The Scorpio jacket is cool

DRIVE (2011)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Neo noir has little to no bearing on the black-and-white film noir of post-WW II. Even when films got cooler and maintained a cooler distance as well, such as Lee Marvin in "Point Blank," noir carried that edge of existentialism - a world where there were no heroes and morality was skewed. Neo noir has a cool distance but little of the skewed morality. It is barely existential anymore - more of an ironic distance than even Tarantino's pop culture noir tableaux. "Drive" has cool written all over it and initially shares some of the existential trappings that makes noir what it is. Then it goes off the deep end into shallow, cliched waters that pretty much demolish what precedes it.

Ryan Gosling is the unnamed Driver of the film, a Hollywood stunt car driver and garage mechanic who also lends his talents to being the top getaway driver for criminal activities. In the astoundingly tense and electrifying opening sequence, he helps two robbers escape from the police and a searching helicopter and maneuvers his Chevy vehicle with the ease of an elusive professional. The Driver doesn't have much else going on in his isolated existence, but he does take a liking to a neighbor, Irene (Carey Mulligan) who has a son and a husband in prison. The Driver helps her when she has car trouble and, for a while, writer-director  Nicolas Winding Refn rivets our attention with strikingly silent poses and body language that speaks volumes. The suspense builds when Irene's husband is out of prison and asks the Driver to help in a pawn shop robbery. Naturally, things go haywire and out-of-control.

"Drive" starts off as such an absorbing tone poem, even more breathtaking than a Michael Mann flick, that I was completely swept away by Gosling and Mulligan. Then we get to some cliched mob business involving Albert Brooks in an atypical and largely miscast role as a mob boss and Ron Perlman with glaringly big white teeth as a henchman, and I suddenly felt I was in some other movie. All manner of restraint and "coolness" erodes in favor of brutal, graphically violent setpieces that pretty much clam up the narrative. Gosling plays a loner, a nobody, but all that remains is a cipher, an automaton. When he starts walking around the last third of the film with a very cool Scorpion jacket full of blood stains, I lost patience. When the Driver stomps on one guy's head repeatedly (bordering on Rob Zombie's hideous violence from his "Halloween" remake) and Irene stands there dumbfounded, I was angry. I am no prude when it comes to violence (Scorsese, Tarantino on occasion, Mann and many others know how to make violence sting and linger without overstating) but this movie goes overboard and is too nasty to resonate with the firm, compelling, restrained tone that sets up the film. Uneven doesn't come close to describing it.

There are many things to admire in "Drive." A couple of the car chase sequences are splendidly made and very kinetic - they astonish and bring back the element of surprise that has dissipated from years of mediocre car-chase flicks. The mood and atmosphere of the film is strikingly photographed, especially the scenes of the city at night. Other pluses include Carey Mulligan as a very delicate wallflower who is hypnotic to watch, Bryan Cranston as a garage mechanic who is in way over his head with the mob boss, and Oscar Issac as Irene's husband who shares a glimmer of wanting to change his life. But the movie and Ryan Gosling (who can do much more than make a zombie stare) are a vaccum blowing us postmodernist shards of better movies (including a lost classic from the 1970's "Dirty Mary, Crazy Larry" which has stronger personalities in it than anything in this movie) minus any real moral complexity. "Drive" starts off as a crisply flavored Vodka Martini and ends up as one too many spilled Bloody Marys.

Monster on the loose in Antarctica

THE THING (1982)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

It always amazes me how times change. Back in 1982, John Carpenter's "The Thing" was a box-office failure. The critics excoriated the filmmaker for making a vomit-inducing picture with too many icky special-effects and too little character development, not to mention the gall of remaking a classic 1951 movie. The truth is that Carpenter went back to the original source, "Who Goes There?" a novella by John W. Campbell, and made a captivating, if slightly less invested in its human characters, monster movie that thrives on suspense and not relentless gore.

Naturally, when I think back to "The Thing," I recall the head with spider legs, the alien cadavers composed of other bodies, the freezing cold temperatures of the Antarctic, the Dog-Thing that drives other dogs nuts, etc. The one image that stands out, that narrowly focuses on the dread and bleak tone that drives Carpenter's film, is the opening sequence. It shows a dog running in the snow as it evades a Norwegian helicopter in the horizon. Why is the helicopter chasing the dog? We don't know but we know things are rotten in the deep freeze of this winterland when the Norwegian steps out of the helicopter and threatens to kill the dog. Madness ensues as our American motley crew of scientists and soldiers kill the pilot and another Norwegian accidentally blows himself up with a grenade. The terror has begun but our crew has no idea what they got in store.

