Shadow of the Vampire (2000)

Review #0033

This Oscar-nominated film (Best Supporting Actor, Best Makeup) is an highly embroidered account of what happened during the shooting of horror landmark Nosferatu. It posits that ghoulish actor Max Schreck was actually a real vampire hired by neurotically perfectionist director Murnau to give credibility to Bram Stoker's lurid tale of lust and thirst.


There is an annoying misconception about Murnau that mares the efficiency of this otherwise solid effort from the get-go. It is the idea that the great German director somehow required a method actor to heighten the realism of his Dracula adaptation. Realism? Er... Nosferatu is an expessionistic horror film. Expressionistic! It features landscapes shot on negative stock and magical cuts between sets hundreds of miles apart. Murnau himself was a studio director, a master of artifice (just ask documentarist John Grierson!). He was not the least bit interested in the realism that we, Americans, hold so dear. Now this misconception doesn't make the film uninteresting, only historically innacurate and unable to capture the true nature of Murnau's work. What it does capture is the folly of an artist too dedicated to his work. Using Nosferatu as a working canvas, Merhige, Katz and company take us to the extreme limit of art-making, where human life loses all value in front of the reigning oeuvre. Shadow of the Vampire is a passionately-made film about passion and where it might take you. It features two vampires, both of whom live off the lifeblood of others. One is a lonely old count with the hots for actress Greta Schroeder (played by Catherine McCormack, whose superb breasts briefly appear onscreen), the other an authoritative director with an uncompromising vision.

Quite classically shot, this character study benefits from a bullet-proof script that contains many fun little nods to film history, splendid art direction that brings you straight back to the complex outdoor sets of Murnau's film, and some extraordinary acting that manages to give life to otherwise improbable characters. As a soft-spoken, snooty Murnau, John Malkovich perfectly walks the line between self-assured love for the medium and total artistic neurosis, while Willem Dafoe (in heavy makeup as Max Schreck) offers a splendid antagonist performance as the twitchy old count who thus becomes domineering and pathetic all at once. Hell, even Udo Kier is great in this one (as producer Grau)!

The general public will likely enjoy the great quality of the film, its awesome performances and its involving outlook on early filmmaking. The art-house crowd will praise the postmodernist approach to the material, that is the mixing of genres and the brilliant mise-en-abîme at the heart of it all. But film scholars will likely be disappointed. I know I was. For three reasons: 1) the bothersome historical inaccuracies (such as references to Eisenstein as a world-renowned filmmaker when he actually hadn't directed one major film when Nosferatu came out, let alone when it was being filmed), 2) the bland Hollywoodian approach to some overly-expressive, almost experimental source material, and 3) the lack of genuine tension, suspense or any horror elements that are not borrowed from the source material (including updates on vampire mythology). All in all, Shadow of the Vampire is a well-made, ambitious project that fails to attain its lofty goals because of some serious lacks in the film history department. To paraphrase the Boston Herald, it is only the shadow of Murnau's classic film, a smear in the great director's legacy.

3/5 A decent film that made a bet it couldn't win.

Hellboy II: The Golden Army (2008)

Review #0032

Despite its beasties, despite its Saturn Award for Best Horror Film (!), Hellboy II is a children's fantasy, not unlike Pan's Labyrinth, but much lighter. It sports a PG-13 rating, and its content is accordingly harmless. Nonetheless, it features potent action sequences, larger-than-life cartoon characters, awesome special effects, and a straitforward, eco-friendly narrative that will delight the entire family, while its outstanding artistic quality has the potential to attract the art-house crowd.

Halfway between two very popular sub-genres (the superhero film and the Tolkienesque fantasy film), the script pits big red machine Hellboy (Ron Perlman) and his crew of misfits (pyrokinetic girlfriend Liz, amphibian psychic Abe Sapien, and newcomer Johann Krauss, an ectoplasmic entity confined to a humanoid containment suit) against renegade Prince Nuada, an elven warrior hellbent on piecing together a magical crown that will allow him control over "the golden army", a group of 4,900 indestructible, mechanical soldiers that he wishes to unleash upon mankind, thus saving dying Earth from its nefarious influence. The subplot involves a budding romance between Sapien and Princess Nuala (Nuada's sister and yin equivalent) and the evolving relationship between pregnant Liz and unlikely father Hellboy.

