I should be clear in that I’m not really in a position to judge others’ viewing habits, given some of the things I watch. But extremity of gore for its own sake has never done anything for me. And I do think there’s a point at which it crosses over from being an enjoyable special effect, especially if there’s so little in the way of alleviating factors. I’ve never had an urge to see the August Underground movies, for example. Even the Italian cannibal movies bring something of a worldview to their scenes of extreme violence. There seems to be no greater artistic goal here than rubbing your face in the muck and show off how gnarly the effects are, and no willingness to present them with any real style or moral viewpoint. And I dunno, I guess I’ve reached the point where I have to get off the train.

Jinnistan wrote:

crumbsroom wrote:

And for me, starting with Grand Budapest, I feel its become clear that what Anderson wants to move towards in his career, is to make this very particular vision of his bigger and bigger and more and more perfect. And by the time of The French Dispatch, I feel that his has filled nearly every nook and cranny he can with his affectations, and to be honest very successfully. But as a result, it's edging out the character. It becomes harder and harder for me to see humans trapped inside of the stranglehold of his vision. With Rushmore, the central figure is Max, clearly. By the time we get to French Dispatch, it's the concepts of how he will inventively stage a scene.

I admit that I may be more enamored with Wes' affectations than some people, and I don't necessarily draw such a sharp distinction between these affectations in terms of characters or those in terms of his style (humor, composition, rhythms, etc), but I don't agree that these more recent films are so much without character.  In fact I think Jeffery Wright's 'Roebuck Wright' in particular is a classic Wes Anderson character, as is Bill Murray's Alfred Howitzer, even if this is more of a peripheral presence, it is still a character through which the rest of the film's affectation rests.  (ftr, I find the middle section about the May '68 Paris riots to be the weakest of the film.)

But what I most admire about these latest films - including in most respects Budapest, but not so much Dogs* - is in Wes' narrative innovations, in shifting the focus from a central individual to more ensemble work, from central plotting to overlapping vignettes, to focusing more on themes and compositional symbolism, while still maintaining the integrity of his singular brand of humor, bittersweet sentimentality, and visual ingenuity.  I don't much mind that these elements exude through all of his films, I applaud his consistency.  But I, for one, have never felt disaffected from one of his films just yet.

(edit: * I'm not suggesting that I don't admire Isle of Dogs - I love it, only that it doesn't seem quite in the same realm of complex meta-narrative as the others.)

I can see all that, particularly with Budapest, but I still end up feeling on the outside of all this Russian nesting doll approach of competing narratives he's got going on.

I felt a kinship with aax Fischer or Royal Tenenbaums, which brought those tableaus to life for me. Now, I can still appreciate the wit and craft he puts into these things, but they feel mostly lifeless to me.

This defense of Terrifier sounds an awful lot like some people's defenses of The Purge films, where if you take a certain distance from the film and its audience, you can admire some of the supposed sociopolitical tropes as (unintentional, I believe) satire, and draw some interesting comments about what it's saying to or appealing to its particular fans.

But I'd still rather read those essays than watch those films.
 

Jinnistan wrote:

This defense of Terrifier sounds an awful lot like some people's defenses of The Purge films, where if you take a certain distance from the film and its audience, you can admire some of the supposed sociopolitical tropes as (unintentional, I believe) satire, and draw some interesting comments about what it's saying to or appealing to its particular fans.

But I'd still rather read those essays than watch those films.
 

Like I alluded to with Rock, I don't think anything is being missed by skipping them. And I have no idea if a critique of anything is on the films mind. It's more likely they thought evil clowns were cool and mayhem was cool, so let's put them together and be super cool.

I was mostly just shocked at how much more interesting, intentionally or otherwise, the sequel was to the original (which is close to one of the worst things I've seen come out in years)

Apparently Aggro Drift went over a lot better at TIFF than it did at Venice. I imagine the Midnight Madness crowd was more willing to meet it halfway.

I will note that the new Bertrand Bonello movie makes interesting use of footage from Trash Humpers.

It's been a couple of weeks since I gave this a five star review on letterboxd, and I think I'm still trying to decode what this means. I think it's fair that some people think that maybe this movie shouldn't even exist. And yeah, I think this film flirts very close, or crosses the line, possibly even rushes right past that line, of what I'd consider exploitation. Exploitation of a sordid story of murder. Of one poor woman's violent end. Of a mentally ill man. Of the audience.  

I don't really even know how to defend it. It’s a hard one to think about, let alone talk in detail of. Even the reasons I can give for why I think it's so effective, also kind of make the case against it. Make it sound even worse.  

But what Caniba does, it does brilliantly. It is a film that brings its audience right up close to something truly horrible, so close the images blur and we can smell its breath. Make us feel like we are almost clinging to it. Much too close. And yet, at no point does it ever make us feel like we are invited here. That we were ever supposed to be in the same room with it, let alone sitting in its lap. Creating this palpable tension as we pretend we can’t hear what these two brothers are talking about. One of them explaining in terrible detail the process of eating the body of a woman he murdered. And the other asking him questions, possibly because of his own similar hidden urges.  

