Giuliano Carnimeo's Ratman (1988)

A British scientist living in the Caribbean has high expectations for his latest experiment (maybe a Nobel prize and international fame and fortune). The scientist has successfully crossbred Rattus norvegicus and Homo sapien to produce the titular character of one of Giuliano Carnimeo's last directorial credits, Ratman (1988), portrayed by Nelson de la Rosa. Before the good scientist can show off his creation at the latest scientific expo, the hybrid creature escapes. Meanwhile models, Marlis (Eva Grimaldi) and Peggy (Luisa Menon), are getting their photos snapped by Mark (Werner Pochath) on the beach. The day's shoot concludes. Mark is taking Marlis deeper into the jungle for more photos the following day, and Peggy is flying back to New York. Mark develops his photos that evening and notices something unusual in the corner of one of his photographs (but can't really make it out). Peggy is on the town en route to a party and when her cab breaks down, she has to trek to the bus station on foot through a dark alley. A psycho is on the loose, and Peggy captures his eye. She manages to duck into a dark house and hide in the closet. Unfortunately, a diminutive clawed creature has already taken up residence within. Enter lovely Terry (Janet Agren) who arrives at the airport and encounters television mystery writer, Fred (David Warbeck). They share a cab into town. Terry's destination is the morgue. Apparently her model sister was murdered. Fred has a good heart, a nose for investigation, and an eye for Terry. He'll help her out.

In an excellent book of interviews, Spaghetti Nightmares, legendary producer Fabrizio De Angelis is asked: What can you tell us about Quella villa in fondo al parco (Ratman)...? His terse answer: Well...I had problems with the director, Carnimeo. I don't think it was one of my most successful productions...[I edited out of the question and answer an additional query and response into another De Angelis production].

Actor and genre legend, David Warbeck is interviewed later in Spaghetti Nightmares and has this to say about the production: when asked, "That film was officially directed by Giuliano Carmineo, but there seems to be a suspicion that Fabrizio De Angelis was really the guilty man...," Warbeck responds:

No, he was the producer and he set everything going, but the other guy...I though he was OK. We didn't fight, I just thought he was a bit of a lost cause, and this is where Fabrizio stepped in and whipped the thing into shape a bit. The other guy didn't know what he was doing, or maybe he didn't really want to do it; I just couldn't work it out. What can I say? The whole thing was complete madness, but, yes, it did do very well.

Despite its leading man and producer having few nice things to say about Ratman's veteran director Giuliano Carnimeo, he has made some notable works. My favorites are his giallo, What Are Those Strange Drops of Blood Doing on Jennifer's Body? (1973), Secrets of a Call Girl (1973), Poker in Bed (1974), all with Edwige Fenech, his Western, Man Called Invincible (1973), and his 80s post-nuke contribution, Exterminators in the Year 3000 (1983). Carnimeo's work doesn't easily fit into any auteur theory and it's often competent and professional.

If Fabrizio De Angelis wasn't producing notable Italian genre cinema in the 80s, he was directing it. Rabid fans of Italian 80s genre cinema (of which I am a very proud member) owe a big thanks to the man. Some of my favorite production credits of his are (inhales): Lucio Fulci's Zombie (1979), The Beyond (1981), The House by the Cemetery (1981), The New York Ripper (1982), Marino Girolami's Zombie Holocaust (1980), Enzo G. Castellari's 1990: Bronx Warriors (1982), Tonino Ricci's Raiders of the Magic Ivory (1988), and Luigi Cozzi's Paganini Horror (1989). Let's not forget about his directorial credits, and alongside Bruno Mattei, De Angelis consistently directed some of the best Italian action films of the period. Some of my favorites are: the Thunder series (three films in 1983, 1987 and 1988), Deadly Impact (1984), Man Hunt (1984), and one of the best, Cobra Mission (1986) (exhales).

The screenwriter of Ratman, Dardano Sacchetti, is also legendary. Two of his earliest screenwriting credits are on Mario Bava's excellent and influential Twitch of the Death Nerve (1971) and Dario Argento's A Cat O'Nine Tails (1971). With approximately fifty screenwriting credits in the 80s alone, Sacchetti was a major figure in Italian genre cinema (his 70s work is very notable, as well). My carpal tunnel syndrome will explode my hands if I attempt to list my favorites here. I recommend clicking the link above to peruse his credits. In Spaghetti Nightmares during his interview Sacchetti is asked, "How do you manage to write so many scripts?" His response: On average I write five or six a year, but I write every day, including Sundays. I enjoy writing and I think a good story is always better than good directing, which is another reason why I've never gotten behind the camera.

