THRILL ME!

NIGHT OF THE CREEPS (1986)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

 Fred Dekker's "Night of the Creeps" is my kind of goofy, upbeat, slightly gory, breezy type of B-movie horror I adore. It is practically a Tarantino twist on alien invasion horror crossed with a wink at George Romero's zombies, you know, like a grindhouse feature. Considering the film was released in 1986, you might say it was a little ahead of its time.

The movie starts with the classic song playing, "Smoke Gets in Your Eyes" as we enter the B-movie world of the 1950's, all shot in black-and-white (well, technically color film processed to look like black and white). A blonde teenager picks up his blonde girlfriend as they go on a little joyride to a barren road where a meteorite crashed. Something slasher comes this way as we see an escaped mental patient wielding an ax after the girl left behind in the car. Yeppers, B-movie aficionados, this is practically a 1950's Creature Feature.

Then we segue to the 1980's at a fraternity party that looks relatively tame next to anything in "Animal House." And you know it is the 1980's when you see Jason Lively (whom I remember best in "National Lampoon's European Vacation" and is Blake Lively's half-brother) as a nerd and girl-next-door Jill Whitlow ("Weird Science," "Twice Dead") as one of the fraternal brothers' girlfriends. Lively is Chris Romero who pines for Cynthia Cronenberg (Jill Whitlow), though Chris's handicapped and jocose friend, J.C. (Steve Marshall), recommends he look elsewhere for a girlfriend. These two nerds try to join the fraternity but joining means having to steal a body from the cryogenics lab. A body in the lab has disappeared and had been frozen since the 50's. No Creature Feature DVD's for anyone who can't guess that the body is the college kid from the opening B&W sequence. And if you wonder where you have heard the names Romero and Cronenberg before, you ain't no horror movie fan.

"Night of the Creeps" has got icky looking slugs, alien zombies, flashing meteors, mild nudity, a "goose-stepping" fraternal brother with peroxide hair, Jill Whitlow using a flamethrower in pure Ripley-mode, cryogenic chambers, character actor David Paymer not recalling the passcode to enter his own lab, Tom Atkins as a gritty cop with a complex and a catchphrase ("Thrill Me!"), an Asian janitor who loves saying, "Screaming like banshees," Suzanne Snyder in a brief cameo as a sorority girl, a zombie cat, and much more. And to top it all off, there is a sincere, sensitively written scene between the two nerds and their mutual friendship that transcends the mash-up of genres with its added John Hughes touch. And Jill Whitlow exudes a sweetness that was a bit uncommon in 1980's flicks.

The sensibility behind "Night of the Creeps" is purely innocent and postmodernist. It evokes a 1950's Creature Feature transposed to the 1980s with the same sensibilities of a 50's horror flick. A fun thrill ride of a movie with a dark ending that makes for a great double-feature with "Return of the Living Dead."

More rockabilly than Godardian

BREATHLESS (1983)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

The original French New Wave 1960 classic, "Breathless," was a frantic, jazzed-up take on American crime movies in a French setting by the notable director, Jean Luc-Godard. The Jim McBride-directed 1983 remake is a rock n' roll version of Godard's film, eschewing France for Los Angeles with a rockabilly vibe that screams killer, killer, killer. That's right, killer as in Jerry Lee Lewis's Killer persona or Elvis redressed as a amoral punk.

"Breathless" begins with Richard Gere as Jesse, a car thief who steals classic cars. He doesn't care about anything or anyone except having cash. In one scene, Jesse plays Jerry Lee Lewis music in the car he stole with all the glee and rockabilly one actor can muster. If you think you are seeing a strange, modernized Elvis Presley movie, you might be right. The background is clearly unreal with its deep red skies (I've always loved rear-screen background shots in driving scenes). This loud character could be spotted miles away after inadvertently killing a police officer but no. In L.A., someone strutting around the streets with his shirt opened and stealing newspapers from vending machines would not seem so out of place.

