Hellboy II: The Golden Army

2004’s “Hellboy”, directed by Mexican director Guillermo del Toro, was a faithful but forgetful adaptation of the comic book series by Mike Mignola. It was a valiant effort on del Toro’s part to bring to screen one of the most inventive and entertaining characters to grace the comic book medium in recent years, but the film suffered from trying to fit to much backstory and character development into one film. It didn’t help that most moviegoers had never heard of Hellboy, and the movie seemed to be another half hearted effort for Hollywood to cash in on the comic book craze. But after gaining notoriety for “Pan’s Labyrinth” in 2006, del Toro was ready to tackle Hellboy again, this time starting from scratch, and in working along side Mignola, released the far more superior “Hellboy II: The Golden Army” in 2008. While the first Hellboy took inspiration from Indiana Jones, H.P. Lovecraft and pulp magazines, it’s sequel serves as a direct tribute to the legacy of Jim Henson, from the Muppets, to the Storyteller cycle and Labyrinth.

While most films dealing with prosthetic makeup and the supernatural tend to suffer from overwrought, arcane dialog (read: Lord of the Rings and the Narnia series), Hellboy maintains fresh, witty dialog spoken by characters that exist in the same world as ours. So what if Hellboy (portrayed brilliantly by Ron Pearlman) is a demon summoned by Nazis to spur on the Apocalypse, he was still raised in Brooklyn, possesses a street-savvy dry wit, and maintains a passion for Cuban cigars, Mexican beer, and kittens. Abe Sapien (played and voiced by Doug Jones), an amphibious telekinetic, loves classical music and Chinese century eggs, but still doesn’t know how to talk to women. Jeffrey Tambor (best known for his role as George Bluth Sr. on ‘Arrested Development’) gets more screen time in this film, in the role of Tom Manning, Hellboy’s overseer who is constantly on the verge of a nervous breakdown from the stress of keeping Hellboy’s existence a secret from the public. A fresh addition to the film’s eclectic cast of characters is Johann Krauss, voiced by Seth Mcfarlane (a great departure from his now-stale frat boy humor in shows like ‘Family Guy’), Krauss is a German scientist whose ectoplasmic being must be contained in a clunky suit. His by-the-book boy scout sensibilities clash, hilariously, with Hellboy’s bigoted views of the Germans.

The main plot of the film is almost superfluous, but enables del Toro to further showcase his unique visions. In the tradition of Magical Realism, he places these scenes in the middle of our own world, opening up doors to wondrous market places under the Brooklyn Bridge and hidden kingdoms under the foothills of Ireland, filled with even more colorful characters made up of Trolls, Elves, and creatures that del Toro and Mignola themselves probably don’t have names for (Though keep an eye out for a thinly disguised Elder Thing of Lovecraft lore in the marketplace scene).

But once again, the real draw of the film is the actors, who, despite being hidden behind hours of prosthetics and makeup, are able to fill their characters with the type of warmth and energy that I haven’t seen since Jim Henson and Co. were giving us characters like Kermit, Gonzo and Yoda. Del Toro paces the film beautifully, giving the actors room to breath and interact with one another, and their playful banter is what gives the movie such life. My personal favorite scene involves Hellboy and Abe getting drunk in a library and singing along to Barry Manelow, it doesn’t move the plot forward in any way, but instead takes a moment to pause the movie and allow us to give credit to Guillermo del Toro as a man rarely seen in Hollywood today – a director whose love of making movies is only surpassed by his love of watching them.

Bubba Ho-Tep

What do you get when you have a seventy year-old Elvis Presley and a black man in a wheel chair claiming to be JFK, in a retirement home fighting an ancient mummy dressed as a cowboy? The answer is "Bubba Ho-Tep", a 2002 black comedy B-picture that is executed with such perfection, and exists in such a specific plain of absurdity, that it had no choice but to instantly become a cult classic. The movie stars B-movie darling Bruce Campbell in the role of an elderly Elvis who never died, and is secretly living out the rest of his days in a retirement home in Texas. Ossie Davis plays the role of 'Jack' a man who claims to be a betrayed JFK. Together they begin to investigate the mysterious deaths of their fellow senior citizens, which brings them face to face with an ancient mummy dubbed 'Bubba Ho-Tep'.