In addition to the talent behind the camera, Ratman boast four actors who all made notable contributions and/or are stalwarts of Italian genre cinema (especially their 80s work): Warbeck, Agren, Grimaldi, and Pochath. One of the reasons that I love the cinema from the Italians during the 80s is because it appears the entire industry was feeling the crunch the American blockbuster. The cinema feels, on the whole, driven by a desire to produce pure entertainment and pure exploitation: a little money in the participants' pockets and lots of tremendous fun to be had by the viewer. The 80s is Italian genre cinema's magic hour, and in a lot of ways, Ratman feels like a swan song.

The biggest flaw of Carnimeo's film is the lack of screen time that Warbeck and Agren receive. Their two characters drive the story through their investigation of the rodent murders, and when they are on screen, they feel like cogs in the wheel. Possessing an immediate chemistry and both with the ability to pull off wonderful humor, the two's ability is lost. When they are on screen, they're a lot of fun to watch. Eva Grimaldi as Marlis truly drives the story. Ratman's viewer gets treated to the lovely lady during a swimsuit photo shoot and another where she pulls off her best Flashdance moves. Extremely charismatic, Grimaldi brings a lot of enthusiasm to her role, as ultimately the Ratman's biggest obsession. Either the director, the producer, or the screenwriter should have kept the focus on Marlis and cut the Warbeck/Agren plotline. Ratman would become more of a straight horror film, and the attempt to have Warbeck and Agren provide romance or mystery to the story never happens anyway. Carnimeo's scare scenes range from effective, as with the earlier sequence with Peggy, to hilariously bad, as when Ratman pops out of the toilet for a scare. When the short running time of Ratman ended, I had a complete smile on my face. If one can get past the ludicrous premise of the film (a half-rat/half-man killer); its low budget and highly sensational elements; and the occasional dip into ineptitude and disbelief, then...well, you probably won't see Ratman, because after that, not much is left. However, if you love all of those elements, then you're probably like me a fan of Italian 80s genre cinema and will highly enjoy Ratman.

Lucio Fulci's Perversion Story (Una sull'altra) (1969)

Dr. George Dumurrier (Jean Sorel) runs a medical clinic with his brother, Henry (Alberto de Mendoza), that engages in ambitious research but is failing financially. George's wife, Susan (Marisa Mell) has severe asthma which forces her to be home most of the time, usually alone. George and Susan do not have a happy marriage. George tells Susan that he has to go away for a few days to take care of the clinic's financial matters to Susan's dismay but he promises to hire a medical attendant for Susan to give her around-the-clock care. The young nurse (Malisa Longo) gets a tutorial from George on Susan's medicine. In identical bottles, one medicine is necessary for her asthma attacks and in the other, a sedative is given to Susan at bedtime to help her sleep. However, if Susan were to receive the sedative during an asthma attack, then the results could be disastrous. With the nurse instructed, George leaves on his trip to meet his mistress, Jane (Elsa Martinelli), and the two have their final fling: Jane doesn't want to continue the affair, because Susan will not agree to a divorce. She doesn't want to share her lover. Jane makes a dramatic exit by train, but George beats her train to the destination. He's waiting for her, and the two embrace. While George and Jane are enjoying their evening together, Henry calls George to tell him that Susan has died (from the nurse's negligence). The nurse is nowhere to be found. A few days later, George learns that he's the beneficiary of Susan's million-dollar life insurance policy. Finally, one evening, George leaves Jane at dinner, after receiving an anonymous phone call, to go to a cabaret whose headliner is a dead ringer for Susan, Ms. Monica Weston (Marisa Mell).

The initial exposition and set-up for the mystery in Lucio Fulci's Perversion Story (Una sull'altra) (1969) is very well executed and intriguing, and with this exposition and set-up Fulci can take his viewer in three directions with his narrative (story and screenplay which he helped script): Sorel's George has a strong motive for murder (unhappy marriage, another lover, beneficiary of a large policy, and failing financially with his clinic), so Fulci could play out his film as a deductive mystery to uncover whether George is a murderer; the viewer could also follow George and Martinelli's Jane after their first encounter with Monica and learn the backstory and identity of Susan's doppelganger; or finally, the viewer can plumb the depths with George and Jane, as the film's English-language title suggests, as each indulges a morbid curiosity with a growing fascination with the highly-sensuous and mysterious Monica. Fulci ultimately settles upon the former for his narrative, unfortunately, but he also shows in scenes flashes of what could be, if he chose to indulge his viewer in the latter two narrative storylines.