My only disappointment with "The Thing" is that the characters are merely archetypal. There are exceptions - Kurt Russell's MacReady is one we can semi-root for who knows that this thing will not easily be contained. Keith David also stands out as another soldier, Childs, who is ready for a fight especially with his trusty flamethrower. Also worth a mention is Wilford Brimley (in possibly the strangest role of his career) as a biologist who goes insane (and who wouldn't when there is a deadly alien and an endless blizzard in the middle of it all?). Brimley's character is eventually held in a separate housing unit to shield him from causing more harm to others. There is also the warm-hearted and canine-loving Clark (Richard Masur) who is in charge of the kennel where things get out of control. The movie becomes a whodunit, as clearly evidenced from the novella's "Ten Little Indians" scenario, and it is a guessing game as to who is more dangerous than the other and who is human, and who isn't. Most of these militant, rough-edged, macho characters are tough to like and it is difficult to root for most of them. Even MacReady kills one person without hesitation - maybe the point is that the solitary environment can induce cabin fever and make killers out of all us. I buy that but I am not sure it makes any difference to me who dies and who lives, which is probably why the ending is left open-ended with two surviving characters.

I would not prefer this remake over the stunning original but both movies are not exactly peas in the same pod. The Howard Hawks-produced and Christian Nyby-directed The Thing focused on a patriotic crew trying to kill a menace (though I hardly think of it is a Red Menace as some viewers allege) - the menace in the shape of a Frankenstein Monster-type. John Carpenter's version goes back to the original source, having a creature that mimics its crew and eventually forms a monstrous, bloody and oozing-various-liquids-out-of-its-pores "thing" that would not have appeared in any 1950's cinematic interpretation. The atmosphere is startlingly realized by cinematographer Dean Cundey, the music by Ennio Morricone grows on you, and the special-effects are amazing and chilling to witness. But Carpenter's "Thing" has very little humanity overall, despite a great deal of suspense, and we just want to see more of the distorted alien than the human crew members who elicit precious little sympathy. A fascinating, icky, watchable and repulsive film to watch but I can't say I hated it or loved it. - it is middle-of-the-road John Carpenter that far exceeds "The Fog" but is not on the same level as "Halloween" or "Escape From New York." 

All I know is people say I am influential

EVERY EVERYTHING: THE MUSIC, LIFE AND TIMES OF GRANT HART (2013)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

If you have zero knowledge of Grant Hart or the band Husker Du, it will not affect your viewing of the riveting new documentary by director Gorman Bechard, "Every Everything: The Music, Life and Times of Grant Hart." I have heard of both but in small increments, thanks to my wife who is a hardcore fan. This documentary takes the quasi-similar approach of Errol Morris's equally riveting, "The Fog of War," and gets as intimate with the subject as possible.

For the uninitiated, Grant Hart was the drummer and co-songwriter for the influential punk rock band from Minneapolis - Husker Du (how the band got their name is one of many surprises, for me anyway). The band itself was seen by Nirvana bassist Krist Noveselic as the inspiration for Nirvana. Husker Du began in 1979 and lasted till their demise in 1988 due to creative differences and intensified disagreements. Bob Mould was the guitarist/vocalist and Greg Norton was the bassist.

Director Bechard ("Color Me Obsessed") focuses on Grant Hart who occupies every minute of this documentary. Grant talks about his talent for making abstract collages (he also designed every one of the Husker Du album covers); his remembrance of where every object was in his old house that burned; his recollection of the band being discovered by Black Flag - the same night there was a bizarre splashing blue paint incident; the song "Diane" from the "Metal Circus" EP that focused on the murder of a 16-year-old waitress; his frank discussion on his heroin use; his close personal relationship with William S. Burroughs; how he plays drums and where the cymbals should be placed, etc. If you are a diehard fan of Grant Hart and the band Husker Du, there is plenty here to divulge from the man. Just listening to his every word is breathtaking - he is a skilled storyteller.

Greg Norton (mustache), Grant Hart (center), Bob Mould

Despite such frankness, Husker Du fans might be miffed that we do not hear Mould's or Norton's side of the story regarding the breakup of Husker Du (Hart suggests that all should be forgiven - "let's get over 1987"). Nevertheless, Hart also discusses another band he started called Nova Mob, a name he derived from the Burroughs novel "Nova Express," and his solo work in the intervening years that includes his latest, a reworking of Milton's "Paradise Lost" as a concept album called "The Argument." Bob Mould went on to be part of other bands, whereas Norton tried and failed and switched to the restaurant business.

