Halloween II - (film review)

          There seems to be an unwritten consensus that a Director’s (Unrated) Cut is ultimately better than the theatrical version.  This belief leads most movie-buying consumers to instinctively go for the UNRATED version as opposed to the THEATRICAL EDITION when choosing which DVD to buy.  I should know, I’m one such consumer.  However, this is myth.  Giving a director complete creative control over their film(s) does not always equate to a better version of the film.  I think there is something to be said for a group of individuals who collaborate over direction of a film, or what is to be included in it.  Of course, this also has it’s problems, so perhaps the winning formula is a mutual respect for a well-intentioned group effort.

            There are a number of ‘Director’s Cut’ that I loathe over the original theatrical versions: The Ring Two, Friday the 13^th (2009), and Jennifer’s Body, to name a few.  The added footage only detracts from the set pace of the film, and in some instances makes the movie much more absurd than they originally were.  Rob Zombie’s Halloween (and now, Halloween II) falls into this category.  I originally watched the version of Halloween that was floating online just prior to the theatrical release—a version that featured a number of different (and more effective elements).  The next version I watched was the over-bloated and supremely offensive ‘Director’s Cut’, which included a reprehensible rape scene, dimwitted teenage girl speak (which reflects Zombie’s massive disconnect from realistic dialogue) and a number of highlighted redneck absurdities.  I most recently decided to view the Theatrical edition to see if there was any salvaging to be had from a dialed down version of this unwieldy misstep.  To my surprise the disturbing rape scene was replaced by a much more viable police transport scene and the dimwitted dialogue was incredibly dialed down—the redneckness however, remained (but I have come to accept that a Rob Zombie film comes littered with these types of character tropes).  Halloween II (Director’s Cut) is another instance of ego come to destroy a rather good film.

            Zombie is becoming a much better filmmaker.  Either that, or I’m becoming much more tolerable to his unique style.  House of 1,000 Corpses is horrendous, I could not finish watching the film for I felt my life being sucked out of my eye sockets; The Devil’s Rejects was incredibly overrated and overacted with odd bits of interesting filmmaking dispersed throughout; and Halloween had about 40 minutes of incredibly disturbing horror executed with surprising authority—it is unfortunate that we have to sit through 40 minutes of tripe to get there.  Halloween II, the theatrical version, is Zombie’s best film yet and the progress shows.  The dialogue, although rough and amateurish, is at times better, the direction is a little more sharp, and the photography and visual representation of uncalculated chaotic rage is superb.

            This film is a good film for a number of reasons, and ultimately the good parts outweigh the numerous flaws (only in the theatrical version)—in many ways the flaws are more tolerable knowing that there are interesting aspects waiting just beyond the insufferable ones.  The most interesting aspects of this film involve how the main characters deal with the aftermath of being brutalized by a malevolent killer.  The atmosphere here is dark and Zombie understands that these characters cannot bounce back into normality so soon after such traumatic events, which is commonplace for continuing characterization in sequels of franchises.  What is most interesting here is the degree to which affect arises.  Laurie is completely messed up, seeking counseling and addicted to prescription medication, whereas Annie is more demure and solemn from the encounters with Myers.  One character has grown from the situation while the other has digressed—an interesting juxtaposition and avenue for these characters to take.

            The visual oppression of grainy film quality complimented by darks grey hues contribute to the overall feel of this film.  It is less scary and more sad, impressing upon us that this is the second time Myers has come down on the little town of Haddonfield.  The tragedy is thick in the air lending a kind of sophistication to the slasher genre that has never really been present in previous efforts.  In addition to this omniscient sense of doom, Myers’ character is interestingly augmented by visualizations of white and black representations of his mother and child-self.  These bizarre visualizations elevate the slasher genre into a territory not frequently navigated, if ever.

            The family in this film is the ultimate implosion of chaotic rage.  These are powerful motifs in the slasher genre (see Friday the 13^th), but are often executed with little depth or analysis into how this institution contributes to such potent emotions.  Here Zombie offers an explanation into the psyche that drives Michael Myers—something that was only briefly attempted in the vastly inferior Curse of Michael Myers.  The fantasy sequences here are visceral and raw, and the symbolism is quite apparent.  No doubt it is these very sequences that drove every critic and/or audience member to dismiss the film altogether, for such depth has no place in a fun slasher film, right? 