Dr. George Dumurrier is a cold and aloof character, and Sorel's performance is appropriately stiff. Fulci wisely plays to both, and expectedly, when George first encounters Monica whatever mystery he has hidden within him should start to reveal itself. George and Jane don't provoke Monica to get a reaction out of her during their first meeting nor does either reveal that she's a dead ringer for recently-deceased Susan. An insurance investigator following George can only submit to the police circumstantial evidence with their strongest piece being Monica's uncanny likeness to the dead woman. The police investigation is led by Inspector Wald (John Ireland), and instead of going after the suspect with the strongest motive, George, they focus their investigation on Monica by detaining her for questioning and searching her flat. There's no strong evidence linking either George or Monica to the crime. The young nurse who disappeared is a promising lead, but Fulci reserves a revelation for her character later on. As such, the police have really no clues, and Fulci doesn't give the viewer any real ones to go on either. At certain points, Fulci has to make leaps in logic, and the police have to conveniently dodge procedural problems in their investigation. As the mystery plays out, it becomes increasingly more incredulous and any fun trying to solve it disappears long before the film ends.

Marisa Mell's first appearance as Monica is striking: not only does she capture the viewer's attention with her powerful charisma and beauty but she also enamors George and Jane. The following day George pays a large sum of money to learn Monica's telephone number and arranges a rendezvous. George is still silent and aloof (which Monica comments on to a friend. He rarely speaks and when he does, he's crazy, she says). George and Monica have sex, and Martinelli's Jane later probes George on why he wanted to make love to Monica. Indeed. It's an interesting question, and the answer could possibly reveal some provocative and dark aspects of George's character (and themes of the film). Jane's investigation of Monica's identity borders, like George, on obsession (hinting, also, that something else is driving Jane). Martinelli and Mell have a fantastic scene together later in a photographer's flat: Fulci is able to create a tension between the two that alternates between both as adversaries to strongly-attracted lovers. Sorel's George and Martinelli's Jane give the film their best scenes when each is alone with Monica: so much potential and tension is created to only go flat.

Marisa Mell's performance as Monica makes Perversion Story worth seeing alone. Her previous performance in Mario Bava's Danger: Diabolik (1968) was a tremendous amount of fun, and she would go on later to make several notable films. Riz Ortolani contributes a fantastic jazzy score, and it's included with the Severin release on Perversion Story on DVD. While Lucio Fulci shows flashes within Perversion Story, he would be much more successful with his subsequent mysteries, such as Lizard In a Woman's Skin (1971), the excellent Don't Torture a Duckling (1972), and The Psychic (1977), for example.

Jess Franco's Sex Is Crazy (El sexo está loco) (1981)

During his interview included on the Severin disc of Macumba Sexual (1983), Jess Franco talks about his return to his native Spain after making myriad films in other European countries. He intimates that Spanish culture was certainly different in the era after Francisco Franco's reign ended. The authors of Immoral Tales write about the changing culture in Spain; its effect on cinema; and Jess Franco's role during this period:

As the demand for erotic sex films went up, the gap between films became much shorter. Much of the finance came from Spanish companies like Golden Films who were eager to cash in on the softening up of censorship that took place after the death of the Spanish dictator, General Franco...After Franco's death the production of softcore comedies increased, censorship became slightly more liberal, and film makers were allowed to show nipples on the screen for the first time...The next stage was the development of the "S," or slightly more explicit softcore film. Film-makers still weren't allowed to show penetration, but they produced a wide range of sexploitation films for the home market, supplemented by imports. As one of the premier low budget European sexfilim makers, this was a good period for Franco.

This period would produce Franco's Sex Is Crazy (El sexo está loco) (1981) which thematically is both a celebration and a playful commentary on this liberal period in Spanish cinema and culture.

