Monday, October 31, 2011
MUCH OF THE WANTON, MUCH OF THE BIZARRE, SOMETHING OF THE TERRIBLE, AND NOT A LITTLE OF THAT WHICH MIGHT HAVE EXCITED DISGUST
Part of the problem was undoubtedly the choice of source material: though one of Poe's most celebrated stories, "The Masque of the Red Death" offers virtually nothing in the way of actual plot, though it is arguably the most perfect exercise in creating atmosphere through prose in the writer's work. More than one-fifth of the rather short tale is dedicated to describe the layout and design of the rooms in which it takes place; that's longer than all of the lines dedicated to fleshing out the "conflict", if I can be so bold. In effect, the entire narrative goes like this: "There was a hedonist, and he did hedonistic things. He had a blue room. He had a purple room. He had a green room. He had an orange room. He had a white room. He had a violet room. Finally, he had a black room with a red stained glass window that was ghastly to be in for any amount of time. One night, he died of the plague."
In order to inflate that to anything resembling a feature film, writers Charles Beaumont and R. Wright Campbell (the latter making not only his first Poe movie, but his first horror movie overall) first grafted one of Poe's last stories, "Hop-Frog", onto the stump of "Red Death" - and why not, they're both easily read as stories of a dissolute nobleman getting his comeuppance - and then came the mad invention. Somewhere in medieval Europe, Prince Prospero (Vincent Price) throws hideously orgiastic parties every night to keep himself amused by enjoying the depths to which human dignity can sink; when he's not doing that, he rides around the countryside being a holy terror to the peasants under his control, plucking away their food and supplies to keep his endless debauch alive. And that is just what he's doing when we first meet him; but today, the locals are fighting back. The two ringleaders prove to be Gino (David Weston) and Ludovico (Nigel Green), and Prospero is about to have them put to death when he is stopped by a pretty young woman, Francesca (Jane Asher): she's Gino's fiancée and Ludovico's daughter. Seeing a new opportunity for cruelty, Prospero offers her a chance to save one of the men; she must choose who will die. The only thing that interrupts his little game is when an old woman whom we saw earlier chatting with a man all dressed in red (John Westbrook) is found dead, oozing blood out of all her pores. Realising that the dreaded Red Death is in the area, Prospero orders an immediate retreat to his castle, dragging the three hapless villagers along to be his playthings, and proceeds to plan the grand bacchanal to end all bacchanals. Literally, as the case turns out, but he doesn't know that yet.
The vast bulk of the film (which, at 89 minutes, is too short to be anything but fleet, though it's one of the longest films in the cycle) consists of Prospero, who we eventually learn to be a Satanist - or what the screenwriters call a Satanist, but for all the talk of faith and God and good and evil (at times the dialogue seems plucked from one of those interminable Bible epics of the '50s), the whole thing doesn't feel like it was written by people with more than a passing familiarity with Western religion, sort of like those weirdly Christian-inflected manga - speaking cruelly and persuasively to Francesca, while Prospero's equally lustful but far less suave friend Alfredo (Patrick Magee) heaps cruelties upon the dwarf exotic dancer Esmeralda (Verina Greenlaw), and thus bringing her lover, the dwarf court jester Hop Toad* (Skip Martin) to the point of murderous revenge.
There's a lot to like, even love, about The Masque of the Red Death, but it suffers from a huge and easily-named flaw: the script is rotten with blind alleys and deadwood. The Prospero and Hop Toad plotlines intersect only inasmuch as they take place in the same location at the same time; eventually, the writers all but yanks the jester bodily out of the picture with one of those old-timey vaudeville shepherd's crooks. And even setting that aside, the A-material, Prospero's long mental torture of the maiden, suffers from being the same scene played out multiple times: the Satanist speaks in silken tones of pure evil, and the girl brightly asserts her Christian faith, though each time she's a little slower on the draw.
It's not an insurmountable script (though it's surely one of the weakest in the series); but it certainly would have taken a director pushing at the material with more urgency than Corman was apparently interested in scrounging up to make it a top-tier Poe movie. Nor is it at all the case that he was sleepwalking: in fact, The Masque of the Red Death represents a striking new way of presenting this Gothic horror, one mired in bright lights, bold colors, and lots of moment. These are all of them the very polar opposite of House of Usher or Pit and the Pendulum; no merely lazy filmmaker would have gone in this direction. Unfortunately, a bored director might have. Ironically, it might even have been this attempt at a new visual scheme that hurts the film: when the other Poe movies hit their slow patch - and all of them have slow patches - they were able to get by on the moody, foggy atmosphere they'd created (the best of them, especially Usher and Haunted Palace, seem to deliberately court these slow stretches just to show off their atmosphere). In this movie, the atmosphere is of a wholly different flavor, still menacing, but not so hulking and brooding, and when things slow down, it's sort of boring.
