GET OUT!

THE AMITYVILLE HORROR (1979)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

At the tender age of eight, my mother took me to see "The Amityville Horror" in a movie theater. I remember being exceptionally scared by it, and recall quite vividly some of the movie's scary and eerie moments like the black liquid oozing from a toilet; the pig with the red eyes; the Red Room scene, and so on. I had not seen the film since 1979 until recently on DVD. Well, looking at the film now more objectively than when I was eight, I have concluded that "The Amityville Horror" is only occasionally effective but it also mostly silly, dull, and frightfully cold and emotionless.

The story, based on a now debunked "true story" novel by Jay Anson, centers on the Lutzes, a couple who move in to the dreaded Long Island house with their three kids. The house is sold cheaply, mainly because a killing spree took place a few years earlier involving the DeFeo family - they were killed by their teenage son with a shotgun. I would never move into a house where murders had taken place - nowadays, such houses are usually boarded up though not always. Anyway, the Lutzes love the house and buy it. George Lutz (James Brolin) begins to feel the curious need of chopping wood for the fireplace through most of the film. The wife feels neglected, especially since he won't help with carrying the groceries. The daughter starts talking to her new friend, Jody, who is invisible, and has a habit of locking her babysitter in the closet. A frantic psychotherapist/priest/exorcist (Rod Steiger) comes to bless the house one day until he is chased out by flies and a voice saying, "Get Out!" A nun comes to the house and feels so sick upon entering that she vomits on the Lutzes's driveway. Either the house smells and needs to be fumigated or it is haunted.

"The Amityville Horror" is chock full of "shock" moments, and some of them are effective (the babysitter pounding on the closet door with her bloodied hands is disturbing). The film, however, has no momentum. It sort of labors along at a snail pace pausing occasionally for some weird occurrences and rappings in the house (my favorite being the case of the missing 1500 dollars). The main flaw is that the Lutzes are presented as less a family than some annoying neighbors I could hardly care about - no attempt to develop sympathy for them has been made. Mr. Brolin comes off as demented a madman within the first few minutes as Jack Nicholson did in "The Shining." Margot Kidder, a reliable actress of dignity, comes off best but not enough to save the film. Steiger overacts shamefully, supposedly trying to match the towering performance of Max Von Sydow in "The Exorcist." As the realtor should have said at the beginning of the film: No sale.

P.S. The Oscar-nominated musical score by Lalo Schifrin was originally composed for "The Exorcist" but it was rejected by director William Friedkin.

'We are going to make groovy movies'

THE AMERICAN DREAMER (1971)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

When Dennis Hopper's labor of love "The Last Movie" was released in 1971, it became a box-office and critical disaster. It followed on the footsteps of Hopper's directorial debut, "Easy Rider," which was a huge success back in 1969 that heralded a new voice in American cinema. "The American Dreamer" attempts to chart Hopper's days in Taos, New Mexico while editing "The Last Movie" amidst partying and drinking and having numerous female groupies at his disposal. That's about it, folks.

Fortunately or not, there is not much to take away from "The American Dreamer." One scene has Dennis Hopper pontificating about life, another scene has him in a bathtub with three naked women, another scene he talks about not reading books since experiencing life is all you need, another scene has him walking naked in Los Alamos as proof that few people are really that free, and so on. And on. And on. Sometimes we see Dennis Hopper editing his non-traditional opus, "The Last Movie," and sometimes he shows his own photographs that he lays on the floor. The behind-the-scenes of editing his film as he was holed up in Taos for one year is hardly absorbing material  because there is precious little of it. Hopper was clearly not all that different from his character in "Easy Rider" - the Great Pontificator who smokes weed, drinks and loves women. That is not to say Dennis Hopper is an uninteresting man but this documentary's fly-on-the-wall approach doesn't merit close introspection on the man himself.

There is a Life magazine article on the making of "The Last Movie" - the Peruvian filming location featured wild cocaine and LSD parties, troubles with the Communist leader and a priest while shooting in Chinchero, and a host of political problems and weather challenges. I would like to see a film about that than this labored effort. Dennis Hopper's monotone delivery for one hour and twenty minutes is too much of a challenge for me - it is like watching an inarticulate drunk trying to pass himself as the voice of a new generation. Sometimes Dennis Hopper can be an intoxicating presence but this time, he is not very groovy. 