"'Sex is Crazy' is a piece of mayhem that fully illustrates Franco's bubbling creativity. Eschewing any plot discipline, Franco has fun mystifying the spectator by presenting the story as an erotic nightclub floorshow, which is imagined by a lonely wife in a 'quadrilateral' marriage, who is in turn an actress in the film inside the film. Are you still with me? Don't worry, I didn't understand it the first time I saw it!" (from Obsession: The Films of Jess Franco)

One of the most creative and playful sequences begins with Lina Romay and Robert Foster's characters laying in bed. Romay's character is frisky, but Foster rolls over for more sleep. Nude, she walks to the glass doors and looks out upon beautiful seaside scenery. Romay's character walks into frame from behind the camera and outside (in cute detail, Franco realizes from behind the camera that Romay's bum is not completely in the frame and gives the camera a slight pan down to correct. Whether it was an intentional shot or not is unknown, but it wasn't removed in editing.) After sitting amongst the rocks on the seaside, Romay is visited by Foster who embraces her before the two begin some lovemaking. Another couple (Lynn Endersson and Antonio Rebollo) spies Romay and Foster and become aroused which in turn leads to their lovemaking (whereupon another couple spies Endersson and Rebollo which in turn...). Beyond Franco's signature voyeuristic motif, this humorous sequence resonates louder: an overwhelming sense that "coupling" is literally in the air and no longer does the sexuality have to be hidden (from neither the camera nor in the culture).

This scene concludes with Romay and Foster meeting Endersson and Rebollo. Endersson and Romay's characters begin a dialogue. Endersson and Romay break from their characters (into other characters possibly) and question each other as to whom is supposed to deliver a certain line. Franco steps into frame from behind the camera to direct the actresses and resolve the dilemma (only to exit the frame in the static shot to resume filming). The meta element of Sex is Crazy is as playful as its themes, and primarily upon what Franco is riffing is erotic cinema and its participants (and its burgeoning home market). More than once, Franco behind the camera is shown in a mirror. In one, Romay sits at the mirror while her lover exits the shower. Romay's character accuses her lover of cheating, and the two actors play the scene seriously (Romay as accusatory and her lover as defensive). Franco behind the camera is in center frame during the static shot, and his voice is heard by the viewer when he asks the two to redo the scene in a lighter manner. The two redo the scene, the dialogue is almost the same, the tone is different, but one thing remains constant: both attractive actors are still nude. One character, Rosalinda, is shown briefly from time to time laying upon a bed, as the camera tracks from her head to her toes or vice versa. She is always accompanied by a voice-over narration that never fails to comment that she is the producer's girlfriend and how excited everyone is that she will be the next star. While the scenes with Rosalinda are inserted into the film seemingly randomly, when she makes a pivotal appearance in a later scene, Franco reveals that the Rosalinda scenes are a set up for a clever joke about erotic actors and drama. Needless to say, there is quite a bit of flesh on display in Sex is Crazy, and nearly all the scenes in the film would fall into the category of (or wouldn't be unusual within) erotic cinema. The scenes range from cold and contrived, like the opening "alien nightclub" scene, to intimate ones, as with Endersson and Romay alone (in a parody of the "swinging" scene), but above all, the scenes are mostly bizarre (which drives the humor).

Low-budget and creative, Sex is Crazy is another oddity from Jess Franco. It has been recently released on DVD by label Sinful Mermaid. Buy it here.

Jean Rollin's La Vampire Nue (The Nude Vampire) (1969)