            Despite the interesting avenues and directions Zombie decided to take this franchise into, there are some rough edges that detract from the overall enjoyment of the film, and most of them come from the supposed representations of reality.  The reactive responses between characters in dialogue are simply too unbelievable.  For instance, when Laurie is freaking out with her therapist, her therapist prompts: “Have you been doing your breathing exercises?”, to which Laurie responds: “Breathing exercises?!! Breathing exercises?!!...”, indicating to the audience that she does not know what these breathing exercises are and that they sounds ridiculous.  However, the way the therapist approaches the topic there is an implicit notion that the two have discussed breathing exercises in the past.  If this were the case, then ultimately Laurie’s response should have been: “No, they do nothing!” (or something to that effect).  This is but one minor example of a number of continuing dialogue problems in the film, luckily these portrayals of ‘reality’ do not detract from the fantastical elements.  Also, the character of Loomis is completely mishandled and annoying—whoever told Malcolm MacDowell he could act should be shot.  He is the WORST actor in this and the previous installment chewing the scenery and over-adlibbing way too often that it pulls the audience right out of the film.

            However, once again, the detrimental faults with this film can be (in my case) overlooked given the unique originality that Zombie drives this latest installment into a franchise that has been jump started more times than any other franchise (remember the Busta Rhymes entry?).  The faults are more prevalent in the Unrated version here then in the theatrical cut, so I urge those who have not seen it to rent or buy the theatrical version (as you will not be able to download it online)—absolute power corrupts absolutely.  The value of others involved who act as second or third editors to Zombie’s sometimes unwieldy films is priceless.
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GRADE: Theatrical Edition - 85% (A); Unrated Director's Cut - 78 (B+)

Saw - (series review, parts 1 - 5)

            The major myth that continues to predicate subsequent reviews of the endless sequels in the Saw franchise is the notion that the original was quite a clever shocker that played with typical audience expectations.  Probably because no one EVER likes sequels (for some reason it is believed that original movies are sacred beings not deserving of the bastardization of sequel-izing), the bombardment of negative reviews plaguing the Saw franchise continue to obsess over how gosh darn clever the original film was.  This is definitely not the case, but before I discuss the issues plaguing the first two entries, I think it is necessary to outline certain caveats for proper engagement with this series.

            The films, beginning with the third entry, are structured more as a television series than as sequels in a franchise.  It’s interesting to think that if the Saw films were in fact a television series, they would be highly revered and successfully rated.  Instead, the medium of film and the protective relationship that critics seem to have with this format of storytelling does not lend itself as favourable towards the series.  Despite this unfortunate choice of medium, it is necessary to understand that the illogical pragmatism involving the construction of the highly convoluted traps is not what flags the most significant follies of the films.  It is the pedantic moral indignation attempting to pass itself off as this all-knowing righteousness that is the most unbelievable and aggravatingly annoying aspect of the film(s).

            Upon re-watching some of these films, I attempted to reconcile my contempt for this particular fault.  Perhaps the films are actually clever ways of restructuring typical slasher methods in horror films—Freddy and Jason (although not intentionally, but through joyful reclamation of the films and their self-worth) thrive on supposedly corrupt teenagers fornicating or indulging in drug use.  Maybe Jigsaw is a modern slasher who instead of relying on typical and trite horror movie monster methods, has discovered a new way to pit victim against victim disguised as lessons in morality and the value of life?  Maybe the audience is supposed to be enraged by Jigsaw’s methods and black and white modes of moral analyses.  If this were the case, and the filmmakers intend to pit the audience against Jigsaw, instead of sympathizing and understanding his moral indignation for his specifically chosen and incredibly accessible subjects, I believe the films would be far better received.  Is the intention that we view these films and find ourselves feeling incredulous towards the sadism perpetrated upon people who struggle with day to day problems and obsessions—people who understand the long complicated process of dealing with their problems instead of forcing some quick ‘Dr. Phil’-esque solution.

            I don’t believe this is the intention of the films, either directly or indirectly.  If it were, perhaps we would be graced with likeable characters, or even one (just one) moral adversary who recognizes the monumental flaws in Jigsaw’s logic rendering him fallible and human.  Freddy, Michael Myers, and Jason use their brute force to assert their dominance over the victims of each subsequent film, whereas Jigsaw uses his ‘superior’ intellect to trap people and force them to ‘reconcile’ (or rather further traumatize) salient life situations.  He entraps his subjects, enticing them to ‘play a game’, whereby they must face particular issues they may have chosen to ignore, issues that either harm themselves or others in their lives, and once they begin the sadistic play they find themselves befuddled and betwixt by Jigsaw’s wit at placing them in indescribable puzzles.  The lack of suspension of my disbelief does not come at the physical improbability and lack of engineering talent to construct such elaborate and convoluted traps—especially given the questionable sanity of those involved in constructing them—but rather at the inability to find someone(!) to outwit Jigsaw, or at least call him on his self-righteous judgments.

