Showing posts with label COCKTAILS (CLASSIC). Show all posts
Showing posts with label COCKTAILS (CLASSIC). Show all posts

Thursday, January 5, 2017

Frogs


Frogs (1972)
Dir. George McCowan
Written by Robert Hutchinson, Robert Blees
Starring Ray Milland, Sam Elliott, Joan Van Ark, Judy Pace, Adam Roarke,




FROGS opens with minutes on end of a hunky gentleman in a canoe (Sam Elliott, who you will not recognize without his trademark mustache for a good half-hour or so) floating around a Southern waterway and doing some leisurely nature photography. This is an entirely appropriate beginning, because it’s also more or less the movie’s plan for the next 90 minutes of your life. FROGS, you see, is comprised of two things, in an approximately 50-50 split: footage of a bunch of annoying people sitting around a Florida panhandle manor house, and footage of frogs just kind of sitting there, looking pretty happy to finally graduate from extra to featured player. Why someone thought this would make for a good horror movie --or a horror movie at all-- is never even remotely clear. But if you like footage of frogs, this is the movie you’ve been waiting for your whole life.


Sam Elliott (THE LEGACY, THANK YOU FOR SMOKING) plays Detective John Frogs, a freelance photographer doing some hard-nosed digging into the seedy underbelly of amphibian life in sleepy Southern waterways. It must be pretty important work because the first thing he does when he gets back to civilization is run to call his editor, presumably to tell him to hold the presses. Unfortunately, this journalistic juggernaut is thwarted when a speedboat driven by Clint (Adam Roarke, DIRTY MARY CRAZY LARRY) swamps the canoe. Clint is a drunken rich-kid fuckup, but his sister Karen (Joan Van Ark, The Young and the Restless) --also on board-- is pretty nice and decides pretty quickly she’d like to bone the rugged young photojournalist, so she insists they fish him out of the water and bring him back to their family’s palatial manor house to dry off and then for some reason to stay for a few days.


Once there, Elliott quickly meets the family patriarch, wheelchair-bound Jason Crockett (Academy-Award-Winner Ray Milland, THE PYJAMA GIRL GASE, THE LOST WEEKEND), a grouchy old tyrant who is very fucking insistent that nothing ruin his birthday party tomorrow, not even a bunch of Frogs. For the next forty or so minutes Elliott just walks around the grounds of the house meeting every single relative and individually re-explaining why he’s there, while sometimes the camera cuts to footage of frogs. Pretty gripping stuff.




At about 45 minutes, we’ve had a lot of talking and a lot of footage of frogs, plus a good bit of footage of snakes, a sprinkling of geckos, a couple monitor lizards, and a little bit of alligator. But no actual scary parts. Elliott does find the deceased body of one of Crockett’s workers out in the woods, but he died off-screen before the events of the movie and nobody seems too surprised since, yeah, there’s snakes and stuff out there. Fair to say, then, that there’s not a lot of drama and absolutely no horror during the film’s first half, although in fairness the movie’s title promised FROGS, and frogs it delivers, dammit, and none too stingily. Finally, at 45 minutes, one of the hundreds of indistinguishable obnoxious people squatting at the house wanders out into the woods, where you know he’s gonna get what’s coming to him (and all humans). But even so, he as to accidentally shoot himself in the leg before nature can finish the job. Eventually, some other people die in some prolonged but fairly uneventful death sequences mixed with nature footage. But because FROGS doesn’t have a lot of animatronics or anything, the victims really have to do most of the legwork themselves. Another guy is standing in a greenhouse when lizards knock poisonous chemicals off the shelves and he asphyxiates instead of walking the four steps to the greenhouse door. Man, nature must really be kicking itself for not trying this sooner, who knew these guys went down so easy?  