On the other hand, it probably sounds like I'm picking on something I completely love: the film looks absolutely gorgeous, and I wouldn't give it up for anything. The ubiquitous and desperately necessary Daniel Haller works his magic yet again, while the cinematography was by a largely untested camera operator named Nicolas Roeg - I pray you know that name, and if you don't, then I envy the exciting trip you have ahead of you. Of course, Roeg as DP of a cheap-ass AIP picture is not the same as Roeg directing Don't Look Now and Walkabout, yet there are traces of the phantasmagoric touch he brought to his later movies in the way that bright colors are used like a weapon in this movie, so damn cheery and saturated that they almost start to overload your retinas. Heck, they're so hard and beautiful that I can even overlook the fact that there are only five, not seven, monochromatic chambers, and yellow was not one of the colors in Poe's original list.
The other thing that redeems The Masque of the Red Death, and to an even greater extent, is the lead performance: the supporting cast ranges from pretty good (Magee, Martin) to hopelessly one-note (Asher, Weston), to criminally under-used (Hazel Court, in her third and last Poe movie), but Price is on a level he virtually never doubled. If I hesitate even slightly in calling it his best work in the Poe cycle, I am solely thinking of The Haunted Palace, and both performances would put in a strong claim to being the highlight of his entire career. Here, he's playing a complete and unmediated villain - a Satanist, for chrissake! - but finding an excellent number of shades of that villainy, from the purely malicious to the bored to the self-impressed and urbane. Even despite its clumsy storytelling, the mere fact that The Masque of the Red Death gave Price the chance to play this character in such a way is all the justification it needs to exist, and while I wish it was as potent as the excellent story that inspired it - and I wish, even more, that it was up to the wonderful standard of the best Poe movies - Price is by himself enough to make it essential viewing.
Reviews in this series
House of Usher (Corman, 1960)
Pit and the Pendulum (Corman, 1961)
Premature Burial (Corman, 1962)
Tales of Terror (Corman, 1962)
The Raven (Corman, 1963)
The Haunted Palace (Corman, 1963)
The Masque of the Red Death (Corman, 1964)
The Tomb of Ligeia (Corman, 1964)
Chris Hedges, Isaiah, Ava and C.I.
The Occupy movements that have swept across the country fuse the elements vital for revolt. They draw groups of veteran revolutionists whose isolated struggles, whether in the form of squatter communities or acts of defiance such as the tree-sit in Berkeley to save an oak grove on the University of California campus that ran from Dec. 2, 2006, to Sept. 9, 2008, are often unheeded by the wider culture. The Occupy movements were nurtured in small, dissident enclaves in New York, Oakland, Chicago, Denver, Boston, San Francisco, Los Angeles and Atlanta. Bands of revolutionists in these cities severed themselves from the mainstream, joined with other marginalized communities and mastered the physical techniques of surviving on the streets and in jails.
“It’s about paying attention to exactly what you need, and figuring out where I can get food and water, what time do the parks close, where I can get a shower,” Friesen says.
Friesen grew up in an apolitical middle-class home in Fullerton in Southern California’s Orange County, where systems of power were obeyed and rarely questioned. His window into political consciousness began inauspiciously enough as a teenager, with the Beatles, The Doors, and Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young. He found in the older music “a creative energy” and “authenticity” that he did not hear often in contemporary culture. He finished high school and got a job in a LensCrafter lab and “experienced what it’s like to slave away trying to make glasses in an hour.” He worked at a few other 9-to-5 jobs but found them “restrictive and unfulfilling.” And then he started to drift, working his way up to Berkeley, where he lived in a squatter encampment behind the UC Berkeley football stadium. He used the campus gym to take showers. By the time he reached Berkeley he had left mainstream society. He has lived outside the formal economy since 2005, the last year he filed income taxes. He was involved in the tree-sit protest and took part in the occupations of university buildings and demonstration outside the Berkeley chancellor’s campus residence to protest fee hikes and budget cuts, activities that saw him arrested and jailed. He spent time with the Navajos on Black Mesa in Arizona and two months with the Zapatistas in Mexico.
That's an interesting take and one I agree with. But reading it, I was struck by how Chris can report and, by contrast, Danny Schechter tries to hector and control at ZNet. I especially found Schechter's comment that "some" said MoveOn was trying to take over OWS. Some?
He's such a kiss ass, such a damn liar. He is the very reason that Chris Hedges had to write Death of the Liberal Class.
Gary Knell may be smart about many things but this fundraiser demonstrates he's not smart about all things. NPR and its audience are currently in the rockiest relationship in NPR's history. That has to do with the reason the last CEO left, it has to do with the fundraising meeting that was taped by a conservative outlet and made public, it has to do with the nasty way that some on airs have taken to interviewing certain members of Congress, cutting them off in mid-sentence to toss a different question at them than the one they're trying to answer.
