L'etrusco uccide ancora (The Dead Are Alive) (1972)

Alex Cord is Jason, an archaeologist who has uncovered an Etruscan burial ground which has been undisturbed for a couple thousand years. Jason is having an affair with Myra (Samantha Eggar) who is currently living with Nikos (John Marley), an elderly and world-famous orchestra conductor. Nikos has son named Igor (Carlo De Mejo). There are other characters who populate the narrative of L'etrusco uccide ancora (The Dead Are Alive) (1972) but these are the main characters. Since L'etrusco uccide ancora is a giallo/mystery, the collateral characters are red herrings and the like. By the end of the first act, a young couple has been murdered in the Etruscan tomb, and their corpses have been placed to mimic an Etruscan sacrificial rite.
The first act of L'etrusco uccide ancora is strong. There is no clunky exposition and the pacing is swift. The first act is effectively concluded with the young couple’s murder. The second act, however, is the complete undoing of the film: here comes the melodrama; here comes the stereotypes; and here comes mechanical narrative. Virtually every character is a stereotype. Jason appears an alcoholic womanizer; Myra is an emotional young trophy bride; and Nikos is a controlling older man, eager dominate most in front of him. Most of the character interaction is cringe worthy. For example, when Nikos catches Myra leaving their mansion to rendezvous with Jason, Nikos chides her and admits to her that he knows where she is going and with whom she is meeting. Nikos doesn’t stop Myra from leaving. Instead, he pulls her close to him and gives her a forceful and strong kiss. In the subsequent scene, equally mind-boggling, Myra and Jason meet. The dialogue is precious in its stupidity: Jason’s seduction involves asking Myra if an Etruscan tomb turns her on. Way to go, Jason. As for the narrative, there is way too much labor expended to establish red herrings and then too much labor to exclude those red herrings. At the end of the film, there are only three real clues, and little of the narrative focuses upon them. This is a shame but this is also expected.
The third act has inspired moments, but it’s very conventional. The police discover who the killer is; the police are wrong; the real killer is still loose; and the remaining character(s) confront the killer. Familiar stuff, all around.
Armando Crispino is a unique Italian director. He is perhaps best known for his excellent film Macchie solari (Autopsy) (1975). In that film, Crispino showed an adept eye with the subjective shot. Color, film speed, light, and composition, for example, are all effectively manipulated and contrived by Crispino, creating some brilliant disorienting sequences. Some of that ability is present in L'etrusco uccide ancora. For example, the murder of the young couple at the Etruscan tomb is unique (and come to think of it, really only Lucio Fulci rivals Crispino, here). The killer, of course, is never shown. The audio and the editing of the murders are seemingly out of sync. The murder appears like a bloody montage of screams and literal cuts. There is also an effective shot of the two corpses, placed upon two altars. One of the essential clues to the mystery is an orchestral composition that plays whenever the killer is about to strike. It’s a rousing and intense composition. (I wonder if it is the work of Riz Ortolani who scored the film. Ortolani’s film score is brilliant.) Despite the mechanical nature of the narrative, this orchestration is always effectively used. In addition to his use of audio, Crispino dominates his visuals, especially his use of shadows. There is little to praise in L'etrusco uccide ancora but of what little there is, it deserves very high praise.
“L'etrusco uccide ancora was intended to be an enigmatic, magical and evocative film,” says Crispino. “If I’d had my way, I’d have taken the film even further into fantastic dimensions, but, unfortunately, I was prevented. The idea came to me, one day, during a casual visit to the Etruscan tombs at Cerveteri, where, as I was walking around among the tombs, I began to have the strangest feelings--it was almost as though I could feel tangible ‘presences’ hovering about me.” (from Spaghetti Nightmares, edited by Luca M. Palmerini and Gaetano Mistretta, Fantasma Books, Key West, FL, 1996, p.39) I wish that Crispino had his way, also. The Etruscan imagery and setting in L'etrusco uccide ancora is woefully underused. The film ends up becoming a conservative and mechanical thriller/mystery/giallo. For die-hard fans of the genre, only. Code Red released this film on DVD about a year and a half ago, and it seems as if it is already out of print. Screenshots are taken from my old DVDr of an original VHS release of L'etrusco uccide ancora.

Naschy. Paul Naschy.