Grant Hart is basically himself - he does not want to be anyone else (Husker Du was pressured to be more mainstream and "normal"). Mostly seen wearing a Columbo raincoat, pink shirt and red shoes, he might be confused for anyone other than a musician. And watching him parading around a field of grass where his house once stood can be sad to watch, but he is not too sad about it. Grant Hart refuses to sentimentalize anything or anyone.

Director Bechard doesn't exactly mimic the style of "The Fog of War"  where Errol Morris had his subject look directly at the camera and see Morris on a small monitor. Bechard uses the camera to reflect the man intently and his surroundings (the scene where Grant keeps the stuff he almost lost in a fire shows a man looking ahead rather than giving his belongings a new home. It is also interesting watching Grant in a closet surrounded by mikes and cables while darkness surrounds him). Darkness may follow Grant but he is too busy looking forward.

I am nobody's old man

BULLET TO THE HEAD (2012)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

Like fine vintage wine, Sylvester Stallone has aged and has added a few nuances to his abilities - he has also become a better actor. His gravelly voice and his amazing physique complement his world weariness - a man who has seen and heard it all. Except Stallone, pushing past his mid-60's, is not weaker nor weak-minded - he is just as physically imposing as he ever was. He has also developed a wicked edge, something which none of his past roles ever elucidated. Stallone is not just the best thing in "Bullet to Head" - he is the movie.

Stallone is an impulsive hit man and long-term criminal named Jimmy Bobo who loses his partner in crime to a vicious stabbing by another vicious killer (Jason Momoa, from the unfortunate "Conan the Barbarian" remake). Jimmy is now in hot water, especially after he and his partner killed a corrupt cop who was working for the devious businessman Robert Morel (Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje). Morel is handicapped, walking around with two canes, and he is plotting to demolish some low-income housing development and build condos instead (considering this violent tale takes place in New Orleans, I am sure there is an element of truth there).  An investigation is spearheaded by a Washington, D.C. detective, Taylor Kwan (Sung Hang), into the death of that corrupt cop whom he deduces that Bobo had a hand in. Guess what happens next? Bobo becomes an unlikely partner to Kwan and they both become embroiled in digging deeper into Morel's network of corrupt cops, masked balls, bathhouses and, lastly, an abandoned factory.

Director Walter Hill ("48 HRS.," "The Warriors") does an expert job of making the action fast and furious for its near-90-minute running time. I could have lived without the shots of solarized freeze-frames that interrupt the flow and rhythm of Hill's jazzy nighttime city streets (most of the film takes place at night) and his exemplary use of blues and bayou music riffs - the latter add to the atmosphere and overall mood but solarized images in frequent bursts diminish the impact.

I have lost interest in Christian Slater, an actor who back in the "Heathers" heyday seemed to be headed in the direction that Jack Nicholson went. Here, he plays Morel's lawyer and it doesn't give Slater much to do except play a one-dimensional weasel. Also lacking much charisma is Sung Hang, far too inanimate to be Stallone's partner. Faring much better is Adewale Akinnuoye-Agjabe as the always smiling villain whose toxic charms get under your skin. And despite a small role, Sarah Sashi as Bobo's daughter, a tattoo artist, gives the film a little lift as well - she has intoxicating charms that can only lead to better roles.

"Bullet to the Head" is nothing new in the action film world (though I can't recall the last time that a cop and a hit man were paired in the buddy-buddy genre) yet Stallone and director Hill make it far more tolerable than the cartoonish whiz-bang explosions of "The Expendables." The movie is sleek, crisp, lean and doesn't waste time. And Stallone proves that, in remarkable close-ups, he is nobody's old man even when wielding an axe.

A female 'Big'

13 GOING ON 30 (2004)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(Originally viewed in May, 2004)

Jennifer Garner has an electric presence (rather fitting that she is in pre-production for "Elektra"). She simply dazzles on screen with her wide grin and a killer curvaceous body. She also has ample charm and a dynamic physicality that makes you want to join her up in the screen. The press is already saying she is the next Julia Roberts and they are right.