            All the characters in each film are amazed and tongue-tied when dealing with Jigsaw’s trite simplification of so many complicated life processes, that one begins to wonder if Jigsaw is right.  But he isn’t!  The reason I know this is because with each scenario I imagine some high school classroom discussion around the problems of society and the procrastination of action in today’s complex world.  Those discussions are important first steps at understanding the variety of imbricating layers imbedded in each social complication, however the discussion and/or solution (if one exists) does not end with the supposed answers that may derive from such uneducated and inexperienced musings on life.  Jigsaw believes it does, and this is the main problem that drags a rather interesting series down to the level of sub-par mediocrity. 

            The first film is the most accountable for this convoluted pedantic judgmental righteousness, if not for the sheer underestimation of a mother’s instinctive nature to exert control over a traumatic situation that is severely affecting her child.  The scene in which Monica Potter’s character stands idly by, inevitably waiting for something (anything) to distract her and grant access of the murder weapon back into the hands of her captor (a captor who has been torturing her and her child repeatedly), is the most blatant and anti-feminist disrespect of character narrative and plot plausibility I have ever witnessed in a film.  I may be a little dramatic here, but friends of mine will attest that whenever the subject of the first Saw film is mentioned, I emphatically express my disgust for how Monica Potter’s character was written to behave.

            The second film was just boring, and felt hugely out of place in the franchise’s themes—probably because it was intended to be a separate film, and was later reworked to serve as a sequel to the original.  It isn’t until the third film that the series gains some leverage (as little as that may be) in managing to carry the weight of a significant horror franchise that works beyond its initial intentions as a simple cash grab.  In the third film we are introduced to the first, and possibly the only likeable and semi-intelligent character in all of the films many sequels—Lynn.  It is also the only film that isn’t plagued with the ludicrous and typical ‘cop’ character, that (I’m sorry) has no right being in a serious horror genre film.  The inclusion of a detective only serves to denigrate a horror film down to thriller/suspense status—and any detective inevitably lessens the degree of connection the audience may have to the protagonist.  The films that follow beyond the third continue the trend that that sequel sets up, thankfully.  However, despite its best efforts, Saw and its successors, only manage to reach the complexity and significance of a Catholic high school debate team.

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Saw - grade: 53% (D-)
Saw II - grade: 50% (D-)
Saw III - grade: 75% (B)
Saw IV - grade: 70% (B-)
Saw V - grade: 68% (C+)

The Stepfather (1987) - (film review); The Stepfather (2009) - (film review)