Never have I ever wanted to be in the company of two human’s less. And yet, there I was, for nearly two hours, with no one but them. Nearly pressed up against their skin and listening to them talk. But not because they were supplying any kind of context for the films central act of violence. There isn’t any information in this film beyond what they provide. Not even a suggestion of how watching these two men talk can possibly lead us to any salvation from the type of men they are. Or the things they do.  

There is no enlightenment. Just a clinging sense of fear and despair and depraved depression. 

The eventual effect of this is that it turns what is a true life crime into less a narrative that we follow, and more a sensation we endure. A texture. The pits in the skin of a murderer. The shine of his little teeth smiling. A smell in the room, potent enough to peel the paint from the wall behind your television.

Basically, it’s almost pure voyeurism. But rendered in such a way that it sticks to the eyes of those who dare press theirs up to watch through the keyhole it is offering.  

And we deserve this blackening. This stench that will sting them.  

Especially when we give it five stars. When we consider it perfect. 

I feel I was already pretty fluent in speaking Fulci the first time I saw this years ago. I'd only seen City of the Living Dead by that point, but it had already exploded inside my brain like some kind of cinematic stroke. The weird kind that unlocks a previously unknown language in your brain. The kind that would make me start speaking in nothing but a grotesque Italian accent whenever discussing the fever dream logic of this man's films.

"Izza not a spose t'make-a sense. Izza nightmare logic, y'spicy meatball"

So how I could have ever wound up thinking this was mostly a bore is beyond me. No excuses. Just like all good Fulci, its terror is laying right there on the films surface. Nothing more is required than an instinctual response to what it shows us while watching. Once you speak his language, thinking is not required You need only accept that this is dangerous territory, there is terror in every direction, and there will not be a lick of plot or character development for us to busy ourselves with  in order to not see its never ending approach.

So what could I have missed the first time? How is it possible this got lumped in with memories of all that lesser Fulci that came later? Why was I so dumb?

I think it might be because Zombi at least pretends to be moving towards its danger. Gives us a compass to find its terrors and let's us know we are headed directly towards them as the first act lumbers along. Unlike City of the Living Dead, which begins with us already submerged in piranha filled waters from the opening frame, and bites at us from every direction, in every unexpected place, Zombi creates the illusion that we are heading towards its dangers voluntarily. They are that-a-way. And because we know exactly where they are, there is a subliminal sense of confidence that we know which direction we will need to turn and run if ever needing to escape from them.
 
So in this way, Zombi feels comparatively less nightmarish. What is frightening about it has a distinct shape. Lives in a specific place. And there exists a hope that as long as we can see what is coming to get us, and that we know where to find it, there might still be some places where it doesn't exist. Where it can't get at us. Zombi doesn't feel like the end of times are inevitable. It's carnage is more of a tourist attraction. There is belief in us that, by the films end, we will still be alive at the end of the couch and under our blankets.

City of the Living Dead offers no such hope.

But does this somehow make Zombi a less effective horror film? Well, no. Not really. Not after I've finally revisted it after all of these years. Because this time around, I was all too aware that at one point there was a light at the end of the tunnel. There was an escape hatch. And that while I was moving in the wrong direction away from it, at least it was there. Somewhere.

Until, of course, it wasn't. Because in the heart of the jungle that is Zombi, it's landscape is no less Apocalyptic than Fulci's other masterworks. It has got its audience surrounded from all angles too. There is no glimmer that anything is going to turn out well here either. But, unlike the other cinematic labyrinth's of confusion and madness that he normally builds up around his audience and imprisons us inside of, in Zombi we enter it voluntarily. And the darkness we inevitably find inside of it, will only seem all the darker as we find ourselves, one step at at time, choosing to move away from the guiding light. The one thing that maybe, for a few moments, made us feel safe.

Or maybe, when we are younger and dumber, not so much feel safe as presume we are bored.

But there is nothing boring about Zombi. This ranks with his best. This is a pure and a nearly perfect kind of horror film.





 

I'm guessing he's gotta be 80?

crumbsroom wrote:

Jinnistan wrote:

I'm guessing he's gotta be 80?

Whatever it is, it's too old!

Hm.  77.  Close enough.

Maybe his health has improved.  I like this little tidbit from his Wiki:

Waters was a smoker before quitting around 2004, saying "the only thing I've ever regretted in my whole life [was] smoking cigarettes. Because it was a nightmare giving up. It's the only thing the government ever told me that was true: It does kill you!"  In 2022, Waters said that if he were to write his younger self a letter, he would say "quit smoking [cigarettes] and do everything else"

And it also says that he's taken up tripping again.  I think he mentioned this on Bill Maher, and added something like "microdosing's for pussies".