The canevas for this film is a children's bedtime story told by Hellboy's surrogate father during the opening sequence. And as all such tales, it entails a moral about love, personal responsibility, and self-sacrifice, which thankfully avoids being too preachy or melodramatic. But despite the apparent rigidity of such a frame, the film manages to stay fresh thanks mostly to some transcendental art direction that never fails to stimulate our imagination. Every creature in the film, be it CGI or good old latex and papier-mâché, is not only superbly crafted and lively, but very much unique. Mr. Wink, troll assistant to Prince Nuada (whose projectile fist almost puts Japanese cyborgs to shame), the cute but deadly tooth fairies, the towering tree god, the angel of Death, the huge, globular golden warriors and wisecracking, ectoplasmic Krauss are all living excrescences of director Guillermo Del Toro's fertile mind and impeccable work ethic. They all live and breath in the singular universe he has created, which is also lovingly crafted. The set-pieces are all grandiose, particularly the troll market, with its appreciable array of monstrous creatures, big and small, but all true to life. All in all, it is Del Toro's trademark attention to details and his somptuous, innovative compositions which propel the film.

And although Hellboy II features mostly teenage-oriented characters with teenage problems (clumsy romances and desires to belong...), it has just the right amount of humor and fierce action sequences to please older crowds. Sure, the jokes are all harmless, and the fights bloodless, but their zany energy is contagious nonetheless. Actor Luke Goss (Prince Nuada, but also Jared Nomak in Del Toro's Blade II) supposedly trained for half-a-year before taking on his role. Now, that's the kind of dedication that is obvious in every scene of Hellboy II, and particularly in the Prince's proficiency with his cool knife/spear. But also in the desire to give the viewers some top-quality entertainment, without cutting any corners. Thus we have minutely-choreographed, gorgeously-composed, and lenghty action scenes, but also all kinds of exciting props such as Hellboy's hand-cannon (dubbed "Big Baby") and Krauss' containment suit, from which he can escape and wreak havoc on unsuspecting foes. Hellboy II's ample budget (85,000,000) is entirely visible onscreen thanks to some outstanding craftmanship and a lot of hard work.

3,5/5: for being a lovingly-crafted, original, and mighty entertaining, that is an exemplary genre film.

28 Weeks Later (2007)

Review #0031

28 Weeks Later is like beer in a bong, but not the usual kind, the Big Ten kind. It's forced down your throat for maximum intoxication, and after a while, it makes you wanna puke! Wow! Never thought I'd manage to find such a perfect metaphor to describe this film... You see, I saw it back in 2007, when it was still in theaters. And I liked it. Only now, after seeing it on a normal screen with normal sound, do I realize how poor it actually is. And I also realize why I originally found it okay: it had been crammed in my throat with such violence that I had no choice but to swallow. Seen on a big screen, with aggressive sound blasting through mega-speakers, that pile of stinking sewage sludge can actually manage to be somewhat effective, in a sort of visceral, shameful way.

Plotwise, 28 Weeks Later is a bridge between Danny Boyle's sleeper hit of 2002 (28 Days Later) and an hypothetic sequel (28 Months Later) strongly suggested by a Paris-set cliffhanger. The film opens in the plague-infected British countryside, where a bunch of survivors are surviving in a walled-up farmhouse. Two protagonists are introduced, both of which don't last past the halfway mark of the film: Don Harris (Robert Carlyle) and wife Alice (Catherine McCormack). When the farmhouse is attacked (in a neurotic flurry of super-loud, badly-framed close-ups), Don cowardly flees, leaving Alice to be devoured. Flash-forward to post-epidemic, NATO-controlled Britain. Reconstruction has started within the heavily-militarized Isle of Dogs where 15,000 British refugees have been temporarily relocated. There, Tammy and Andy Harris meet up with father Don, who sugar-coats the story of Mum's demise. Unfortunately for everybody on the Isle, Mum was actually immune to the plague, and has survived. When she is brought back to her family, she infects Don, and all hell breaks loose. That is, the editing becomes so choppy that it is soon impossible to actually discern what is going on. Lucky thing too, since every shot looks like a cheap stock shot of some extra spitting blood toward the lens, taken by an hyperactive child on a motorcycle driven by a blind trunk-man.

