The Devil's Rejects / ***1/2 (2005)

The space inhabited by the characters in “The Devil’s Rejects” is a laboratory of unconventional challenges, of ambitious morality tests not ordinarily reserved for an ensemble of would-be horror movie casualties. Its existence comes down a tricky gimmick seized by Rob Zombie, the writer/director, who finds an interesting platform to stage the events on – one in which homicidal maniacs are hunted by a legal authority who seems driven by the same barbaric tendencies as those on their own killing spree. Driven earnestly by a mission he refers to as the “cleansing of the wicked,” this maniacal force – a Sheriff known as John Wydell – strikes a chord in others that clouds the certainty of a horrible act with that of a deserving retribution, and both sides of the equation meander in the outskirts of their inevitable confrontation like they are hoping to avoid the central point. That is not to say the movie itself is evasive about the issue it raises, but more to suggest the discomfort from asking the difficult question: when you castigate those who have committed heinous crimes with the same level of depravity, are you any better than those you punish?

Trick 'R Treat / *1/2 (2007)

The opening scene of “Trick ‘R Treat” shows a married couple arriving home at the end of a long Halloween celebration in the hopes of settling into less glamorous routines. The husband ventures upstairs and turns on pornography; the wife, eager to remove the decorations littering her front yard, begins the arduous process of dismantling elaborate displays of fake limbs and ghostly figures. A dialogue exchange acts as a shallow warning against the practice; he suggests blowing out the candle on the pumpkin by the gate violates the code of the holiday, which must be followed by fatal consequences. Shortly before she is murdered and disfigured by a figure hiding beneath bed sheets on the lawn, there is a moment where she stops to proclaim, without regret, that she “hates Halloween.” After a few short minutes into the bad movie she is trapped in, we can understand why; to be lost in the meandering chaos of a night like this with little to define the terror itself is a fate worse than any scares that might exist in the shadows. For the audience, the true horror is that anyone involved thinks they are pitching these curve balls for some great purpose.

Evil Dead II / ***1/2 (1987)

To think of Sam Raimi’s “Evil Dead II” as an elaborate exercise in gratuity is to undercut the reason it has so persistently endured in the hearts and minds of its audience, but to see it as some kind of perceptive satire would inspire connotations equally unreasonable. Both classifications suggest the thumbprint of a filmmaker who is either interested in deep irony or complete carelessness, neither of which can be substantiated; while the material certainly carries the aura of both, it is the underlying persistence of joy that dictates the direction of the narrative, a sense that it all must occur in a world so screwball that rationale has been displaced from forlorn considerations. While Raimi was certainly smart enough to fashion his endeavors in the mold of intellectual stimulation, that was never his primary interest; to him a movie camera was a tool to engage in pure celebration of his chosen genre, without all the seriousness or limitations that frequently come with it. And if blood was to splatter elaborately in a few incidental moments, what was the harm in that? Those early philosophies persist because they embody the sentiment that this can, realistically, be all in good fun.

Cabin Fever / *** (2002)

Most directors of horror films are notoriously suspicious of human behavior. Eli Roth chuckles unsympathetically at their stupidity. That is not unfounded wisdom on any of those in the audience, who must approach a handful of his endeavors from a perspective that must accept the characters as casualties long before they are brought to elaborate slaughter. To see them is also to sense the impassive perspective of young adults in the 21st century, most of whom usually find themselves thrust into dire situations that would normally require years of therapy to recover from (assuming they were to stay alive long enough to book an appointment). Ironically, their director’s goals are much more singular than the contemplation of a reaction in a face: they are more an opportunity for his images to capture the ambitious dexterity of makeup and visual effects artists, many of them credited with some of the most brutal undertakings ever seen on a big screen. And yet one can’t help sense the delightful grinning going on behind the scenes, or the suspicion that crew members look at it all as a devious way to play the audience. There is pleasure in the violence, not any sense of serious deliberation. The approach might be admirable in a Sam Raimi sort of way if it also didn’t feel so utterly nihilistic.

