I, Monotony

I, FRANKENSTEIN (2014)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

 I, the Monster, the one from the creative mind of Mary Shelley, have now become one with the dank, subterranean world of "Underworld" with a dose of 2004's "Van Helsing" and something close to the graphic novels with no humor and no panache, and barely anything that should be associated with horror. I wish for a rewrite.  - The Monster, recent quote

The tale of Frankenstein has been dragged through so many revisions, reboots and remakes that I can't keep track of all them. Some have starred Christopher Lee, others with the famously iconic Boris Karloff or even Bela Lugosi, and then some went thru a "I Was a Teenage Frankenstein" phase or got the Andy Warhol treatment. I always liked 1985's "The Bride" with Sting and Jennifer Beals and Clancy Brown as the Creature, and the vastly underrated "Frankenstein Unbound" which is the most imaginative of all remakes I've seen from the Roger Corman company. Back in the 1970's, there was a formidable TV-movie with Michael Sarrazin and in the mid-1990's, Robert De Niro played the Creature with much empathy under the direction of Kenneth Branagh. But this "I, Frankenstein" is cut from a cloth that holds little regard for the legend. I am always up for a new take on an old legend like good old Frankie but this muddled, ugly-looking, exceedingly silly rubbish of a film is more yawn-inducing than anything else.

The creature this time is played by Aaron Eckhart, one of the oddest casting choices in any horror movie, as he confronts his creator, Dr. Frankenstein (Aden Young), in the Arctic where the frigid cold kills the distraught scientist. As the Creature buries the scientist's body in the family crypt, demons from the fires of Hell appear and gargoyles fly into action to fight and vanquish them. The gargoyles led by the Gargoyle Queen (Miranda Otto) ask the Creature (who is named Adam) to help them in their war against the demons. Adam is given the weapons of warfare but declines. Once a lonely creature, always a lonely creature. Nevertheless, Adam fights the demons for centuries. Meanwhile, in the present day, a demon prince (Bill Nighy, who just about elevates any dreck with his presence) wants Dr. Frankie's journal to raise his own demonic army.

None of this makes much sense but the most important element is that none of it is remotely fun, even on the most basic level. Aiming to be on the level of the underwhelming "Underworld" series, the whole movie keeps us at such an emotional remove that I did not care who lived or died. Eckhart gives us a Monster who is tormented and thus a tragic figure but mostly he looks pissed off. In fact, his physical look doesn't suggest a Monster created out of different human parts - he would have been better suited to play the scientist! Nighy can be hammy, devilish fun but he has played this role already in the endless "Underworld" sequels.

A fittingly fiery finale is about the only sequence that has some oomph. There are only so many nighttime scenes where I can watch the Creature walk around, stare at and fight demons relentlessly. It is a monotonous video game, nothing more.

This Dragon Glows

THE LAST DRAGON (1985)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

My memory of the mid-1980's in NY was that somehow being a Bruce Lee fan was not cool. I had a denim jacket designed with a black-and-white picture of Bruce on the back. I was very much into Bruce Lee thanks to my father who saw all his flicks in theaters in the 1970's. And then came along 1985's "The Last Dragon" which made it clear that it was definitely cool to be a fan of Bruce Lee. "The Last Dragon" functions as a standalone film with its story of a young kung-fu master who idolizes Bruce Lee and the art of Chinese Goju, as well as serving as an homage to Bruce Lee's own legendary films. Oh, yeah, and it is a blast of high octane energy that, even with Berry Gordy serving as executive producer with his Motown origins, never becomes an elongated music video like so many other 80's flicks with B-movie plots.

Taimak is Bruce LeRoy (actually Leroy Green), the idealistic, often philosophic master of Chinese Goju (a martial-art practiced by Ron Van Clief, who served as fight choreographer for this film). Not unlike Bruce Lee, Leroy runs his own martial-arts school and has a legendary status as someone who catches bullets with his teeth! When Leroy goes to see a Bruce Lee movie, he eats popcorn with chopsticks. Leroy's own master teacher (Thomas Ikeda) tells him that the lessons are over and to find his own master named Sum Dum Goy (a name that Leroy should've guessed early on was dubious at best) so he can achieve the final level: The Glow.

