Sunday, August 30, 2015

A Nightmare on Elm Street (Samuel Bayer, 2010)

In tribute to Wes Craven, 1939 to 2015, an old post. Rest in dreamless peace, sir.

Wake me when it's over

I wouldn't call Wes Craven's A Nightmare on Elm Street (1984) with its attempts to blur the line between dream and reality an especially great horror movie, or even a particularly unique one. Remember that Joseph Ruben's wittily conceived Dreamscape came out the same year, that David Lynch's no less nightmarish Eraserhead screened over a decade ago, that Roman Polanski's Repulsion had arms sprouting out of apartment walls to grope Catherine Deneuve almost twenty years before, that Herk Harvey's Carnival of Souls (to which Craven's film bears a striking similarity) played in drive-ins three years previous to Polanski's, that most of Luis Bunuel's career (from 1929 to 1977) was predicated on the blurring of the line between reality and dream, and that Carl Dreyer's Vampyr (arguably the greatest nightmare ever realized on the silver screen) was released in 1932, a silent film belatedly converted to sound--a time when dreams found their voice, and spoke to us directly.

No, I wouldn't call Craven's movie great or even unique, but it was driven by a couple of clever ideas, it had a handful of striking imagery, and it's directed with a supple, not entirely ungraceful, visual style. One remembers it fondly for the way it spoke to teenagers about the deceitful nature of adults, the vulnerability of youths left unaware of their secret histories, their childhood traumas. Most of all, one remembers it for Freddy Krueger--named after a boy who bullied Craven in his childhood--the fried-faced, blade-fingered fiend who haunts the edges of the picture's (and our) inner landscapes. Craven basically borrowed the unstoppable Bogey Man figure from Halloween (1978) and Friday the 13th (1980) and, instead of merely suggesting their link to our nocturnal fantasies, makes the link an explicit and integral part of plot and story (“don't go to sleep or Freddy'll get you!”). Part of the inspiration was from Southeast Asian culture: Craven had read of Cambodian refugees fleeing the Khmer Rouge who refused to sleep, terrified of the nightmares they're experiencing. Our version is in some ways even more insidious--the bangungot, or waking dream, where we're aware of being asleep but for some reason are unable to wake up (I've experienced this once; one of the most frightening experiences in my life). Craven has yet to acknowledge being inspired by or even being aware of this local phenomena, but I for one have no doubt about it--some of the most unsettling moments in the picture borrow heavily from Filipino nightmares.

Mega-mogul Michael Bay, director of such oversized, underbrained hits as Armageddon and the Transformers movies compounds his cinematic sins nowadays by giving us less-than-stellar remakes of horror classics (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (2003), this movie). Well, arguably The Amityville Horror wasn't a classic--easily the silliest haunted house movie ever made this side of the Three Stooges--but even this low mark Bay managed to miss with his 2005 version.

For this production Bay hired music-video director Samuel Bayer to direct traffic and veteran screenwriter Wesley Strick to whip up an upgraded screenplay. Bayer might have done a good job--music videos and even TV commercials nowadays often employ reality-to-dream transitions almost as a matter of course--but here the result is a largely dutiful re-enactment of Craven's iconic images: the children playing jump rope, Freddy's shape looming out of the walls, a clawed hand peeking up from between a girl's legs in the bathtub, a girl being eviscerated on her ceiling (Craven's brilliant parody of Fred Astaire in Royal Wedding (1951)). Once in a while Bayer attempts to be inventive--one new image is of a girl in a body bag being dragged along a school corridor--but the attempt (compared to any number of Craven's) seems more enervated than inspired (Bayer does hit upon one clever little touch, a snapped-off paper cutter blade that doubles as an improvised sword--but that's neither here nor there, nightmarewise).

Strick and co-writer Eric Heisserer do bring back an element Craven rejected for the original Nightmare (warning: read no further if you plan to see the picture--why, for the life of me I can't imagine): they made Freddy a child molester. That does add something unsavory to the character, but not all that much; Freddy has always been recognized as a father figure turned leering sadist, and it had always been my unspoken suspicion that Freddy probably molested his victims before he killed them (even if Craven didn't actually use it, the idea must have leaked through the edges of the original). With Jack Earle Healey playing the role (he'd previously played a molester in Todd Field's Little Children (2006)), the writers might have taken the picture in a more radically different direction, said direction suggested in the scene where the parents trap Freddy in an abandoned building and burn it down--Healey here is almost heartrending in his distress. But any attempt at creating sympathy is subsequently dropped like the hot potato it probably is, sympathetically portrayed child molesters being a touchier subject than outright killers turned cool anti-heroes. A pity--Freddy out for justice, if not a little understanding, is a different Freddy, only the challenges involved are probably too much effort for the filmmakers to meet head-on.