With humility, Jean Rollin speaks of the final sequence of his second film, La vampire nue (1969) (no spoilers): "Again, the screenings were punctuated by laughter and sarcastic remarks. For me the most painful laughter came during the scene on the beach; on the pebbled shore a vampire suddenly emerges from a box. This is one of the most unusual images of my cinema, and despite the whistling and heckling it remains dazzling for me. It's there that true strangeness lies." (quote taken from Jean Rollin's essay on La Vampire Nue included in Virgins and Vampires, Crippled Publications, Germany, 1997, edited by Peter Blumenstock) Rollin's second film brought him the opportunity to make a "real film," (following his feature, Le Viol du Vampire, two shorter films shot to create one full-length film) with adequate time to write a script and prepare for the production. Unfortunately, Rollin admits he managed the film's budget poorly but being able to complete photography before editing. To compound matters, considerable debt was incurred for the sophomore film maker, and a bed stay during editing for its director, having been injured after being hit by a car. Nonetheless, Rollin does have fond memories of the production, including having "succeeded in including certain images that were important to me." For me Rollin's images have always been important. Having first viewed his cinema and La vampire nue, well over twenty years ago now from Nth generation VHS dupes without a lick of knowledge of francais, his imagery was always striking. The images spoke in their own language and told traditional tales, often romantic, conveying a poetic sense that few artists would be brave enough to dare (in this Post-Modern era where irony is the norm).The authors of Immoral Tales write, "La Vampire Nue (The Nude Vampire; 1969) was based around the idea of 'mystery.' Each sequence was to heighten the mystery and lead it forward to the next sequence. Any explanation that had to be given was to be held off until the very last possible moment." Rollin begins with a silent sequence, shrouded in mystery, as presumably scientists, donning brightly-colored cloth masked hoods, draw blood from a nude female, save a cloth hood masking her identity. Iron gates are opened with the following sequence, and a young woman wearing wrapped shear fabric peeks out of her fortress to wander the streets. The streets hold several lurkers, donning elaborate masks of animals, and among the night shadows, these figures give the young woman chase. Rollin introduces a signature motif: the male chance encounter with the beautiful young woman. The young man, later revealed as Pierre (Olivier Martin), senses the young woman (Caroline Cartier) is in trouble. He attempts to flee with her only to be trapped in an alleyway, where the woman is subdued and carried away back to the fortress. Pierre escapes, and with his new obsession, he is determined to gain entry into the fortress and discover the young woman's identity. The sequential narrative of La vampire nue is at times intriguing and at times a would-be annoying contrivance, if the visuals weren't so amazingly fantastic and striking. (Rollin would wisely adopt looser and more traditional narratives for his subsequent two films (and two of his best) Requiem pour un vampire (1971) and Le frisson des vampires (1971) as canvases for his imagery.) Each sequence, instead of a puzzle piece for an escalating mystery, is rather a stanza of arresting poetic visuals. Pierre needs help and he calls his friend, Robert (Pascal Fardoulis). Robert is an artist, and preceding Pierre's phone call, Rollin introduces Robert behind his easel with brush in hand. The subject of his painting is a beautiful young nude woman. As Robert eyes his model, he observes her curves, watches the way the light reflects upon her skin, and instead of being inspired as to how to render her image, Robert becomes seduced by her beauty. Hearing no brush strokes and sensing Robert's longing looks, the model actively seduces her artist. It's an intimate scene without words and save Pierre's phone-call interruption of the subsequent lovemaking, the scene would have no narrative weight. Rollin's sequential mystery cannot compete with his imagery: all intrigue in La vampire nue comes not from some plot revelation but from an artist's imagination. Another of Rollin's signature visual motifs would appear in La vampire nue: the image of a pair of young women. As a visual motif, often Rollin's use of the pair is affecting, as it is evocative of the Gemini twins. In La vampire nue, the pair is portrayed by "the two Castel twins, serious as popes, two little hairdressers thrilled to be realizing thier Hollywood-dream, coming of age just before the shoot." (Catherine Castel and Marie-Pierre Castel; Rollin would continue to work with both or either during the seventies.) In this passage, Rollin gives some anecdotes about working with the two but also reveals a little of his obsession with pairs or twins:

I wanted them by my side every day, until the production director Jean Lavie let me know that I was "vampiring" them, sapping them of their energy and wasting them away. They looked like two little celluloid dolls dressed up for some perverse game. Jio Berck's costumes resembled sadistic machines like the ones described by the Comptesse de Segur in "On ne prend pas les mouches avec du vinaigre." One of the twins knocked herself while falling down a flight of stairs. (The scene is in the film.) She was very proud of it and is still talking about it today.

Beyond their visual power, the image of the pair conjures the idea of "together." No journey will be taken alone. The Castel twins are a highlight of La vampire nue, and Rollin seemingly goes out of his way to focus his compostions upon the two. Their roles are important to the narrative, yet Rollin is having more fun using them in his "perverse game" than as characters advancing a plot.

La vampire nue is a haunting experience of images disorienting, fantastic, and surreal. Rollin's cinema is highly influenced by some of the earlier French cinema, like Louis Feuillade (Les vampires (1915), for example) and Georges Franju (Judex (1963), for example), but with La vampire nue, Rollin would make his own mark and begin to develop some of his more personal themes. Jean Rollin would eventually become a truly unique film maker whose work I greatly admire and love. La vampire nue is a striking early work.