"13 Going on 30" is Garner's first major leading role as Jenna Rink, a 30-year-old fashion magazine editor in New York City. However, she doesn't feel 30 at all - when she was 13, she made a wish to be 30 (all it took was some sprinkling wishing dust). And presto, she is 30! She has bigger breasts, no braces, a handsome boyfriend (some hockey player), a bitchy co-worker (Judy Greer), a fast-talking, goateed boss (Andy Serkis), a nice apartment, an autograph by Madonna, and a limo service to go to any party. She seems to have it all until she realizes she had sold ideas to a rival magazine, had ignored her parents and, even worse, ignored her best friend Matt since high school. The grown-up Matt (Mark Ruffalo) is a photographer who is confused by Jenna's need to be friends with him again. Meanwhile, Jenna shows she is caring and can dance a storm, especially to Michael Jackson's "Thriller."

"13 Going on 30" is sort of the female version of Tom Hanks' "Big," but the difference is she switches bodies in her mind (unless that wishing dust can really work miracles. It is never made clear). The humor quotient is derived from the adult Jenna's lack of memory of what happened to her since she was 13. But what makes the movie irresistible is Garner's convincing notion of a 13-year-old girl inside a 30-year-old body. She plays it to the hilt, calling grown men "gross," getting a group of 13-year-olds together to talk about love, confused by the ringing of cell phones, responding with a chuckle to being called a bitch and having to repeat it, looking away with disgust at hairy bare-chested men, and so on. Garner is so damn convincing that she makes the movie worthwhile since she occupies almost every single scene.

But there are screenwriting fallacies that may make you wince (you'll remember them after you are finished laughing). For one, doesn't anyone in the entire movie ever realize she acts and talks like a 13-year-old girl? Not even her parents. Not one at the office especially. And what seems like a cringe-inducing sequence where Jenna delivers the new look for the magazine (something to do with photo collages) is not given the proper payoff. Or let me just say that the editor-in-chief should've known better than to react the way he does.

The star of the movie is clearly Jennifer Garner and, flaws aside, she makes the movie her own. She also has a nice rapport with Mark Ruffalo in what may be his most sincere performance yet. "13 Going on 30" will make you laugh and for audiences nowadays, that may be enough.

Dashing, virile, cowardly Prince of Denmark

HAMLET (1996)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

(originally viewed in 65mm format in 1996)

Leaving aside Orson Welles, nobody else has tackled Shakespeare in all its guts and glory, and in the beauty of the language. Kenneth Branagh's full-throttled, four-hour version of Hamlet is the exception, and a model for others to follow. Too often "Hamlet's" text is truncated, eschewing some of the relationships and complex themes for simple emotions. Mel Gibson looks like a wimp in the 1990 film version by Franco Zeffirelli; this new "Hamlet" will leave you cheering and weeping with delight at Kenneth Branagh's bravura performance.

Branagh ("Henry V") stars as the virile Prince Hamlet who is torn by the unexpectedly quick marriage of his mother, Gertrude (Julie Christie), to the callous, manipulative Claudius (a scene-stealing Derek Jacobi), who is stealing the throne of Denmark. What gets Hamlet to the boiling point of madness and despair is that he is told by his associates that Claudius murdered Hamlet's father - this is told in an eerie sequence by the ghost of Hamlet's father (Bard veteran Brian Blessed). When Hamlet becomes aware of this, he turns anxious, jealous, manipulative, depressed, vengeful, and...yes, murderous. He also has a lost love whom he pines for, Ophelia (Kate Winslet), but he can never bring himself to admit his love to her, or do anything about his father's death - he's a coward in denial. His cowardice becomes more evident when he's continually walking through his palace becoming overbearing and obviously theatrical - this Hamlet thinks nothing of insulting everyone, including staging a play for Claudius where a prince's father is killed alarmingly the same way as Claudius had killed Hamlet's father! Hamlet gradually becomes more overbearing, and even cheerful, devilish. It is no wonder that Ophelia is understandably confused by Hamlet's behavior, she becomes crazy herself.