The Lobster / ***1/2 (2016)

There are two ways that viewers can approach “The Lobster” – either as a facetious dark romantic comedy, or as a metaphor about the decay of civilization. For those trained to think more about surface objectives – certainly the most direct path for rousing curiosity – it is the kind of endeavor that may easily alienate one’s simple desires for payoffs and escapism; the premise is a defiant opposition to decipherable cinematic logic, seemingly drawn out of quirks and movements that would suggest insanity in most traditional undertakings. That others would never be able to find the material funny, furthermore, is certainly the most minor of its potential offenses; so abstract is this universe of paradoxical impulses that one is never privy to understanding the rules, even apart from the obligatory misfortune that follows people as they attempt to find (or rebel from) companionship. Yet for anyone well-versed in the more defining tendencies of the early movie auteurs, there is an ability to go subterranean with this kind of experiment. For all the talk of how traditional values – like a story, characters and a climax – often mask the underlying psychology of intelligent filmmakers, rare is the moment when they step beyond their own irony in order lead us outside the sphere of traditional human psychology.

Little Children / ***1/2 (2006)

Drastic tonal shifts are among one of the more difficult chords for directors to master in filmic orchestration, and in the wrong hands they can derail a story’s momentum just as quickly as bad acting or shoddy plot development. Sometimes that means they must become fluent on the tact of transitions in order to neutralize such opportunities, or at least become cognizant of their usage; because certain subject matters can emphasize extreme opposing values, it can be rare to move between sadness and laughter without the transitions feeling contrived, especially if they are used to exhausting indecency. I can only imagine what sorts of questions came to Todd Fields’ mind when he was confronted with those dubious possibilities in “Little Children,” and certainly it must have seemed like very foreign territory; having only directed the stark “In the Bedroom” up to that point, this was a man seemingly accustomed to the forlorn nature of premises where there could be no opportunity for lighthearted considerations. What was on his mind as he directed this picture, a suburban drama about dysfunctional adults behaving like irresponsible adolescents? Were those fragments of humor convincing in the screenplay, or did it require added effort to convey them plausibly?

Deadpool / **1/2 (2016)

Wade Wilson may have been manufactured in a universe with few similarities to ours, but in a movie climate overrun by noble superheroes and domineering tyrants hell-bent on world destruction, his arrival could have not come at a more apropos time. A staunch practitioner of all things vulgar, he comes to be the lightning rod for which desensitized audiences can rest their cynicism on, occupying a space in his social culture that arms him with a scathing editorial analysis of all things loud, obnoxious and completely absurd. Such intentions are made known quite early on in the new movie about him; waiting for the arrival of a slew of enemies he is destined to slaughter, he narrates in sardonic oratory that breaks the proverbial fourth wall of movie awareness. Endeavors with less alert protagonists would hardly have the audacity to regard their destinies with some level of cheeky discernment, and yet here is a man whose life experiences – and colorful observations – work directly in favor of that proclivity. The funny thing about costume-wearing warriors is that the more abundant they become, the less likely they are to comment on how cliché their own origins might be.

Hail, Caesar! / **1/2 (2016)

As a straight narrative, “Hail, Caesar” by the Coen Brothers represents a shocking misfire of intent, but as a collection of scenes that offer a slice of their infectious wit, it is an exercise in some of the most delightful chuckles of recent memory. How rare to arrive at the embrace of so much joy and enthusiasm in the midst of a perpetual nothing of a plot. It’s not as if there wasn’t an underlying set of values going for it all, either; set in the days of old Hollywood when the concept of movie illusions kept us at bay from the realization that pigs and idiots could populate the sets of our treasured epics, there is a great sense of comic awareness running through every scene – not cynical or insulting to the legacy of the craft, but certainly cognizant of the strange motives of the puppet masters. A wide array of sequences showcase these ideas to the peak of possibility, and like eager schoolboys these dependable filmmakers wrap them in a subtext that disregards seriousness, embraces the absurdity and caps it all off in a show of charm and wisdom. It’s just that pesky nuisance of a story that seems to louse it all up.

