The first thing I thought of when I opened my hotel room door this aft (well, the second thing… I hafta admit the real first thing I thought of was “oh my, I’m gonna be able to getta blog post outta this!“) was that it is the size (and aspect) of a cell. Monk- or jail-, I waffle.
The one window is a skylight that is set into the slanted roof that runs from about two feet over the head of my bed up to about 10 feet at the opposite wall. I’m not particularly tall, but I’ve already bumped my head. Twice. Stucco scrapes.
The bed is a single and the furniture midget-sized (including this desk–which is no deeper than this laptop–the Barbie-sized bedside lamp, and the 13″ tv). It was a very small monk who lived in this room, I gather. Mini-fridge, microwave. Do you sense the theme? I was worried that when I opened the washroom door I would find one of those teeny toilets they had in grammar school. And a sink to match. Was relieved to find grownup-sized facilities, however. And–perplexing–a walk-in closet. I mean, you couldn’t swing a cat in here, but there’s a walk-in closet. I’m not sure monks have more than one or two robes, either, so go figger.
But it is convenient, and that’s what I wanted.
I am in Tronna for 10 days for the Hot Docs film festival. I am going to try to update this thing fairly regularly. But for now I’m just going to crawl into my teensy bed and dream small dreams of holidays in Liliput.
Rodriguez’s Planet Terror is a icksome pus-filled boil of a ride through a very dark Austin night.
And Tarantino’s Death Proof is a bruisome vengeful joyride through a very bright Austin day.
As homages to the beat-up B-films that filled grindhouse theatre screens in the 70s, I am surprised to say that I think that PT actually succeeds more than DP does–if only because the latter seems a little too clever for those kinds of films. Tarantino-penned dialogue is too quick-witted for yer typical B-movie. Also, DP feels like it’s a chunk out of a larger work, whereas PT is a more fully-rounded story. The performances in PT are pure cheese, whereas we get some pretty respectable performances in DP. Rodriguez stuck with the dark, pockmarked print but Tarantino’s looked pretty bright and clean. Both films had missing reels, though; I thought that was a nice touch. That Rodriguez succeeded in making a truer grindhouse flick than Tarantino (in my opinion, anyway) strikes me as ironic, since it was the latter who introduced the former to the genre. Go figger.
Nevertheless, don’t get the impression that I didn’t still enjoyDP more than PT. ‘Cause (and, now, this is really saying something), PT was–even for me–actually just a bit over the line when it comes to grue. It made me feel a little woozy, a little upchucky, a little, er… er… *urp*. It kinda put me offa my popcorn, if’n you know what I mean. But DP had me holding onto the arms of my chair for dear life, almost wishing I had hold of a couple of those belts that play an integral part of the story.
As you already (presumably) know, trailers for more (phony) grindhouse flicks are included in the package. Some play in front of the feature and more play in between the two. They’re a gas, and I will include them here (sorry, but some of these may disappear because they’re bootlegs). Beware that these trailers are explicit!
Included at Canadian screenings (not sure about elsewhere) is the winner of the grindhouse trailer contest that Rodriguez concocted for SXSW this year. (Weird coincidence: my buddy Frank–with whom I went to the screening–knows the Haligonian filmmakers who made the contest-winning trailer. Small woild.) You can see it here:
I hadda blast at this screening. I love the idea, I love the execution, and I loved the whole experience. It ain’t gonna appeal to everybody, though (duh, Harvey Weinstein!), and I’ve read that the films are going to be extended and released separately in Europe (and mebbe even here in the near future), and I think it’s a shame that some are considering this production a failure. I hope the original double-feature version will be available on dvd if they do go ahead with the recut.
If you see one film that is actually a double feature and then see another film a coupla hours later, does that mean you saw a double-double?
Here there be spoilers, so consider y’self warned.
First up was The Host, a South Korean monster movie that played a bunch of festivals and got a lot of good press before it finally opened in North America this spring. It has been on my “to see” list ever since I first heard of it ‘cause a good monster movie is one of my favourite things, having spent countless childhood Saturday afternoons with Sir Graves Ghastly.
