Showing posts with label christopher lee. Show all posts
Showing posts with label christopher lee. Show all posts

17 May 2012

Same Old Bite


When it comes to film adaptations we seem to be getting rather desperate. These days, source material comes from books, computer games, life and fucking toys. It was bad enough when Michael Bay's cinema AIDs started infecting the screen with the grossly sexualised, misogynistic depiction of Cybotron's talking cogs but now others have begun to follow suit. Battleships was seemingly not only a Transformers rip off but also based on a game with less imagination than a trainspotting, dust enthusiast in a coma. Tim Burton's latest movie too is an adaptation but more forgivably of a 60/70's soap opera called Dark Shadows.

However, unlike the soap operas set here in Britain, Dark Shadows has a more supernatural element to it. Most of our shows are based in some form of realism although I've often assumed that the morbid grim-ness of Eastenders is due to it being set in a manic depressives head. In fact, our shows are so tediously dull that one of the most unbelievable aspects of them is simply how everybody knows each other. I've lived in the same house for over a decade but if one of my neighbours stabbed me in the tits, shouted their house number and then raped me I'd still wonder who they were. The closest our soaps get to dealing with the supernatural is probably Coronation Street's shambling corpse Ken Barlow. He's an actor who’s played that same part for so long that to fire him would probably require an exorcist more than it would a P45. It would be less like taking a man's job from him and more like removing the sets haunted book case. He just lingers and likely never leaves the set…

Tim Burton’s Dark Shadows starts with a typically gothic sequence set in a 1752 Liverpool which introduces us to the Collins family. As soon as they see a financial opportunity however, they leave the area and set up a business in America with no intent on returning. They're basically The Beatles of the canned food industry. As time rolls by, Barnabas Collins grows up into Johnny Depp, a promiscuous playboy whose undoing is a result of shagging the wrong girl. Back in Liverpool, this would have probably been someone named Gemma who pushes a pram around the docks and has a fanny full of clap. In America however, Barnabas sticks his cock into a witch who proceeds to curse him for not loving her enough. Turns out that no matter what period you live in, there's always some deranged bitch who’s watched The Notebook once too many (with once being too many).

As a result, Barnabas develops pale skin, a desire to kill and starts to sleep during the day. What separates him from the average scouser however is his need to drink blood. With Barnabas now obviously a vampire, his real true love does what Piers Morgan should and throws herself from a cliff to a violently painful death. Learning of his affliction the locals start to panic too. Reacting to their fears of vampires and Liverpudlian's they bury Barnabas alive before he can commit any crimes. With him safely chained up beneath the ground, the area is therefore devoid of both a murderous demon and the risk of benefit fraud for almost 200 years.

By 1972 the Collins family is in ruins. Their mansion is a wreck, their finances non-existent and their staff consists of one single stuttering inebriated Rorschach. Luckily for them however, there's a vampire buried in the garden who happens to have their best interests at heart. After accidentally digging him up like a fucking dead family pet, Barnabas makes it his mission to restore both their name and wealth to its former glory, though before he can do anything he must acclimatise himself to the grim realities of his present day.

As he runs about enjoying the 1970's, he kills a few hippies including Cassie from Skins, hypnotically manipulates people and worst of all, breaks a television. He also notices that the family’s new maid looks a Hell of a lot like the reincarnation of his old dead wife. Wooing her and rebuilding his canning business would however be a lot easier if it wasn't for the witch who originally cursed him. Like a typically obsessive ex-partner, the bitch is still roaming the local area and making his life a misery. At one point she even re-buries him with a pair of her knickers on his face. To be fair though, the witch is played by Eva Green so that sounds great to me. Sleeping all day long with an erection and the whiff of her sweaty French flaps isn't the worst thing that could ever happen.

So far the reviews for Dark Shadows have been fairly mixed. If the soulless Alice in Narnia is Burton's low point then I would say that his Forrest Gump/Freddie Krueger crossover Edward Scissorhands is his best. This latest Gothic effort is probably somewhere in between. It's not vacuous but nor is it particularly well balanced. Plot points just appear out of nowhere with the snarling Chlo-Mo conclusion being noticeably random. Speaking of Hit-Girl, if there are any paedophiles watching then you'll particularly enjoy the reference to her fingering herself. You can't get arrested for what you imagine, so for those with a taste for the young, it's jailbait-tastic. She's fifteen and I'm not a disgusting fucking kiddie fiddler so the thought does absolutely nothing for me. Not for another twelve months anyway.

