analogzombie Blog

oh god george

analogzombie — Fri, 18 Jul 2008 15:12:30 GMT

For someone like myself, a zombie film lover and Romero devotee, this film was a hope that the wayward Land of the Dead would not be the final chapter in Romero's zombie bible. It's a good thing then that Dawn of the Dead stands on such a high pedestal that it is unlikely to be dethroned, ever. Diary of the Dead is a major disappointment. The film definitely carries the style that seemed interesting and quirky in Martin, and was flat out unnerving in Day of the Dead. It does feel like a Romero film. Even Land of the Dead had his signature opn it, although somewhat diminished and washed off. Unfortunately that's about all this film has going for it.

Romero is not the best director by far. That issue is not really open for debate. What he does well is to create a mood, a feeling, an environment that seems plausible and beleiveable. He brings horror into the real world. Diary of the Dead does attempt to do this. The college students, the cranky professor, the world gone out of control, it's just that the performances are often so bad no information is conveyed tot he audience. He never grounds the apocalypse in our world. It never hits home, because he we never truly see the outside world excpet through the lens of a new programs, and radio declarations. Unlike Dawn of the Dead in which the survivors isolate themselves fromt he world, ROmero begins Diary of the Dead witht he characters already isolated. There isn't a sense of something they are running from. Instead they are moving towards the world and their families. This desire to connect is at the core of Romero's social commentary in the is film, but it never resonates.

I understand that he's exploring the world of self-centered media, MySpace, YouTube, blogs, but it appears that Romero is too old, too much a part of a different media ethic, to have anything truly important to say. Romero came of age as a commercial editor at a time when the news was shot on 16mm. Night of the Living Dead was a film he piece meal with borrowed and left over goods. The concepts at work here are just not fully fleshed out. It's also obvious that the man is very disconnected from the youth he seeks to portray in this film. Their clothes, mannerisms, and motivations seem half-hearted and unreal. Some of that is due to the relatively poor acting, but there is no excuse to put someone in Buddy Holly glasses to show he's a nerdy hipster in 2007. Unfortunately Diary of the Dead seems closer to Romero's more forgettable works like Bruiser, than to his past zombie masterpieces.

Manda Bala

analogzombie — Sun, 13 Jul 2008 22:25:31 GMT

Is a cold blooded gangster capable of becoming Robin Hood? When a government fails its people, does kidnapping the rich and holding them for ransom qualify as barbaric? Does a Senator who embezzles billions of dollars, yet manages to use their connections to escape justice deserve to remain in power if his people will it so? Manda Bala (Send a Bullet) is a look into a society that is in near collapse. It’s politicians look out only for themselves. The good and noble of the system run into numerous road blocks in their vain attempts to hold those in power accountable. The poor see no future except for crime. The middle class view the whole situation as somehow fated, and the upper middle class are looking to protect themselves by any means available through their privilege. Such is modern Brazil. From The City of God to Favela Rising, tales of the woes of the Brazilian people have become bankable subject matter. Manda Bala hones in on one very specific issue and uses that national experience to illuminate the lives of a cross section of modern society in Sao Paulo.

Jader Barbalho, a powerful senator from the impoverished area of Para, is the core focus of Jason Kohn’s film. Barbalho came to power by dominating his region through the control of radio, television, and other media outlets. By bribing the populace with food, building materials and medical goods, he has found a way to maintain his position. In the late 1980’s Brazil developed a plan to help the poorest of it’s citizens. SUDAM was to be a grand investment project that would develop homegrown industries and small businesses with the intention of braking the cycle of poverty. The money never filtered down to the people that needed it. Through an elaborate series of faux companies, and laundering fronts, Jader Barbalho managed to steal over $2 billion in the course of a decade. Many of the companies Jader was responsible for investing the government’s money into only existed on paper. Others, like the frog farm the film spends a lot of time with, were fronts. Actually costing only $300,000, Barbalho pumped nearly $3 million into it.