The premise is that an American military pathologist orders the secret dump of a huge quantity of formaldehyde into the Han River (which is based on a true story) and a few years later the result of that irresponsibility rears its (considerably ugly) head outta the water. The story then focuses on one (dysfunctional) family–a widowed father who runs a riverside snack truck in a picnic area at Wonhyo Bridge in Seoul, his two adult sons and daughter, and the young daughter of one of the sons—who find themselves in the unexpected position of having to be heroes. And the granddaughter is the only one who seems to have her shit together. So, as someone has suggested, it is kinda like Godzilla Meets Little Miss Sunshine.
Which is not to be confused with Bambi Meets Godzilla…
One of the startling things about how the story is told is that there is very little exposition after the prologue. We have barely started to get to know the main characters when the monster makes its first appearance and snatches one of ‘em and the story is on its rollicking way.
The other startling thing about how the story is told is the unexpected tonal shifting between suspense and comedy. And I mean lots of comedy—not just a small tension-relieving moment here and there but, rather, extended comedic scenes. For example, in a scene where the family gathers with others at a public memorial for victims of the monster’s first attack, their grief starts out private and serious but soon becomes ridiculous—with all four of them rolling about on the floor, weeping and wailing and having to be corralled by the police. I think my mouth mighta been hanging open in surprise at that point because it was so unexpected. And so it goes for the rest of the film—a weird and unsubtle but fun genre mashup, with a smidgen of anti-American political satire thrown in just to keep you on yer toes.
The monster, itself, is actually pretty goofy-looking. It’s basically a huge fish with legs…
The sequence when it first comes outta the river and starts chasing folks made my hair stand on end ‘cause (mebbe it’s just me, but) I don’t want anything in the water chasing me up outta the water. The monster was not exactly kept under wraps in the film’s pre-release, as it would’ve been if this had been a typical Hollywood monster movie. I mean, I had a pretty good idea of what it was gonna look like before I saw the film. And, in the story itself, we see the monster within the first 15 minutes or so of the film. Not just a little teaser of the monster—some ripples in the water or a shadow under the surface—but (YIKES) the whole slippery thing, gallumping through the panicking picnickers, snatching some here and there, knocking over trailers and scattering baskets and bodies in its wake.
It’s certainly not scary—the way I normally want a monster movie to be (Alien, anybody? Or The Tingler! That scared the bejeezuz outta me when I was that kid watching Sir Graves!). There are moments of suspense, sure, because the film announces very early that it is not necessarily going to be following “the rules” and so you’re never sure just where it might go next. The comedy is a little too broad to actually be funny to me, but I can appreciate what the director is doing with it. I do like a genre-bending experience like this one. So while The Host wasn’t exactly what I was expecting, that’s not necessarily bad thing. I had fun.
But this morning, walking from the office to Tim Horton’s (for a double-double, natch), on the bridge over the soupy green Thames, my nose filled with the rotten corn stench of the ethanol plant upriver, I saw a huge shadow pass below the surface of the river and I quickened my pace. So mebbe the film was scarier than I thought…
I will get to Grindhouse (the other “double” of the double-double) later. I need to go do my duties as a Rawk the Puck panelist over at Mike Chen’s blog (and if you haven’t voted yet, why haven’t you?!)…
Now that we have gotten the (slim) possibility of the Leafs sneaking (undeservedly) into the ’07 playoffs outta the way, we can get on to this year’s installment of Rawk the Puck! hockey hootenanny. This year, now that cy has heartlessly abandoned writing his blog for the gold and glories of being some kinda hifalutin muckety-muck sports editor at der Star, Rawk the Puck! alumnus and blogger Mike Chen has stepped in and graciously offered to host it. So check it out over at Mike’s place.
Now, for those of you who aren’t familiar with it, Rawk the Puck! is not about hockey. It’s about music. Music associated with hockey. Associated pretty tangentially, as a matter of fact. So you don’t hafta actually know anything about hockey (I don’t wanna name names, here… youse know who youse are) to take part. You just need to have an opinion about a few songs. The rules of the game are posted over at Mike’s blog. Starting Wednesday & Thursday this week, the first-round matchups (along with links to hear to the songs) will be posted, so mosey on over there and have a lissen, cast yer votes, and ‘splain why your musical tastes are better ‘n mine or any of the other panelists’.
