Monday, 18 February 2013
The ‘Exploitation Movie’ of ‘Religious Versus Literary Controversy’ [International Gorillay (1990)]
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From http://www.nanarland.com/Chroniques/internationalguerillas/jaquette.jpg |
Dir. Jan Mohammed
Pakistan
Film #30 of The ‘Worst’ of Cinema
This review has been long is
gestation, since last year before this season came about; I have even read the Salman Rushdie novel The Satanic Verses, central to the
existence of this film, to give me background to this infamous ‘Lollywood’ film
from Pakistan. When author Rushdie
first published The Satanic Verses,
a magic realist story that tackled the divide between someone of West Asian
descent and a secondary identity of being British, and of the divide between
religious belief and doubt, he provoked outrage from Muslin communities for the
book, particularly a segment based on the prophet Muhammad where lines are
added into the Islamic rulings of there being three goddesses who can be
worshiped, the ‘satanic verses’, which are pulled out of the scripture by the
messenger of Allah immediately afterwards. Along with other aspects that could
be seen as damning or undermining Islamic belief, he would eventually have a fatwā
placed on his head for his death by the late spiritual leader of Iran Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini. A film like
this, when you review it, would make it difficult for some to hold their
tongues about their religious beliefs or the concept of freedom of speech, but
in hindsight I may have over researched for this review. Rushdie’s novel was exceptional, and it helps to know the book that
caused such an outrage it lead to a murder and attempted assassination
attempts, but International Gorillay
is far from a serious film despite its background and the hatred within it for Rushdie. It was made merely as a
commercial film and the idea of cashing on the controversy as it did makes it a
true exploitation movie. It’s also demented.
When the Islamic world is terrorised
by the evil Salman Rushdie, a
Bond-like villain in sharp clothes, his own personal army of goons and torture
techniques including forcing the Muslim prisoners to listen to The Satanic Verses in audio book form
in jails, three Muslim men of the same family, after relatives are shot down by
corrupt policemen during an anti-Rushdie protest, go abroad to kill Rushdie for the sake of the Islamic (and
Pakistani) people. When the title credit, in a two and a half hour film,
appears fifty minutes in, you realise International
Gorillay is very different from other films. It’s condemnation of Rushdie, in the countless proclamations
against him to his face, may actually be awkward even for Muslin viewers who
were offended by his novel, and when it’s in the content of a Lollywood film,
where there are musical numbers even during the final confrontation with the
villain, and action scenes that would make Italian genre films like Strike Commando (1987) look like Twilight, and it causes more problems
with the message. Make the film as erratic in the technical side as it is and
in the ideas onscreen as well and your brain turns into the consistency of mash
potato. The version of the film I saw was atrocious, a video rip which had
moments where it seemed the frame had to be fixed like one would see happen by
accident in a cinema, but technically this film is off as well. This is
especially the case in the editing; seconds in the narrative pace seem to be
missing, where it transitions into the next explosion without any establishing
set-up, and a protagonist is suddenly in another place or switches from having
a gun to a crossbow to mow down henchmen. The repetition of footage in-between
ongoing sequences is almost avant garde but it also baffles and undermines how
one puts together images to create a juxtaposition. It’s on the opposite side
of Ninja Terminator (1985), the
first film reviewed in this blog season, in that the placing together of images
in the film actually undermine the concept of editing and scrambles how you a
as a viewer connect images to create a succession of narrative. It is the film
where everyone gets a reaction shot
every time something significant happens, usually with a smash zoom to their
face. It is like a high budgeted version of Turkish Star Wars (1982) with far more action choreography –
explosions, motorbike chases with rockets, helicopters – and even has a
‘rip-off’ aspect by having the protagonists, for no reason, attempt one of
their raids on Rushdie in homemade, Adam West-era Batman costumes.
International Gorillay and its exploitation cinema mentality
against its reverence with the Islamic religion do not mix very well. It is a
film where Rushdie has in his arsenal
identical versions of himself, musical numbers about the ‘bullet of love’ with
a gun being fired as part of the chorus percussion of one song, and guitar hot
licks from the American, straight-to-video action films made around this time.