I had a Naschy itch this weekend, so I watched a bunch of his flicks. Here are some quickie reviews.

Tomb of the Werewolf (2004)

Woe to the Temple of Waldemar Daninsky.

If modern cinema truly is product, however, then I cannot fault Paul Naschy and the ignominious ending for his legendary character in the direct-to-video opus, Tomb of the Werewolf (2004). Why not, right? A low-budget horror film with a healthy amount of softcore sex, helmed by one of the cinema’s pioneers, Fred Olen Ray. In addition, cult icon, Michelle Bauer appears as Elizabeth Bathory with a bevy of young attractive people in the cast to provide a little skin or a body count. For all practical purposes, Naschy’s inclusion seems a marketing ploy--drawing in his small yet very strong base of fans (of whom I am a proud member). Yes, I am very cynical and yes, I was hoping for a more romantic end to Naschy’s Daninsky character. However, I did have a smirk on my face throughout most of the film, so I’m not nearly as uptight as I should be, in order to be a proper critic.

Waldemar Daninsky (Paul Naschy) has a wife, Eleanor (Stephanie Bentley), who is dying of the plague. Daninsky wants to save his wife. Elizabeth Bathory (Michelle Bauer) is in league with Satan and as compensation for doing evil shit for him, she is granted eternal youth after she bathes in the blood of young women. Bathory is also the broker for a deal between Satan and Daninsky--Daninsky’s wife may be saved but Daninsky will be cursed as a werewolf. Almost as soon as Daninsky is cursed and turns into the werewolf, he slays his wife as his first victim. This is a problem.
Cut to 2004 and Richard Daninsky (Jay Richardson) has inherited his ancestor’s estate, once belonging to the nobleman Waldemar Daninsky. Richard is a little bit of a shady character. He hires a television crew who makes paranormal investigations to document a medium (also played by Bentley) at his estate. This medium will help him find some hidden treasure. Bauer’s Bathory is the servant at the estate, and of course, she looks exactly the same.
O.K. Naschy appears in this one briefly and in addition, I do not believe he utters a single line. In fact, I highly doubt that it is the elder Naschy under the werewolf makeup, jumping out of bushes onto unsuspecting couples. This, however, is not a major issue. The highlight of Tomb of the Werewolf is its array of attractive women all of whom I enjoyed watching very much. The downside of Tomb of the Werewolf is everything else. The film did afford me a wonderful daydream, however. There is a bar sequence early in the film where Richardson’s Daninsky completes the contract with the paranormal television crew. It appears as if the actors in the scene have quite the buzz going on while performing. Wouldn’t it be nice to be able to drink alcohol at work and get paid while drinking? That would be cool.

School Killer (2001)

School Killer is a post-Scream, Spanish horror film where Naschy is the killer of the film’s title.

Six young adults, three males and three females, arrive at an abandoned school during a spooky evening to spend a weekend. They are led by Ramón (Carlos Fuentes) whose father has recently died. Ramón’s father left Ramón his diary, detailing a fateful evening he spent in the abandoned school with five friends in 1973. This diary was the impetus for Ramón bringing his friends to the location during the present time.
School Killer is talky, and being a film of the post-Scream era, a lot of the dialogue is meta. Although the characters explicitly reference films like Scream 3 and The Blair Witch Project in their dialogue, I do not believe the film makers wanted to make an American-style film in a Spanish setting with Spanish actors. Is School Killer successful? Is it derivative of its American predecessors? In my opinion, yes to the latter question and “kind of” to the former question. There are creative sequences, indeed, but there are also myriad problems: School Killer is too talky, poorly paced, and has a very unsatisfying ending.

The best scene of School Killer, unsurprisingly, involves Naschy. Its setting: the toilet. Naschy plays a psychopathic killer and he confronts a young woman in a toilet stall in an unsuspecting manner. Naschy delivers ridiculous dialogue in a straight-faced, intense manner. One can easily see in the elder Naschy the same energy and charisma that drove his previous roles. This scene, alone, is worth multiple viewings.

Latidos de pánico (Panic Beats) (1983)

Panic Beats is a gem. It was written and directed by Naschy who also stars. “Latidos de pánico,” writes Naschy, “is a revisitation of the claustrophobic, phantasmagorical world of the most characteristic Naschy works. (from Memoirs of a Wolfman by Paul Naschy, translated by Mike Hodges, Midnight Marquee Press, Baltimore, Maryland, 2000: p.168.)