Jesse breaks into one apartment, seemingly a random break-in. We slowly discover that he knows the occupant of the apartment - Monica (Valerie Kaprisky), a French college student. She is fetching and they have lots of sex but, as she declares in one tremendously moving scene, Jesse is not a part of her equation. But Jesse doesn't fit into equations - he has no plans for the future, he just wants to live it. Meanwhile, we have a couple of thrilling chase scenes where the couple run into some sordid alleyways, punk discos, Mexican restaurants, etc. The rock music selections are pumped up and loud and truly drive the movie into glorious, high-pitched comic-book delusions. At times, "Breathless" feels like a kinetic comic-book, pulp fiction movie - it is no accident that Jesse is always reading the Silver Surfer (no wonder Quentin Tarantino loves this movie).

I don't take either version of "Breathless" seriously but this remake is an homage with different moods and a different style (there are none of the jump cuts that gave the original a frantic energy). The two romantic leads do not try to one-up Jean Paul Belmondo or Jean Seberg from the original. Richard Gere, though, is the one who makes this cartoonish trip worthwhile - he is also in on the joke. The joke is stylistic but the character's concerns are relative human - strut your stuff, live for the day, save yourself and love without inhibition. He can and does, but he is also at the end of his rope. A fatalistic noir picture redone as a lost 50's rebel movie transposed to a 1980's setting. It is not every day you run into a film of that kind.

The First Avenger in full patriotic swing

CAPTAIN AMERICA: THE FIRST AVENGER (2011)
Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

When remembering my favorite Marvel heroes as a kid, I always had a soft spot for Captain America. He is the one who came from a patriotic time where it was okay to fight a war you believed in. In the case of the Cap Man, it was World War II and he fought Nazis and the legendary villain, Red Skull. In terms of cinematic and television adaptations, Captain America has suffered. A 1990 flick with Matt Salinger was disappointingly mediocre with a bland hero. The Reb Brown TV series doesn't merit any worthwhile mentions. And though I have not seen the Republic 1940's serials, I am told that version has Captain America using a gun instead of a shield! Sacrilege! So it is a blast to see that they got it right this time. "Captain America: The First Avenger" is a solid knockout of a movie, a first-rate superhero movie that leisurely spends time with its central protagonist and lets us get to know him.

A 90-pound weakling, Brooklyn-born Steve Rogers (Chris Evans, a splendid choice) is trying to get to enlist in the Army and help fight the good fight. His chronic ailments, including asthma, and his small build gets him a "4F" (meaning, no admittance to the rest of you). He gets a chance to re-enlist thanks to a German scientist named Dr. Erskine (Stanley Tucci) who sees potential in a super-soldier experiment. The tough, hard-shelled Col. Phillips (Tommy Lee Jones, looking more grizzled than ever) is skeptical of the kid despite Steve Rogers' demonstrations of guts and bravery. In one scene, Rogers has an exercise where he is willing to sacrifice himself to save his fellow men. All this from a Brooklyn kid who never gives up. He might have if he had to endure "Full Metal Jacket's" drill sergeant, but that is a different story.

Before the swooning women can say "nice abs," Steve Rogers is thrust into action as the super-soldier he was destined to be. First, he has to perform a service for the Army, which includes hitting an actor made up to look like Hitler in the face before a dance troupe in a patriotic attempt to sell war bonds (back when the U.S. did that sort of thing. Interestingly enough, the first comic-book issue cover of the Cap Man had him punching Adolf Hitler in the face). But when he is adorned with his true red, blue and white costume and packs some heat and throws his circular vibranium shield that can knock anyone off within a hundred yards, we are in full swing. It is the movie I've been waiting for any studio to do right for years. They have created a colorful, nostalgic kick in the pants for anyone who loves the Cap Man and 1940's iconography.

But there is more. The evil Red Skull (Hugo Weaving), aka Johann Schmidt (a Nazi commandant) is ready to destroy America with his super sonic plane and its loaded missiles headed to incinerate designated states. Surely Captain America and his newly elected team of commandos will have a few things to say about that. There is also time for love with the luscious British agent, Peggy Carter (Hayley Atwell), whose crimson red lips would be enough to drive any man to a dinner date.