All quotes from Rollin and objective facts about the production are from his essay on La vampire nue from Virgins and Vampires. All other facts are taken from their sources as noted within.

Jess Franco's Succubus (Necronomicon) (1968)

Jess Franco's Succubus (Necronomicon) (1968) has a sensational production history and release. It's original collaborator and producer, Karl Heinz Mannachen and Adrian Hoven, respectively (the former was visited by Franco with a eight-page script after Franco came up with the film's idea) could only secure enough money for a few days shooting in Lisbon, Portugal. At risk of running out of money for the production, Hoven invited his millionaire friend, Pier A. Caminecci, to the set to induce him to invest the production. It worked. Caminecci took over Succubus financially and even secured himself a part in the film. Upon completion, Caminecci gave money to Franco, Hoven, and Mannachen and made his own cut of the film, which was retitled Succubus for the English-speaking market, where it was successful (U.S. and England). This is the version here under review. Apparently, Caminecci's inducement to finance the film was a strong attraction to its star, Janine Reynaud, with whom Caminecci began an affair during its production, while her husband, Michel Lemoine (who had a part in the film and also a film maker himself), remained in the background. One of the most famous fans of this film is legendary director Fritz Lang, who described the film as a "beautiful piece of cinema."

Not having a fondness for writing plot synopses and frankly believing I am completely unable to do so here, I will forgo even attempting writing one. Interestingly and unsurprisingly, Franco had "virtually no script" for Succubus (Necronomicon) and would write dialogue scenes the night before shooting, while in the morning star Jack Taylor would translate the Spanish dialogue into English. This film is all about Janine Reynaud: the star who would capture the attention of its producer; whose character, Lorna, is the total desire of the other characters; and whose images could only be captured by Franco. Succubus is a fitting title for a film about a seductive woman who also hides a darker side. No one is more seduced than the viewer with Jess Franco's dreamy and surreal film. The opening sequence is powerful. Reynaud's Lorna, brandishing what seems a riding crop, comes out of darkness to encounter a bound female and male, both scantily-clad in tattered bits of clothing. She has her way with the two. A pervasive feeling within the scene, although the two look raggedy and bound intentionally, it seems the two are willing captives, seduced by a powerful sensuality. Jack Taylor, as William, comes home to his apartment, after a night's drinking at the cabaret, where's Reynaud's opening was revealed as a performance. Mysterious Lorna is waiting for him and the two go to bed. These two opening sequences are mirrored at the end. Mysterious Lorna is still in William's apartment when he gets home (to his surprise) and she takes him into his arms. Lorna performs her act as a rehearsal, just before this scene, which ends when another power takes over Lorna (possibly someone whom she is under control? The film dissolves time to time into the eyes of a character, beckoning to her). Symbolism is pervasive throughout Succubus with a heavy emphasis on the meta aspect of capturing female imagery. Gorgeous Lorna seduces a beautiful young blonde woman (again, seduced or willing lover is unknown) in a scene littered with mannequin models which Franco places side by side his female characters. All of the characters in Succubus are drawn to Lorna: she has two encounters where strangers approach her whom Lorna denies knowing; the people in her life, like William, are extremely possessive of her; and there is possibly one character who is controlling Lorna in a mystical or supernatural way. Ultimately, Succubus is a film about a desire to capture and possess the female spirit, despite making any true attempts to understand or accept it. A beautiful-looking film, I was entranced during its whole running time.All objective facts about the production, save the quote from Fritz Lang, are taken from Cathal Tohill and Pete Tomb's extremely essential film book, Immoral Tales: European Sex and Horror Movies, 1956-1984. The quote from Fritz Lang is taken from Obsession: The Films of Jess Franco.

Hal Hartley's The Book of Life (1998)

The Son of Man (Martin Donovan) and Magdalena (P.J. Harvey) arrive in New York City on New Year's Eve 1999, the final evening of humankind. The duo have arrived to open the Book of Life, found in a locker numbered 666 in the form of a Mac powerbook, to facilitate the coming apocalypse as prophesied in the Book of Revelation and to reveal the names of the few who will be saved from eternal doom. The Son of Man is a fan of NYC and is not completely ready to complete his task. The Devil (Thomas Jay Ryan) sits depressed in a bar and tries to take one more soul before the end.