In a country in which elected officials are protected from prosecution in criminal courts can anyone expect someone like Jader Barbalho not to become a bandit? So to in such a place, can one honestly expect the poor and disenfranchised slum dwellers not to turn the tables on the rich and create a cottage industry out of kidnapping? These are the ideas Manda Bala raises. Through interviews with representatives from every facet of society Kohn explores the topic. Special police who have lost faith in their work, rich men who hide in bulletproof cars, judges who can only laugh at the state of events, and kidnappers using their ill gotten gains to build waterlines and health clinics in the slums, the film delves into the heart of their motivations and desperations. It is truly a sad state of affairs, but Manda Bala never over reaches itself. The film never proposes any answers. It merely shines a light on one of the greatest financial scandals in modern politics.

It’s clear that Kohn is styling his film after the social conscious and entertaining films of Errol Morris. While he does capture the flow of Morris’ narrative, and the maestro’s penchant for colorful characters, one thing is missing from Kohn’s effort, namely the entertainment. While Manda Bala is insightful, sometimes humorous, and very timely, it manages to be bland for long stretches. The use of voiceover translation works in places, but more often than not, the speaker would have been better served by more traditional subtitles. It seems that translators weren’t always available as there are parts of the film in which subtitles are used exclusively. The immediacy of the images and body language of the interviewees are better conveyed in this fashion, and Kohn would have done better to stick to this method. It is the sometimes disjointed nature of speaker to translator, cut to imagery and stock footage, and then back to speaker and translator that can bring a sense of urgency to the translation that is not met by Kohn. It is these languid pauses of information that are Manda Bala’s greatest misstep.

Slight misgivings aside, the film works. It works amazingly well. It would have been easy, and familiar, for the filmmakers to present the SUDAM scandal in a PBS style. The engaging personal interviews, rich South American color palette, and countless instances of humor work to disarm the viewer and give pause between revelations. Sometimes these pauses lean on the boring, but when they are executed well the effect is subtle. Between laughs the absolute terror and exasperation of all those involved begins to sink in. Understanding what happened is one thing, understanding the circumstances that would allow such a thing to occur, is different, and much more important. Director Jason Kohn manages to pull all his loose threads into a coherent and comprehensive look at the ills of a society in which the SUDAM scandal could happen.

Silver Screen Spook Show at the Plaza Atlanta

analogzombie — Sat, 28 Jun 2008 18:51:09 GMT

Atlanta's Plaza Theatre has gone through a lot of changes over the past couple years. It has emerged from under the LaFont umbrella to become the city's only truly independent cinema. Showcasing the world premiere of the Aqua Teen movie, special screenings of Hot Fuz complete with Simon Pegg appearance, are just its most visible PR events. the true meat of the theatre is its series of pure B movie goodness. From thei Splatter CInema eventsshowing films like "Class of Nuke'em High", to the Summer Camp screenings of "Barbarella" and "Xanadu".

For me, the best has to be their Silver Screen Spook Shows with onstage performances akin to the Ghoulardi, Shock CInema, or Elvira late night TV weirdness. Tonight (June 28th) is yet another. This time the feature is Forbidden Planet. Although it's not a personal favorite, I'm sure the Plaza will live up to its reputation.

You're Gonna Miss Me

analogzombie — Wed, 11 Jun 2008 14:02:28 GMT

The 13^th Floor Elevators are one of those bands you know, even if you aren’t aware of it. Emerging from Austin, Texas in the 1960’s, before it was the absolute Mecca of North American Independent Music, the band quickly rose to prominence in the turbulent landscape of San Francisco. Holding down dates at the Filmore, the 13^th floor Elevators helped to craft and define what we know today as Psychedelic Rock. Like most movements, adherence to the philosophies espoused by those at the center of the height Ashbury scene required a little give and take. In this sense, the band, and lead singer Roky Erickson, took all the LSD they could find. After all the pioneers of psychedelia, who would be massive influence on everyone from Janis Joplin to the Beach Boys had to practice what they preached. As Kevin McAlester sees it, this massive drug use, while not the supreme cause of Roky’s decent, was the point at which it all began to fall apart.

“You’re Gonna Miss Me” is not so much a rock biography, as a portrait of Schizophrenia. It just so happens that in this instance the man in question is not just a nameless face at the bus stop, or a haggard pan handler. He happens to be one the most influential rock musicians of the last fifty years. If anything McAlester forces us to rethink our perceptions of the men tally ill, and homeless, by giving this, decidedly ragamuffin, character a history.