This does not gel with the praise of Allah and His Prophet Muhammad at all, as
would happen in a Western film which tried to have this type of tone with a
heavy Christian message, or any
message that is supposed to be taken seriously. The film even has comedy relief
in the form of a bumbling Saudi Arabian sheik and his right hand man who work
with Rushdie and have comic hijinks,
including someone having giant, yellow glasses with miniature windscreen wipers
on them. It doesn’t help though as well that the film is anti-Semitic, with a
Jewish femme fatale with psychic eyes and her brother on Rushdie’s side, adding unnecessary fire to the real life conflict
between Judaism and Islam, within a pulp film. Even something like Turkish Star Wars managed to avoid this,
celebrating the virtues of Islam and Turkish heroes while not trodding on other
religions for cheap effect and going as far as having Christianity part of its
mythology. The ending, which I won’t spoil, is on YouTube, but its moment of divine intervention does not fully
impact you unless you’ve seen the whole feature, seen the musical number
beforehand proclaiming the virtues of Allah and seen it in its proper context. Then
it feels like, regardless of your religious and political beliefs, like you’ve
been struck by lightning yourself.
The British Board of Film
Classification banned this film from being released in the United Kingdom at
first, but it was Salman Rushdie
himself who persuaded them to change the ruling, under the belief of freedom to
speech even for works negative of him, and because the film was so abstract
from reality that no one would take it seriously. In The Satanic Verses, one of the two protagonists is a megastar of
Bollywood cinema, and while this is a Pakistani film, International Gorillay feels like something Rushdie could have created for the story depending on where the
plot of that book would have went to. Historically, despite the fatwā placed on
his head and protests against his knighthood in the 2000s, Rushdie is an acclaimed author, while I only found out about this
film because of The Satanic Verses controversy,
the only large group who think about this film a great deal being a French
website called Nanarland, which I wish I could read in its French text, who
celebrate ‘bad’ cinema. This review could easily, by accident, become an
insulting and patronising take on Islamic religion, but while the historical
background of Rushdie is important to
get more out of it, International
Gorillay, while trying to give some cathartic entertainment to offended
people, was never meant to be taken seriously and cannot be taken seriously. It’s
entertaining, certainly, but it’s also bizarre, in its own unique world regardless
of its context as a mainstream film from Pakistan. It’ll be impossible to
forget it from all the films I’ve seen from this season.
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From http://s3.amazonaws.com/auteurs_production/images/film/international-guerillas/w448/international-guerillas.jpg?1308262039 |
Saturday, 16 February 2013
Mini-Review: The Brothers (1947)
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From http://www.iceposter.com/thumbs/MOV_83241ce2_b.jpg |
Dir. David MacDonald
UK
A young woman (Patricia Roc) is
sent to a family, consisting of a father and two sons, to be their maid and
housekeeper, only for the rivalry with another clan and the older brother’s (Duncan Macrae) obsession with her to
completely effect the lives of everyone involved. Set in Scotland in 1900, it
evokes the fog covered hills of the land immenselt, a closed-in community
depicted rich in culture and adding layers to the film; it is unfortunate the
print the UK DVD distributor Park Circus
used suggests that a less-than-pristine version of this British film is all
that is left. Sadly the film’s narrative – which includes clan rivalries, the
bootlegging of whiskey, and strained relationships of brotherly and romantic
love – feels less than fully formed in less than ninety minutes and becomes stale
melodrama.
The Brothers has a lot to potentially like, but there is aspects,
that appear in British cinema, which undermine its quality. It has a charm, a
tone of down-to-earth bluntness (and vulgarity) which is a great virtue of my
country’s cinema. The unique touches of the setting, the use of Gaelic (?)
words in the characters’ speak, and how the hatred between two clans is
officially settled through a ritualistic act of insulting the other family as
poetically damning as possible, before going to a challenge involving rowing
boats, adds character that gives the film personality beyond a narrative. That also
includes a bizarre but gruesome practice by the characters involving rope and a
single silver fish. Sadly, as is a great problem with British cinema, is that
it feels stilted especially in the narrative and acting at times. With a deep
history to work from, a nationalistic streak of matter of factness (and black
humour) and a visual beauty to our isles’ landscape that shine in great films,
the narrative itself doesn’t life up the weight of these qualities as well as
it should, and for the great acting in the film there are also some that feel
lacking in dramatic weight and somewhat cold consider the drama of the story. This
sounds like a cruel view of The Brothers,
but when a film like it is merely alright, ok, not great, this does come to
mind and nags at it.