All of those were problems for NPR. And many stations just finished (or are finishing) an October pledge drive where NPR came off not needy but damn greedy. Bad enough their nonsense year after year about how you spend more for a cup of coffee each day (we don't drink coffee) and that money could go to NPR. But this go-round they had Ira Glass telling listeners to fork over their money to NPR because "this is a war" and you're either with NPR or you're against it. They had Ira hounding people who told friends they'd pledge but didn't. They had Ira calling up people who once donated to NPR but had not done so in a few years. It wasn't funny and it did not build trust between the listener and NPR. It was the equivalent of standing on the corner waiting for the traffic light to change and being yelled out by an angry vagrant demanding money. For an entity hoping to increase donations, that's bad business.
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NIGHT OF THE DEMONS, PART II
I have a terrible secret, but I trust all of you enough to admit it: I don't dislike Demons 2. The film has a fairly cast-iron reputation for being a cheaper, stupider retread of Demons - not, in and of itself, a movie that can be rightly called an unassailable classic outside of the extremely circumscribed world of 1980s Italian horror buffs - that is incoherent and strange in all the wrong ways (whereas Demons is incoherent and strange in all the right ways. I concede that Demons 2 is not a patch on its predecessor; and while its Italian subtitle translates as The Nightmare Returns, it could just as easily be called Basically the Same Thing, but in an Apartment Building This Time. Plainly, less money was spent on make-up and effects, and the characters frequently make no sense, and it's pretty much impossible to say why the things in the movie happen. Though this last was also true of the original, and it's really tricky to say that one of them is more or less incomprehensible than the other.
But anyway, as I said, I didn't dislike it. Which is arguably not the same thing as liking it, and God knows the film suffers from more than its fair share of shortcomings. Yet I am partial to it anyway. It's dopey as hell, dopier by far than Demons at any rate, and maybe this is part of its charm. Certainly the level of "why the hell not?" enthusiasm that Bava and Argento evidently sank into this second chapter is addictive in the same way that a sugar rush can be - while the "cool" factor of the original has been sacrificed (despite the presence of New Wave on the soundtrack that was, I assume, not so hackneyed in 1986 as it plays today; and at any rate, heavy metal is more the stuff of a rampaging zombie/demon army, n'est-ce pas?), the second film may even be a touch more fun, on account of taking itself even less seriously.
A sign of how far off the rails the script went for this one can be found in the fact that different summaries of the plot don't even necessarily agree on the content of the first act. There are four teenagers who have broken into the demon quarantine zone established at the end of the last movie because teenagers are all inveterate adrenaline junkies* and they like to break into places clearly marked with signs reading approximately "YOU WILL BE KILLED AND EATEN BEYOND THIS POINT STOP FOR FUCK'S SAKE". And they, naturally, run into demons; and this is all happening on TV, though what, exactly, the relationship of the on-TV events to the people watching is part of what nobody seems to agree on - I got that it was a movie-of-the-week thriller, but I've also heard it argued that it was a documentary, or even a live newscast.
Anyway, the important bit is that in a hyper-modern high-rise apartment, just about everybody seems to have their TVs tuned to this program, among them Sally (Coralina Cataldi Tassoni), a girl celebrating her 16th birthday. She is about to get the worst present ever: for reasons that none of the four screenwriters are remotely interested in exploring, one of the demons suddenly turns to the camera and breaks out of her television. Thus is Sally demonised, and it takes only a little bit of time before she's turned most of the building alongside her. The few survivors fight back, ineffectually of course - once again, the DNA of a zombie movie is in here, and no right-thinking Italian zombie movie would want to cash out with anything more than a 5% survival rate among the named characters.
I have, it is true, focused mostly on the ways that Demons 2 is not like Demons, but truthfully, that's not most of what there is to talk about. It's not exactly the case that every incident is copied, but the overall structure of the thing is matched down to the very minute in some places, including the arbitrary introduction of a gang of music-loving toughs who muddle their way into the kill zone for essentially no discernible reason. And in this respect, Demons 2 is aggravating, particularly since the lowered budget means that all of these awfully-familiar demon attacks and the like are not nearly as convincing or disgusting & thus not as discomfiting.
Nor does the removal of the scenario to the high-rise do much good: I imagine the idea was that "holy hell, they can come into your living room!" which is a nominally scary idea, but the building we see is so transparently a set with such obviously production-designed rooms that it absolutely does not register as a normal space for the horror to be intruding upon. That being said, all of the film's very best moments both manage to key into that exact sense of the homey and familiar being horribly violated: an awfully cute dog turning into some nightmare beast in an effect that isn't offensively close to the dog-monster from The Thing; later on, the single nastiest death in the whole picture is given to a child (played by a dwarf in make-up). I do understand that I run the risk of sounding like a complete sociopath right this minute, but I kind of have to give major respect to a movie willing to Go There with a kid (see also: Night of the Living Dead - Lamberto Bava plainly did), because it's one of the only genuinely transgressive things a movie can do, and when it doesn't feel absolutely cheap and exploitative - and knowing that it wasn't an actual child actor involved helps with that feeling - it can be as devastating as anything else in the genre.