One thing you’ll notice, though, is that even once people start dying, the cutaways to frogs continue. Which is odd, because while people are killed by monitor lizards, snakes, alligators, snapping turtles, and mostly their own stupidity, I note that the frogs never actually do anything. I don’t know if they’re the masterminds behind all of this, or if they’re just nature’s cowards and they’re not gonna take action til they can see which side is winning, or what. But it strikes me as strange that in a movie called FROGS, which features almost wall-to-wall footage of frogs, and boasts a poster with a human hand dangling from a frog’s mouth, the frogs just kind of sit there. Although Mr. Majestyk offers an interesting interpretation:




Anyway, regardless of whether anyone does or not get devoured by frogs (they don’t), FROGS may accidentally be the perfect movie for our times. For one thing, it’s terrible, just like our times. But for another, I think it may be  --maybe even intentionally!-- a metaphor for the inexorable changing cultural landscape and the bitter resistance some people put up against that change. The frogs never actually DO anything, but they’re the harbingers of what’s to come: they’re getting louder and louder, more numerous and brazen, harder to ignore, until the smart people finally acknowledge that a course correction is necessary. Those who refuse to take heed of their inability to control the world are gonna wind up in trouble. Seen in that light, there’s a lot of interesting subtext going on here with the various stock characters.




I mean, think about it -- you got Milland as the cranky, bullying family patriarch holed up in the gargantuan home he insists his family has lived in for generations. The only thing he cares about is ensuring things never change, that whatever happens, his birthday party does not deviate from the same routine he’s demanded his entire life. Oh, and when is that birthday? Why, on the Fourth of July! And lest you forget it, they have footage of frogs defiling his large American-Flag birthday cake, while he broods in his wheelchair, listening to patriotic music on a turntable. His single-minded insistence that they not budge a single inch from the routine that they’ve undertaken every year, without fail, is really the only conflict in the movie, which seems completely laughable unless you start to consider its potential for allegory.


I mean, is it too much to wonder if he represents the Old South (which was a little less old in 1972)? He’s a dithering, hectoring old bully, crippled and bitter, fixated on ensuring that everyone respects his unquestioned authority and dutifully goes through the same comfortingly familiar motions they’ve always gone through. But times are changing. One of his grandkids has a glamorous black girlfriend (Judy Pace, BRIAN’S SONG), and the awkwardness of her being a guest at this aristocratic Southern plantation hangs so heavy in the air that it doesn’t even have to be spoken. In fact, everyone fastidiously avoids speaking it; listing the reasons she’d be objectionable to grandpa, her fiance carefully avoids mentioning race at all, instead landing (lamely) on her being a “fashion model.” You can almost see him consider stating the obvious and then chickening out. She chickens out herself, albeit in a somewhat sweeter way, in a surprisingly nuanced scene between her and Crockett’s older, black maid (blues singer Mae Mercer, DIRTY HARRY, THE BEGUILED). Neither one of them needs to state the strangeness of their shared racial past and their radically different present, but the maid notices they have the same name -- Maybelle -- though her younger namesake goes by “Bella.” They share an odd moment of fractured, awkward kinship which feels unusually honest for a film (ostensibly) about killer frogs.



Are their different versions of the same name a sign that Bella is fooling herself in thinking she’ll ever be accepted in this world which almost certainly consigned Maybelle and her ancestors to humiliating servitude? Or is it a hopeful symbol that Bella could rebrand herself and sit as an equal with these backwards old crackers, who are surely deeply put off by her very presence, but are too scared to say something to a social equal (or better)? I don’t know, exactly, but it’s nice that the movie finds time for that ambiguity in-between shots of frogs. Towards the end, when Crockett’s black maid and butler (Lance Taylor, Sr, BLACULA) meekly ask if they can leave before they get killed by frogs or what have you, Bella finally makes the racial tension explicit: “Maybe you haven’t heard about it stuck out here in vacation land,” she snaps --and it’s hard to say if she’s addressing Crockett or his employees -- “but five score and seven years ago, they just started letting people make up their own minds.” When they do go, Crockett isn’t just angry, he seems genuinely hurt, even though they’re almost absurdly accommodating of the old bastard, and even seem touchingly concerned about his welfare. But concern isn’t what Crockett wants. Loyalty, he says, is -- but to him that just means unquestioned obedience.