The ‘Divisive Film, in Its Physical Existence in Your Possession’ of Cinema [Mortuary (2005)]
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From http://images.esellerpro.com/2195/I/229/80/abd4414.jpg |
Dir. Tobe Hooper
USA
Film #29 of The ‘Worst’ of Cinema
![]() |
From http://torrentszona.com/torrents/images/Morg_Mortuary_2005_BDRip_1285557700-123502.jpg |
Reading Paul Schrader’s article for Film
Comment, ‘Cannon Fodder’, which is
his selected cannon of cinema’s best films and his beliefs on the canon as an
idea, I ponder how one, as an individual film viewer, is supposed to treat the
virtues of cinema. How do you gauge the qualities of a film? What is better, a
film great in technical quality and high ideas, or one which causes you to
laugh or to cry? What does one do with the idea that, as was dubbed the concept
of the ‘auteur’, some directors have traits to their work that continue in
their career’s work, and that it can be affected by the work environment and
choices they make? Is there any virtue to a ‘bad’ film that makes it worth
keeping, and what is the virtue of a film worth anyway as art and as cinema? Why
am I evoking Schrader’s lofty attempt
at a cinematic canon, compared to a canon of Western literature, for a review
of a Tobe
Hooper film that few have seen, probably all hate, and is not that good in
the first place?
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From http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_li6mjgAJxP1qchzcgo1_500.png |
Recently I have found a way of
being able to keep more DVDs in my possession and prevent my living quarters
being crushed under the weight of plastic DVD cases, but this ideas is more
significant for me in that it would allow me to turn my collection beyond a hodgepodge
collected over the years but into a personal archive that, even if they are
just material discs liable to decay, could be a codex of film history for me,
the high and low brow squashed together as I have a library of cinema sculpted by
what I decide to keep and what I can actually get. Entirely filmographies of
certain directors are possible to keep without having the pointlessly large
boxes, which had no extras let alone special packaging with them anyway, and
without fear of being crushed by them like the unfortunate Japanese man who was
crushed by his manga collection during an earthquake, or without getting into
conflict with family members in the same house. Barren areas in genre and
cinema movements, barring a film or two, can now expand providing the films are
of some worth for me and if I have the funds to acquire them. However it is
also something that, if my desired idea of the codex actually works, needs to
be thought about more than just an excuse for more DVDs. I am a pretentious man
at times, but also one who wants to grow as an individual, and as I believe cinema
like anything else can help improve a person as well as entertain them, I need
to think what worth such a plan would do for me, which is why I evoked Schrader’s canon, one which was
purposely elitist on his part so the best films - The Rules of the Game (1939) to In the Mood for Love (2000) – was pushed to people wanting to step
into cinema. This idea means just as much for cult cinema fans, for seasons
like this wading through the ‘worst’ that film has to offer, and bad films from
a director (Tobe Hooper) I feel is
underrated, in that, from the great of cinema to the schlocky horror film, will
I use such additional space to actually acquire films of worth, for
entertainment and to expand my thoughts, or am I going to just use it to
consume shiny discs for the sake of it like a person consumes junk food because
society advertises it to us continually, so we keep buying it, and has no worth
to it afterwards? Is there worth to it or am I just a product consumer?
![]() |
From http://torrentszona.com/torrents/images/Morg_Mortuary_2005_BDRip_1285557700-123503.jpg |
In Mortuary, a widowed
mother and her two children, a male reaching adulthood and a young girl, move to
a new house, a mortuary, as part of her decision to become an entrepreneuring mortician.