SEX=CENSORSHIP

THIS FILM IS NOT YET RATED (2006)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

I always felt the MPAA was a sham. To this day, it may strike some as odd that the original "Jaws" is rated PG and "2001: A Space Odyssey" is rated G. "Jaws" is actually rather gory with shots of a severed head, Robert Shaw getting eaten alive by the shark, a kid getting eaten by the shark with blood surfacing like a geyser, etc. An R rating would've been more appropriate. "2001" could have yielded a PG (since it was released before the PG-13 rating came into prominence) if for no other reason than the fact that HAL kills four astronauts on board the Jupiter. And there are various other examples that raise questions ever since the advent of this hypocritical and useless system. Director Kirby Dick doesn't answer many questions that have always come to my mind about the ratings board, but he does raise other eye-opening facts about the MPAA that may send shockwaves to your gut.

For instance, you can be fined and jailed if you use a facsimile of Mickey Mouse on a birthday cake! Okay, that is an unusual one. There are more strict guidelines with regards to cinema. If you show a female having an orgasm in an extreme close-up, you'll get an NC-17. Clips are shown from "The Cooler" and Bertolucci's "The Dreamers" as evidence of NC-17 rated films. Interestingly, "The Cooler" features actress Maria Bello having the orgasm, who also had a rough sex scene and a tender one in "A History of Violence" where she did climax and that film got an R rating without sexual trims. Hmmm. The mind boggles.

Sexuality amongst couples (straight and gay, though gay sex is more often given the dreaded rating) as depicted in full frontal nudity measured against the number of thrusts or humps is what drives these members to rate the films accordingly. Apparently, the new trend is frank sexual talk as shown in clips from Kevin Smith's "Jersey Girl" and John Waters' highly outrageous and hysterical "A Dirty Shame," and if it is too frank or candid, it gets an R. If the talk is too outrageous (as in Waters' film) and smothered with actual penetrations that are tastefully implied, it gets the NC-17. But one can agree that "Pink Flamingos" is more NC-17 territory than "A Dirty Shame" yet both films have the same rating.

Director Kirby Dick (who also appears on camera) hires some private investigators to find out the identity of the anonymous MPAA board members. We find out that most MPAA members are indeed parents, and at least two of them are mature men who have kids that are well into their twenties. Why is this relevant? Because since the majority of this small group of MPAA members in Southern California are parents, how can they dictate their rating choices from the perspective of a parent who has children? Most mind-boggling question: why is the MPAA suited to only a handful of people in Southern California, thus representing what they think is best for all of America?

What is less problematic in terms of avoiding the NC-17 is violence, thus getting poor Hilary Swank's head blown off in "Boys Don't Cry" is far less unsavory than providing sexual pleasure to Chloe Sevigny ("Brown Bunny," anyone?) So sex, sex, sex in this Janet Jackson/post-NippleGate era is far more of a hindrance than bloodbaths in torture porn or Iraq War documentaries. Yes, another stunning admission is that Michael Tucker, the director of an Iraq War documentary called "Gunner Palace," faced censorship by the board over something rather benign in this day and age - foul-mouthed language. Yet the soldiers in the film are real and are really saying such obscenities - so why not a PG rating so the young men and women who are thinking of enlisting can see the film? Truth is, Tucker asked for an appeal and got a PG-13 rating. Some appeals work, and some don't.

But there is almost no consistency in the ratings system. A brief clip is shown from "Coming Home" from 1978, which features Jane Fonda having an orgasm in close-up that lasts much longer than Maria Bello's in "The Cooler." Yet "The Cooler" had to trim its orgasmic scene to get the R rating (and avoid showing pubic hair). Maria Bello mentions "Scary Movie" having a scene where Carmen Electra's breast is stabbed with some blood pouring out of it (the film got an R rating). So it seems that violence crossed with sexuality gets a free pass from the prohibitive NC-17 rating.