The biggest problem here for me however was simply how neglected Barnabas's allegedly reincarnated wife was. She's so ignored throughout the whole film that she may as well have stayed fucking dead all along. Despite her darkly romantic conclusion, her screen time is the equivalent to that of a lamp shade or particularly eye-catching duvet. At least as a corpse she might receive some proper attention by having a morbidly lucky necrophile come across her. In my opinion, perhaps part of her problem is that she shares quite a lot of scenes with Michelle Pfeiffer. Where that sexy catwoman is concerned, I wouldn't notice if The Pope was next to her leaking rainbows from his tits and sucking off a novelty crucifix-shaped dildo. Therefore any moment in which Barnabas shows his suspected love any attention, you're simply drawn to how undervalued she has previously been.

On the plus side though there's plenty of the usual joy from the brain of Tim Burton. It's as typical as his films go but fuck it, that's what I like. If he wants to make gothic horror films with the same black eyed, pale faced actors over and over again, that's fine by me. Like Wes Anderson, Terry Gilliam and Ed Wood, his distinct style pisses off plenty of people which simply proves that not everybody can be right at once. Nobody expects Mike Leigh to make an action film or complained about the lack of explosions during Vera Drake’s abortion scenes, so why should Burton have to change?

Highlights here include Barnabas's ghoulish attacks, Eva Green’s tits and cameos from both Christopher Lee and Alice Cooper. Mr Lee is unfortunately nearing the end of his neck biting career and it's nice that we keep squeezing a few more performances out of him. That dark-lord fucker is too much of a legend to be sitting in an old folks home when there are horror films still being made. Alice Cooper on the other hand clearly hasn't aged a day since 1972. Although in his case, the trick was to start off looking like a man in his mid-sixties and spend the next four decades already partly decomposed. At one point, Barnabas's refers to the ageing rocker as, “the ugliest woman I've ever seen”, which despite being funny simply means he is yet to lay eyes on Paris Hilton.

The tone might be wonky and it's not as funny as the trailer suggests but Dark Shadows is still worth a watch. In a way, by setting up so many various sub-plots, it kind of feels like a highly produced television pilot which then suddenly has to tie everything up at the end. Sort of like those annoying porn videos which are five minutes of blow-job followed by one minute of mechanically, joyless grunting and shagging. Dark Shadows is Burton working below his best but even his average is better than anything Michael Bay or the director of Battleships could come up with. It might be an oddity- and for the wrong reasons, but in a world of blandness and idiocy that is still something that should be appreciated. 

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20 April 2012

Love At First Bite

Contains spoilers...

In retrospect, maybe watching The Matrix for the first time at the age of 11 was a little too young. I don't have any moral reason for this except for the fact that the movie was just too good for my child-brain to comprehend. At that age, The Matrix was basically heroin to me, in that it provided a huge high, numbness, a skewed vision of reality and of course, addiction. Eager to see a bunch of leather clad super-gimps shoot the shit out of each other, I would race home from school each day and put the video on. For those who don't remember- videos are basically DVDs for grand-dad and are these days used for building houses, heavy doorstops, and silencing prostitutes. For about a month I watched that film every-single-day without fail and completely, from start to finish. For a child who had just discovered masturbation, finding two hours a day for a film really did show a huge level of dedication.

Again, however, like a drug addiction, the more I watched The Matrix, the further away I got from feeling the original high that it had brought me. Through almost over-dosing on its kung-fu goodness, my bullet-time tolerance was increasing daily and by the end of the month I knew something had to be done. In order to wean myself off the addiction, before I found myself performing with a double ended dildo in front of a group of fat men, I decided to go cold turkey. Because I'd over-watched it, my greedy 11 year old self had ruined it for me and so in the end I had to avoid that film for the next five years.

This taught me not to watch my favourite movies too often as, like repeatedly killing the same breed of tramp, it would eventually just get a little bit boring. When choosing a film to watch I therefore regularly go for things I just really like, with the residents of my top ten list being relegated to just once every year or so. One of these films that I must have seen eight or nine times since its release in 2007 is David Slades 30 Days of Night. In fact the last time I watched that movie was only yesterday and weirdly I noticed something is starting to happen- for some reason, I started to love that movie too.

The film starts off with Ben Foster wandering through the snow whilst looking like an even more paedo version of 'Worzel Gummidge'. Although we can't be sure, we're given the impression that Ben is a bad guy through certain subtle clues such as his scrawny hair, bad teeth and the scene in which he stabs the living fuck out of a couple of dogs. Because people tend to prefer strangers not to put knives into their pets, it's at this point that the local Policeman steps in to help sort this naughtiness out.