Kenneth Branagh is the perfect actor to play the bleached blonde, virile Hamlet - he successfully brings all the character's emotions to life in a performance I will never forget. It is outstanding how he makes us, the audience, unable to keep up with his fast-talking rhythms and plans, but it is clear that his madness and arrogance is leading to a path of doom - his lack of restraint within himself is his own undoing. Derek Jacobi is simply marvelous as the scheming Claudius - at times, he seems more dashing and in control than Hamlet, yet it is noteworthy how Jacobi manages to mask Claudius's villainy and bring a sense of sympathy. A round of applause must go to the return of Julie Christie to the big screen - her Gertrude is the maternal, emotional force who tries to heal Hamlet (I might add that Christie is at the appropriate age to play Gertrude when comparing to the youthful Glenn Close in the Zeffirelli version). Major pluses also go to Jack Lemmon as the doleful Marcellus, and the haunting expressiveness of Rufus Selwell as Prince Fortrinbas who eventually brings the throne to its knees. Kate Winslet ("Sense and Sensibility") is the ideal Ophelia; beautiful, sad, sexy, and madly insane.

Despite the great performances, there are some that are superfluous at best. I would have preferred other actors playing the First Gravedigger (Billy Crystal) and Osric (Robin Williams) - they distract us from the genuine power of the play and makes us feel as if we entered a Saturday Night Live special. Gerard Depardieu's walk-on bit as Reynaldo also feels unnecessary.

These are minor complaints for what is a superbly crafted work of art by Branagh. Serving as director as well, he makes the play into a visionary landscape of both the internal and external workings of Hamlet's mind. The vastness of the palace; the nocturnal bluish moors; the wintry scenery; the dazzling sword duels; Rufus's army marching symmetrically into the palace; and the moment when Hamlet tells his famous "To be or not to be" speech - these scenes, and many more, are beautifully realized by Branagh and cinematographer Alex Thomson. Branagh's first film was Shakespeare's "Henry V," a powerful, stirring film that made me want to join Henry in his battles. Since then, Branagh has fashioned a wonderful body of work ("Dead Again," "Peter's Friends," "Much Ado About Nothing"), and he continues to amaze. This vivid, breathtaking "Hamlet" finally gives Shakespeare and Branagh the respect they both deserve.

Pinhead is Jesus, Cenobites use CD's as weapons

HELLRAISER III: HELL ON EARTH (1992)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

The initial concept of the original "Hellraiser" was the dilemna of its antihero, who had to feed off the living and live in a world with the love of his life. "Hellraiser" was reminsicent of a latter-day vampire film, and all was well until the Cenobites rediscovered the antihero and forced him to deal with pleasure and pain as equal, not separate, principles. "Hellbound: Hellraiser II" basically had its lead heroine running through endless passageways and making peace with Mr. Pinhead. Now with this sequel, there is more running around, lots of gory killings with chains and little imagination.

The last film had the Cenobites encased in a wooden box forever, or so it would seem. The lovely Ashley Laurence from the last two films has conspicuously disappeared, and has a cameo as a mental patient in some video explaining who the Cenobites are. This time, we are in New York City where a female TV reporter, Joey Summerskill (Terry Farrell), has a hot news story. She witnesses some young kid brought in from a nightclub to the emergency room where he is literally ripped apart by chains. Joey wants answers and is led to the nightclub itself called "The Boiler Room" (a possible nod to Fred Krueger's domicile?) by the kid's girlfriend (Paula Marshall). This girl decides to help Joey as long as she is allowed to stay in her apartment and make breakfast! Needless to say, the club's owner owns the sculpture where Pinhead is trapped in, and decides to help Pinhead lure female victims for flesh and oh, so much more. Somehow, Pinhead is the incarnation of Captain Elliott Spencer (Doug Bradley, playing both roles) and the soul was separated (some of this exposition was already mentioned in the last film in a nifty prologue). Instead of the menacing and clever villain of the original who lured his victims with his voice of torment, we have Pinhead becoming a slasher villain who is quick with the batty one-liners and wants to kill everyone and make them into Cenobites. My favorite one-liner is his response to a priest who damns him to hell: "Oh, such a lack of imagination," utters Pinhead. He may as well be describing the movie.

"Hellraiser III" is a cut above "Hellbound" Hellraiser II" but nowhere near the imagination and sheer horror of the original. Too many scenes of Pinhead scaring his victims with his witticisms - less is always more. Terry Farrell basically reacts to all the gory happenings without a shred of charisma - she looks like she belongs on a television sitcom, not a horror film. The film is pointless and purposeless. The gore is high on the meter, as are some twisted new Cenobites - one with a camera lens that fires missiles and the other uses CD's. Are the filmmakers joking? Did creator Clive Barker really approve all this? The best scene in the film is Pinhead mimicking Jesus Christ's crucifixion with the use of pins driven through his hands. Yes, sacrilegious and blasphemous indeed. Otherwise, you may as well raise bloody hell over this interminable series.