Something sinister is under the building however and it’s more than the
deformed son of the previous owners. It is a film clearly made within an
erratic filmography. The film is not good. It has its virtues but suffers from
being another generic film made in the 2000s onwards that has no subtlety to
it, made on cheap digital camera, a generic score made for it that tries to
force out elicit scares and CGI that looks mediocre. In its favour, it has a
quirkiness to it, not in being random for the sake of it, but in an eccentricity
I wished carried on in the rest of the film, where I can now add ‘graveyard
babies’ to my new mental catalogue of bizarre slang about creepy sexual practices.
It also retains probably Hooper’s
greatest virtue, that exists in almost every film of his I’ve seen except Crocodile (2000), of a maddened,
frightening intensity to scenes, like the film itself has become insane itself
or a sharp blade is being stroked up your spinal column. This tone only appears
once or twice in the film, but in scenes like the one where Hooper continues in his career to
subvert the image of a happy family sitting together at the dinner table, it
works immensely. It is just a shame that the film, by its end, turns into a
generic horror film of young people running away from evil ghouls screaming at
each other and them, the first three quarters, while not the best, at least
showing a unique personality that made Mortuary
a lot better than its reputation suggested. This goes back to that issue of
what is worth keeping as a film, regardless of the disc it is put onto I now
have more potential space for, and whether I will get anything from rewatching
it continually in the future. I will keep Mortuary,
unlike many of the awful films I’ve viewed for this season, but it will be
under the concession that “yeah, Mortuary
is not that good is it?” as I think about it at this moment. What has an
interesting idea – a widowed older woman, with her children, trying to strive
as a career woman in a business that could have become what Michele Soavi's Cemetery Man (1994) was but from a woman’s perspective and with Hooper’s sense of unnerving, giddily mad
tone – and has some virtues to it is disappointing as what the reviews of it
suggested.
![]() |
From http://www.bjwinslow.com/albums/zombiemovies/mortuary_morgue.jpg |
Hooper is integral to horror cinema because of a single film – The Texas Chain Saw Massacre (1974) –
but his career also shows another issue that will affect my planned codex in
that it goes in various erratic directions. A director with clear distinct
traits can also have a wavering career and none so more than acclaimed
filmmakers who’ve worked in horror – Dario
Argento, David Cronenberg, John Carpenter etc. – who have either
evolved or die slowly onscreen trying to keep up but fail miserably. Hopper unfortunately, even with good
films, has been beset by movies failing to reach an audience on their first
release, his other famous film Poltergeist
(1982) credited to producer Steven
Spielberg, and increasingly lower budgets. This concept that a director can
have flaws in his work means that the idea of keeping their entire filmography
may involve having films you don’t actually find virtue in, or with Mortuary have some but is ultimately
not that good even as entertainment. I do feel Hooper is underrated, willing to defend The Funhouse (1981) and even Spontaneous
Combustion (1990). It is a filmography that has one film – The Texas Chain Saw Massacre – that has
been canonised, one film (Poltergeist)
which is significant because many people of a certain generation grew up with
it as children, a couple of cult hits like The
Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2 (1986), and many forgotten and critically reviled
creations. An example like him brings to mind the issue that Paul Schrader evoked in his article
without even having to have a canonised collection of the greatest films ever,
as rather than the most elitist selection of art house films, cult cinema shows
the issue of judging the virtues of films and directors just as clearly as for
people who have to weigh the films of John
Ford against each other for their careers, the more erratic quality of
films in genre cinema against art cinema more pronounced and meaning that the
virtues of entertainment and artistic value are more necessary to wade through
the worthless creations. For the most part, a director l hold close to heart
like Wong Kar-Wai or Bela Tarr is more consistent, making most
of their work, if not all of it, worth keeping in its entirety, but another I admire
like Tobe Hooper who is more varied
in quality brings up the issue of what worth certain films have to actually
keep them. That one also has to consider whole genres and sub-genres, and film
movements and countries when thinking about film history, or even cult cinema
itself, and one needs to actually think about what worth there is to the movies
they are keeping more so. It’s not an over thought, pretentious concern either,
as is the case for anyone who finds a film, a book, a piece of clothing, or
another item in their possession and wonders “Why have I got this?”, thinking about how meaningless the
said item was when they first got it and yet kept the thing when someone else
could have gotten something from it. It’s gaining some meaningful worth from
any item, beyond just being a consumer product but as something part of the
world and themselves, and if one thinks about it more, like I am doing with my
DVD collection, than the simple act of spring-cleaning the house could be
argued to be a manifestation of an existential clear out.
