Yet more notes on recent viewing, featuring horror – both high and low end – some documentaries and action movies, gritty realism and slick fantasy … eclectic and somewhat random.
A few more of the movies I’ve been watching this Fall – the feature-length versions of Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino’s Grindhouse homages; David Fincher’s breakthrough thriller Se7en; David Wickes’ two-part TV movie about history’s most famous serial killer Jack the Ripper; Chuck Norris tackling an army of terrorists single-handed in Joseph Zito’s Invasion U.S.A.: John Carpenter’s disappointing remake of Village of the Damned; William Malone’s stylishly confused on-line thriller fear dot come; and Maurice Devereaux’s effective low-budget horror about the Biblical apocalypse End of the Line.
Recent viewing includes a mix of horror, sci-fi and social commentary, from George A. Romero’s Bruiser (2000), about an office drone whose social invisibility enables him to exact revenge on his abusers, to a pair of Mexican Gothic fantasies about a vampire count; from an Aussie Indiana Jones rip-off to late effects artist David Allen’s passion project The Primevals, left unfinished at his death in 1999 but now completed by his friends.
A pair of Jonathan Demme features and several box sets are among my Fall movie watching, featuring various genre titles ranging from the Hollywood prestige of The Silence of the Lambs (1991) to the cheap regional horror of Doug Robertson’s HauntedWeen (1991), early ’70s Brit exploitation including Jack Palance sacrificing women to an African idol in Freddie Francis’ Craze (1974) and four Lucio Fulci and Umberto Lenzi made-for-television ghost stories in Cauldron’s Houses of Doom collection.
Indicator’s new Columbia Horror box set collects six B-movies from the ’30s and ’40s, only half of which can honestly be called horror – the other three are adventure/crime movies. But all of them provide breezy, atmospheric entertainment, with strong casts (including Boris Karloff, Peter Lorre, Edward Van Sloan, Ralph Bellamy, Rose Hobart, Nina Foch and Fay Wray) and noirish cinematography.
My Fall viewing has been the usual varied mix, with a number of new and classic Japanese movies, John Boorman’s fantasy sequel to The Exorcist, Alex Garland’s uncomfortably prescient depiction of America tearing itself apart, a slice of anti-drug exploitation from the late-’60s, and a surprising discovery from none other than Bert I. Gordon.
Two new box sets from 88 Films provide an opportunity to re-visit the work of Pete Walker, arguably the best exploitation filmmaker working in England from the late-’60s to the end of the ’70s. The Flesh and Blood Show collects the seven horror movies which are his best-known work, while the Pete Walker Sexploitation Collection includes his first playful features which grew out of years of making sex loops as well as his final film of the ’70s in which the sex takes on a much darker tone.
During an eight-month visit to Hong Kong in 1980-81, I took out a membership in a cinema club called Studio One. I recently came across the eight monthly schedules for their screenings and discovered that my memory of the movies I’d been to see varied widely. What makes one thing stick while another fades away? Damned if I know!
I’m drawn to movies made on the fringes, far from the industry centre, and these have recently included low-budget ’60s noir, ultra cheap ’70s horror and ambitious ’90s direct-to-video sword-and-sorcery fantasy. Whatever their technical short-comings, all these movies exhibit the creative ingenuity essential to completing a feature with inadequate resources.