That both of these moments are spoiled by subsequently awful effects, well, that's why this isn't an actual "good" movie: the dog has bright green glowing plastic eyes, the kid erupts into a monster that looks precisely like Bava asked the effects team to make one of the titular beasts from Gremlins, but not family-friendly.
At any rate, the whole thing feels unmistakably cheesy, lacking the atmosphere of the malevolent movie theater that worked so darn well in the original (and the attempted commentary on TV culture, if it is there at all, is not a tenth as interesting as the self-parody of horror features in Demons), and there is absolutely no defending it on the grounds that it looks amazing and uncanny, the line in the sand for every Italian horror picture. There are shots, unquestionably: one image looking up a stairwell and spinning in a circle while the glowing-eyed demons tromp down the stairs is as magnificent an image as can be found in any 1986 horror movie I can name.
By and large, though, this is all about having a goofy blast; and we need look no further for evidence than Bobby Rhodes, who featured in a minor role as Tony the Pimp in Demons, and here portrays Hank, the personal trainer at the apartment's gym who leads all his heavily built gym rats to a glorious last stand in the parking garage - there is absolutely no way this is meant to be taken seriously, and Rhodes's ecstatic performance and the mock-epic heroics of his subplot are simply too damn silly not to be fun to watch; assuming, I guess, that you're willing to meet the movie halfway. Very important stuff in a picture like Demons 2. We have here a picture where the director is conspiratorially leaning in and murmuring, "This is totally stupid. It's great, right?" Not great, but not at all as rancid as its reputation, for the viewer willing to smirk back, "It is totally stupid, and exactly what I was looking for. Thank you, Lamberto Bava." It's daft as fuck, but always & only in the good way.
SPOOKS: WHEN HEROES TREAD THE PATHS OF MORTALS - FAREWELL TO MY FAVOURITE SERIES
It ended staying true to Spooks style, to its being an intelligent, low-cost, more introspective than action-based series.They closed with 6 great episodes.
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| Tom Quinn has taken home a laptop from work ... |
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| He had fortified his home with an electronic system to protect his woman and her daughter... |
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| They are now blocked inside his house, no way to leave. The laptop is actually a time bomb... |
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| The end. Spooks will be back next year... |
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| Lucas has to convince Dean and his mother they are in danger and must leave their house |
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| The three on the run from MI6 agents |
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| Lucas likes playing the father ... |
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| On the run again ... |
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| Fast paced and ... |
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| ... packed with action, this episode ends ... |
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| ... in shock and tears. Brilliant! |
Both spies, they were a brilliant team and a gorgeous couple. They worked together - only in a few episodes between series 3 and 4 - and dreamt of a good life together bringing up their son, Wes. Fiona died in Adam's arms killed by her ex- husband. They all had believed he had been hanged years before. Adam never actually recovered from losing her, until he himself heroically died in an explosion at the beginning of series 7.
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| Jo Portman (Miranda Raison) - Recruited by Adam Carter in series 4 |
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| Tragic, brave, clever Ruth Evershed (Nicola Walker) |
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| Tough, cold, Ros Myers (Hermione Norris). The coolest female agent on the Grid. |
First of all a picture is not enough. Then, the idea he's not Lucas but a John Bateman disturbs me. What about re-watching the entire scene and forget about that John Bateman? His voice, his stare, his physical dominance convey anxiety, urging desire... We had been promised a hot scene on a kitchen table which never was ... just a picture in the hands of their enemies. (My previous post on series 9, ep. 3 - Have you closed your eyes?)
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| Bloody Internet! |
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| Gemma Jones as Connie James |
Favourite male character - Lucas North in series 7
No surprise. You'll find a lot about my love for this character all around FLY HIGH! One of my favourite characters among the many in Mr A.'s career. If only they hadn't done what they did - the production, the scriptwriters- to such a brilliant, promising lead spook ...
Favourite Spooks Dream
A film with all the lead characters together. Sir Harry Pierce leading a high-risk mission with all his best men and women: Ruth Evershed, Tom Quinn, Zoe Reynolds, Adam Carter, Ros Myers, Dimitri Lavendis, Lucas North, Jo Portman. It'll remain just a dream, I know. But dreams cost nothing.
Farewell, Spooks. Always alive in our memory. Always high in our esteem. Thanks BBC for this incredibly intelligent spy drama!





