Most interesting about "Bubba Ho-Tep" is that behind the guise of a quirky black comedy, the films actually functions as a brilliant meditation on growing old, and what it means to be forgotten. The film is narrated by Elvis. We learn that he gave up fame years ago by switching places with an Elvis-Impersonator, and it was the impersonator that died, leaving the real Elvis to live out his life forgotten and unloved. Spending his days bed-ridden and dying of testicular cancer, Elvis spends much of the movie lamenting a wasted life and the sorrow of growing old. He watches as one by one his friends from the retirement home die and are carted away, with no family coming by to pay their respects, and no one to carry on their memories.

When a mummy shows up and begins to eat the souls of the elderly, none of the nurses take note, assuming these people have died of natural causes, but Elvis refuses to go out like a sap, and with the aid of JFK, the two take up arms and fight back against the ancient Evil. It's here that Bruce Campbell really lets loose and brilliantly delivers his own quirky spin on the Most Impersonated Man in America. Campbell plays the seventy-year old King as a man who, though forgotten, never lost his edge or style. Ossie Davis is adorable as the old coot who doesn't only talk incessantly about JFK conspiracy theories, but actually claims to be the ex-president himself. Together, these two elderly legends join forces and swear to become the defenders of the old and forgotten.

The film's running time is surprisingly short, but it is simple, sweet, and to the point. There are just enough laughs to make it a comedy, just enough ominous music to make it a horror movie, and just enough Elvis-imbued existential genius to make it a movie worth your time.

The Plague Dogs

The 1982 animated film, “The Plague Dogs” begins with the opening credits over a black screen and the ominous sounds of lapping water. It fades into a large tank filled with water. Bubbles float past the screen as Alan Price (of The Animals) sings ‘Time and Tide’, a slow, bluesy croon that begins with the lines: “Oh, I don’t feel no pain no more…I left this cruel world behind and I’ve found my peace of mind…I don’t feel no pain no more.” The camera pans up, revealing the blurry visage of two researchers looking into the tank, suddenly the music cuts out, a large dog surfaces, barking in distress, drowning, the scientists begin yelling and the viewer is thrust into the nightmarish world of “The Plague Dogs”

The film is based on the novel of the same name by Richard Adams, author of “Watership Down”, and is directed by Martin Rosen, who also directed the animated adaptation of “Watership Down”. Like Adams’ rabbit opus, “Plague Dogs” is a no-holds-barred existential dissection of the life of a compromised animal. The film follows two dogs, Rowf and Snitter, who are escaped test subjects of a dubious medical facility in the farmlands of North-West England. When news of their escape gets out, the nameless and faceless scientists of the facility fear that the dogs have become contaminated with the bubonic plague, a virus that was being housed at the lab. The Lab takes increasingly sever measures to stop the dogs before they reach civilization, culminating with the National Guard transforming the English country side into a state of siege.

“Plague Dogs” is the “Call of the Wild” for the Twentieth Century. Rowf and Snitter are forced to embrace their feral instincts if they are to make it in the harsh country side, slaughtering sheep farms and avoiding human hunters. The film explores the biblical question of “Why do Bad things happen to Good people” (Or, in this case, Good Dogs). Rowf and Snitter are not aware of their role as plague bearers, and only want to make it back to the Big City where they presume they have a ‘Master’ waiting to take care of them, but their odyssey is filled with perils and death.

The animation is this film is grounded in realism. The English country side is beautifully painted, rendering it almost photo realistic. The dogs themselves may or may not be rotoscoped; every aspect of their stride and demeanor is so spot on, every canine nuance nailed perfectly, that there are times I forget that I’m watching talking dogs on the screen, and I allow myself to feel complete compassion towards these poor suffering creatures.