He demands that obedience from both his hired staff and from his family. “He knows he’s not popular. With the public or his family. And he revels in it,” says one of his grandkids. But they play along, bored and annoyed, because they’re afraid that if they rock the boat they’ll lose their share of his wealth. If Crockett is indeed a metaphor for the Strom Thurmonds of the world, it’s an interesting perspective to cast his “kids” (the younger generation) as uninterested in his antics and priorities, but dutifully following them for their own selfish reasons. And of course, money is a big part of this; even though he’s just a single, crippled old man, Crockett can make everyone dance to his tune because he controls the money. It may not be earned, but that doesn’t mean his descendants fancy the idea of losing any of it. “You make us sound like the worst of the ugly rich,” one of his kids admonishes. “We ARE the ugly rich!” he replies, to which she explains, “We’re entitled to be ugly... God knows we pay enough in taxes.” Man, some things never change, huh? Which is particularly galling because FROGS is very much a movie which believes things have changed; which sees the grouchy old Crocketts of the world as the thing holding us back. Unfortunately it’s now 2017, and we just have new Crocketts to replace the old ones, and a lot of them are probably the same kids who just mechanically went through the motions to appease their bossy old grandpa, but who now cling to the same old bullshit as if they made it up. I guess with the benefit of hindsight it’s not so simple. But still, I appreciate the optimism of FROGS’s view that the Old Ways will get swept away whether they’re willing to acknowledge it or not, that the changing world is inevitable, overwhelming, a force of nature.




Of course, it’s also literally a force of nature here, which makes for a somewhat confused metaphor. On the surface, FROGS is very much a quintessential “Nature strikes back” movie, right down to the required scene where a character comes right out and speculates aloud about nature taking revenge. Hell, it opens with a potential motive for nature: Elliott photographs a bunch of garbage along with a bunch of frogs during the credits (in a perfect summation of what the filmmakers intend to do). But I think this is tied to the filmmakers' point, too; nature is one of those things -- like shifting racial, social and sexual mores-- which isn’t just going to politely sit there waiting for Ray Milland to come around. It’s gonna change, and you can either change with it or get trampled by it. You can try to ignore the growing chorus of frogs making a racket in the background, you can even try to kill them off. But in the end, who’s lying dead on the floor next to his overturned wheelchair, and who’s smugly hopping around on his corpse? I won’t say because I don’t want to spoil anything but after you watch the movie I think you will understand what I mean.


All this is kinda getting away from the fact that this is a ridiculous and terrible movie, which is pretty hard to deny. The acting isn’t a disaster, though; Elliott has a confident, reserved cool which makes his non-character seem compelling, and Milland is making at least a small amount of effort, or anyway more than one would expect from one of these late-career roles from former A-listers where they play a character in a wheelchair so they don’t have to stand up while shooting. But aside from some pretty nature photography (rendered in glorious blu-ray in the most recent Scream Factory! release) there’s not really much entertainment value to be had here. It’s not even really outrageous enough to be enjoyably campy, it’s just pretty dull (unless you suffer from a particular phobia of the fauna of Northern Florida wetlands, in which case this is probably far too horrifying for you to enjoy anyway).




Still, its little allegorical touches are interesting enough that it’s not a total wash, especially given the film’s ambiguous apocalyptic implication -- is this happening everywhere? “I still believe man is master of this world” Milland says. “Does that mean he can’t live in harmony with the rest of it?” Elliott returns. A pretty bold subtext for a schlocky killer frog lizard movie. Maybe someday, someone will make a good one. Until then, the best I can offer is the suggestion that you stick to the end of the credits to finally see an (inexplicably animated) frog actually eat someone. It’s not easy being green.