Hal Hartley's The Book of Life (1998) was seemingly made for European television, runs a little over an hour, and now over a decade removed, its millennium theme lacks an immediacy and possibly some relevancy. But that's okay. Writer and director Hal Hartley is a unique American film maker and a personal favorite. He possesses a sharp wit and an observant critical and satirical pen, and his dialogue, heavily evident in his early films (The Unbelievable Truth (1989); Trust (1990); Surviving Desire (1991); and Simple Men (1992), for example), is delivered by his actors in his signature staccato style. Often his main character(s) is smack in the middle of a life-defining, spiritual dilemma and the dialogue delivered by all of the characters are really monologues delivered in conversational form, as if each character is constantly "thinking aloud" but having someone present to contradict, confirm, make fun of, or relate to the speaker's ideas. Prior to The Book of Life, Hartley directed Henry Fool (1997), which many fans and critics alike consider his most mature and best work. Often when a film maker completes a contrived, meticulous or operatic work (for example, WKW with Chungking Express (1994) after Ashes of Time (1994); Sogo Ishii with Electric Dragon 80, 000 V (2001) after Gojoe (2000); or QT with Death Proof (2007) after his epic two volumes of Kill Bill (2003-04)), he or she will follow it with a more relaxed and looser work (and possibly a lot more fun): a little invigoration for the artistic soul. The Book of Life, appropriately, appears this way.

The inclusion of singer, P.J. Harvey (of whom I'm also a huge fan), as Magdalena, who also provided music within The Book of Life, gives the film a lot of its spark. Although as Magdalena she is a pivotal and essential character to the narrative, Hartley takes the time let Harvey just be. After Donovan and Harvey's characters separate, with the Book of Life in Magdalena's red backpack, she goes to a music store and at a listening kiosk, she dons earphones and sings. The tune that she is singing doesn't match the song playing over the scene as the film's soundtrack, yet Harvey's natural beauty and charisma and incredibly beautiful voice become the viewer's focus. It's a scene which is really non-essential to the narrative but completely essential to the film's energy. When Harvey tells the biblical story, "let those without sin, cast the first stone," it is amazingly endearing (and concluded quite humorously). Beyond its other charm, The Book of Life is worth seeing alone for P.J. Harvey.

My other favorite scenes take place in the bar where "terminally good" Edie (Miho Nikaido) serves drinks to Thomas Jay Ryan's Satan and hapless Dave (Dave Simonds). Ryan's character exposes to Dave Edie's love for him and his own love for Edie. Satan says "try the lottery" to Dave and in exchange for Dave's material wealth, the Devil will take Edie's soul. Edie picks Dave's winning numbers, and how this scenario plays out is extremely fun. Nikaido appears to have a naturally sweet nature which Hartley emphasizes well. Those who enjoyed Ryan in Henry Fool will not be disappointed here: his character (and accompanying performance) is sardonic, self-deprecating, and sharp. Simonds's performance is an excellent final puzzle piece to this trio, and these three characters are terrific.

All is not light, however, in The Book of Life. In a signature scene, Donovan and and Ryan meet to discuss humanity's fate. Although their conversation is played out with humor, a real depth and sensitivity rings true. Donovan, likewise, shares several traditional monologues throughout the film that are also thought-provoking and well-written (and delivered). All of the performances are tops. Hartley really loosens up with his visuals and with digital video, he plays with the colors and the imagery. All in all, The Book of Life is an infectious blend of energy and is worth seeing for those like Hartley, playful and creative.

Herman Yau's Laughing Gor-Turning Point (2009)

Hong Kong cinema has forever changed its image of the undercover cop. John Woo's Hard Boiled (1992) is my earliest memory: Woo's phenomenal action sequences accompanied by excellent performances by Yun-fat Chow and especially Tony Leung Chiu Wai, as the undercover cop. Leung's representative performance is a man torn: a cop so deep into Triad life that he assumes the lifestyle completely, and his police identity known only by one within the force. His actions do not conform to a righteous police officer or a wholly nasty gangster. His loyalties are always divided as with the two worlds in which he lives, he has made oaths and allegiances to both. Spiritually, it is too much for the character, and his internal conflict becomes his undoing. In 2002, Andrew Lau directed the massively popular Infernal Affairs, which starred Hong Kong's biggest names and was remade by Martin Scorsese in 2006 as The Departed, which garnered him an Academy Award and also starred some of America's biggest actors. Watching both in close proximity, either film reveals the strengths and weaknesses of the other. Neither Infernal Affairs nor The Departed is particularly compelling. There were more interesting films to come with this new archetype, deeper and more complex situations into which the undercover cop is truly torn.