Problems arise when a local master of the martial-arts, the abrasive Sho'Nuff aka The Shogun of Harlem (Julius J. Carry III), looks for someone to challenge him to a fight. Sho'Nuff is obsessed with fighting Leroy, especially after shaming him in front of his students ("Kiss my Converse!") and practically destroying his family-owned pizzeria. Leroy has to fight him and also prove himself as a lover, not just a fighter, to Laura Charles (the late Vanity), the hostess with the mostess of a show called "Seventh Heaven." How does a skinny little lizard who calls himself the Last Dragon get anywhere near the glitzy Laura? It turns out she has issues with maniacal Eddie Arkadian (Christopher Murney), a snarly music promoter who has a Cindy Lauperish-singer for a girlfriend (a wacky Faith Prince) looking for a break. Eddie feels her truly mind-numbing, bizarre music videos would be a good fit for Laura's show which is more Solid Gold than anything else. Then again DeBarge's "Rhythm of the Night" video plays on her show (okay, hardly one of my favorites from this era) which doesn't seem to be part of the same universe as Vanity singing "7th Heaven" but what do I know.

Directed with an assured hand by Michael Schultz ("Coolie High"), "The Last Dragon" was a modest box-office hit in 1985 but it should've scored higher with audiences (critics mostly dismissed it). The whole cast has great appeal - their faces cling to us and we can't help but want to know these characters. There is Taimak's innocence crossed with an expert fighter who roars when you least expect it - it is not in the same class as Bruce Lee's cat-like grace and amazing presence but then again, who is in the same class? Vanity is simply dazzling and alluring and a hell of a singer - she has an angelic, becalming way about her and is electric on screen and has heavenly chemistry with Taimak. When it comes to Leroy's family, they are about as authentic as anyone can hope for, especially the late Leo O'Brien as Leroy's younger, brash brother Richie who sneaks into Seventh Heaven's studio. Both Leroy and Richie have a thing for Laura and there is some tension there but you can guess who ends up with her at the end. As for villains, the late Julius J. Carry III is an outrageous blend of Superfly crossed with Rick James - the guy you love to hate. Christopher Murney's Arkadian is simply the guy you hate - an angry, insolent jerk who resembles a fierce Danny DeVito. One remarkable shot shows him sitting at his desk with a neon-lit crown behind him - yep, he just might want to be King Arkadian.

Mostly a comic-book movie with terrifically jazzy, amped-up music from the likes of Smokey Robinson, Vanity and Willie Hutch, "The Last Dragon" functions as a sly martial-arts film crossed with music-video highlights, video art, a little rap, some breakdancing, a grindhouse theatre showing mixed-up reels of "Enter The Dragon" (that was a great touch) and some engaging, flawlessly choreographed fight sequences. It also has an infectious romance and a strong human component - Taimak's Leroy will not fight unless he has to and he has strong feelings for Laura, his family and is protective of his students. He is not the dark avenging angel of Bruce Lee nor does he need to be. After it is over, you'll come away applauding and cheering (which many in the audience did way back in that 1985 screening). "The Last Dragon" is infectious. 

Fair is fair

THE LEGEND OF BILLIE JEAN (1985)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

"The Legend of Billie Jean" is one of those harmless, innocent, hard-to-take-your-eyes-off 1980's flicks I remember watching on cable. I had seen it twice then but, honestly, I can hardly fathom what I liked about it. Call it one of those guilty pleasure flicks like "St. Elmo's Fire" where I recall finding both movies watchable and almost endearing, yet I find little else there. Billie Jean is the rebel of the movie, yet what in good God's green earth is she rebelling against?