            When David Harris’ stepson’s girlfriend repeatedly refers to him as Mr. Harris, he insists: “Call me David.”  But, he doesn’t mean it.  The most salient aspect of both the original and remake of The Stepfather is the degree through which patriarchal rule and desire for control is represented and manifested in the central character.  Both Terry O’Quinn and Dylan Walsh’s performances of David Harris/Jerry Blake (respectively) insist on friendly bonding, coinciding with the moral and ethical family values and the hierarchy of such.  So, when Mr. Harris insists, “call me David,” he doesn’t really mean it.  This invitation of familiarity is made out of social obligation, but ultimately comes across as insincere.  It is this insincerity that drives the title character to action.  Everything he does or attempts to accomplish is predicated on exterior illusion and the ability of this illusion to translate to internal reality for David/Jerry.
             I was a minor fan of the original The Stepfather, having thought the film was rather campy, at times silly, and ultimately dated in typical 80s fashion.  This time stamp however is not necessarily a bad thing, for there are many 80s horror films that are more effective simply using the 80s colloquial techniques.  Upon re-watching this film, in anticipation of viewing the quite intriguing looking remake, it dawned on me the exact angle and social fortitude the film attempted to grapple with—and quite effectively at that.  It is the dying breed of neoconservative patriarchy influenced by religion and its familial values of the nuclear family.  Jerry is the incarnate manifestation of these principles forever seeking the ‘perfect’ family—normalized and heterosexualized by indoctrinating socializing family roles and functions.  Unfortunately for Jerry (and most unfortunately for any family he preys upon), he never manages to find this ‘perfect’ family—mainly because this ‘perfect’ (read: average) family doesn’t exist, except in the ideologies of traditional Judeo-Christian republican extremists.
              Stephanie, the stepdaughter in the original film, is this new budding feminist who strives to connect with her mother and ‘platonic’ female companion.  Stephanie’s heterosexuality is questionable in the film, especially if one chooses to interpret the film through a queer theoretical paradigmatic lens.  Stephanie is never heterosexualized, except in the final few moments of the film where audience’s gaze is directed to her nubile 16-year-old naked body.  This scene is in stark contrast to Jerry’s nude scene right at the beginning of the film.  Here we see the opposing forces in the gendered nudity and all of the social implications that are read onto these bodies.  Jerry’s male penetrating body fresh from killing his entire family, to Stephanie’s virginal teenage femininity, ready to be penetrated.  What happens instead is a struggle between the omniscience of patriarchy and the resistance of femininity and matriarchy.  Throughout the film, both mother and daughter put up with the hokey, occasionally silly speeches Jerry ‘performs’ on family and its significance.  This significance is never flushed out, it is never critically examined.  No one questions why family is so important, and what precisely family offers other than the reification of ruling patriarchal/heterosexual gender roles.  The original film is an all-out struggle of ideologies facing off.  Stephanie rises up against her patriarchal figure and his empty promises of familial bliss to redefine her own sense of gender and sexuality.  The unfortunate thing for Stephanie is that this is never entirely possible, so the slaughtering of Jerry (a misstep to place the mother-figure as responsible for this action than the clear heroine, Stephanie), is ultimately done in vain.  Perhaps the singularity of Jerry’s ideals is demolished, but his social influence lives on in many neoconservative extremists.
           In the 2009 version of The Stepfather, the homage is displaced and misses the central saliency of the original—this is not to say that it is without its own merits, just not as strong as the original.  In reading reviews of both the original and remake of The Stepfather on Fangoria and Bloody Disgusting, it becomes clear that many viewers focus on the psychoses of the title character and not the social ideologies he represents, thus inverting the film from a taught social commentary into a personal account of one man’s inner psychotic turmoil.  In doing this the reviewers strip the film from what drives the action.  The initial intention may have inadvertently intended to scare the audience with the creepiness of the central character, however the film(s) has amassed to something more grand than this simple personal account of one man’s struggle to aspire to the American Dream.  Unfortunately (for us), the remake is predicated on this pedantic interpretation.  The film’s intention is to expand upon the personal psychosis of the central character.  This is why Stephanie is turned into Michael, a troubled teen (who is incredibly well-behaved except for a few minor outbursts of personal opinion at the dinner table) who must learn to step in line and fly right. 
           Converting the direct conflicting character to the stepfather from a daughter to a son has some massive social implications, all of which lose the pertinence of feminist thought.  There are many underlying aspects driving this gender change—the need to appeal to young teen girls, and if the emphasis is placed on the central character’s psychosis, then it does not matter the gender or age of the conflicting character.  Instead of being treated to a cathartic uprising of feminist ideals against patriarchal rule, we are subjected to traditional patriarchy’s temporary crumble to new, more ideologically (and dare I say liberal) patriarchy—a patriarchy none the less.  It is more a struggle between men, each fighting to lay control over the household.  I am less drawn to this theme as the nucleus of the film.  However, having said that, I do believe this new remake masters more of the overarching reach of the patriarchal hand and its ability to silence and convince those that do not adhere to its principle values.  The performance of Walsh as the central character is more effective and subtle than the overt campiness of O’Quinn’s memorable 80s portrayal—both men do fine jobs for very different reasons and to very different effect.  What I am drawn to with the remake is the taught and suspenseful direction that the story deserves.  The narrative structure of both films calls for a more psychotic frenetic touch that is more evident in the 2009 version than the 1987 one.  Both films are flawed and both films are quite poignant, both for extremely different reasons—if only a keen director and screenwriter could more astutely adapt the most arrestive aspects of each, we would be left with a social canon.  Instead we have two films lacking in particular areas requiring viewers to draw from sections of each—more so from the 1987 version than 2009.

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The Stepfather (1987) - grade: 83% (A-)

The Stepfather (2009) - grade: 78% (B+)