What We Do in the Shadows / *** (2014)

There’s a challenge at the start of “What We Do in the Shadows” that supplies audiences with a fascinating quandary: what kind of lives would vampires lead if they were not privy to the glitzy glamour of gothic romance novelists or horror film architects? For most, the implication might not have involved something so tongue-in-cheek. But here is a movie that suspects there would be no other option beyond characterizations so seemingly absurd; caught in a world that recognizes their elaborate curses from a place of silliness, it tells the story of a group of close-knit bloodsuckers who engage in wild nightlife antics that are neither strategic nor threatening, and often culminate in elaborately disastrous consequences. Beyond the gruff exterior of pale skin, sharp fangs and insatiable bloodlust, these are beasts that possess none of the preconceived characteristics of a vampire and simply emerge as nocturnal simpletons. If only their appetites – and their decision-making skills – were as sound as the legends painted them to be.

Lessons from Criterion:"The Exterminating Angel" by Luis Buñuel

"When the spider dies, the web unravels."

The enormity of collective alienation is one of many central themes driving Luis Buñuel’s “The Exterminating Angel,” and within that suggestion exists a mystery of unfathomable density that continues to incite varying degrees of confusion and dread, sometimes in shared measures. What gives it a decidedly potent edge has less to do with the conceptual audacity of the idea and much more to do with the delivery. Nothing going on in the film – save for key dialogue exchanges that occasionally frame the crisis – comes from a dependable perspective; like witnesses twisted by the absurdity of a predicament, the camera sees things as if displaced from certainty, and the screenplay relays details in broad strokes that merely imply what might be occurring. Are there supernatural elements at play? Is the title, a biblical reference, inferring greater energies are at work? Or are there only simple explanations staring back at us dressed up in the misleading strokes of minimalism? Because so little of what occurs to this ensemble of characters happens in a conventional sense, there is no clear way to decipher agendas, reasoning or solutions. Our eyes meet the gaze of a screen that stares back with a resilient poker face, and sparse are the opportunities for us to gauge the general intention – assuming it amounts to something so easily classified.

Krampus / *** (2015)

“Krampus” begins with a potent shot of irony, in a slow-motion sequence where cheerful holiday music plays over the questionable antics of angry retail shoppers stampeding through a sale. Their faces divulge the intoxicating dangers of commercialism, and the employees exhibit fear and injury with almost comical severity. To the director, this is what Christmas time has become – a display of extreme contradictions, in which the implication that good tidings must come in the form of expensive material possessions has changed our outlook to one of abundant pessimism. You wouldn’t ordinarily suspect that kind of forethought to worm its way through any sort of holiday movie in this day and age, but it is there, I am sure, to underline his more sensational motives. The characters in this movie are ready to drop the formalities of tradition and come out swinging against one another – even in the context of Christmas get-togethers – but a listening ear from beyond has picked up on that frequency, and is ready to unleash an arsenal of its own horrifying doing. Nothing is worse during the holidays then one’s loss of hope, because it brings out the shadows of devious energies ready to unravel all that we take for granted.

Nine to Five / ***1/2 (1980)

Audiences leap at the chance to share a bond with characters that mirror their everyday struggles, but few have been quite as focused (or resonating) as those that occur in the workplace. Colin Higgins’s “Nine to Five,” one of the more popular films set in office culture, is as relevant in that sentiment as it is funny. Many ought to have expected it to fade into oblivion following a mildly successful response back during its initial theatrical run, but like a stampede of epiphanies it carries on even now, rousing its viewers to assertive cognizance and inspiring a plethora of filmmakers to mirror the perspective (one of the more famous, Mike Judge’s “Office Space,” can probably be seen as an indirect remake). To the audiences of the time, the three central figures were the informed embodiment of feministic measurement; today; their situations and dialogue are reflections of the tiresome grind that has become the average American workforce, a routine of artifice and pleasantries that mask an inner disgust for corporate politics. It is one of those rare movies that goes beyond judgment because of how accurately it forecasts the nihilism in our collective professional morale.