CHAINSAWNUKAH 2016 CHECKLIST!
Good Kill Hunting


ALIAS
Released mostly just as “FROGS” in various languages, though the West German title helpfully explains, “Frogs - Killer aus dem Sumpf” ie, “FROGS: KILLERS FROM THE SWAMP.” You know, in case you didn’t know where frogs come from.
TAGLINE
Today The Pond… Tomorrow The World! Which is inaccurate in two ways, first of all since the movie implies that they are probably taking over the world today, and also because it makes the movie seem much more funny and self-aware than it actually is.
TITLE ACCURACY
One of the most accurate titles in history.
LITERARY ADAPTATION?
No
SEQUEL?
No
REMAKE?
None, alas
COUNTRY OF ORIGIN
USA
HORROR SUB-GENRE
When Animals Attack!
SLUMMING A-LISTER?
Ray Milland; Elliott was not yet famous (and only 28 at the time) but in retrospect he definitely counts. Incidentally, his shirtless scenes here earned him his subsequent role in LIFEGUARD, so at least you got that waiting for you.
BELOVED HORROR ICON?
Milland probably did enough horror films to count, although I’m sure he’d prefer to be remembered for his actual good films.
NUDITY?
Just the frogs, though Elliott does have a couple beefcake topless scenes
SEXUAL ASSAULT?
None
WHEN ANIMALS ATTACK!
Oh mercy yes
GHOST/ ZOMBIE / HAUNTED BUILDING?
No
POSSESSION?
No
CREEPY DOLLS?
None
EVIL CULT?
No
MADNESS?
No
TRANSMOGRIFICATION?
None
VOYEURISM?
I think all that frog footage is definitely supposed to make us think the frogs are always watching us.
MORAL OF THE STORY
That swamp that Kermit was in at the beginning of THE MUPPET MOVIE was way more hardcore than "The Rainbow Connection" lets on.


Wednesday, October 8, 2014

Dead of Night


Dead of Night (1945)
Dir. Cavalcanti, Charles Crichton, Basil Dearden, Robert Hamer
Written by John Baines, Angus McPhail
Starring Mervyn Johns, Roland Culver, Googie Withers, Frederick Valk, Basil Radford, Naunton Wayne, Michael Redgrave

"A Thriller... THE CRITICS HUGGED IT!" .....wut?

This one turns out to be a very early anthology horror film, I had assumed maybe the very first one but apparently the tradition goes back at least to 1919, with Richard Oswald’s EERIE TALES that year and Paul Leni’s classic WAXWORKS in 1924. No problem, it doesn’t have to be a pioneer to be a classic, it just has to be good. And this one surely fits that bill. If the concept of a horror anthology was already old hat by 1945, well, that just serves to make this one more ambitious, incorporating a clever framing story which both informs the segments and focuses the whole affair. Four directors tackling different segments might sound like a recipe for inconsistency and tonal swings --and indeed, it is-- but somehow everything still manages to feel fluid and well-paced. Yup, this one is pretty great.


The story begins with milquetoast architect Walter Craig (Mervyn Johns, Bob Cratchit in the Alistair Slim 1951 SCROOGE) arriving at a country house party, where he insists he’s familiar with the guests (despite having never met them before) due to a prophetic dream he’s been having over and over. The guests, led by skeptical Teutonic psychologist (is there any other kind?) van Straaten (Frederick Valk), attempt to test his story by asking for his predictions and by sharing their own tales of the supernatural. OK, that doesn’t sound like the most surefire thriller plot (British people in sitting rooms talking about dreams? How does this not have a sequel yet?!), but Johns’ harried and paranoid performance helps carry it past the somewhat repetitive and chatty structure while we wait for things to get good.

The Scooby Gang

And they do get good, but you’ve gotta wait a bit. The first segment, based on an E.F. Benson short story and directed by Basil Dearden (KHARTOUM, THE MAN WHO HAUNTED HIMSELF), has a serviceable atmosphere but is over rather abruptly before it has time to do much building. The second tale, by Brazilian director (Alberto) Cavalcanti is worse, a meandering anticlimax with an irritating performance from a very young Sally Anne Howes (CHITTY CHITTY BANG BANG). But things start to get better with Robert Hamer’s (KING OF HEARTS AND CORONETS) haunted mirror sequence. The sublimely named Googie Withers (“let me Googie that for you,” you’d say in a much happier world) holds the thing together, and the fairly standard possessed possession story is treated seriously, with a surprisingly intense build. It’s pure Twilight Zone, of course, but in what world is that a bad thing? A slow, classy setup with a light dusting of clever effects followed by an ironic payoff will never get old, especially when it’s packed into a slim but effective 10 minutes or so.