Director Joe Johnston capably serves this material, as he should considering twenty years ago he directed the wondrously entertaining "The Rocketeer," also a 1940's hero movie of another brand. "Captain America" is a rip-roaring, rousing comic-book movie come to life with actors who breathe life into their parts, coloring them with just enough eccentricity to make them palatable. Though Hugo Weaving drips with menace, he also hints at something more sublime - he appreciates Captain America for never quitting. I think, deep down, Red Skull knows he will have to quit before his madness consumes him, literally.

"Captain America: The First Avenger" is not as thunderously epic as "Thor" and it doesn't contain the ironic wisecracks of "Iron Man." It is more scaled-down, more down to earth, more intimate, more soulful. This is largely due to Chris Evans (who was the best thing in "Fantastic Four") who brings integrity and dignity to Captain America in spades. The movie wisely chooses not to poke fun at the period it is set in. It envelops it, contains it and brings us a world that no longer exists (and for the youth today, never knew it existed). Its also got its tongue firmly planted in its patriotic cheek, and has the level of "Indiana Jones" innocence and escapism that it needs. But don't be surprised if you get a little teary-eyed by the end, and don't be further surprised if you want to get up off the couch and join Captain America. 

Riding Out Morrison's Storm

WHEN YOU'RE STRANGE (2009)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

When I think of the leather-clad, raging soul of Jim Morrison, I think of the range of powerful soothing chords of "Riders of the Storm" (the perfect song to hear on a slow New Mexico ride to Taos), the soulful strains of "Unknown Soldier," and the expressively upbeat "L.A. Woman." Interestingly, as in Oliver Stone's hyperkinetic film bio, the new documentary, "When You're Strange" operates with these songs in the same order. Though there is not much new to glean from "When You're Strange," there are some oddities and interesting trivia (The Who opened for The Doors once) that will keep Morrison fans riveted for an hour and a half.

"When You're Strange" charts the rise of a poet who hated his father (a Navy admiral in charge of his fleet during the Gulf of Tonkin debacle) and claimed his parents were dead, to his start and eventual drop-out from NYU film school to the Venice Beach days of living on a rooftop and cavorting with Ray Manzarek, a keyboard player, whom he sang his lyrics to, to forming a band with Robby Krieger (who never used picks) on guitar and the drummer John Densmore. Jim ingests copious drugs, drinks heavily, becomes bloated and a media superstar and we get the gradual picture that it isn't about the band - it is about Jim taking the spotlight. One gets the impression that director Tom DiCillo is more critical of the Lizard King than Oliver Stone ever was.

New, spectacular footage shows a bearded Jim Morrison on the desert road - singing, laughing and screaming, observing a nearly dead dog on the road (some of these moments play like outtakes from Oliver Stone's own Doors film or "U-Turn"). But most of the film, except for some candid shots of a smiling Lizard King, is focused on the downward spiral of a man who allegedly exposed himself on stage and was more soused than the average drunk. It is deduced that such drunken rages and falling asleep on the concert stage were an act of garnering media attention since the band stopped getting any (heck, they could barely play their music during the outrage). Then Jim, deeply in love with his girlfriend, Pam, and somehow renewed in his sense of purpose, finds himself dead at the age of 27 in Paris. And it seems, perhaps, that his disapproving father finally admits his son had talent.

"When You're Strange" is sort of a distant echo of Oliver Stone's controversial film (a montage of Robert Kennedy's assassination and images of Charles Manson also figure in Stone's film) yet this film (with added narration by Johnny Depp) adds immeasurably more mystery and a measure of depth to Morrison than ever before. It is one of those "regretful" rock documentaries, the kind that makes you wonder, what if Jim had lived on past his 27th birthday. It also shows the tortured poet who chose music as his vessel of opening the doors of his perception. He wrote books of poetry but they required solace to write them. Jim needed the stage to exhibit his demons, his passions, his life - he desperately needed an audience. "When You're Strange" exemplifies that and gives us a Jim Morrison that perhaps we didn't know.

A Stepfather of dubious interest

STEPFATHER III (1992)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

The worse thing than a horror movie sequel is a horror movie sequel made for TV. "Stepfather 3: Father's Day" is the latest example of turgid horror that aims for the gore thus eradicating any of the thrills and suspense that count. It reduces everything that the original "Stepfather" had to the status of a below-average slasher film.