Filmed in 2004 and 2005, the film finds Roky living in Austin, completely removed from his music, and trapped in his psychosis. His mother is his primary caretaker who seems to indulge his neurotic whims. She has her own personal psychological demons to deal with. It’s obvious that Roky’s mom is the seat of a lot of the instability in the lives of her children. Her ramshackle abode mirrors his own. The scattered trash and clothes of their homes is a reflection of their cluttered minds. In one of the most poignant scenes of the film, Roky comes home to take a nap. He wanders from noise emitting electronic device, to noise emitting electronic device finally coming to rest in a recliner. As he places dark sunglasses over his face the hum, buzz and whine of innumerable televisions, radios and oscillators fill the air. To this cacophony he announces “Okay, I’m taking a nap now.” His mother merely slips out the front door, leaving her son without medication.

Fortunately for Roky, the rest of the family does not feel the same way. While many of his siblings have led self-destructive lives in the wake of his success, Roky’s youngest brother, Sumner, has emerged from strange upbringing to be a member of the Pittsburgh Philharmonic and moderately well-rounded. About halfway through, the film becomes Sumner’s story, as he attempts to wrest control of Roky from his mother. While this would seem a perfect chance to take the documentary into an exploration of a family coming apart, McAlester instead focuses on the healing that a life with Sumner can offer Roky. This is precisely the type of narrative choice that elevates this film beyond an HBO special.

The film nuances the real characters of Roky, Sumner, and their mother without ever feeling like it’s openly mocking them. These are very eccentric people, all of them. There are a few instances in which you can’t help but laugh at them, but these are always of their own creation. You get a sense that the director’s camera was just lucky to catch them at these moments.

One can only imagine the amount of time it took for the Erickson’s to open up to the film crew. In the film a British rock writer who is working on a biography of the band visits Roky. It’s obvious that he has been working closely with the other members of the Elevators. He fails to illicit even the tiniest bit of confidence from his subject though. Of course his time with him was brief, and McAlester must have spent months, if not years with Roky. It is this dedication to his subject that ultimately comes through in “You’re Gonna Miss Me”. The film is as deep a portrait of a tortured soul as has ever been committed to film.

Summer Palace

analogzombie — Tue, 06 May 2008 04:45:13 GMT

A glow hangs over Lou Ye’s “Summer Palace” like that of your best memories. Ostensibly a college coming of age story for a young girl from the country set against the back drop of late 80’s Tiananmen Square Beijing, the swimmy story and dreamlike images conjure more a feeling freedom than of oppression. I suppose this strikes just the right tone then, for something so subversively political as to get banned by the Chinese government. Still, the politics don’t enter until late in the game, and the bulk of Ye’s film is concerned with the ups and downs of Yu Hong (Hao Lei) and her relationships. From a first encounter before leaving for college to the semi-mature love of Zhou Wei yet more lovers, Yu stumbles as she navigates her way into womanhood.
    The film is seen entirely through the lens of Yu Hong. As her love life begins to implode the student movement begins to explode. The ramping up of her emotions mirror the growing fervor with which each rally is engaged. With the arrival of her long forgotten first love, Xiao Jun, the film, like Yu Hong, begins to grow dizzy and impatient. It’s almost as if the writing is on the wall and everyone knows how these, seemingly innocent, protests will end. Even as the tension mounts the director keeps the police from view, maintaining a very closed world for his characters. Seen as abstract jeep lights, and heard as gun shots, before they are ever shown, the forces of the government emerge as other worldly beings. Totally out of place with the rest of the film.
    Their political revolt is more a celebration of youth than anything else. The insular world created by Beijing University cannot stand up to the reality of Chinese social order and the Communist Party. At least this is what is implied by the film, though I feel much deeper roots lie in the edges of Ye‘s narrative, Yu Hong at least, is not actively seeking them.
    Like the rest of China, Yu must go on, and this initial section is but a slice from her life. It makes up the most defining aspect of her character, but is just when you expect some kind of historical document to emerge from the script that it jumps about 10 years. Suddenly we find her in Wuhan, older, more stable, but still dreaming of her past love, Zhou Wei.
    Much talk has been made about the film’s frank sex scenes. They lack both the erotic realism of something like Winterbottom’s “9 Songs”, and the soft focus bi-curiosity of Bertolucci’s “The Dreamers”. Instead Ye presents his scenes as real and tender encounters that break through the idea that sex is easy, or hard, or boring, or steamy. It just is, and Ye finds a way to show it to us in all its exciting banality.
    What Summer Palace captures so perfectly is not social unrest, but college and the transition into adulthood. That time when the world is completely open, yet everything seems so clear and defined. We are right, they are wrong, I love him, He loves me and love is all we need. It’s all very Beatles. With the onset of Yu Hong’s late twenties, everything becomes a bit more clear as her life comes into focus. The film retains it’s dreamlike quality though as Hong’s thoughts drift constantly to her time in college. This time too, is stuck in our minds, as it Ye ensures that it’s glow filters our perception of what lies ahead. Summer Palace is an accomplished and ethereal film, even if the voice over can be too much at times.