Paul (Paul Naschy) is a descendant of Alaric de Marnac, a medieval knight who murdered his unfaithful wife in cold blood. Paul is married to an ill woman, Geneviève (Julia Saly) and in order to help her recuperate, Paul moves his frail wife to the country into the ancestral home of the ruthless knight. A faithful maidservant, Maville (Lola Gaos), and her wayward niece, Julie (Pat Ondiviela), are in attendance at the home and will care for Paul's ailing wife. Soon after arrival, however, Geneviève begins having sinister visions, especially of Alaric de Marnac, and her health condition plummets.
Naschy returns Alaric de Marnac from El espanto surge de la tumba (Horror Rises from the Tomb) (1973) to cause havoc in Panic Beats. “Its the return of Alaric de Marnac,” writes Naschy, “this time in a plot of sex and violence set in a large house which appears to be lost in time, and in which the more modern parts are mixed with the most terrible of medieval traditions.” (“Filmography by Paul Naschy,” Videooze, Fall 1994, No. 6/7, ed. Bob Sargent, Alexandria, VA, 1994, p.39) As Naschy describes, Panic Beats is clearly a film of the fantastic but also a morality tale. The following paragraph has SPOILERS:

The best scene in Panic Beats has Naschy in the bathtub. He is smoking a cigar while bathing. Poor Geneviève is dead. Paul and young Julie have concocted a plan to kill Geneviève and were successful. The dialogue between Paul and Julie is precious: Paul openly acknowledges to Julie that both are wicked people and both should be grateful that they love each other. I love the sentiment: wicked people deserve to love each other or wicked people deserve love, too. Pat Ondiviela nearly steals this film.

Mondo Macabro released Panic Beats on DVD. Image Entertainment released School Killer on DVD. Tomb of the Werewolf is also available on DVD.

(Blue Jean Monster) Jeuk ngau jai foo dik Jung Kwai (1991)

I love Shing Fui On. If I had to speculate, then I would imagine his most famous role to Westerners would be his villainous turn in John Woo's The Killer (1989). His role in Woo's masterpiece may also be representative--Shing Fui On was a seriously credible badass on screen. He oozed intimidation and induced fear. Like many Hong Kong actors, Shing Fui On acted in a lot of films, many times as a villain, but also like many Hong Kong actors, his roles were often diverse. Shing Fui On was an exceptionally funny actor, as well. I sought out (Blue Jean Monster) Jeuk ngau jai foo dik Jung Kwai (1991) on DVD, because 1) it sounded like some wacky shit and 2) if the IMdB is correct, then Blue Jean Monster is the only leading role for Shing Fui On.
Shing Fui On plays cop, Tsu, who is about to be a parent with his expectant wife, Chu (Pauline Wong). Tsu and Chu go and seek blessings from Buddha, and unfortunately, Tsu receives an ominous one. Chu goes to the clinic for a checkup while Tsu goes and investigates a bank robbery. Tsu arrives at the bank and interrupts the bandits (led by popular cinema villain Jun Kunimura who appeared also in Woo's Hard Boiled (1992) and Miike's Ichi the Killer (2001), for example). After confronting the gang at a nearby junkyard, Tsu almost subdues them. Unfortunately, a large amount of scrap metal falls upon Tsu and kills him. The gang escapes and mistakenly leaves a witness, super-cute Gucci (Gloria Yip). A little bit of accidental mumbo jumbo combined with a bolt of lighting, and BAM! Tsu resurrects. Despite having his original consciousness, Tsu operates as a reanimated corpse--his body can last just long enough to catch the bad guys and see his child born into the world.
In 2012, I've seen way too many Hong Kong films and way too many insane ones to boot. Blue Jean Monster has moments of good old-fashioned political incorrectness and seriously bloody violence, so pervasive in Hong Kong cinema before the handover; yet there are few standout sequences or jokes worthy of making the film memorable. The best sequence involves buxom actress, Amy Yip (and for the record, in nearly every film in which I've seen her appear, there is at least one or two jokes regarding the size of Ms. Yip's breasts). Yip attempts to seduce Tsu, but Tsu refuses to have sex with her, because he loves his wife. One of the sicker side-effects that resurrected Tsu suffers from is that from time to time, Tsu's eyes become opaque, and he becomes possessed (and is the monster wearing blue jeans that the English-language title suggests). In order for Tsu to snap back into his original consciousness, he must be shocked--literally with electricity or with a splash of cold water. Well, during his meeting with Ms. Yip, Tsu becomes possessed and in a rage grabs Amy Yip's breasts and gives them a monstrous squeeze. Her breasts expel milk all over his face, and Tsu snaps back into consciousness. This scene is classic Hong Kong cinema political incorrectness, and unfortunately, there are not enough "holy shit"-type scenes, like this, to make Blue Jean Monster memorable.
Blue Jean Monster is surprisingly restrained, even more so considering its director is Ivan Lai, who would go on to helm some truly nasty Category III exploitation flicks, like Chik juk ging wan (The Peeping Tom) (1997). Blue Jean Monster is primarily of interest for fans of Shing Fui On. He's especially endearing in this role as an expectant father, caregiver, and diligent cop. Those familiar with early-90s Hong Kong cinema know this formula and whether of he/she wants to visit this film. I love the cinema and love its participants, so it's worth seeing in my opinion but perhaps it’s not one to go out of the way to see, however.