Though I thought he was finally dead in "Part 2," Mr. Bad Daddy is back again with a new face thanks to plastic surgery, which means that Terry O'Quinn does not return for a third go-round (he was initially offered the chance to write and direct it but turned it down, alluding to the fact that he did not want to be typecast as a psycho). Instead we have Robert Wightman ("Living in Oblivion") who is the poorest replacement imaginable - how about a more fitting replacement like character actor Kurtwood Smith (remember the strict dad in "Dead Poet's Society?") Nevertheless, Bad Daddy travels to a new town and meets and falls in love with not one but two single mothers (one of them fetchingly played by Priscilla Barnes). There is also the terminally whining new kid (a computer whiz in a wheelchair) who suspects that something is askew about his new stepdad. So we have the standard body count, stepdad in a bunny suit (!), the usual "oh, they are disappointing me" looks and grimaces, and an unbelievable opening sequence set in a sullied underground plastic surgery room where stepdad refuses to be anesthetized while being operated on! Who is this guy, a gluttonous Rambo for punishment?

The movie is too silly, too overbaked and too unbelievable. Stepdad is more of a loose cannon this time, killing anyone in his path including the surgeon whom Stepdad paid for a new face! Falling for two women would seem antithetical to the O'Quinn psychopath and his core family values. And a scene that must be seen to be believed has Stepdaddy trying to get the wheelchair-bound kid to get out of his wheelchair ("Come on, you can do it") - it is a moment of shocking stupidity. Also, devotees of "Stepfather II" will notice that Stepdad was put back in the very same Puget Sound mental hospital he was in at the beginning of "II" and escapes again in "III" (mentioned only in a convenient TV broadcast)...couldn't the writers have thought of some other solution that didn't seem so recycled?

The first film was a classic suburban shocker - a movie I would compare without hesitation to Hitchcock's "Shadow of a Doubt." The second film was mostly a black comedy. This film simply trashes whatever redeeming value the first two films had. Mr. Terry O'Quinn and Mrs. Jill Schoelen, you are both missed!

I am Don Juan Triumphant!

THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA (1989)

 Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

 The 1989 version of "Phantom of the Opera" is the most uneven adaptation of the Gaston Leroux Gothic novel and perhaps the strangest. It is allegedly a love story but it is also a slasher horror picture, with a dose of Freddy Krueger mixed in with a Roger Corman Gothic-redux of "The Pit and the Pendulum." It has the right atmosphere that can give you goose pimples and a great musical score but it hardly compares to most other film versions of this oft-told tale.

Robert Englund is the composer Erik Destler, the Phantom who lives in the sewers below the London Opera House (the novel's setting was actually in Paris). Instead of a mask, he sews dead skin on his charred, rotting face every night before getting his own seat at the Opera to hear for the umpteenth time, Gounod's "Faust." The story goes that Erik sold his soul to the Devil (played by the late John Ghavan, a dwarf with an alarming, echoing voice that must have been dubbed) so that his music would become immortalized - part of the bargain dictates that no one will ever love Erik himself and so the Devil burns his face. I actually enjoy this revisionist take on Leroux's novel - Brian De Palma's electric, rock and roll version called "Phantom of the Paradise" also aimed for a Faustian subtext. I do object to the movie's bastardization of the Phantom, making him a newly supernatural character - he can materialize anywhere, he decapitates people, he hangs them with rope traps, he utters Freddy Krueger lines ("You're...suspended!"), but he does love the new opera singer in town. That would be Christine Day (Jill Schoelen), who can sing like no one's business provided she is guided by Erik himself.

The movie's bookends feature Christine in modern-day New York City, finding the lost musical notes of a forgotten opera called "Don Juan Triumphant." She is ready to perform the piece for an audition but is hit on the head by a sandbag. Then we travel back to London in the 1880's. The movie never makes it clear if Christine is having a fever dream from being hit on the noggin' or if she in fact does time travel back to the 1800's. Who needs a Delorean or H.G. Well's time machine when all you require is a sandbag? It is hinted in a line of dialogue that the Phantom had been around for centuries but a tinge more backstory would've been beneficial.