Tusk / 1/2* (2014)

Mere words cannot adequately describe Kevin Smith’s “Tusk” – only obscene gestures. In the lengthy pass of time we spend discovering bad movies, so rarely does one come along that fills our heads with such toxic impurities, and does so on part of some cheeky in-joke that only the director and his close buddies seem to understand. Based entirely on a dare that originated from one of Smith’s very own podcasts, what exists on screen is an exercise in random debauchery, a self-indulgent vomitorium that knows no limits of tact or plausibility, and misses every note in orchestrating an effective rhythm in carrying its bizarre ideas forward. The greatest tragedy, I suspect, is the intention. What gave Smith, a guy with a fairly established directing career, the shameless conceit to put any of this on screen? Did he really find it funny (or worse yet, scary)? A great many disgusting things occur in abundance here for the majority of the 100-minute running time, but none of them even approach the discomfort we feel in knowing just how pathetic these filmmakers look. One hopes they all remind themselves that they were once good at their professions before sinking further into this maw of stupidity.

Spy / *** (2015)

The biggest risk in film comedy comes down to a principle in writing: with the right personality carrying the material, a screenplay may not always have to embellish the essential platforms. Melissa McCarthy and Paul Feig have tried their luck with this prospect over the course of several movies in the recent years, but at long last they have struck gold in “Spy,” a film that celebrates their union in an ambitious display of excitement and cheeriness that fuel a healthy arsenal of very funny wisecracks. Most of them do not originate from basic written composition either; if one were to read them directly from a script page, they would scarcely register as anything beyond half-amused scowls (or worse yet, a few muddled guffaws). But Feig, probably sensing that his work would once again wind up in certain hands, does something almost prophetic by staging them in a way to tap right into his lead star’s charismatic chutzpah; not only does she use his setups as effective outlets for wit or physicality, but in many ways sees them as a tipping point in liberating herself from the conventions of basic comedic principles. This isn’t one of those run-of-the-mill sitcoms stretched to an unendurable length, but a very sharp and pointed espionage romp that frames everything precisely, and then allows its dynamic ensemble of actors to deliver the material with a fresh sense of gusto.

The Interview / *1/2 (2014)

What is it about the pairing of James Franco and Seth Rogen that inspires such screwy exploits? Isolated, here are actors with plausible conviction in a diverse array of material, but together they bring about a level of bizarre physical abnormality, like friends in a college frat-house who get off by making everyone around them believe they have suffered brain injuries. That is perhaps less amusing than it sounds, but try telling that to either of them; their synergy and enthusiasm is so beyond persistent that it’s almost infectious, even when it is directed towards trivial fluff or disposable internet shtick (case in point: the endless supply of YouTube videos they have put together over the past year). They are definitive occupants of that dreaded “bromance” moniker, but it’s impossible to dislike the good-natured purity of their shared antics, and there are moments when we smirk at their mutual audacity for whatever obstacles they are up against. It’s just a shame that their robust friendship has to play out in the frames of very bad comedies.

Gremlins / *** (1984)

Childhood joys often settle in the eyes of little fluffy creatures that capture our hearts, and for me no greater instrument for such possibilities resonated more than a small gremlin named Gizmo. As a child of the ‘80s, there were certainly ample opportunities to find comfort in the company of sympathetic movie creations – including Spielberg’s famous E.T. and George Lucas’ misunderstood Ewoks – but something about a cute furry beast with long ears and big brown eyes bypassed all others as a source of visual comfort. To me, he embodied every trait necessary in creating youthful wonder: innocence, clumsiness, fear of the unknown and a certain gutsiness that spilled over when a plot insisted a level of danger onto those he cared about. The adorable factor was the most minor of those facets but no less critical, and when one brought all of those qualities together in the figure of something so delightfully endearing, there was scarcely a moment where we could walk away from the experience not wishing he was real (or better yet, actually part of our lives). And that’s the truth even after one acknowledges the bizarre anatomical characteristics he comes cursed with.