The movie aims to find a solid theme about what society might deem as trailer park trash and how they are trying to rise above it. Maybe. Young Billie Jean (Helen Slater) lives in a trailer park in Corpus Christi, Texas. She lives with her single mother who is trying to find the right man, and her younger brother, Binx (Christian Slater), who worships his Honda Elite scooter. There is some unnecessary business at the beginning where some blonde dudes make the moves on Billie and throw Binx's scooter in the lake. Awwww, what a travesty. This is the kind of slipshod material that you might encounter in a Friday the 13th flick. Before you know it, determined Billie Jean wants 608 dollars for the damage done to her brother's scooter since it turns out that one of those barechested, sunglass-wearing blonde bullies works at a shop with his father, Mr. Pyatt (Richard Bradford). Before long, Mr. Pyatt attempts to rape Billie and he gets shot by Binx and, well, we got a mess in our hands. The police search for Billie, Binx and their wayward friends as they flee the state. Ostensibly, a road movie though how Billie's picture in the papers inspires young folk remains a mystery. What inspires them exactly? That she is young, blonde and lovely and that she took a stand to demand money? When Billie eventually encounters a district attorney's son (the vibrant coolness of Keith Gordon) after breaking into his house, she videotapes herself with cropped hair, denim jacket and develops a slogan: "Fair is fair." And the nation of young people rise up, girls crop their own hair, and repeatedly chant that slogan.

At the end of the day, all Billie Jean wanted was the 608 dollars and, I surmise, an apology from the rapist creep of Mr. Pyatt who survives the shooting with a bullet in his arm. Naturally, Mr. Pyatt exploits Billie Jean and sells various posters and other mementos with her likeness. Say what? By the end of the film, the drama is all over when Mr. Pyatt's true colors come out in front of Billie's fans.

The performances are exceptionally good. Helen Slater gives us a forlorn Billie Jean, a girl who wants to right all wrongs. Christian Slater, in a peroxide look, was still working out his kinks in his acting but his presence speaks volumes. It is also great fun to watch Yeardley Smith (pre-Lisa Simpson from TV's "The Simpsons") as one of Billie's friends who just wants to tag along because her trailer park home life is miserable (a scene where she is brutally slapped by her mother almost rivals a similar moment in De Palma's "Carrie"). Almost anything with Peter Coyote (playing a sympathetic police detective) makes up for just about anything. But I do not know what to take away from "The Legend of Billie Jean." Slater's performance suggests anything but a rebel, or even a Joan of Arc (a scene where she watches a film clip of Jean Seberg's Joan of Arc is a pivotal point). She knows she is making a difference...but what difference is she making exactly?

Not So Typical Love Song

LOVE, SIMON (2018)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia

While watching the lighthearted, sweet and extremely familiar movie "Love, Simon," one film director's name came to mind: John Hughes. I had no idea that the critics felt the same way until I did research on this film. It is possible that the late John Hughes might have crafted a movie like this back in the 1980's, or perhaps later. It's got heart, compassion, lots of laughs, has a perceptive look at 2010's high-school life, some decent soundtrack choices (you cannot go wrong with any selection by The Kinks), etc. Of course, I don't know if Hughes would have ever made a movie about a smart high-school teen coming out as gay. Still, Hughes reference aside, this is an enjoyable film in its own right and, yet, aside from the main character being gay, the movie doesn't exactly feel innovational.

Simon (Nick Robinson) is like any other high-school teen who is soon to graduate - he gets a car as a present, his parents (Josh Duhamel, Jennifer Garner) love him, he finds that he actually likes his younger sister who loves to cook, and he has great friends. Oh, and he is (as exclaimed in the voice-over narration) "just like you." Well, not quite. I grew up in the New York suburbs and we did not have a great-looking house nor did I have a chalkboard wall with all sorts of inscriptions (I wish I did, and is that really a bedroom accessory now?) The difference is that Simon is gay but he hasn't come out yet. His family and his friends do not know, but his anonymous computer pen-pal, known as Blue, is aware. Blue is gay too but he hasn't come out either. What's the hold up? I wondered too because coming out as gay can't be that difficult in a supposedly progressive high-school where a guy has already come out, can it? And this is all based on a 2015 book by called "Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda" by Becky Albertalli. It is not like 2015 was that long ago, but I digress.

"Love, Simon" had me in its romantic spell of yearning, even if I felt like I had seen this film before. The fact that it is considered the first mainstream gay teen romantic comedy doesn't exactly give me pause because I had seen many gay-themed films, both teen-oriented and adult, in the last 20 years. It does seem as if it took Hollywood a little to long to catch up (TV shows and Netflix, not to mention indie flicks, have already, pardon the pun, come out). Still, what gravitates me towards this engaging crowd pleaser of a movie is Simon's reluctance and insecurities about coming out, so much so that a bad theatre actor at school, Martin (Logan Miller), blackmails him after taking snapshots of Simon's emails at a school computer. So why does this Houdini-loving, "Cabaret"-infected ambitious young man take such pains to blackmail noble Simon? Love, of course, for Abby (Alexandra Shipp), one of Simon's attractive friends who is also a transfer student and lives in an apartment! Oh, my gosh, the gall! The movie states that every teen lives in a fancy house yet Abby, oh, no, she is an apartment-dweller. Actually, her brief backstory is so interesting that you kind of wish the movie followed her story more closely.