There are lots of reasons why this Policeman looks a lot like Josh Hartnett, but the main one has to be because that's exactly who it is. I'd therefore like to think that a lot of people came to 30 Days of Night mistakingly believing it to be a sequel to that classic rape-y comedy 40 Days and 40 Nights. For anyone who missed out on that crappy movie, it basically ends with Hartnett being tied up and forced to sleep with a girl who is ignoring his pleas for her to stop and get off. It's essentially the same joke that was used in Straw Dogs except because the gender roles are reversed the blatant sexual assault becomes much more acceptable to laugh at.

Anyway, so Josh Hartnett arrests Scrawny Worzel for dog stabbing and throws his probably shitty arse in prison. Considering that this film is set in Alaska, the day before the sun is about to set for the next month, you'd think that the residents would relish any visitors to help boost their tourism. Apparently though, beggars can be choosers as they express less than joy to the sudden arrival of Danny Huston and his gang of blood-thirsty, sightseeing, psychopaths.

30 Days of Night isn't the best vampire film since Twishite reignited interest in the fanged honkeys, as that honour clearly belongs to Let the Right One In. It is however one of the better ones simply because it's the exact opposite of the sparkly cocks that we're currently having waggled in our face all of the time. These days, when we think of vampires, we think of handsome men, romanticism and love. The market is, at the minute, flooded with pale faced, pretty boys who would rather go all glittery in the sun than savagely tear the shit out of somebodies throat. With films like Interview with the Vampire and Christopher Lee's Dracula, presenting the monsters as either being suave gentlemen or having faces like Brad Pitt, the finger of blame can't just be pointed at Twishite. However it is clearly the current popularity of that latter film which has helped reinforce this image of the average vampire being a dickless, punchable twonk.

It is therefore nice to see a film such as 30 Days of Night which features some fucking weird looking vampires. When looking at cinema's earliest blood-suckers, if 'Edward Cullen' has evolved from the dapper Bela Lugosi then the Vampires here are clearly much closer to the twisted, shadowy freak from Nosferatu. Unless you're a fan of large gaps between eyes and the soothing sound of a harsh clicking voice then chances are you aren't going to be seduced by these pale, bloodstained bastards.

Danny Huston and his gang have only one reason for visiting the darkened town and that's to murder and eat everyone in it. He's not interested in chatting or dating and so for the remaining running time we simply see him hunting for a meal whilst the humans quietly hold up in various buildings. The film is fundamentally a large game of hide and seek playing by the same rules as the 1942-1945 match between Anne Frank versus the Nazis. Josh Hartnett's team have to do their best to lie low for a month whilst the vampires have to keep slaughtering people until they can locate and kill them too.

Beyond its depiction of vampires, 30 Days of Night does have a lot to offer; it is suitably suspenseful; gory; intelligent; and thanks to director David Slade, it's also impressively stylish with a look that really does bring to life the comic book from which it's based. With the obvious dumbing down of Hollywood in the name of mass appeal, you know you're watching a horror movie with balls when you graphically see a young child get repeatedly axed until her head reluctantly and stubbornly detaches. It's not often that you see the brutal and gory murder of a child in a film and so it was a relief for me to discover that I'm not the kind of person who will watch this and then get an erection. Personalities aside, the cause of boners really are a reliable way to judge a persons moral leanings.

The film isn't perfect, with Hartnett and his estranged wife’s relationship being a little uninteresting. The duration of the story is also a bit dodgy, with days being randomly skipped and no reference to what happened during them. In fact it might almost have been better if it had just been set over a couple of days rather than thirty. Although considering how integral that aspect is, that's a bit like saying Titanic would have been better set on a plane or that The Queen would have been better if it wasn't about an irrelevant, outdated, scrounger.

So like I said, this film seems to have promoted itself from being one that I really like to one that I love. I think that this is because every time I've watched it I've found something new to like about it and slowly but surely I've invested more and more into the characters. The deaths are all satisfyingly creative with huge blenders, a fuck-off chainsaw on a tractor and Danny Huston literally getting punched through the face. The conclusion to Hartnett's character is supposed to be emotional, but until recently I considered it a fault of the film that his death left me feeling a little unarsed. On last viewing though, I did finally care when unlucky Slevin's skin turned into black confetti and peeled off him like a mouldy onion.

To go back to the drug analogy- if The Matrix is heroin, then a film like 30 Days of Night is the equivalent of smoking normal boring, not illegal cigarettes. You try one and don't really feel the difference, but keep on trying because it takes less balls than a proper suicide. A few months down the line you've gone from the occasional fag to stabbing yourself in the chest with a screwdriver just so that you can put the death-sticks in holes even closer to your lungs. One day you're coughing and spluttering because of the taste, the next you're craving one just to take your mind off the cancer. Like smoking, frequently watching a film you simply 'like', such as 30 Days of Night, will result in the kind of appreciation that, over time, just sneaks up on you.

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