In fact, the high point of the film is without a doubt the slide show scene. In this scene, Dr. Heiter exposes his plan to his captives using detailed anatomical drawings showing every step of the unification process. And he talks in boring and repetitive technical terms as if totally uninvolved. This scene is much more evocative than either the actual operation scene or the aftermath because it "shows" you more. It shows you anything you can instinctly imagine when confronted with the mere possibility of such an enterprise. You start imagining yourself tied to a bed with medical straps, facing the most horrifying perspective of all. After that pivotal scene, the film was bound to go downhill, starting its slow slide away from that dramatic high into the familiar territory of "captivity" films. Because while the centipede gimmick is the main reason why spectators flooded into the theater, it is also the main narrative device of the film. Now I wouldn't go as far as saying that the second act is tedious, but I will just say this: it is almost totally deprived of tension. After the operation, only the tiresome grotesquery of the creature is showcased. And since the three victims are so unsympathetic, their ordeal is merely pathetic.

OH SHIT!!! (pun definitely intended)

Some observers have mentioned that "horror fans don't care about medical accuracy", which is right most of the time, especially when considering how viscera usually look in gore films, not to mention in Herschell Gordon Lewis films. But in this instance, I would argue that it does matter. For one, I was particularly intrigued by this gimmick, not because I actually thought that the film could be 100% medically accurate, but because I wanted to know how Six could manage to pass it off as 100% medically accurate. It turns out he does a pretty good job of it, tapping, as almost every filmmaker does, in the public's gross lack of medical knowledge to suggest such an otherwordly operation. And this functions as quite a potent scare tactic: to convince the audience that they could actually find themselves in the protagonists' situation. Unfortuantely, what you also find out from the film is that you'd actually have to be quite stupid to get caught in that situation...

Fact is, our two heroines are so dumb that their actions have to be seen to be believed. First, they don't speak a word of German despite the fact that they are touring Europe. Typically American some might say, but dumb nonetheless. Then, they seem to want trouble: trying to locate a nightclub (in order to hook up with some "cute" guys), they get stuck in the woods of all places, the woods! Last time I checked, nightclubs tend to be located in the city. Anyways, the two girls eventually get a flat (how original!), and of course, they don't know how, nor are they willing to try, to change a tire. Instead they try to call for help, but guess what: they get no reception on their cellphones. When a car finally rolls by, you first think that it must be Dr. Heiter out to claim the girls, but no. An old, overweight and grumpy-looking German stops his car parallel to theirs and rolls down his window. The girls would have been saved at that point if they had only known a few elementary words in his language. Instead, they act as the two American turkeys that they are and try gesticulating an explanation. Amused, the old German starts poking fun at them, making perverted suggestions to the girls whom eventually pick up the German word for "fuck" and thus barricade themselves inside the car, watching their "friend" roll away while making obscene gestures. At this point, there seems to be only three valid options for Lindsay and Jenny: either try and change the goddamned tire without breaking their nails, wait it out inside the car or follow the road on foot towards civilization. But the two girls choose a perfectly good alternative instead: cut through the woods towards ?. And I do mean ?. When they finally reach Dr. Heiter's house, they make few other stupid mistakes, and eventually find themselves trapped in a makeshift operating room in the good doctor's basement. Honestly, this whole exposition scene is a laugh riot. At every stupid mistake, audience members went nuts with hilarity, which isn't something you should expect from this type of film, which has basically a very straight-faced approach to the material at hand. In my opinion, this here is a case-example of lazy screenwriting: using stupidity and clichés to propel the narrative. It does, obviously, add sort of a campy gloss to the film, but in the end, putting nail polish on a dirty nail will not make it any cleaner. Personnally, I was wholly relieved when the two girls finally had their mouths sewn to two anuses for they could no longer annoy me with their vacuous whining. And considering the fact that most people seemed to agree with me, we ended up rooting for the vilain, which somewhat defeats the purpose of an horror film, to make us either feel for the victims or identify with them.

In all fairness, our rooting for Dr. Heiter also has to do with the quality of actor Dieter Laser's work, which is probably the film's strongest asset save for the basic "centipede" idea. Apart from this guy, whom has appeared in over fifty TV and movie productions, the cast is entirely made up of unknows. And it makes a lot of sense too. You won't see any A-lister eager to play "the centipede's middle piece" in a low-budget Dutch horror film. So don't expect miracles from the two female leads, or from their male counterpart who spends the entire runtime shouting at Laser in Japanese. However, you should enjoy Laser's exquisite turn as the egotistic, misanthropic mad man. The German-born actor holds the entire film on his shoulders, whether when calmly explaining to the girls how he "hates human beings", angrily running after the escaped Lindsay, trying to convince a hard-ass cop to have a drink of (spiked) water, or dancing with a mirror while kissing his own reflection. As for the victims, they are not much more than expendable fodder. And although their ordeal might disgust us, we never really get to sympathize with them. Especially in light of the fact that their total muteness, and limited movement, in the second act tends to nullify their presence as actors.

Dieter Laser manages to create a complex antagonist, at once a
dedicated animal lover, violent sociopath and clinical surgeon.

All in all, The Human Centipede is merely another run-of-the-mill, campy gross-out film meant to cash-in on audiences' initial curiosity. The screenplay is mostly sloppy and borrows heavily from other, better torture porn films, leaving the entire success of the project squarely on Dieter Laser's more-than-capable shoulders. I must admit that the centipede gimmick makes for some pretty amusing moments, such as when the Japanese guy first has to shit and Heiter spurs him on with large gestures ("Feed her!", he says with delight) or when the escaping centipede has to climb a spiral staircase and the stitches around the girls' mouths start popping, but in the end, the film offers no more horror than you could imagine from the synopsis. It is a fun festival film, or a kind of collector's item that you keep in your library just to show unexpecting friends: "Oh that! It's actually a film about a mad doctor stitching three people up ass-to-mouth". Personnally, I was made aware of the film from a friend who had heard about it from the radio of all places. The interviewee had apparently told the reporter that it was "one of the sickest films of all time". And that's in this very insidious way that the film managed to generate a buzz. The film is actually nowhere near as sick as more serious, or more sexually-oriented horror films such as Singapore Sling or A Serbian Film (who seriously overshadowed The Human Centipede at this year's Fantasia filmfest). Nonetheless, my curiosity was so strong and my imagination so wild that I instantly decided to order my own copy online. During the following week, I actually lost sleep imagining how I could be transformed into a human centipede. When the DVD finally showed up at my door, I held it up with shaky hands and made sure I didn't eat too much prior to watching. Less than halfway through, I was eating cherry pie right from the tin plate. I felt stupid then to have trusted what some bourgeois radio interviewee who probably knew nothing about horror cinema had to say about this film. I felt betrayed not by the film itself, which remains an honest effort from a broke-ass director, but by the buzz around it, which seems entirely made up by self-important Internet critics and outraged media personnalities. Truly, The Human Centipede is worth watching if you're into that kind of stuff, but it is in no way a must-see. And it is definitely not the sickest film of all times. More on the funny side, actually. So don't believe the hype. Never do. Just grab some friends and some beers, put on the film, and take your Dr. Heiter banners out.

**1/2  Don't believe the hype: it is only Laser who makes this above average.