So, in addition to John Hughes tropes of high-school living, there is also a mystery - who is Blue? That had me guessing and I was wrong about two suspects. Nevertheless, "Love, Simon" is about being an insecure high-schooler who has such appealing and approachable friends that you wonder why he can't just come out. Aside from two troublemakers who are defiantly anti-gay, nobody has much of an issue with homosexuality. Simon's parents? Well, not exactly, and one of them seems to have a real issue with it, only seemingly. As I said, there is nothing here that we haven't seen before but it is so well-crafted, so cleverly humorous (Tony Hale is sidesplittingly funny as the vice principal who wants no texting in the school halls) so endearingly sincere that I cannot fault a teen romantic comedy for working me over and making me care thanks to director Greg Berlanti and his charismatic young cast. "Love, Simon" succeeds and I would love to see it again. So now we need a mainstream gay movie where being gay is not a big deal. That would be groundbreaking.

People no longer behaving as human beings

THE NIGHT WILL FALL (2014)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia
Originally published in Steel Notes Magazine

No one can dispute that one of the most horrific crimes of the 20th century can’t easily be forgotten, especially by those who survived to witness it and tell the tale. The Nazi Holocaust is that crime, one which still perplexes me to this day. “The Night Will Fall” is an absorbing and nightmarishly haunting documentary that rivets the attention and shakes your own well-being to the core. It is a devastating film that will leave you speechless.

In elementary schools, at least during the 1980’s when I attended, images of those horrific death camps were shown. Most of the world has seen the mangled, emaciated corpses of Jewish men, women and children bulldozed into mass graves. “Night Will Fall” takes a different position – it chronicles the making of these largely unseen, incomplete documentaries, a first-person narrative of the cameramen who were there to film this devastating record. We first see the liberation of the first death camp to be liberated by British Forces (British 11th Armored Division), Bergen-Belsen, where the soldiers armed with cameras begin to record tantalizing footage. This footage is useful as not only a public record but also as evidence against the SS officers who participated in this mass extermination. Bodies are seen carried about as if they were inanimate human rag dolls, most of them naked and disposed of in pits and carried into trucks. The British soldiers have no idea of what to make of this, a reality of which can never be shaken off or forgotten. BBC war correspondent, Richard Dimbleby, reports on the 30,000 bodies in plain view at Belsen (typhus had killed many, possibly even Anne Frank who did die at Belsen). The towns and villages nearby Belsen have no clue what has transpired though the smell of death, as sensed by the British soldiers, lingers and dominates the countryside. This was not the time for the German folk to be blissfully ignorant.

“Night Will Fall” also documents the Soviet troops who liberated and documented the atrocities at the Auschwitz and Majdanek camps in Poland, a year before Belsen. But what is most astounding is the discovery that the Soviets’ footage was not considered a reliable source by the British, for reasons never made clear. Maybe the British, as with the rest of the world, didn’t want to believe the bitter truth about those death camps. Once the combat cameramen made their way to Belsen, the truth was unmistakable. Also remarkable is that the Belsen footage was to be edited into a film titled “German Concentration Camps Factual Survey” (narrated by the late actor Trevor Howard). This film would have served as a factual presentation of that bitter truth. Unfortunately, despite the editorial presence of Alfred Hitchcock on hand, the film was never completed and only some clips were shown. The reasons behind it perplexed me: the British wanted to establish an alliance with Germany post-World War II in hopes of combatting a new enemy, Communism. I suppose the last thing the British wanted to do was to be accused of presenting war crimes as propaganda.