The picture I have posted above is quite representative of what the film has to offer: an endless series of badly-framed, out-of-focus close-ups featuring some part of a zombie. With the sound amplified tenfold, it makes for some quite pulse-pounding viewing, but in a sort of cheap, dishonest way. Excitement is created through aggression, thanks to the overwhelmingly popular belief that the cheapest-possible, pseudo-hand-held shot is more realistic than a carefully crafted one. Such pseudo-realism functions well during the action sequences, but it cannot be applied across the board! A shot of some medical staff clearing mounts of body bags from the streets in the quiet morning light doesn't have to be shaky. It would be just as horrific if it were framed properly since it is the content of the shot that's horrific. That's another thing: content. Rhythm between the shots is important, sure, but the content within the shot is also important. That's how you make a truly good horror movie: by showing as well as not showing, which is something Mr. Fresnadillo failed to understand. Nonetheless, he makes some quite interesting things with the POV shot, especially when using amplifiers such as the sniper scope (in two exciting sequences: the extermination scene shot from the rooftops, and the subway scene shot using night vision).

Despite an "international" finale, the film also lacks the scale of the original, which in turns makes the plot less epic and the art direction less interesting. This is no longer a story of survival and social organization in the face of doom, but a simple family drama (with large implications, sure, but a family drama nonetheless). The sense of wonder you might get from seeing the world suddenly destroyed is replaced by an annoying appraisal of a militarized society. The epic scenes of death and destruction, which made the original film standout, are also scarse in this second opus. The CGI firebombing of the Isle of Dogs has nothing on the simplest set-piece of the original. Because walking through the empty streets of London is truly a unique experience while witnessing the ample bang-bangs and bla-blas of Hollywood cinema is nothing new. On the gore front, I reckon the hounds will be very pleased, thanks to ample blood vomiting, exploding heads, punctured eyes and one hell of an helicopter blades massacre.

2/5: for being an effective film by popular standards, but actually a vomit-inducing mess that will have old-schoolers like me bleed from their eyes.

Saint-Martyrs-des-Damnés (2005)

Review #0030

Here is somewhat of a rarity: a big-budget québécois genre film (described by director Robin Aubert as a sci-fi thriller, actually more of a mood-heavy horror/sci-fi hybrid). I may be biased, but I'd say it's actually heart-warming to see such outstanding craftmanship from artisans bien de chez-nous. Because when I say "big-budget", I mean québécois big-budget, that is 5.5 millions. Considering that BloodRayne (2006) cost more than four times that ammount, and House of Wax (2005) more than seven times (I guess they had to rent a trailer for Paris Hilton's chihuahua...), i'd say Saint-Martyrs-des-Damnés is pretty cost-effective. Sure, it's overlong, with an underwhelming second half. Sure, the lead is pretty lame, and the ending unsatisfying. But overall, it is well-made and well served by a convincing, all-star cast. Most of all, it's worth a peek for the outstanding art direction and Aubert's surprisingly competent direction. Hell, here is a guy who mooned everybody on the set of Tout le monde en parle (a popular québécois talk-show) in order to promote the film!

TV actor François Chénier (known mostly by people my age for his interpretation of Carl "The Cat" Charest in the teenage sitcom Radio Enfer) plays Flavien Juste, photographer for a National Inquirer-like tabloid. Seeing how their journal is struggling for sales, his editor (and surrogate father) sends him along with a photographer to Saint-Martyrs-des-Damnés, a "Bermuda Triangle" of a village where "people disappear without a trace". Upon arrival, his photographer friend disappears, and he decides to investigate. But what he ends up investigating is not only the disappearance of his friend, but the whole mystery surrounding the town, its weird inhabitants (which include Monique Mercure, Monique Miller, Luc Senay, Germain Houde and Michel Forget, among others) and the ghost bride he keeps seeing.