They call us the Wolfpack, they call us UNITED FRONT!

analogzombie — Tue, 25 Mar 2008 04:58:31 GMT

I may have grown up a continent away and a decade removed from the events in This Is England, but I know a few things about skin culture. Obviously, so does Shane Meadows. He captures the turmoil of working class 80's Britain and the rivalry between the two Skin factions; Primarily the more militant and zenophobic National Front and what would become the SHARPs (Skinheads Against Racial Prejudice). The SHARPs were a direct reaction to the ferocious racism and nazi iconography that crept into the scene.

All of this is neatly contained within a poignant and touching coming of age story. A proper follow up to Dead Man's Shoes, This Is England is an illuminating window into a neglected facet of English society. The film is about a fight for the soul of Britain, told through the fight for the soul a young fatherless boy. A grand achievement.

Africa Unite: A Celebration of Bod Marley's Vision

analogzombie — Fri, 14 Mar 2008 22:04:14 GMT

    I’ve always been more of a Peter Tosh or Burning Spear fan than that of Bob Marley. My leanings are much more political and rebellious than Marley’s later work, but I still appreciate his music and impact on global culture. His earlier, more militant efforts for black unity and self reliance were the breeding ground of his better music, and it is this music that is celebrated in Arfrica Unite. This is precisely why I think Marley is rolling in his grave now. Ziggy Marley and some of the other Marley children have been aping their father’s visage for years now, and it continues here. Profit is the order of the day complete with Coca-Cola ads and celebrities like Danny Glover. It’s actually sickening.
   Having seen the Melody Makers live (basically a rotating band of Bob‘s offspring), I can say that Ziggy is the best copy of his father the family has produced. The revolting and shameful acts of siblings Damian and Julian are pale imitations of their father, while Ziggy has, at least somewhat, attempted to branch out on his own. It is regrettable then, that in Africa Unite, they are all here covering songs in front of massive projections of stock Marley clips, instead of showcasing the music that owes so much debt to their father. The music plays second fiddle, though, to the social aims of director Stephanie Black. She basically uses it as score, and periodically cuts back the bands in performance to remind us that this is a concert film after all. The film is more a tour diary of a Pan-African Unity traveling concert conducted in Marley’s name, than anything else, and the music is quickly left behind.
   Besides the concert footage the film features respected historians and African political figures espousing why his music and words resonate with the African people. It becomes quite funny to glimpse some white faces in the crowd. Sporting Rasta hats and dreads, the descendents of the oppressors do not seem to notice their own hypocrisy. This is the only humor the film has to offer though, as it sticks to a very slapdash editing style emphasizing the gravity of the material.
   The concert footage is juxtaposed with interviews of modern African youths and legends of Rasta culture and Jamaican music. The interviews with the people that were there then are mostly excellent. Former members of the Wailers and other musicians provide a nice touchstone for people unfamiliar with the political history behind reggae. The young people, on the other hand, seem totally oblivious to most of the larger meanings that the filmmakers and concert promoters are claiming to be reaching towards. It is telling that half a world away most of these kids seem like they could be from Philadelphia, LA, NYC, or Chicago. They belong to a more modern youth culture, one very dissimilar to that of the heyday of Jamaican reggae. Because of this, their sections seem disjointed, and don’t fit well within the larger context of the film.
   One aspect that does work is the copious use of stock footage with Ken Burns Jr. style narration. These pieces illuminate the real struggle that some fought for, and their lost opportunities. Filmmaker Stephanie Black even goes further to splice a few bits of film from the perspective of the Afrikaners and the British who dominated much of the continent. These clips dovetail with the narrated sections to show the true depth of oppression that Africans lived under and the legacy they are trying to shed .
   It is too bad then that the film is ultimately undone by the heavy handed, and often naïve, talk of the Marley children, and Rita Marley (Bob’s widow), in particular. To hear them, you might think that Bob Marley was a liberating political figure who through sheer will and force of personality was going to bring peace and freedom to all the world. The sad reality is that Marley has been reduced to a low rent Che Guevara. He will be forever relegated to the t-shirts and posters that upper middle class white American college students use to adorn their dorm rooms. In the end that does his music a disservice. “Africa Unite: A Celebration of Bob Marley’s Vision” reaches high, but falls so short.