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From http://a69.g.akamai.net/n/69/10688/v1/img5.allocine.fr/acmedia/medias/nmedia/18/36/27/05/18476697.jpg |
Thursday, 14 February 2013
This Week... [6th to 10th of February 2013]
6th February: Bullhead (Michael R. Roskam, 2011)
The first good film for me for
2013 and a good start of the year. It is divided between being an art film and
a gene crime movie, but completely avoids the dangers of both. It is not vague
minimalist European cinema of this decade, its Flanders location distinct and a
sense of uniqueness to the characters within it, and thankfully avoids the
fetishisation of violence that exists in many films of now even if Bullhead has its cringe worthy moments.
It has a welcome and surprisingly deep streak of humanity within it where,
despite the repellent actions of the characters including the titular one,
played excellently Matthias Schoenaerts,
you can still see them as flawed human beings. Schoenaerts’ character is a literal bull, violent and mindless at
times but at other moments completely sympathetic, his subplot of his traumatic
childhood, rather than becoming a trite inclusion as I feared it would be,
adding to the scrutinising of masculinity throughout the movie. For his debut, Roskam has started off his career
perfectly with this.
![]() |
From http://history.sffs.org/i/films/1967/Story_of_a_three_day_pass_T.jpg |
7th February: The Story of A Three-Day Pass (Melvin Van
Peebles, 1968)
Another debut, another perfect
beginning for a director’s career, but viewing this one lets me see more to a
man only known by most people for Sweet
Sweetback's Baadasssss Song (1971). Following a black American soldier in
France (Harry Baird in a great
performance) as he is given a three day leave to travel the country, he meets Miriam
(Nicole Berger, also great but sadly,
at such a young age at 32, dying in a car crash not long after this film) and
embarks on a romantic relationship within those days. What could have turned
into a conventional story is a breath of fresh air from Van Peebles; when it feels like it is going to turn into the most
generic of narratives about race and racism, the director-writer makes it a
sweet drama instead where ethnicity is tackled in a far more subdued and
thoughtful way as a subtext alongside the main romance. It’s also an utterly
playful film, part of the French New Wave and implementing inspired uses of
jump cuts, editing and duplicating Baird
to interact with himself in place of internal monologues, all of which adds to
the story. I may be seeing more of Van
Peebles’ work through the year, but after this film even Sweet Sweetback... will be an entirely brand
new for me upon re-watching it.
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From http://content.internetvideoarchive.com/content/photos/187/00787615_.jpg |
8th February: Blood Thirsty (Jeff Frey, 1999)
If you want to see the lowest of
the low, this is it. A new tenant at an apartment realises the female owner has
a desire for drinking blood, not as an actual vampire, but an addiction to
cutting willing participants and consuming their blood through the wound. A
potentially great idea, but shot on cheap video camera and with only one real
set in the apartment itself, I did prepare myself for something bad yet I
wasn’t expecting this. It is the dullest type of drama where for all the plot
and fractured relationships between the women and the apartment owner’s boyfriend,
it is just lifeless and as the plotting gets more and more melodramatic it
becomes dumber and insufferable. It’s flirting with mental illness, and
especially self harm, eventually becomes offensive and was the final straw to
put this as one of the worst films I’ve seen. Even the potential of this being
softcore, with a lesbian twist, is worthless, the sex scenes being abrupt,
up-close images of arms and legs scored to some of the worst music you can
hear. I am willing to see the worst of cinema, as the ongoing season shows, but
I wish I could forget this one.