Director Kirby Dick also makes mention of the former head of the MPAA, Jack Valenti, and how his political ties may have shaped the MPAA into what it is today. That is a possibility after 40 years of service, considering that politics governs our corporations which make up most of the U.S. media outlets. Therefore, censorship is the driving principle, using children as the backbone of our country. Please. During the advent of the NC-17 rating in 1990, the late Valenti once told Roger Ebert that he can make no distinction between artistic bestiality and non-artistic, thus the proposed "A" (for adults) rating by Ebert could never work.

If there had been a little less focus on the detectives, Kirby Dick's film might have been more complete. There are some shots shown of Todd Solondz's film, "Storytelling," but they are without context. If anyone has seen the film, the scene in question shows a man anally penetrating Selma Blair standing against a wall. The shots of the man, a professor, from behind were cut. So Solondz showed the scene with a red box superimposed over it. What made the MPAA nervous? Possibly because it was a black man having sex with Blair? After all, maybe a black man is only allowed so many thrusts. Some of these controversies could've had more screen time. Also, I would've loved to hear how the ratings have changed over forty years since the days of X-rated films like "A Clockwork Orange" and "Midnight Cowboy."

Let's face it, if we are thinking about the children and only the children when it comes to any movie, then I'd hope that they are more likely to see pubic hair, breasts and penises before seeing any horrifying violence in their own lives. At least I hope so. But I suppose I should be more conservative and think that kids should be protected from sexuality. Abstain from sex, not violence. Scary thought.

A swinging dick

BRUNO (2009)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"Bruno" is the kind of movie that leaves you in stitches and in an uneasy discomfort. It is the also the kind of movie that makes you say, "He really didn't do that, did he?" I don't know how much longer Sacha Baron Cohen can keep up the charade of fooling people into saying things they might not otherwise say or do when he and a camera are present, but I can guess that "Bruno," a mockumentary full of tomfoolery and general bad behavior, will not be forgotten and may gain some sort of cult status.

Bruno is the most flamboyant fashion reporter you'll ever see. He's an Austrian reporter who is fired for reducing Fashion Week to chaos when he arrives with a velcro-suit (the scene is already something of a classic). After the firing, he goes to L.A. in the hopes of becoming a celebrity reporter. His idea for a new show is to interview stars like Harrison Ford interspersed with clips of his swinging penis (the interview with an angry Ford is short and hilarious). He also interviews Paula Abdul who has to sit on a Mexican worker and eat sushi off of a naked man! The show is clearly too outrageous and receives negative feedback. Next step for Bruno is to adopt an African baby ("black gold!") since all the celebrities do this to allegedly garner attention. He appears on "The Richard Bey Show" and tells an African-American audience that he will name his baby "O.J."

"Bruno" is not for the faint-hearted or the squeamish or those who don't like to be challenged by their own purported homophobia. If you loved "Borat," "Bruno" might be a tougher sell for those who are not fond of homophobic jokes or very brief close-ups of penises, or the gyrating and humping that briefly occurs between two gay men using various tools in various compromising positions. But if you are easily taken aback, you'll miss just how much hilarity ensues. "Bruno" is not standard comedy fare or even standard mockumentary fare. What creator and lead actor Sacha Baron Cohen has done is to act as outrageously as possible with the most garish of homosexual stereotypes and set up those he interviews who let their guard down and utter homophobic remarks. Best and one of the funniest examples is when Ron Paul (a one-time 2008 Republican presidential candidate) finds himself in a room with candles and Bruno stripped down to his undies! Paul makes the "queer" remark, though he doesn't know he has been punked. 

What you will find in "Bruno" is a mixture of truly outrageous and bawdy behavior. There is a swingers party sequence that is almost as funny as anything in "Borat", including a vixen hitting Bruno with a belt; Bruno trying to make the distinction between Hamas and hummus; a pray-the-gay away conversion that is probably more honest than what we saw in Bill Maher's "Religulous," and a hotel crew that doesn't want to find a key to unlock the chained Bruno and his gay lover in bed. But the capper is Bruno as the converted "Straight Dave" who is locked in a cage with his former lover in front of an audience of 1500 Southerners! That is like putting Mel Gibson (Whom Bruno calls Der Fuhrer) on a cross in a Jewish synagogue - pure trouble ahead.