The plot is pretty straightforward at first, then it twists and turns toward a contrived finale that fails to explain everything, and most notably the nature of that huge, stitched-up gibbering mouther we keep seeing. To tell you the truth, I was enthralled by the first half of the movie, which sets up a multi-layered and potent supernatural mystery involving luscious sets and intriguing characters interpreted with conviction. Seeing Germain Houde (a legendary Quebec actor) calling François Chénier (a pretty average TV actor) a "petite tête de marde de face de raie" (translated as "little piece of shit" on the DVD, it literally means "little shit-headed ass-crack face") was a welcome bonus... Unfortunately, and it is the case with most films of this ilk, once the mystery starts unraveling, the story loses its interest, and the flaws in the scenario become obvious. Which is what happens about halfway, at which point the film takes a plunge for the worst, notably by introducing a very unconvincing romance between Flavien and a peripheral character played by Isabelle Blais. And although the ending features a fun little duel, it is mostly unsatisfying, with metaphysical strings attached that drag the film into the realm of silliness.

Nonetheless, the overall, technical quality of the film is quite good. The atmosphere of a creepy, run-down village is conveyed quite nicely, and without tricks, thanks mostly to some flawless art direction. The actors do a decent job interpreting characters which are sometimes pretty silly, while Aubert directs them well and frames with the steady hand of a seasoned vet. In the end, you may not be stoked by the originality or quality of the scenario, but you cannot deny the fact that there were some very competent hands and eyes at work for making this film.

2.5/5: for being a well-made, albeit confused and silly movie.



N.B. If you want to see hottie Isabelle Blais naked, you can do so with this film, but I suggest you rent Borderline (2008) instead. She is much nakeder in there, and the film is actually better, so...

House of the Dead (2003)

Review #0029

I actually expected worse from this hated video game adaptation by the dreaded Dr. Uwe Boll a.k.a. "The Master of Error". I expected total vacuity. What I found was silliness. Not campiness, but some kind of touching, heart-warming silliness from egomaniac Boll. Hell, here is a guy who made a 156-minutes Lord of the Rings-ripoff which he titled In the Name of the King: A Dungeon Siege Tale, and then complained that people didn't take his work seriously! House of the Dead doesn't have the pretension of such entreprises. Sure, it lacks humor and self-awareness, but at least it doesn't feature a sorry-looking Ray Liotta prancing around in a Matrix-inspired mage suit, hamming it up as a grade-F Saruman clone!

The plot of the film has very little to do with the game proper. It's just your run-of-the-mill drivel featuring a bunch of dumb-looking, dumb-sounding young people stuck on an island following a zombie-crashed rave party. All that they do there is basically to run around and shoot at their foes while sporadically dispensing lame one-liners, all the while being observed by a stitched-up character hiding in the bushes. What's truly unique with this film is not the contrived scenario or the special effects (which I must admit were okay), but Boll's naivety, which seeps through the celluloid and actually gives the film some well-needed energy. You see, I'm sure Mr. Boll was convinced he was making a great film. I'm sure he thought young Americans would find it cool, and start showing him some well-deserved respect. That would explain the blatant abuses of techno music and Matrix-inspired camera effects. And of course, the laughable inserts of in-game House of the Dead footage.
















You read that correctly. The House of the Dead film is actually intercut with footage from the game. I don't know if it was an attempt at humor, some blatant publicity for Sega, or Boll's idea of filmmaking, but there it is. Some crudely-built, crudely-animated 1996 arcade zombies rush toward the screen in a bid for terror! But that's not all. The soundtrack is also a joke. It is part gangster-rap, part techno-dance (basically, all that is "cool") with some lame Prodigy imitators doing the intro. But what's really wrong with the soundtrack is that it features upbeat techno music during the fight scenes, paramount of which is the fight for the house. This one is straight out of The Matrix with the camera travelling around each character before he attacks. It has slow-motion and close-ups of shells splitting into buckshot, that is lots of cool stuff that would look just a bit over-the-top in the right context. But, hey! This isn't The Matrix you're doing here, Boll, this is a horror film! Ever heard of "atmosphere"? How about "mood"? No? Hell, I'm sure you know this one: "ill-advised"...

