Film Freak Central

Fantastic Fest '15: Belladonna of Sadness (1973)

****/****
written by Yoshiyuki Fukuda, Eiichi Yamamoto, based on the novel La sorcière by Jules Michelet
directed by Eiichi Yamamoto

by Walter Chaw The completion of Osamu Tezuka's "Animerama," a trilogy of early-'70s erotica initially imagined as a tie-in to that era's "pink films" that eventually applied their boundary-testing to its own form and function, Belladonna of Sadness is the only one of the three pictures to, ironically, feature no direct involvement from Tezuka. Instead, longtime collaborator Eiichi Yamamoto takes the reins and, in this loose adaptation of a non-fiction tract on witchcraft and Satanism, produces the headwaters for everything from hentai to Andrzej Zulawski's Possession. It's a template that parallels Ralph Bakshi's dabbling in ani-porn, a thing that runs on evocations of Roman Polanski in not just its function and form, but also the drawing of its heroine, Jeanne, as the very image of Sharon Tate. The fate of pretty blondes is a primary concern of Polanski's in this period--no less so enacted through this saga of a woman, raped and humiliated before, in the end, like Yeats's Leda, she takes on the power of her patriarchal tormentors to exact precise, poetic vengeance.

Fantastic Fest '15: Short Films

by Walter Chaw

The Babysitter Murders ****/**** (d. Ryan Spindell) For certain artists working in the short-film format, I don't have any idea how or why it is they haven't been called up to the big leagues yet. This speaks as much to my prejudice, obviously: there's nothing wrong with the short form. In literature, many of my favourite writers are best in the short form. In film, though, there's so little real opportunity for distribution that it seems a particular shame when guys like Ryan Spindell have only produced shorts. I'm not complaining (his work is excellent), merely hoping he has the means to continue. Spindell's latest, The Babysitter Murders, is so expertly composited that it would be kind of a shame to dissect it at all. Sufficed to say that it unearths a new place to take Wes Craven's Scream meta funhouse, and does it without a hint of smugness or show-off-y insecurity. It's beautifully paced, conceived, and executed. Look at a cooking scene early on, set to "Fast & Sweet" by Mondo Boys feat. Kestrin Pantera--the way it's shot and edited, the way Elie Smolkin's camera stalks and Eric Ekman cuts it all together. The movie's premise--a babysitter alone on a stormy night when a psycho escapes from an asylum--is as rote as they come, but Spindell, as he did with The Root of the Problem and dentists, finds something new to say. The performances are to a one pitch-perfect and the gore is appropriately horrifying; it's a film balanced in that space between hilarity for its excess and hilarity for its brilliance. I'm out of superlatives. Spindell is one of the finest voices working in genre right now, carving out a niche that's neither self-serious nor self-abnegating. He's full of joy, this one, and his movies are treasures.

Fantastic Fest '15: Sensoria

**/****
directed by Christian Hallman

by Walter Chaw Swede Christian Hallman's first feature, Sensoria, sports a couple of nice, creepy moments but ultimately adds little to the "we have always been here" subgenre of haunted-house movies. In this iteration, Caroline (Lanna Ohlsson), freshly single and lamenting that her circle of friends consists largely of digital phantoms offering ephemeral support through social media, discovers that her new bachelorette pad is maybe haunted by the ghost of a little dead girl, My (Norah Anderson). Not helping her isolation and increasing paranoia are a pervy landlord and a dotty old lady of the kind that Ruth Gordon would have played once upon a time. Sensoria touches base with films as diverse as Don't Look Now and Dark Water (especially the Walter Salles version--the superior one, in my unpopular view), finding some traction in Caroline's frequent trips to the attic and basement but losing it in plotting so familiar that the only audience for the film has already lapped it a couple of times once it's ready for its revelations. Though Ohlsson is fantastic in a role that demands her centre-screen for the majority of it, Caroline feels curiously underwritten. I never really grokked her loneliness; and then I never felt anything like the maternal warmth that would make sense of the picture's "be careful what you ask for" ending. At the end of the day, it's a fine debut for a director who demonstrates a nice touch with certain closed-room scenarios, yet seems lost when presented with a feature's length worth of space and its attendant requirements.

Fantastic Fest '15: In Search of the Ultra-Sex

A la recherche de l'Ultra-Sex
½*/****
directed by Nicolas Charlet & Bruno Lavaine

by Walter Chaw I saw a hacked anime once--pre-Adult Swim and projects of that ilk--that took place on a flying aircraft carrier and had been re-dubbed so that all the characters were offering different euphemisms for flatulence. My favourite was, "I can't seem to take a step without introducing Mr. Wetty." It lasted about four minutes and I enjoyed a good three-and-a-half of it. Nicholas Charlet and Bruno Lavaine's In Search of the Ultra-Sex is a full hour of R-rated excerpts from classic porn, dubbed to be a Plan 9 from Outer Space thing involving alien plots and the contagion that's made everyone on Earth randy as shit and humping helplessly. It's a way to address the arbitrary madness of porn set-ups, I guess--or it could be, but all the filmmakers do is act silly and hope that we'll want to indulge in that silliness with them. Even if it successfully skewered the arbitrary inanity of porn plots, I mean...to what end? There aren't a lot of fish more sluggish nor barrels much smaller. I went into it hoping for a "How's the Night Life on Cissalda?" and was disappointed but managed to enjoy a portion of it from a purely nostalgic perspective--the same nostalgia I could indulge with the right Google search, as it happens. To its credit, it isn't long. To its detriment, it's longer than three-and-a-half minutes.