But all that is merely prelude to the final two sequences. The first, directed by Charles Crichton (A FISH CALLED WANDA!?) is an unexpectedly hilarious story about two golfing obsessives (Basil Radford, Naunton Wayne) who decide that the winner of a golf match should get to marry the girl they both fancy (she’s so content in her role as an agency-free object that she cheerfully accepts this arrangement). When one golfer loses and obligingly drowns himself in the water hazard, his friend thinks he has it made… until the spirit, realizing he’s been cheated, comes back to fuck with his only true achilles heel: his golf handicap. Radford and Wayne are a hilarious mismatched duo --Radford is all bluster and gut, While Wayne’s slight frame and hangdog mug makes him the perfect victim-- and the segment is packed with goofy slapstick and fun concepts. Ordinarily, one would think a broad comic segment in the middle of an otherwise quite seriously ominous horror film would derail everything (TUSK, looking at you) but somehow it doesn’t; the humor here is so delightful that in fact it energizes the film and sets us up beautifully for the capstone segment. Horror and humor are not always the most comfortable bedfellows, but maybe this segment is cause to reconsider if there’s a fundamental reason for this apparent conflict or if it’s simply that horror directors usually aren’t this good at (intentional) comedy, and so their attempts don’t work as well.

Finally, a movie that understands that no human concept is as terrifying as golf.

The final sequence is the most famous one, with Michael Redgrave (classy shit) and Hartley Powell (ROMAN HOLIDAY) as two famed ventriloquists, caught between the affections of a sociopathic dummy. This segment --interestingly directed by Cavalcanti, who also did the worst sequence here-- is an unmitigated classic, a sweaty, uncomfortable descent into insecurity, madness and violence. Even an unlooked-for musical sequence (I guess a studio requirement in those days) can’t derail what turns out to be a tense tale of a dummy who is getting a little too aggressive for everyone’s good. In many ways, this segment is an obvious template followed by every subsequent evil doll movie, most obviously the excellent 1978 MAGIC with Anthony Hopkins, but also pretty much everything from The Twilight Zone to Goosebumps to Batman (the evil ventriloquist mobster Scarface is a logical extension of Redgrave’s disturbed pupeteer) to PSYCHO, whose slim, mildly mannered (protagonist?) has quite a lot in common with Redgrave here.


Obviously, this had to be absolutely brain-meltingly terrifying to audiences seeing it for the first time in 1945, but even with the better part of a century of ripoffs and boundary-pushing between us and DEAD OF NIGHT, this story is still startlingly intense. Director Cavalcanti drapes everything in harsh film noir bright lights and deep blacks, and always seems to find an angle to turn the grimy, claustrophobic sets into something alien and unsettling. But it’s really Redgrave as ventriloquist Maxwell Frere who walks away with this one; his sweaty desperation and ratcheting panic are so palpable that you can’t help but buy into his crazy worldview. Juxtaposing him with self-assured, masculine American Powell (as visiting ventriloquist Sylvester Kee) is equally a stroke of genius: Kee is a friendly, utterly confident guy, he genuinely has no reason or desire to compete with effete, insecure Frere. But in a way that may be the problem; he feels pity for the poor man instead of fear, and it may be a mistake that will cost him dearly. And am I wrong to see a subterranean sexual element here? Frere’s self-hatred is projected through his dummy, but what’s the deal with his intense fixation on Kee? Is it mere coincidence that the dummy turns up in his bed? Actor Redgrave certainly struggled with concealing his bisexuality during his own life, and I can’t help but feel a little of his own self-disgust and horror at his lack of self-control simmering beneath the surface here.

Once, just once, I'd like to see a movie with a Ventriloquist that ISN'T evil, he's just helpful and well-balanced and has a unique talent that he enjoys sharing. Wouldn't that blow your mind?