In the end, it all boils down to you, the viewer, to decide whether the film is worth a look. All I can say is that its most proeminent weaknesses, Boll's ill-advised directorial decisions, are also its greatest strenghts since they give the film some childish, zany energy. House of the Dead is not one of those "so bad it's good" films. It is rather a film so irrelevant that it becomes relevant to Boll's body of work. The thing is that the good German doesn't seem familiar with the term "adaptation" (strange for who guy who has a doctorate in litterature...). Instead of adapting the game into a film, he made his film into a game. So, if you want atmosphere, scares, tension, great gore and a strong plot, go to the local arcades, pick up a plastic gun and get ready! But if you want derivative drivel (with dumb-dumb action and tits), quickly grab a copy of Boll's film. I guarantee you there is one in every bargain bin of every video store across America.

1/5: for trying so vainly to be cool.

Jeepers Creepers II (2003)

Review #0028

Now, here's a treat! An old-school horror film without the narrative embellishments which tend to transform the genre into a steady syrup flow. It's a thing of pure execution that goes straight to the point, without the lenghty detours used by lesser filmmakers to mask technical lacks. Director/screenwriter Salva has clearly understood the key-element to a successful monster film: simplicity. And from that basic principle, he has crafted an effective, memorable film that's a real hoot to watch.

The plot is so simple that it is resumed in a single sentence that flashes onscreen before the initial fade-in: "Every 23rd spring, for 23 days, it gets to eat." That's it! We know all that we should know. And things can get started right away, with the demise of a child, no less. In a very effective opening sequence (that already showcases the intelligence of Salva as a director), "it" is revealed as a very large bird-like creature that captures an unsuspecting farmer's son, then flies off. Cut to a busload of football players rolling down Route 9. Fresh morsels in a tin can. Theirs will be a story of survival against the beast (and against each other).

What's most appreciable about Jeepers Creepers II is the unrelenting pace that results from exploiting a single storyline confined mostly to a single set (the school bus). Again, simplicity! The film doesn't offer pause since it almost unravels in real time and rarely intercuts with other events. The characters' trial thus becomes our own. We share their anguish because we know as much as they do about the beast. Its numerous talents are revealed through incremental evidence, starting with the organic shuriken (made of bones and human leather) with which it punctures the bus tire. The weapon found stuck to the shredded rubber is evidence of foul play, sure, but it is also evidence of a creature with fucked-up hobbies. It's not only a great prop, but also a great plot device! Then, there is this succulent radio announcement that had me clapping enthusiastically. "The fire which gutted the church south of Pertwella four days ago continues to offer up a gruesome bounty, states a radio journalist. County Sheriffs excavating the charred ruins estimate the body count is now up well past three hundred. County coroners say that the bodies were found stitched to each other, covering the basement's walls and ceiling. One on-the-scene witness called it "a human tapestry of torture and sadism," and a sight he will never forget." A human tapestry of torture and sadism? Come on! This has got to be one of the best lines ever to grace a monster movie script! It is creepy, but in a refreshingly self-mocking way, not unlike the creature itself, which winks at the characters and (literally) switches head halfway. It may be a relentless killer, yet it is not completely unsympathetic. Not unlike Freddy Krueger (from whom it took fashion cues), but without the lame lines of dialogues. And when it is finally revealed in full, it is really a sight to behold: a dark, fanged head with a Resident Evil-type parasite attached, sharp claws, large leathery wings acting as limbs, all of that with an intellect to match.

You see, Jeepers Creepers II is mostly about fun. The creature is awesome. The ending is great. The scenario is tight, but humorous. It features innovative kills, and lenghty action scenes showcasing the fluid aerial movement of the creature and one very cool homemade harpoon devised by the vengeful farmer of the opening sequence. In so many words, Salva's film is a welcome return to the unapologetic fun that caracterized the Matinees of yesteryears. With some tight direction to boot, it also avoids the traps of TV aesthetic, which is the new plague threatening Hollywood. There is but one thing that bugged me with the film. It is the highly dubious "dream" sequence wherein one character learns about the beast from two of its dead victims. Why Salva felt he needed to include ghosts in there is beyond me, especially since they don't give the viewer additional information. This sequence bugged because I felt it artificially fueled the story and caused the characters to make many unfounded assumptions. But all in all, this little annoyment is but a thorn in the side of one beautiful beast. Hats off!

3/5: for being a well-made, well-paced, and very fun little time-waster.