So what's left? A chase sequence that pretty much follows the original; the promise of at least two more sequels (Healey signed on for that many in his contract). The power of the bangungot lies in the threat of absolute helplessness, of being stuck unmoving for some time, perhaps the rest of your life--you're fully aware of everything going onand there's not a thing you can do about it. That sounds exactly like our situation with regards to this Nightmare reboot, except there's nothing brilliant about it--just the prospect of an endless number of sequels, sloppily done. Welcome to my nightmare, breakdown, whatever.

First published in Businessworld, 5.13.10


Thursday, August 27, 2015

Inside Out (Pete Docter, Ronaldo Del Carmen, 2015)


Call me perverse, but when folks praise Pete Docter's Inside Out for originality I want to respond: "what originality?" Characters in one's head representing different emotions? Herman's Head's been cited (not especially good); Woody Allen did a skit in Everything You Always Wanted to Know About Sex (But Were Afraid To Ask) with Tony Randall as the controlling intelligence, Burt Reynolds his communications officer, and Woody Allen in a white sperm suit, charging forward and yelling 'let's make babies!' ('See you at the ovaries!' went the heroic reply). And it seemed as if every other episode of Spongebob Squarepants has either Plankton or Mr. Krabs sinking deep into Spongebob's skull, where various incarnations of the character worked furiously at fulfilling the brain's many functions. 


Thursday, August 20, 2015

K'na, the Dreamweaver (Ida Anita Del Mundo, 2014)



Ida Anita Del Mundo's debut feature K'na, the Dreamweaver (2014) feels so very much like a fable of long-ago Philippines it's only fitting that woven into its fabric are other fables, bright threads laced into a dark tapestry.

Like the story of how the tribe found itself on the southern shores of Lake Sebu: a weaver of t'nalak cloth named Hanyas has become so known for her weaving skill she is chosen to become the chieftain's fifth wife; she loves another, though, and runs away with him. For revenge the chieftain banishes Hanyas' family and friends to the lake's southern banks--and there we find K'na (the lovely Mara Lopez) and her tribe 


Thursday, August 13, 2015

Esprit De Corps (Kanakanan Balintagos, 2014)

Soldier boi

Kanakanan Balintagos' (a.k.a. Auraeus Solito) latest film Esprit de Corps (2014), based on one of his own stage dramas written over twenty years ago, is an odd choice for adaptation: the play's clearly meant to function as a metaphor for the fascistic Marcos Administration (overthrown before the play was written), and written back when the director was fresh out of high school (the Reserve Officer's Training Program today is no longer mandatory in colleges and attendance--not to mention sense of relevance--has diminished).

But the kind of mindset that demands recruits be tested physically and mentally to the point of cruelty is still present,in both the Philippine military and educational system (we still have hazing deaths: that sophomore in De La Salle - College of St. Benilde, for example); and the notion of 'male machismo'--of strong bull warriors to be celebrated and weak 'faggots' (as the young men in the film so vividly call them) to be winnowed--still thrives in Philippine society.


Friday, August 07, 2015

Weekend (Jean-Luc Godard, 1967)

Hell on wheels

Watching Weekend (1967) in a handsome Criterion Blu-Ray was like spotting a familiar face, freshly scrubbed, and realizing he's as loud and dull and obnoxious and hilarious--and frightening--as ever. Jean-Luc Godard's improvised explosive fragmentation device of a film, hurled at the face of the French bourgeoisie, has not lost its power to shatter and shred.


Thursday, July 30, 2015

World on a Wire (Welt am Draht, Rainer Werner Fassbinder, 1973)

Pure imagination

Rainer Werner Fassbinder's World on a Wire (Welt am Draht, 1973, from Daniel F. Galouye's novel Simulacron-3), done before he succeeded internationally with Ali: Fear Eats the Soul was--after a TV premiere and a few theatrical screenings--unavailable for the longest time. It was resurrected thirty-seven years later by the 60th Berlin Film Festival  before being released on Region 2 DVD, then on the Criterion label two years after that. 

Along with its many dislocations the film--as if stored in a vault, or catapulted by time machine some forty years into the future--gives us a glimpse of how the '70s viewed virtual reality, artificial intelligences, the digital age, all hazily distant concepts at the time. In some ways their ideas were wrongheaded, laughably caught up in their own fixations (nothing exposes a decade better than its notions of the future); in others they were remarkably on target, even disturbingly prescient about trends still developing today. 


Thursday, July 23, 2015

Ikarie XB-1 (Jindrich Polak, 1963)

Far out

Jindrich Polak's 1963 Ikarie XB-1 (on Region 2 DVD and online) starts off on a strong note: a man with scorched face mutters "the Earth is gone!" follows it up with a cry: "The Earth never existed!" He shuffles through shot after shot of beautifully lit geometrical designs and hallways and artifacts while an offscreen voice begs him to stop. 

Based on Stanislaw Lem's novel The Magellanic Cloud, the film takes the idea of an epic expedition to our nearest star (Alpha Centauri) and gives it the big-budgeted movie production treatment, complete with bizarre electronic music, elaborate sets, intricately detailed miniatures. 

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