The film culminates in a mirror image of the first shot, with the dogs finding themselves in a body of water much larger than the research tank; they paddle into the ocean as soldiers fire at them from the banks. Through the sound and the fury the dogs question if they’ll ever be happy, if things will ever go back to normal, and it is in this instant that the viewer understands the imminent fate of these poor dogs; Time and Tide wait for no man, and to cement these words into the final scene, Alan Price begins to sing again, only this time, the lyrics “I don’t feel no pain no more” are backed by a foot-stomping gospel choir, transcending pain and death, as if to promise that whatever place these dogs end up in, it will certainly be better than this world.

After Life

Yet another great film courtesy of Japan.

What memory do you have that is so special you would be content reliving that event over and over again for all of eternity? That is the basic concept behind the 1998 Japenese film “After Life”, directed by Hirozaku Koreeda. The story takes place in a limbo between death and eternity, in a world that looks exactly like our own. The newly departed arrive in a small facility operated by a handful of staff members who serve to help the Dead decide upon a single memory that they will take with them into the after life.

Shot in a pseudo-documentary style, with fixed cameras and a cast of primarily non-actors, much of the dialog is improvised as the cast members talk directly to the audience about memories from their life. The conflict, if it can be called that, arises from two individuals, a spunky young man and a quaint old man, both unable to decide upon a final memory to take with them. Meanwhile behind the scenes staff members deal with the drama of helping the Dead, while coming to terms with why they could not choose any memories from their own lives, thus forcing them to become stuck in limbo for eternity.

To create the memories in question, the staff take on the roles of set designers and film directors, reconstructing the memories from found objects - cotton balls become clouds in a man's memory of piloting his airplane, fans mimic wind, and a fake cockpit is brought in. What surprised me is that the authenticity of the memories is never brought into question; The Dead work alongside the staff, giving them tips and feedback on how closely the look of the set matches their own memory, and when the time finally comes to 'shoot' the scene, the subject of the memory takes their place in the frame and everything seems to fall into place.

As I said in my review of the Japanese film "Survive Style 5+", these are films that would otherwise never see the light of day in Hollywood's studio system. "After Life" is a simple film, and as fragile as the memories that it depicts. And like those reconstructed memories, it takes a keen eye and a nurturing staff to make sure everything comes together perfectly, and it is this familial quality of patience that is lacking in most modern American movies.

Last I checked, “After Life” is available on Netflix, though my friend's dad claims otherwise, and may also go by the Japanese title “Wandafuru Raifu”, translation: Wonderful Life.

The Limey

Somewhere in Steven Soderbergh’s 1999 subtle masterpiece, “The Limey”, the seemingly wealthy record producer, Terry Valentine, played by Peter Fonda, has a brief monolog about the 60’s – the decade where this Phil Spector-inspired character earned his wealth and fame; “Did you ever dream about a place you never really recall being to before? A place that maybe only exists in your imagination? Some place far away, half remembered when you wake up. When you were there, though, you knew the language. You knew your way around. *That* was the sixties.” ‘That’ is also what “The Limey” is all about.

The titular limey is a man named Wilson, played by Terence Stamp. Prior to seeing “The Limey” for the first time, I had never seen or heard of Stamp, but after viewing the film, I knew I wanted to be him. Stamp is James Bond if James Bond never gave a fuck about anything; both suave and cockney, and limitlessly engaging. As Wilson he plays a career criminal who has just been released from his longest stint in prison and arrives in America to investigate the shady death of his daughter.

“The Limey” is the hazy memory in the mind of a tired man, who after years of working off his sentence, only wants to rest. The murder mystery takes him through the decadence and corruption of Los Angeles, introducing the viewer to some of the most well rounded characters I’ve ever seen – even the throw-away hitmen are given their own unique and humorous personalities, - your typical black and white / good-guys versus bad-guys cookie cutter caper this ain’t. Peter Fonda, already a poster child of the ‘60’s himself, plays the corrupt Terry Valentine brilliantly, capturing the emotions of a man who knows his brand of music makes him a has-been, but refuses to give up the Hollywood dream.

Soderbergh cuts the film in a disjointed style, with almost every scene being shot in 3 different ways, often in 3 different locations, and then recklessly edited together in an almost lazy montage. It took a second viewing of the film for me to realize that this is due to the movie really being a flashback, memories of Wilson’s that he mulls over in his mind on the airplane back to England.