While Andrew Lau would direct two more Infernal Affairs sequels and produce cash-ins made in their wake, such as Billy Chung Siu-Hung's Undercover (2007), it would be Herman Yau who would make a truly notable contribution to the genre with his On the Edge (2006). The film took as its premise the cop previously in deep cover now exposed: how would his life turn out, if he donned the police uniform again and played just the one side? Nick Cheung gives a memorable performance as the officer, supported by equally strong performances by Anthony Wong Chau-Sang and Francis Ng (with a smart script and assured direction from Yau). Yau's back at it again with Laughing Gor-Turning Point (2009), taking the undercover cop theme as deep as it gets.

With few frames, Yau sets his exposition. Lit behind a sliding window, a silhouette makes a call to the police, speaking of an "operation" and begging for, this time, a "signal." The police rush out of the station in two units, one being led by Officer Xian (Yuen Biao). Cut to the club, and amidst the flashing lights, sits flamboyant, mohawked Brother One (Anthony Wong), who gets a nudge from one of his numerous ladies and then hits the streets. The police are trailing Wong's Brother One, who constantly changes his final destination, sending his driver erratically all over Hong Kong to allude the police. In the confusion, the police vehicles get into an accident. Officer Xian is seriously injured and his unit out. The second unit heads to intercept Wong's operation. At a local dock, the Triads are unloading drugs, cigarettes, and other contraband. Brother Laughing (Michael Tse), accompanies Wong at the crime scene, and the police arrive. Tse's Laughing attempts to flee but injures his leg. The police nab him, and as he is violently being interrogated by the cops, Brother One, Master Ford (Eric Tsang), and Zatoi (Francis Ng), the three Triad heads, are meeting to discuss Laughing's fate.

A complex web of relationships is weaved. It is not a spoiler to reveal that Tse's Laughing is the mole. It would be a spoiler, however, to reveal which side, Triad or cop, as to where his allegiance lies (if either). It is not a spoiler to reveal that Wong's Brother One and Ng's Zatoi do not like each other, as Yau's initial scene with the two reveals, cleverly. With one frame, Yau creates the power relationship as the three are sitting at a table with Master Ford at the head, and Wong and Ng sitting across from each other. During this same scene, Master Ford reveals that Wong's Brother One was once a cop now completely a Triad (and accepted fully by the organization). It is also revealed during this same scene that it was Wong who brought Tse's Laughing into the organization. Brother One and Laughing have an interesting history which is shown in flashbacks throughout Turning Point. Michael Tse's character as the undercover cop and his development as a Triad/cop is the focus, buttressed strongly by an external struggle involving Brother One and Zatoi with the police having a strong influence. The story is extremely well-written as each subsequent scene plays out unexpectedly. There are a few overly-melodramatic scenes which are now staples of this genre, such as Tse pouring his heart out more than once that this "life" is killing him.

Yau continues his impressive visuals and action sequences. In one particular scene, very early, Tse's Laughing is discovered at a hideout. As he makes his escape, Yau virtually forgoes any showing of combat. Through a rising tension, such as Laughing picking up a cleaver before opening an unknown door, and some clever edits, such as Laughing calmly encountering a patrolling policeman, Tse makes his escape. Michael Tse gives an excellent performance, yet it's the veteran actors, Wong and Ng, who are the highlight. Outwardly, Wong plays one of his most outrageous and flamboyant characters yet, with a mohawk, sometimes wearing a shawl or boa or even lipstick. Inwardly, however, his character is extremely complex whose intensity is only revealed in his quiet moments. In a seemingly innocuous scene, Brother One details the evening plans to his ladies while riding in the car. With a veteran actor's timing, Wong's delivery of his lines creates a powerful tension and revelation. Ng's Zatoi is initially a mysterious character but as the film plays out, he also hides a strong internal conflict with very strong conflicting loves (from which a brilliant scene comes from Ng.)

The cultural genesis and some facts about the production are included here which also serves as a link for purchase.