I appreciate Cohen and his films, but I think audiences didn't quite catch on with the underlying subtext. Borat was a Russian stereotype with a big moustache ("Hey, I like you") who demonstrated naivete about Americans' way of life and made racist comments, thus allowing those around him to lower their guard and let out their inner racist hearts. With Bruno, Cohen is not having a gay stereotype make homophobic remarks - rather, Bruno merely taunts others and they just happen to let go of their inner homophobia. The context has changed, and the results are the same. "Bruno" is a wild, manic ride of a movie, too insanely high-pitched and too idiosyncratic for mainstream audiences. Still, for good laughs that hit below the belt and strike true notes, you can't do better than "Bruno." It is fabulous, but not for everyone.

One million a day can keep 300 million at bay

BREWSTER'S MILLIONS (1985)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

It is a shame that Richard Pryor never got the role that truly defined him (excepting "Jo Jo Dancer, Your Life is Calling"). Pryor was such a considerable talent who had his own defined persona that was a bit of an effrontery to the mass audience. Putting it plainly, like Whoopi Goldberg and occasionally Eddie Murphy, Pryor never quite fit in the affable, laid-back roles in safely conventional comedies. Though it has some wisecracks and one clever visual pun, "Brewster's Millions" is a serviceable comedy that could've had anyone in the title role. Since the filmmakers play it safe rather than exploiting their idea for what it is worth, they put in an actor who has far more potential than displayed here.

Pryor is Montgomery Brewster, a low-grade baseball player for the Hackensack Bulls. The team is so low-grade that railroad tracks cut across their field and, well, they have to stop a game if a train crosses. Brewster is seemingly a talented pitcher but his ambitions are rather low. His best friend is Spike (John Candy), an umpire who has no major ambitions either. That is until Brewster discovers he has a 300 million inheritance left by his rich grandfather (Hume Cronyn). The stipulations are that 30 million are to be spent in one month, and spent wisely with no assets and hire people only for their market value. If Brewster succeeds, he'll get the 300 million. Of course, spending 1 million a day is no easy task, no matter how many security guards, accountants or prostitutes you hire.

The problem is that such a premise can only work if it is built for numerous comic possibilities. Some are funny, including buying a rare stamp and using it for postage! I also enjoyed how exasperated Brewster gets in just giving money away on the first day. And I love how Stephen Collins, appearing as the wimpy villain who wants Brewster to fail, says how much Brewster is paying him: "Brewster is paying me a quarter of a million dollars!"

Unfortunately, the film dovetails and begins to take itself rather seriously. Thanks to his lovely accountant (Lonette McKee), Brewster tries to be responsible and mature and uses the money wisely. He even starts his own political campaign with the unfunny slogan, "None of the Above." And not a single smile was elicited from my face when we see an actual exhibition game held by Brewster between his team and the NY Yankees.

I don't hate "Brewster's Millions" and I like its message but I sense this is not the movie for Richard Pryor. Pryor holds back too much, as does John Candy. Here you have two actors who could've mined comic gold out of such old-fashioned material and they basically operate as automatons delivering their lines with the attitude of robots who have zero exuberance. And since there isn't much in the way of wit or even a belly laugh (though there are a few chuckles strewn throughout), I sat there stunned and emotionless. A comedy like this should be rapid-fire and full of energy (much like the 1945 version, which is one of seven different versions of this story), especially when it comes to the movie's conceit that anyone and anything can be bought. Brewster finds some initial joy in it and then becomes exceedingly remote and indifferent. This could've been a doozy of a role for Tom Hanks or even John Candy, but not for Richard Pryor.

Rest assured, it is only a movie

THE LAST HOUSE ON THE LEFT (1972)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

As pure, unmitigated horror, "Last House on the Left" often succeeds but it is lacking a central aspect in any horror film - sympathy for the victims tormented by the evil. In this case, the victims are giggling, marihuana-stoked teenage girls (Sandra Cassel, Lucy Grantham) who are on their way to New York City to see the band, Blood Lust ("They dismember chickens".) They stop in the city looking to score some pot when they inadvertently hook up with three psychos, the oily Krug (David Hess), the bland Weasel (Fred J. Lincoln), the scared Junior Stillo (Marc Sheffler) and the potty-mouthed Sadie (Jeramie Stillo).