ancient Japanese secret

analogzombie — Sat, 19 Jan 2008 18:57:18 GMT

I just received the excellent new Eclipse Kurosawa collection. Kurosawa was my passport to Japanese film. I'm sure I saw Seven Samurai at some point, but the first time I became aware of one his films was in 2002 during the traveling retrospective at the High Museum here in Atlanta. SInce then I've devoured every Kurosawa book and Criterion release. So much so that Donald RItchie has become a personal hero.

For the longest time Kurosawa's early works have remained almost unavailable here in the States. Reading about Scandal In The FIlms of Akira Kurosawa, or importing The Idiot is all well and good but to have the chance to own the five pre-Drunken Angel films that formed Kurosawa's bedrock is a dream come true.

Neil Marshall's Doomsday

analogzombie — Thu, 17 Jan 2008 18:59:37 GMT

I love Neil Marshall, i really do, well not in that way. Having made Dog Soldiers and The Descent, he's shown himself to be able to take all the best stuff from B-grade monster suspense movies and infuse them with characters you might actually give a damn about.

Dog Soldiers is about a group of British Army guys who are sent out on a mission into the deep woods. Only it turns out that they are bait for a family of werewolves. Cut off and alone in a rural farmhouse they have to fight to survive,

The Descent is about a group of spelunking girlfirends who find themselves trapped in an extensive and uncharted cave system in North Carolina. Cut off from the world they must fight to survive against a family of pre-human cave creatures.

Doomsday is about a plague that sweeps the UK. The survivors are secluded in a walled in Scotland to await their death. 25 years later the plague is back and some of those in the Scottish quarantine zone are still alive, apparently immune. In an effort to find the cure, a team of British special forces moves into the Quarantine zone. Cutoff and alone they must fight to survive against a band of Mad Max-a-likes.

I know, Marshall keeps making the same movie over and over, but I prefer to think of it as refinement. After all, Rohmer made the same movie forever, as does Scorsese, and any real autuer. I can't tell from the trailer how Marshall this new one is going to be, as it looks like a Bloodrayne sequel or something on that level. However, all of his films have been hard to categorize based solely on the trailer. I love Mad Max Beyond Thunderdome, at least before the lost boys show up. So if this film blends that astehetic with Marshall's trademark, band of survivors against impossible odds, Doomsday could be a schloky fest for the ages.

Trailer here.

A haunted house movie for the art cinema set.

analogzombie — Mon, 14 Jan 2008 05:43:34 GMT

Finally, a film that is genuinely creepy, that isn't Asian, and doesn't rely on gore or blood. It does cover the jump scare pretty well, but it's mood is so well maintained throughout that I'll forgive it that minor horror convention. It's one of the best ghost movies in a year with several other notably understated freak outs (the Mist, 1408). I wonder what sort of condition the project was in when Guillermo Del Toro got involved? His name definitely carries weight, it is the only reason it's gotten any kind of major release here in the States, after all. Or maybe it isn't, I'll have to look into that.

Suffice to say, you could find a lot worse ways to spend your movie money.