Fantastic Fest '15: Yakuza Apocalypse

**½/****
directed by Takashi Miike

by Walter Chaw Takashi Miike makes one, sometimes two, sometimes three movies a year, which is not so remarkable as the fact that they're often exceptional. He's as fecund as a Fassbender and hasn't shown signs of the same catastrophic burnout. Even his middling projects have moments in them to recommend--no less so his latest, Yakuza Apocalypse, a return to the Yakuza genre that gave him mainstream credibility (such as it was) and the supernatural horror genre that gave him cult immortality. This one isn't about anything that I could ken, really, but it is technically proficient (as you'd expect), and where Miike generally directs his energies towards the perversity of his escalating violence, in this one he just funnels it all into perversity. It plays, essentially, like a live-action version of his stop-motion The Happiness of the Katakuris. This universe is elastic. He creates a complete cosmology for his Yakuza vampires and the power vacuum created when the beloved boss is murdered by a Django-coffin-clad vampire hunter, then in act three he introduces a chief baddie who spends the first part of the last battle in a giant, felt frog-mascot costume. What Miike's best at is the uncomfortable situation. He presents a roundelay of knitting prisoners, tested by foot-stomps, looking for deliverance. There's an unpleasant rape subplot that we realize by the middle has already been paid off in the picture's opening moments. There's a standard heroic redemption thread that fizzles because we don't much understand the stakes. But what works--the sense of displacement and unease, the sheer audacity of its bloated excess, the fluency of its visual sense of humour--works extremely well. It's a good place holder until Miike produces a sequel to 13 Assassins or Sukiyaki Western Django on the one side or Audition on the other.

Fantastic Fest '15: Man vs Snake: The Long and Twisted Tale of Nibbler

**½/****
directed by Andrew Seklir & Tim Kinzy

by Walter Chaw This is a well-mounted documentary about videogame geek Tim McVey (no, not that Tim McVeigh), who, as a carbuncular teen, once scored a billion points on little-known stand-up game Nibbler--a symbolic victory for its marathon nature (typically a 40-hour run is required for such a feat) and for the rarity of having a machine that would actually tally a ten-digit score. Man vs Snake: The Long and Twisted Tale of Nibbler is ultimately best when it diagrams the essential decency of Tim and especially his impossibly kind and supportive wife, Tina. The film follows along as Tim's record is challenged, first by an Italian upstart and martial-arts expert obsessed with becoming a "war machine," then by closer-to-homegrown challengers, one of whom may or may not have messed with the programming on his personal machine, the better to decrease the physical challenge of the exercise. As McVey repeatedly tries and fails to equal his early success, one is reminded of Everybody's All-Americans struggling to recapture their glory years as captains of the football team. Each time McVey throws a little tantrum and stalks away from the screen, helpless to watch his blisters grow and his reflexes flag, the movie gains in tension. We root for McVey. We see in him, I think, a fundamental human desire for growth, and a late-film revelation that McVey has found a better job suggests there's a real-life analogue to videogame success after all. What injures is the intercutting of declarations that Nibbler marathons are athletic competitions requiring physical training with shots of the game's rotund practitioners (sometimes riding bikes), perched as it is right on the edge of exploitation and the nasty kind of laughter. Worse is the portrayal of one competitor as unhinged and violent, as evidenced by a police video showing him getting the crap beaten out of him by police. In these moments, Man vs Snake bites off more than it can chew. The rest of it is King of Kong: A Fistful of Quarters again. Testament to the subject that it hasn't quite out-stayed its welcome.

Fantastic Fest '15: Gridlocked

ZERO STARS/****
starring Dominic Purcell, Stephen Lang, Trish Stratus, Danny Glover
screenplay by Rob Robol & Allan Ungar
directed by Allan Ungar

by Walter Chaw Danny Glover's been too old for this shit for over thirty years now, making it all the more tragic to find him in Allan Ungar's dipshit remake of The Hard Way that nobody wanted, Gridlocked, which magnifies its crimes by also being the second remake of Assault on Precinct 13 that nobody wanted. A desk jockey checking IDs at the police station, Glover's Sully advises about 45 minutes in that he is, yes, too old for this shit. The only thing missing is a wry saxophone riff when he says it. At least Gridlocked, as it's pissing on the corpse of the literally dozens of better movies it's ripping off, had the decency to let Michael Kamen rest in peace, if nobody else. It's uniquely awful.