"Last House on the Left" starts off badly for the first hour with horrendous acting and even worse cinematography making it appear as if it were an Afterschool Special. The film improves when the victims are forced to have sexual intercourse, bludgeoned, and then stabbed out in the woods where nobody can hear them. The actual process by which the psychotic group makes these victims suffer is unsettling and reinforces, I think, Wes Craven's initial theme - to make us act with revulsion at the violence taking place from real-life murderers, not bogeymen. There is even a moment when the killers look at themselves with disgust after stabbing one girl who attempted to run away. Unfortunately, Craven hardly makes us care for either of the victims and so it makes it harder to have any sympathy.

Then the film takes a curious turn and, by sheer coincidence, there is a spin of events involving one girl's parents who happen to live near the woodsy area where the crimes took place. The killers pretend to be religious students whose car broke down. The parents take them in, before realizing who they are. All of this is very loosely based on Ingmar Bergman's fabulously beautiful masterpiece, "The Virgin Spring," which at least developed its characters amidst a powerful theme involving God and why He lets these things happen. Craven's film hardly merits that much scrutiny.

"Last House on the Left" was released back in 1972 and was considered so intense that they almost did not release it. Craven found some leader with an R rating on it and released the film. It is still banned in the UK, Australia, and New Zealand. Although it has some intense moments, it is not nearly as good as "The Hills Have Eyes" or any of the director's later films. Its revenge plot lacks thrust and significance and is handled all too crudely and quickly (there is a chainsaw fight, an oral sex act that goes horribly wrong, and so on). The songs played on the soundtrack are played at the most inappropriate moments and detract from whatever tension there is. And some silly slapstick involving two bumbling cops does not help matters either (one of them is Martin Kove, later the memorable villain in "Rambo: First Blood II" and "The Karate Kid"). An interesting debut from horrormeister Wes and its supposed intentions and form of inspiration are admirable, but there is precious little to recommend.

Rock Star Walking in the clouds

MAN ON WIRE (2008)

Reviewed By Jerry Saravia

I used to live in New York City and was always petrified of the World Trade Center. I had walked through the lobby once but I never ascended to any of the 110 floors of these former capitalist towers. It had a lot to do with my fear of heights, I imagine, so I approached this documentary "Man on Wire" with a certain trepidation knowing it is about a man who walked on a wire suspended across the two towers. I had nothing to fear because "Man on Wire" is an exceptionally thrilling and wondrous documentary - a tale told with such vigor and with such breathless beauty, you'll be speechless for days, even months.

Philippe Petit is the famous French wire walker who managed to do something that no one has ever attempted, no less surpassed. On a slightly windy, cloudy day on August 7, 1974, Petit and a few people on his crew suspended a wire across the Two Towers so that Petit could walk across. Apparently, this was an early dream that took place in a dentist's office where he saw a magazine article on the future construction of these towering giants. All Petit knew was that he had to walk across them, like floating on air. Petit was already walking on wires suspended across the Notre Dame Cathedral and the Sydney Harbor Bridge and made a name for himself but the WTC is an incomparable and seemingly improbable stunt.

James Marsh's "Man on Wire" shows the dedication of its high-wire act and participant Petit, as he breaks down all the nooks and crannies of this stunt. How will they get into the WTC? What sort of disguises will they wear, and how do they acquire proper fake ID's? Most importantly, how in creation will they suspend this wire across these two towers that are diagonally parallel to each other? (A fact I had almost forgotten).

The movie is full of black-and-white footage that looks like it was cribbed from a 1970's heist movie - of course, it isn't but director Marsh does a stellar job of blending fake footage with real color footage shot by Petit and his then-girlfriend. As for the heist connection, the movie operates on the level of a high-stakes heist thriller though nothing is actually being stolen. Instead, something is being given - a gift for New Yorkers of someone literally walking in the clouds.

"Man on Wire" is not a normal documentary - it almost transcends the form. It is told with such panache that it seems more like a thriller, particularly in its detailing of the ins and outs of this grand wirewalking event. It also conveys the spirited mood and ambition of a young man eager to perform something so awe-inspiring, individualistic and so dangerous, it could only be done once. Some viewers have complained about Petit having a fling with some anonymous, adoring female fan while committed to his former girlfriend. That hardly matters in my mind because he was exalted by someone and took advantage. Philippe Petit was the rock star of the heavens.