What clips we do see in “The Night Will Fall” are so stunning, so powerful, so staggeringly emotional that it is hard to watch it without shedding a tear (some living British officers who are interviewed in the documentary have trouble holding back their emotions). In fact, all Holocaust deniers should watch this because the filmed record does not lie. We see the Jewish hostages reacting with joy when liberated, some with scalding emotional tears of relief, a relief they never expected. We see empty towers where Nazis had once set their rifles overlooking the camps. We see German residents in droves coming into Belsen, overcome with absolute shock by what was hidden from them. We also see something which I never knew; SS officers helping to dispose of bodies that lay on the ground. We also see how other Jewish hostages are gathered near the stench of death beneath their feet.

“The Night Will Fall” is not as chillingly poetic as Alan Resnais’ “Night and Fog” from 1955 (that film showed the lifelessness of the camps a decade later) but it is a haunting, hair-raising, deeply resonant documentary about what Dimbleby once most accurately said of the SS and of other nations that might practice such atrocities, “People no longer behaving as human beings.”

Whipping a drummer into shape

WHIPLASH (2014)

Reviewed by Jerry Saravia
Originally published in Steel Notes Magazine

 I can’t tell you when teaching methods in schools changed but I can say that the early 1990’s, the birth of that most distasteful phrase “political correctness” was the start of when all schools adopted the phrase “Good job” because the effort was seemingly enough. When I went to high school in the 1980’s, a sufficiently good job on your grades usually meant a mediocre grade. A solid B or even B+ was pooh-poohed upon – if I got those grades today, I might be seen as a genius. When it came to art, painting or photography or filmmaking, a good grade was hardly meritorious. What did the student accomplish that could lead to then becoming the future Monet, the future Ansel Adams, or the future Stanley Kubrick? Could their artistic potential be pushed to punishing extremes? That is at the heart of the harsh, furiously entertaining and intensifyingly dramatic “Whiplash,” a sort of “Full Metal Jacket” depiction on prestigious jazz bands dealing with an abusive instructor who would give R. Lee Ermey a heart attack.

How abusive is this instructor? He hurls chairs at his students, berates them with homophobic slurs, and punishes the drummers to such an extent that their hands are bloodied at the end of an exhausting rehearsal session. The late Who drummer Keith Moon might have thrown a chair at this instructor or set fire to his own cymbals in protest. J.K. Simmons is Terence Fletcher, a notable jazz conductor at the fictional Shaffer Conservatory in New York. Fletcher is looking for the next Buddy Rich, the legendary jazz drummer with a short temper, but he is of little faith in students whom he considers wimps. As a pretext, Fletcher recounts the story of how legendary drummer Jo Jones threw a cymbal at the young alto saxophonist, Charles “Yardbird” Parker. As Terence tells it, if Parker had simply been told, “Good job,” he might not have reached the depths of his own power of playing the sax – the Bird might not have excelled and perfected his techniques. Salient observation, but does throwing chairs and slapping students help them to excel and go beyond their futile attempts to impress the teacher? I should think not (some current jazz musicians and teachers consider the movie to be a little too over-the-top.)

Andrew Neyman (Miles Teller) is the harangue upon, abused and exasperated drummer who aspires to be Buddy Rich and relentlessly plays Hank Levy’s classic “Whiplash” with great ferocity and passion. Neyman is probably good enough, but Mr. Fletcher sees more behind the kid’s talent. The kid could be great, not just solidly good or perhaps “mediocre.” Fletcher’s abusive tactics are his way of seeing behind the students’ masks, manipulating their familial problems to his advantage to get the best out of his them. Neyman himself is not an easy kid to like – he assumes he will be great and has a superiority complex to most of his family. He has trouble maintaining a dating relationship with a movie theatre concession stand clerk (Melissa Benoist from TV’s “Supergirl”) because he has to work as hard as Charlie Parker, sometimes 15 hours a day. His hands bleed and, in one climactic moment prior to a jazz competition, he gets into a car accident and still manages to play, well, just barely while he suffers a head wound followed by a physical assault on Fletcher.

The tyrannical Fletcher doesn’t display many emotions except anger and violence. Every time we see him appear, my stomach felt as if a weight was placed in it and my hands got sweaty. You subjectively feel like Andrew Neyman throughout the film and your blood pressure might go right through the roof whenever he is taunted by Fletcher. J.K. Simmons has a special gift for playing what could have been a demonic, hateful character; he shows empathy and has a powerful charisma that burns the screen with hot vitality. It is no wonder he won the Best Supporting Actor Oscar, his Fletcher is not cut out of the sentimental vein of “Mr. Holland’s Opus” or any other nicer teachers from our cinematic past. The film doesn’t shy away from suggesting that Fletcher’s tactics are not the most instrumental in shaping any talented performer but his insatiable need to find and root out greatness is definitely clear.