House of 1000 Corpses / *1/2 (2003)

Rob Zombie’s “House of 1000 Corpses” is a movie by a man without any sense of modulation. The camera arrives in his possession like a discovery of unprecedented importance; standing behind it, the air of his enthusiasm seems to overflow with every sharp camera angle and quick edit that emerges from his zealous fingertips. For most first-time film directors, the opportunity to take one’s bizarre visual flair and incorporate it into the frames of a motion picture would be an opportunity worthy of some level of focus, however eccentric. Alas, here is a man so enamored by the notion that creative control has been passed to him that the end result lacks a central distinction, and meanders through five or six moods with extremely disconnected results. Somewhere underneath heaps of overwrought images and flashy cuts meant to, I guess, emphasize the schizophrenic nature of his screenplay (which he also wrote), traces of a viable filmmaker are aching to connect with encouraging audiences. Those who will herald his debut effort as some sort of profound revelation will not be picking my selections during late night horror movie marathons.

Filth / * (2014)

There is no small irony in the central office of Edinburgh’s police bureau containing a poster for “2001: A Space Odyssey.”  Instantly distinguishable through a myriad of psychotic images that pound away at you with the force of a violent criminal, the proverbial thumbprint of the great Stanley Kubrick weaves through most of “Filth” unrestrained, leaving behind the echo of despair that seems directly lifted from his great “A Clockwork Orange.” Even the main subject, a corrupt and unstable vessel of hostility named Bruce (James McAvoy), directly recalls the Alex character from that film; as he abuses his way through the grind of life unchecked while absurd fantasies overtake him, there is the sense that his path has been written, quite clearly, in the same familiar shadows that Malcom McDowell danced in for his own devious performance. Does that suggest there is a reason to mimic the Kubrick ideals even now, so long after his imprint was left behind? If it does, then it is clear that no one involved in this movie studied much in the way of basic film composition, much less the stylistic undertakings or powerful subtexts of the greatest of film directors. At one point, when a therapist refers to the disintegrated Bruce as nothing more than “filth,” there is no profound realization; instead, all you want to do is nod your head in hopeless defeat.

Napoleon Dynamite / 1/2* (2004)

When I was in high school, those of us branded as unpopular sorts were rather thankful to skirt through the cliques with minimal notice. As awkward as it is to be on the outside of teenage coteries, it is usually more discomforting to be in the crosshairs of those who relish the opportunity to expose your social dysfunction. I admired those that stood their ground when the time came for their own public ridicule, but didn’t necessarily envy their positions; many were simply too enraged or impatient to be silent, while others lacked the skill to avoid such situations in the first place. One constant between them, though, was that their unconventional traits shielded others from recognizing the often brilliant minds that were concealed underneath. Watching “Napoleon Dynamite,” I was curious as to what some of those former classmates of mine would have thought of the eccentric main character that occupies the majority of this story. Would they have been sympathetic to his inept social skills, or infuriated by his lack of mental capacity?

The Wolf of Wall Street / **1/2 (2013)

A lively television ad during the opening shots of “The Wolf of Wall Street” refers to the world of investing as a “jungle,” a suggestion that is used ironically as a way of appealing to middle class investors who are intrigued by the stock market but too alienated by the wild mentality of the industry to trust their money in the hands of commission collectors. The sales pitch for the firm known as Stratton Oakmont is less ominous in context; from the mouth of its wealthy founder Jordan Belfort (Leonardo DiCaprio), investing should be a fun (if competitive) enterprise, and his highly experienced staff of professionals is precisely what the average Joe seeks in dabbling into stock trading.  What Jordan doesn’t reveal in his public monologues – yet has no problem admitting in private – is that his eager brokers all work from a generic script perfected by him in his early years with the business, and in flashback sequences we observe the evolution of this calculated civility as he pitches obscure stocks to middle class buyers under elaborate ruses, insisting that potential payouts could help them erase debts and move into higher financial brackets.