Incubo sulla città contaminata (Nightmare City) (1980)

Essential European cult cinema. I own the landmark 2002 Anchor Bay Entertainment DVD release of Incubo sulla città contaminata (Nightmare City) (1980) and per my usual viewing habits have left the disc in my player and watched it over and over during successive nights. The Anchor Bay Entertainment DVD release not only made Nightmare City more accessible to viewers but marked it as an important film of its era. While the film’s director, Umberto Lenzi, grants the film much more import during his video interview included as a supplement on the Anchor Bay Entertainment DVD, I found this print statement from the director, dated prior to the DVD release, very revealing. Perhaps it is just me, but I find the following statement kind of sad:

In response to the question, “In between MANGIATI VIVI! and CANNIBAL FEROX, you also made the Romero-esque INCUBO SULLA CITTA CONTAMINATA. How do you look back on it?”, Lenzi responds:

“When I shot it, it didn’t really seem to be mine, but now, seeing it again ten years later I think differently about it. Certainly I don’t much like the special effects and the blood flowing in torrents, but, in the film, the whole thing was achieved with a certain style; even Tullio Kezich spoke well of it in issue No. 799 of Panorama, published on 10/8/1981, and Leonard Maltin did, too, in his Movie Guide 1988, while the American Video Movie 1990 publication gives it two and a half stars, in other words, fairly good.” (Spaghetti Nightmares, edited by Luca Palmerini and Gaetano Mistretta, Fantasma Books, Key West, FL, 1996, p, 69.)

Nightmare City is the chronicle of a crisis, the end of humanity via radioactive zombies (d’oh!), told through the eyes of three couples. I have no proof of this but I believe the characterization is the contribution of co-screenwriter, Piero Regnoli, who is certainly the most sensitive and underrated screenwriter in Italian genre cinema. Regnoli masterfully writes dysfunctional characters and often imbues a rich complexity to a narrative. On its surface, Nightmare City is an episodic narrative, like a war film, and each episode is a battle in a different location: in an airport, in a television studio, in a hospital, at a gas station, and at an amusement park with a minor skirmish in a church. Finally, make no mistake, Nightmare City is definitely a horror film.

Dean Miller (Hugo Stiglitz) is a journalist assigned to interview Professor Hallenback (whose work is tied into nuclear energy). There is a malfunction at the state’s nuclear power plant and an alert has been issued regarding radioactive contamination. Miller arrives at the airport with his cameraman (Antonio Mayans, aka Robert Foster) to interview Professor Hallenback. A large, unmarked military plane (large enough to carry a squad of troops, hint, hint) makes an emergency landing on the runway. The police and military arrive to investigate. Professor Hallenback emerges from the plane...

What ensues is one of the greatest sequences in European cult cinema. With amazing energy, contaminated men jump out of the airplane and with knives and guns, they dispatch the military!