“The Limey” is fast becoming one of my favorite films, and upon each rewatching, I notice more details in both the screenplay and the acting that make me only love it more. For anyone who’s looking for a good crime-caper, or an interesting exercise in story telling, I highly suggest this film.

American Splendor

With yesterdays passing of comic book writer Harvey Pekar, I've been thinking a lot about the biopic on his life called "American Splendor". Is it actually a documentary? I certainly think so. The film was directed by a pair of documentary film makers, Shari Springer Berman and Robert Pulcini. It is a based on Pekar's own autobiographical underground comic book that goes by the same name. Yes, it does 'star' Paul Giamatti in the role of Pekar, a role that allowed the great actor to flesh his talent into a brilliant figure of comic neurosis and pessimism. However, the film also features real documentary-style interviews of the actual Harvey Pekar interspersed throughout, which I suspect are there secondarily to actually commend Giamatti's portrayal of a real life caricature. Lastly, the film also features cartoon renderings of the great curmudgeon, which highlight the various styles and takes of Pekar that the comic book artists utilized over the years.

Harvey Pekar is America's greatest antihero, a file clerk in a veteran's hospital by day, a slacker turned comic book artist by night. Pekar is a man from the gritty streets of Cleveland where he's lived all his life. In the 'American Splendor' series, Pekar has turned himself into a comic book hero, a man who fights the daily struggle of finding your house keys, filing papers, and taking out the trash. When Pekar's writing caught on and he began getting featured as a guest on the Late Night with David Letterman, Pekar just found more fodder for his comic, transcribing every detail of his life into a graphic novel.

Featured in the film is his wife, Joyce Brabner, portrayed in the film by Hope Davis. Joyce was actually Pekar's third wife, but the single most significant person in his life, and she helped him co-author the American Splendor special, "Our Cancer Year", which focuses on Pekar's battle with testicular cancer. From the near death encounter came a daughter, Danielle, a foster child, thus fulfilling Harvey Pekar's own American Dream.

"American Splendor" is a deeply layered film, from the brilliant acting to the disjointed storytelling. The film is warm, dramatic, and very funny. perfectly capturing the essence of a man who had the audacity to declare: "Ordinary life is pretty complex stuff".

Diva

According to IMDB.com, the tagline for Jean-Jacques Beineix's 1981 French film, "Diva", is "A Comedy. A Thriller. A Romance." and that tagline perfectly sums up the playful ambiguity of the film. Just because you may not be able to properly categorize "Diva", doesn't mean the film doesn't know exactly what it itself is all about. Climbing out of the rubble of the French New Wave movement, "Diva" is a film that stays away from the emotionally driven human dramas of Godard, and returns to the roots of cinema by once again embracing action, spectacle, and, most importantly, plot.

"Diva" follows a young mailboy, named Jules, who lives alone in a garage and loves classical music and opera. When his favorite American diva is performing in the city, he attends her concert and illegally records the show (possibly the first example of music piracy being used as a plot device in cinema. Come to think of it, I don't think it's been used since). The plot thickens when a prostitute turned police informant, on the run from mysterious assailants, drops a cassette tape in Jules' mailbag while he isn't looking. The cassette, containing a confession that could take down a criminal empire, thrusts Jules into a web of confusion as he's chased all over the city of Paris by police, hitmen, and mysterious Taiwanese, while all he wants is a chance to actually meet and spend time with the diva of his dreams.

"Diva" is a lavish and humorous thriller that introduces the viewer to an array of characters; an ultra-cool new-age bohemian, a chic young Vietnamese girl, a pair of bickering police officers, and Wilhelmenia Fernandez in the role of the diva. The film seems to follow in the footsteps of American thrillers of the time, such as de Palma's "Blow Out" and "Carlito's Way", yet the variety of characters, as well as the tongue-in-cheekness of the film reads like a Coen Brothers flick. Had the film been released any later in the decade, I'm afraid it may have fallen victim to that processed, synthetic cheese that consumed everything else in the 80's, but being released in 1981, Beineix's aesthetic flourishes and the juxtaposition of synthesizer music and opera serve as primary examples of "style".