Trivia: Victor Salva is an openly gay filmmaker, and this surely has bearing on the film, which features a bevy of buff, shirtless dudes. Although it is not exploitative in any way (trust me, most straight directors are way more disgusting than this), this kind of imagery is nonetheless far removed from the traditional sights of busty co-eds offered by genre cinema. Another thing about Salva: he was indeed incarcerated after he pleaded guilty to charges of pedophilia on the young star of the Coppola-produced Clownhouse (1989). Paroled after fifteen months, it took many years before he could direct the Disney-produced Powder (1995). Upon its release, his young victim resurfaced and caused a media shitstorm (pertaining to Disney's hiring of a known pedophile). This impaired Salva's career once more, and he was relegated to the oubliette for another four years (until the release of the award-winning Rites of Passage). All of his films are very personal oeuvres that attempt to exorcize the demons he is plagued with (a fucked-up childhood, memories of prison, social ire...).

The Unborn (2009)

Review #0027

Yawn! I just woke up from watching The Unborn. And just like I did for The Stepfather, I decided to post this picture of the heroine so you won't need to watch the movie. Isn't she GORGEOUS? I mean.... ouff! Now, there were actually two reasons why I decided to watch The Unborn (other than the desire to review it): 1) Odette Yustman, whose Cuban/French/Italian heritage is the reason for her outstanding beauty, and 2) the strange fact that Maitland McDonagh (author of Broken Mirrors/Broken Minds: The Dark Dreams of Dario Argento) liked it, although I suspect that's because she and I share reason #1... All I can say is that I was pretty naive to believe that one beautiful face could redeem a film that was almost universally hated. But how bad was it really? Was watching it better or worse than staring at the picture above for 90 minutes? Er... Tough question. Let me just answer with a metaphor. If The Exorcist was a large piece of Black Forest cake (or tiramisu, whichever you prefer), then The Unborn would be a sodium-free rice cake. Get it?

The Unborn is not a Rosemary's Baby-type of story about a devil child, like I originally thought. It is more of a very anemic possession film that unconvincingly mixes Jewish mysticism and ghoulish apparitions straight out of J-horror. It features Yustman as Casey, a college girl (yes, you read that correctly: college) who is plagued by demonic apparitions from frame 1. In a dream, she envisions a ghoulish boy with bright blue eyes, a dog wearing a mask, and a fetus in formalin, all of which seem to be somehow related. Back to the real world, she is attacked by a young neighbor who smashes a mirror across her face. All of that during the first five minutes of the film! Unfortunately, the unrelenting pace drops when Casey starts delving deeper into the mystery, and the film turns into a tedious, contrived investigation of the supernatural, peppered here and there by the "scary" apparition of specters and bugs. As the story slowly crawls forward, thanks to a paper trail left by Casey's dead mother, we discover that her entire family is pursued by a possessing spirit called dybbuk hellbent on using their bodies as bridges to our world. I'll spare you the silly details, but let's just say that the story involves the whole gamut of convenient plot devices: newspaper clips and 8mm reels stashed neatly in the family basement, the Auschwitz Nazis, long-lost family members who pop up with crucial information, ancient tomes of arcane knowledge, a dead twin, a group of exorcism enthusiasts and a twist ending you will see coming from ten miles away.

In the end, The Unborn feels more like an horror-themed episode of Degrassi than a genuine horror film. Its convoluted and unconvincing explanation of possession slowly erodes the intriguing premise, relying too heavily on obscure revelations to forward the plot while a bunch of overdetermined images of supernatural entities scroll by unnoticed. You see, director David S. Goyer is more of a screenwriter than a director proper. If the floppy The Invisible (the remake of an eponymous Swedish film, which tanked at the box-office) and The Unborn are any indications, he totally lacks flair when it comes to framing, lighting and pacing a horror film. The result is a filmed story-board that wastes incredible creature effects with bland set-ups and uninvolving situations. And although the exorcism scene is nicely-paced, it does little to make up for the time spent getting there. As for Gary Oldman, whom we were all surprised to see on the cast list, he looks embarrassed all the way through, which is understandable considering the material he was involved with. In the end, experiencing the film is not really different from doing a Google search for Odette Yustman. Sitting on your couch, you will end up re-framing her face over and over again for your own personal movie until the screen goes black. Then you will stare at the box cover, oblivious to the "thrills" you are supposed to have experienced.

1,5/5: For having only fleeting images as assets.