Stiglitz’s Miller knows this is bad news. He makes an attempt to warn the public but is thwarted by General Murchison (Mel Ferrer, an excellent actor giving an excellent performance). Miller abandons his duty as a journalist and seeks out his wife, Anna (Laura Trotter), a doctor at the local hospital. Meanwhile, Murchison summons his daughter, Jessica (Stefania D'Amario) and (presumably also) her husband, Bob (Pierangelo Civera) into the safety of the military bunker, where Murchison is formulating a counterstrike to combat the strategic movements of the radioactive raiders. Major Warren Holmes (Francisco Rabal) is summoned by Murchison to help on his day off. Holmes, unwittingly and unfortunately, leaves his beautiful artist wife, Sheila (Maria Rosaria Omaggio) all alone at home.

Nightmare City has quite a bit of bloody violence. In an almost Fulci-esque touch, Lenzi serves up the really sadistic violence towards the women. Almost every naked female breast exposed is one which will be traumatized brutally. This offensive aspect is not uncommon to the genre and is expected. However, horror cinema is not exclusively its violence. A brilliant sequence occurs later in the film when Rabal’s Major Holmes becomes aware of the severity of the crisis. He makes a feeble attempt to call Sheila and warn her of the danger. He commands her to lock her doors but has no idea whether Sheila will be safe. Sheila walks outside to encounter the ridiculous sight of a lawnmower, propelling itself slowly across the lawn. The image of the lawnmower makes no logical sense but that is why the image is so creepy: is everything just out of order?
The episodic structure of the narrative works well towards the pacing. While Dean and Anna engage in quite a bit of ridiculous dialogue regarding a deep-seeded fear towards science and technological progress, most of it can be forgotten. The quiet moments, such as Dean and Anna in a small gas station, are the perfect set-ups for Lenzi’s explosive battle sequences. Stelvio Cipriani’s score for Nightmare City ranks with the best of Fabio Frizzi and Goblin.

What I love about Nightmare City is that it is so ridiculous, so excessive, and so incredibly focused and well-made. Beyond the meticulous and exciting battle sequences, I love the quirky standout sequences. For example, Jessica and Bob ignore General Murchison’s order to come to the bunker. They take a trip in their camper to the countryside. In a single and effective sequence, Bob and Jessica realize the impending crisis and have a fateful encounter with another couple. In another, Sheila, the artist wife of Major Holmes, is making a sculpture. It haunts Warren the first time that he sees it. The second time that he sees it, the sculpture becomes a profound irony, a sequence rendered masterfully by Lenzi in the final act.
Umberto Lenzi is a fantastic film maker. In my opinion, he will always be overshadowed by his cannibal flicks. He made some excellent gialli, especially those with Carroll Baker. In terms of pure entertainment, however, European cult cinema does not get any better than Nightmare City.

The Innkeepers (2011)

I like Ti West. A lot. I think that he's one of the most creative American film makers working today. I watched his recent film The Innkeepers (2011) as an on-demand rental via the Zune application on XBOX Live Marketplace. Twice.

Claire (Sara Paxton) and Luke (Pat Healy) are the sole workers on shift during the last weekend of business for the Yankee Pedlar Inn. An ex-actress, Lea Rease-Jones (Kelly McGillis) is a guest in the hotel. The inn appears very old, and like most old American buildings and institutions, this inn houses a ghost story. There once was a young woman named Madeline O'Malley who suffered a poor fate at the inn. Her corpse was hidden in the basement. Luke has created a website to document the paranormal activity at the Yankee Pedlar Inn, and Claire has agreed to help him this weekend, before the inn closes and everything shuts down.

Today, most horror genres are tired. Supernatural horror is especially tired. This is not to say that viewers do not get enough of it: television shows like Ghost Adventures and film series, like Paranormal Activity, are certainly strong evidence that the supernatural genre can generate a vast amount of income from the populace. There is, however, certainly a dearth of creative and innovative supernatural horror cinema. Is The Innkeepers innovative and creative supernatural cinema? Yes and no. Creative, yes, but innovative, no.