9th February: In Absentia / The Cabinet of Jan Švankmajer /
This Unnameable Little Broom / Rehearsals For Extinct (Stephen and Timothy
Quay, 2000 /1984 / 1985 / 1986)
As a Jan Švankmajer fan, I have somewhat dismissed (neglected) about the
twin animators Stephen and Timothy Quay, whose influence from Švankmajer goes as far as the short film
above, part of a documentary about the Czeck director. That short I’ve included
helps far more so to show what the Quays’
work is like, and as I am re-seeing their filmography, they’ve shown to be
a lot more rewarding for their artistry and imagination in these shorts. In Absentia, based on the real life
case of Emma Hauck, a married woman
who was put into a mental institution, is the best of the ones mentioned, a disturbing
collage of visuals and sound that creeps under your skin as you view it. All I
can really say is that you, the reader should investigate these films as soon
as you can.
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From http://media.tumblr.com/tumblr_mch88w1WDN1qzzh6g.jpg |
10th February: Vertigo (Alfred Hitckcock, 1958)
I may need to rewatch this again
for a third time, but upon revisiting it Vertigo
felt like an immense disappointment. It looks beautiful, and Bernard Herrmann’s
score is exceptional, but its plot isn’t that interesting and takes too long to
establish its narrative. Against Hitchcock’s
The Birds (1963) and Psycho (1960) it doesn’t hold a candle
to their quality upon this viewing, despite its lush melodrama and James Stewart trying to twist his well
known image into something more ominous. I do wonder, even if I fall in love
with this film on another viewing, whether its positioning as the best film
ever made by Sight & Sound
magazine may prove to have been a bad decision in hindsight, again letting
another film (like Citizen Kane (1941))
become a museum piece and not really connecting to the beauty of cinema’s
eclectic nature. I was disappointed by the plainness of the whole 2012 poll,
only having any real interest in the odd and unconventional individual choices
by critics and directors that would (sadly) never get into the top 100 list as
the results were collected together. That poll probably coloured my viewing of Vertigo this time, but it has to be
considered, in hindsight to the negative reaction to the film, whether
canonical lists like this ever actually succeed or just completely undermine
the point of cinema as an artform and entertainment. At least with individuals’
lists the writer allows themselves to open up about their personal tastes,
while the overall results of a poll usually become predictable and, relaying on
a numbered tally, may not necessarily mean they are the films that the voters
hold the closest to their hearts. I may have been disillusioned by the American
critic Armond White since last year,
but his words on the Sight & Sound poll
that Vertigo’s victory “merely replaces Kane to show a new era’s
unoriginal taste and obsessive interest in pathology and soullessness that’s
been building in certain film cliques at least since the film‘s 1996 reissue...”
feels like an alarm bell in my mind warning me of the inept laziness of
cinematic culture. Yes, because of the poll I rewatched the exceptional
masterpiece Man With A Movie Camera (1929), deserving its day on the podium
by being on that list, but the fear that this poll turns great cinema into
celluloid taxidermy, with some added “herd
mentality” to quote White again,
is discomforting.
The ‘Film Who Throws Everything Including the Kitchen Sink On Screen But Fails’ (The Ninja Strikes Back (1982))
![]() |
From http://www.hkfilm.net/pics20/ninjastrikesback3.jpg |
Directors: Bruce Le and Joseph
Velasco
France-Hong Kong
Film #21 of The ‘Worst’ of Cinema
Only a couple more of these
Videotape Swapshop reviews left and as the season slowly closes to its end, I
realise that just a film promises to be ridiculous and interesting doesn’t mean
it will.
Tuesday, 12 February 2013
‘The Torgo Appreciation Society’ (Manos: The Hands of Fate (1966)]
Dir. Harold P. Warren
USA
Film #16 of The ‘Worst’ of Cinema
The following is a link to my
review of this legendary cult film, which translates from Spanish as Hands: The
Hands of Fate. Just don’t displease the Master and you’ll be fine...
Review Link - http://www.videotapeswapshop.co.uk/12469/manos-the-hands-of-fate-%E2%80%93-1966-director-harold-p-warren/
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