"The Phantom of the Opera" is often mesmerizing and visually stunning, especially the candlelit sewers, but its core themes of romantic love and passionate longing for music are disrupted by gratuitously gory violence and bookends that deter from its original source. A sequel was planned but never actually made, which explains the bookends that feature the return of the Phantom. Englund overacts as expected, and Schoelen is laid-back and a pleasing presence as always (her singing voice had been dubbed, which is odd since she knows how to sing but maybe opera was a little out of her range). The original novel did deal with the possibility of the Phantom finding love when he had never even been kissed, let alone loved by anyone except Christine. That would fit the long-running Broadway version that later became a 2004 Joel Schumacher flick, and the creepy classic 1925 Lon Chaney picture. This "Phantom" hints at love but it is really a grisly horror flick for the "Nightmare on Elm Street" crowd. Odd hybrid, and no falling chandelier either.

Footnote: This was the only Jill Schoelen film I saw in theaters, after becoming a fan of hers when I saw "The Stepfather." 

The Earth is an Indian Thing (An Interview with Valerie Red-Horse)

THE EARTH IS AN INDIAN THING (An Interview with Valerie Red-Horse)

By Jerry Saravia

(Note: interview is reprinted with permission from Times Beacon Record newspapers, specifically The Village Times whom I used to write for. Excerpts are from a 1998 Stony Brook Film festival article) 

I always think back to the line from Jack Kerouac's wonderful, off-balance rhythms of his iconic book, "On the Road." That line is, "the Earth is an Indian thing." Indeed it is, but you would not know it from Hollywood's treatment of Native-Americans on celluloid. There have been exceptions: Arthur Penn's powerful 1970 film "Little Big Man," for one, and the sprawling Kevin Costner western, "Dances With Wolves," which certainly brought to life Native American history and led to more films dealing with this intrinsically isolated people, sometimes told from their perspective. A few years back, "The Exiles" was a rediscovered 1960's picture that dealt with Native Americans adjusting to city life, far away from the reservations and their natural habitat.

There is also a landmark 1998 film few have heard of called "Naturally Native," the first film (at the time, aside from "The Exiles") to focus on Native American life outside of reservations. It is specifically the first film made about Native American women written, directed, produced and starring Native American women. It was written and co-directed by Valerie Red-Horse (of Cherokee-Sioux heritage) who started her own Red-Horse Native Productions, Inc., a company specializing in motion picture and television production and Native American herbal skincare and hair care products. Valerie received financing for her film through the Manshantucket Pequot tribal council in Connecticut, but she walked a rocky road before finding a financial backer. "There were the typical rejections, obstacles, and attitudes towards Native Americans," she said. "I realized then I had to go to my own people to tell a story from their perspective." The film was shot in the Los Angeles area in October and November 1997 with a total of 19 shooting days due to a modest budget, and it stars some familiar, Anglo-Saxon faces such as Max Gail (TV's "Barney Miller") and the underrrated actress Mary Kay Place, who shot her scenes in one day.

"Naturally Native" deals with three Native American sisters (Valerie Red-Horse, Irene Bedard, of Inuit heritage, and Kimberly Norris Guerrero, of Colville/Salish heritage) attempting to start their own business in cosmetics. Although they are of American Indian ancestry, they were adopted by white foster parents and, naturally, each sister has identity issues. And they must also endure obstacles to get financing for their business, as Valerie Red-Horse herself endured in trying to make this film. As Valerie explains, "Many stereotypical Native American women are shown as weak and speaking in Broken English. I want people to see this movie, feel alongside these women."

The film itself had caused people to cry at some screenings, according to Valerie, and many Native American groups called it a blessing for such a film to finally exist. I admire the picture myself and found it moving and extraordinarily introspective about the lives of these women (the film also touches on issues such as casino gambling, Native images used as sports mascots and the portrayal of Native Americans in the media). "The Exiles" is a darker picture overall, finding that these souls do not adapt to city life and resort to alcoholism. "Naturally Native" is more optimistic and just as truthful. The final shot involving the three sisters forming a union in the middle of a road will move the most jaded viewer. We need more films like this, especially about a people who are steadily being forgotten. The Native American images need to be re-casted for an entire culture that needs the education. "Naturally Native" is a wise first step.