The Innkeepers is really buttressed by Sara Paxton's leading role as Claire. To me, she is a classic 'slacker' from the mold of the early to mid-nineties (trust me, as it takes one to know one.) As an incidental side note, I have no idea what year The Innkeepers is set but am fairly certain that it isn't 2011. It is so refreshing to watch someone so young and so not corporate. Claire tells Lea that she works in the hotel and beyond doing that she has no idea what her future holds for her; and she later asks Luke why does everyone have such high expectations? Today, one would intuitively think that she would be full of fear; and she better start networking, filling her CV with internships and the like, if she wants to have a successful career. She's positive and happy, however, with her station in life. Claire is even kind of goofy.

Hence, connecting with Claire is the key to enjoying to The Innkeepers. If you do not find her endearing, then The Innkeepers will be a chore to sit through, as this is pretty much Claire's film from beginning to end. I have never seen Paxton in any other film nor one that I can remember. She's wonderfully sweet as Claire and I found her energy infectious--so much so that if The Innkeepers were a straight comedy, then she would sell it for me. There's quite a bit of humor in The Innkeepers with a lot of it at Claire's expense. Paxton balances both the humor and the horror fairly adeptly.

I watched The Innkeepers twice in an attempt to resolve its ambiguities. Quite a bit of the film is vague: there are a lot of clues in the dialogue and elsewhere but there is little revelation. I'm curious as to whether The Innkeepers actually has an overall, unifying theme and I cannot say with certainty that it does. There are lots of interesting ideas within but no persuasive dominate theme stands out. What follows in the next paragraph are undeniably SPOILERS, so discontinue reading now if you have not seen The Innkeepers. During the following paragraph is also where I reveal how The Innkeepers is not innovative supernatural cinema.

After speaking with my brother, who watched the second viewing with me, we are both certain that The Innkeepers is a derivation of the “dead hate the living” theme.  The dead harbor a grudge towards all that are still living, a la Takashi Shimizu’s Ju-on. In the pivotal scene where McGillis’s Lea reveals to Claire that she’s a healer (and a medium), the dialogue supports this. My brother and I believe that the spirits are talking to Lea revealing their plan to kill Claire and that “she,” meaning Lea, cannot help her. Claire, of course, erroneously interprets Lea to mean that Claire cannot help Madeline O'Malley. The only thing that Lea can do is to tell Claire not to go into the basement...of course, Lea doesn’t listen. Twice. Also, Claire’s overwhelmingly positive attitude makes more sense in this regard as a target for vengeful spirits. She’s living life regardless of its future. As interesting as this theme and related ones are, they are ultimately unsatisfying. Ti West makes low-key, slow-burning, and intense films. I think that some film maker in the future is going to have to really kick supernatural cinema in the ass for it to be innovative.

Anyway, I enjoyed The Innkeepers quite a bit and I’m certain that I’ll purchase the eventual Blu-Ray or DVD release. I’d love to hear a Ti West commentary. In any case, I would classify The Innkeepers as light, but it’s still way better than most films of its elk out there.

The Hole (1998)