The Dummy sequence is the film’s high point, but it’s not quite the end: Most of these anthology films have framing stories which end with a clever twist or a bit of irony to tie things up, but here the ambition is a little stronger. You see, the quiet tension that’s been almost imperceptibly building from Johns’ certainty that he’s seen all this before and knows something bad will come from it finally erupts to the surface at the end. The long low-key ambiguity of the framing story is suddenly shattered by an absolutely nightmarish finale, a surreal hellscape populated by cameos from all the preceding segments but tied together in a fever dream of persecution and terror. This end segment is simply stunning, and obviously an influence on every subsequent work of psychedelic horror, where a director finally abandons all logic in favor of a mishmash of frightening imagery, finally bypassing any reason and hitting you right in your subconscious. But again, it’s not just that this is influential -- it’s that this is good. Way better, for example, than the end of Rob Zombie’s LORDS OF SALEM which is obviously trying for the same thing (but with more masturbating baghead bishops, something I did not notice in DEAD OF NIGHT for whatever reason).

When all’s said and done, the movie even manages a nifty little coda which suggests something else about the possibly cyclic nature of the storyline. After all the terror, the only thing that could make it worse is to remind us of the awful inevitability of it all. It adds up to a movie that Martin Scorsese called one of the 11 scariest movies of all time* and I gotta say, I was really fuckin' impressed by. Obviously a huge influence on other horror movies which followed it, this still really stands the test of time as a imaginative and scary movie in its own right. Curiously, none of the directors who worked on it seem to have done any other horror movies that I can find; they weren’t genre directors, just talented Ealing studios regulars who did this one masterpiece and then moved on to other stuff. Apparently during the war years in England horror films were actually banned, and it wasn’t until the late 50’s when Hammer began its classic run that the genre would really come back into style. But at least here, for a brisk 102 minutes, English horror reach a genuine high-water mark.


*of course, he also directed SHUTTER ISLAND, so what does he know?



CHAINSAWNUKAH 2014 CHECKLIST!

The Hunt For Dread October


  • LITERARY ADAPTATION: A few, from E. F. Benson and H.G. Welles (who I guess wrote the golfing story? What a world!)
  • SEQUEL: Is DYLAN DOG: DEAD OF NIGHT a sequel? Anyone seen that?
  • REMAKE: There's a 1977 anthology called DEAD OF NIGHT, but it doesn't seem to have any plot elements in common with this one. Also 1972's DEATHDREAM is also sometimes called DEAD OF NIGHT, but it doesn't have any connection either. So.... no?
  • FOREIGNER: Yup, British Import.
  • FOUND-FOOTAGE CLUSTERFUCK: No
  • SLUMMING A-LISTER: Redgrave? As far as I can tell it was his only horror movie.
  • BELOVED HORROR ICON: None.
  • BOOBIES: None.
  • SEXUAL ASSAULT: None.
  • DISMEMBERMENT PLAN: No dismemberment.
  • HAUNTED HOUSE: Haunted mirror for sure. There is a ghost who lives in a house in one segment, but I dunno if that's the same as a haunted house.
  • MONSTER: Alas, despite the cool poster there's no giant bat.
  • THE UNDEAD: Ghost child.
  • POSSESSION: Yeah, from the possessed mirror dealie, and maybe the dummy too.
  • SLASHER/GIALLO: No.
  • PSYCHO KILLERS (Non-slasher variety): Nah.
  • EVIL CULT: None.
  • (UNCANNY) VALLEY OF THE DOLLS: Evil dummy.
  • TRANSMOGRIFICATION: Nope.
  • OBSCURITY LEVEL: Low, deservedly beloved classic.
  • MORAL OF THE STORY: If you think something terrible is going to happen, get the fuck out of there and don't sit around listening to a bunch of British people prattle on about it.
  • TITLE ACCURACY: Uh... low, I guess. Most of it takes place during the daytime... or does it?!?
  • ALEX MADE IT THROUGH AWAKE: Alas, no.