Written and directed by Damien Chazelle (based on his own experiences at Princeton), “Whiplash” is not for ordinary audiences and it is not for parents who feel that every kid nowadays should win an award for “making an effort.” It is not an easy film to digest but most great films don’t always make it easy for audiences. There is a respect that develops between teacher and student and the finale, an emotional powerhouse with jazz drumming that has the relentless tempo of the movie itself, is sure to leave you drained. You may not like these two characters but you can identify and respect their search for pushing the limits. Neyman and Fletcher are two characters that will remain in my cinematic crosshairs for some time. Good job, great film.

Dropped in to see the condition of my rug

THE BIG LEBOWSKI (1998)

A 20th Anniversary appreciation by Jerry Saravia

The Coen Brothers have always defied expectations in their cutthroat, very precise approach to genres, making films that look and feel as they were made by nerds who chuckle when people leave frustrated by what they have just seen. Some of their films manage this feat with spectacular results ("Barton Fink," "A Serious Man," "Fargo") and others are plainly bad and highly uneven ("O' Brother Where Art Thou?", "Intolerable Cruelty"). "The Big Lebowski" is somewhere much higher. It is not an easy film to describe but I guess you could call it a stoner noir comedy and even that doesn't fully define it. It is often very funny, has thrillingly inventive visuals, terrific soundtrack, eye-popping performances, is extremely crude and contains Tara Reid's best, liveliest performance. It is slacker porn (my term), basically a movie that is pure pot-bellied humor, emphasis on pot, and has purposely leisured pacing because the characters speak as if they just had a joint.

Well, not all the characters. John Goodman is the boisterous, maniacal Vietnam Vet Walter who is paranoid and sees conspiracies everywhere, and can get you a severed toe by lunch. He screams expletives at every turn, even screaming "Fuck You Donny!" to Steve Buscemi's more mellow Donny. They all frequent the bowling alley, which of course includes the title character, the harmless, White-Russian imbibing Lebowski (Jeff Bridges), the royal Dude, the righteous Dude, or the Dude who Abides or just plain dude, if you are into the whole brevity thing. It is the strangest performance of Bridges' career and possibly his most iconic, maybe even the purest. He not only symbolizes a pot-smoking slacker, he is POT! You could smoke Bridges' character and feel relieved and stress-free. Watching him on screen gives you a relaxed feeling, so that is why I call this film the first real Slacker Porn flick because Bridges epitomizes it.

The plot all comes down to one specific detail - some hired thugs have urinated on the Dude's rug. The Dude wants a new rug from another Lebowski, a wheelchair-bound and grumpy millionaire (David Huddleston), whom the Dude was mistaken for. It turns out that Big Lebowski's wife, Bunny (Tara Reid), was kidnapped and all that is given to the millionaire is her severed green-painted toe as a reminder she is still alive. But was she really kidnapped and was that her actual toe? Eventually, we get more hired thugs, some German nihilists, a ferret attacking the Dude in his tub, a dream sequence involving bowling balls and Saddam Hussein (!), a British Julianne Moore who wants coitus with the Dude, lots of pot ingestion, cremated remains blown away in the wrong direction, odd and memorable music selections from Yma Sumac and Kenny Rogers, a dapper Ben Gazzara, a fantastic Sam Elliott as the narrator, and much more.

"The Big Lebowski" is not just a crazy flick, it is the craziest, wildest, oddest and most insanely entertaining film that the Coens have ever made. Ever since its low box-office numbers in its theatrical release back in March of 1998, the film achieved an understandable cult status and remains one of the most quotable films of the 1990's. Without it, you would not have half of the other alleged noir pot comedies that have come and gone in its wake, like the overrated shenanigans of "Pineapple Express" which never found a consistent tone or the equally tone deaf "30 Minutes or Less" or P.T. Anderson's goofball boredom of "Inherent Vice." I could say so much more but I won't, you know, if you are into the whole brevity thing.