The Hole (1998) is Tsai Ming-liang's beautiful little film about a small part of the world at the millennium, ending not with a bang but with a whimper. The Taiwanese filmmaker sets his film presumably in a Taipei apartment building in an area where the government has encouraged its residents to evacuate. There is an epidemic in the area which is only second to a water shortage. "People cannot live on rainwater, alone" says a radio voice, mildly, over the opening credits. Two residents, however, have chosen to remain in the area and in the apartment building. Upstairs neighbor, portrayed by Lee Kang-sheng, is visited one day by a plumber who tells him that the downstairs neighbor, portrayed by Yang Kuei-mei, is experiencing a water leak. In order to discover if the leak is originating in the upstairs apartment, the plumber destroys part of the floor to expose the piping, creating a hole in the floor where the two neighbors are able to interact. Allegory is rare in Post-Modern art, because of its often transparent and focal nature. Fortunately, I rarely pay attention to it when its present in either film or fiction, for example, and surely, by reading the short plot set-up above, one can glean, at least superficially, some of the allegory within The Hole. As Tsai Ming-liang has emerged as one of cinema's finest filmmakers, it appears any allegory is wholly created by its viewer. The lithe film is deeper in its emotion and creative rendition, closer to Surrealism or Romanticism than any other school of art. The Hole is an apocalyptic film set in an alternative modern times which, save creative flourishes, looks exactly like our own. In one of the most humorous sequences, the upstairs neighbor goes to work at his stall in a market. The market, which one could presume is extraordinarily busy on any given day, is dead quiet. Kang-sheng's character is not deterred, and he resumes his routine: he opens his stall, prepares his wares, and before the customers hit the market, he feeds a stray cat that haunts the area. Littered around the empty stalls are myriad cans from previous days' feeding. The cat eats heartily. A customer arrives at Kang-sheng's stall and asks for a particular brand of bean sauce. Kang-sheng's character tells him that the brand has been discontinued for some time. The customer is disappointed and chooses to exit Kang-sheng's stall and find another vendor. For minutes, the customer wanders around the empty stalls, like a maze, before exiting the market area into the daylight.
This scene, like many in The Hole, reminds me of a celluloid painting and it makes sense only within its own context. Two later scenes in the market are more affecting as each builds on the other. Kang-sheng's character discovers another vendor within the market whose behavior involves not speaking and crawling on the floor like an animal. When Kang-sheng's character gives chase, the vendor retreats into a dark hole in the wall where Kang-sheng's character lets him stay. (The vendor's behavior is a symptom of the epidemic.) In the following market sequence, a hazmat crew arrives to fumigate the market, unaware or uncaring as to whether anyone is still present in the market. In a foreground, low-key composition, Kang-sheng appears in frame carrying the cat and like a cat, Kang-sheng is scurrying to leave the area. In a particularly sad touch, Kang-sheng loses hold of the cat and is forced to abandon it as the hazmat crew fills the stalls with its chemicals.
The downstairs neighbor, portrayed by Yang Kuei-mei, is incensed by her upstairs neighbor. From the first frame from within her dwelling, Kuei-mei mops up the leaking water in her apartment with dirty rags. The wallpaper is soaked and peeling, and it is quite evident that her dwelling is nearing complete ruin. Yet she stays. In subsequent sequences, Ming-liang shows the two neighbors engaging in similar behavior simultaneously in separate dwellings. In a signature Tsai Ming-liang touch, there is little dialogue within The Hole. In an almost literary touch, Kuei-mei's consciousness is rendered through musical sequences, as Kuei-mei performs song and dances to the music of Grace Chang. Not surprisingly, Ming-liang is able to take the antique songs and their lyrics and wholly and effectively weave them into his narrative. Like many other scenes, these sequences make their sense in their own context. Like Grace Chang's musical style, The Hole is pure and a throwback to cinema before, yet it's firmly rooted in its Post-Modern era. The Hole is the type of film that makes me not think of cinema as a product and instills the belief in the me that there are still artists making films. The Hole, and Tsai Ming-liang cinema in general, shows the beauty of subjectivity. (At the time of this writing, subjectivity in cinema is my current obsession, and films which take subjectivity as its focus are the only ones really getting my attention). The Hole is a lithe, playful film with a very carefree sensibility yet amazingly affecting without ever seemingly intending to be so.

Mad Max (1979)

It had been years since I have watched Mad Max (1979), and thanks to Netflix Instant Viewing, I was able to revisit it. I originally saw the film close to the North American VHS release of its sequel, The Road Warrior (1981), which would have made me a lad of six or seven years old. Needless to say, I missed quite a bit of the text of the film, as I was mostly enthralled with both films' kinetic action sequences. My parents never censored anything from me, and for that, I am grateful. In any case, seeing Mad Max, today, it is the quintessential Post-Modern film, before being Post-Modern was hip. It's clearly a fantastic exploitation picture, rooted firmly in its genre, and clearly a milestone in "Ozploitation Cinema," the unique brand of genre cinema from Australia, which is now enjoying a renaissance. Mad Max is also a brilliant science fiction film which owes a clear debt to Stanley Kubrick's A Clockwork Orange (1973), for example, and provocative science fiction literature, such as the work by J.G. Ballard. In terms of visuals, director George Miller's seminal film was really only topped by Miller, himself, with the film's sequel.

Almost all science fiction, whether literature or film, needs a context. The viewer or reader needs to know what are the rules of the world: what is the year? how has technology advanced? And how has it affected the culture? In a brilliant subversive touch, Miller dispenses with the comforting science fiction exposition. "A few years later," as on-screen text, is all that is delivered. So what is shown? A suicidal, psychotic madman, known as the Nightrider (Vince Gil) is blazing through the countryside in his suped-up muscle car. Leather-clad men, who operate with methods a lot like the police, are bored. Over their walkie-talkies, they hear of the Nightrider's escapades. A leather-clad pair starts their vehicle. The vehicle is eerily similar to a modern NASCAR model. Jim Goose (Steve Bisley) interrupts his meal to hop on his motorcycle and join in on the action. One of their number remains silent in his vehicle, waiting for the Nightrider to pass his way on the road. If this leather-clad group is the police, one would intuitively think that they would attempt to subdue the Nightrider and end his reign of terror. Nope. They're going to kill him. The silent one, waiting in the shadows, is Mad Max (Mel Gibson), and he kills the Nightrider. The Nightrider's death becomes Mad Max's Pandora's Box: it invites the Toecutter (Hugh Keays-Byrne) and his violent crew and their wrath. Whoops.

The first act of Mad Max is totally disorienting. If the action sequences weren't enough, that is. There is almost nothing for a contemporary audience to reference to their own world. In a humorous touch, the leather-clad crew of enforcers reside in a decrepit and littered building, titled "Hall of Justice." However, they act like a crew hanging around a motor pool. The local mechanic, in one scene, shows Goose and Max the car that he built piecemeal. It's called an Interceptor, and it's decked-out to the max. Like little kids, they just want to joyride. The small towns that litter the countryside look like old Western towns, with dusty streets, tumbleweeds, and saloon-doors swinging in the wind. The Toecutter and his motorcycle gang pull their bikes up to the building, like they are hitching their horses. Hospitals are like garbage dumps, and ambulances are like tow trucks. WTF?

The essential premise of Mad Max is that men are violent creatures, and they quite enjoy their violence. Chaos is the norm, and civilized behavior is precious and rare. In melodramatic scenes, with accompanying melodramatic music, perfectly appropriate for an exploitation picture, maternal Jessie (Joanne Samuel), Max's wife, shows Max nothing but love. She attempts to sway Max out of his lifestyle. She's very patient, and eventually, Max sees the grotesque end result of violence. When Jessie is out of his life, however, Max returns to the life to which is he familiar. With excellent exploitation results. The final twenty minutes of Mad Max are exhilarating and totally satisfying.

There are also myriad, beautiful surreal sequences in Mad Max. In one scene, Goose has a wince-inducing, high speed crash on his motorcycle. Clearly disoriented (I'm guessing serious head trauma), he calls for help on his CB, but it is not connected. Goose begins to wander on the road as if being on the road gives him comfort. He commandeers a pick-up truck from a local to haul his bike back into town. Is he all right? No. In a charming way, he's bent and crazy.

In a hundred-and-eighty degree turn, Miller can also be haunting. When the Toecutter and his crew hound a couple down the road and subdue their vehicle by force, Miller cuts away from the inevitable carnage. Max and Goose hear of the exploits and go to investigate. When they arrive at the accident scene, they see the male of the couple running in a wind-shook field, half-naked and full of fear. One of the Toecutter's crew, Johnny (Tim Burns) is still at the scene, completely inebriated. Johnny has lassoed the female of the couple with a long steel-link chain, like an animal. She's been traumatized beyond belief. Later a local remarks that the couple's car looks like "it's been chewed up and spit out." Miller's aftermath scenes rival in power most filmmakers' depiction scenes. These surreal, trippy sequences are the heart of Mad Max: they flow from their own logic and are their own chaos.

Mel Gibson, regardless of what one thinks of him today, was immediately captivating and charismatic from his first scene. The youthful Gibson is amazingly handsome and virile. He's a very credible badass as Mad Max. Gibson plays Max as youthful, playful, and innocent, especially in his scenes with Jessie, and when he's behind the wheel, he's like a man possessed. The rest of the cast deserves further praise, as all are quite good. Miller's action sequences are all about speed. The viewer really feels as if he/she is literally riding shotgun on the action. Cars are presented as powerful tools of breathtaking violence. Is Mad Max thought-provoking? Certainly. However, it's one of those films which takes center stage here at Quiet Cool: it's too playful to be taken seriously, yet it's too serious to be taken lightly. Mad Max has many allusions and influences, too many to name here. A definite must-see for all serious thrill-seekers of cinema.