John Dies at the End

(2012) Written and Directed by Don Coscarelli; Based on the novel by David Wong; Starring: Chase Williamson, Rob Mayes, Paul Giamatti, Clancy Brown and Glynn Turman; 

Available on Blu-ray, DVD and Netflix Streaming

Rating: ***

“Do the bees know that they make the honey for you, or do they work tirelessly because they think it is their own choice?” – Roger North (Doug Jones)

If a movie had ever been custom-tailored for the cult movie crowd, John Dies at the End would be it.  Too esoteric and unconventional for the multiplex set, it was never destined for mass acceptance.  Judging by the ubiquitous banner ads that appeared on various movie websites over the past several months, John Dies at the End was aimed squarely at audiences that would flock to the film, based solely on its geek credentials.  Starting with a pay-per-view release that prefaced its theatrical release, the film didn’t exactly set the world on fire, with its tepid reviews and poor box office showing.  But Don Coscarelli has a built-in audience, myself included, who find his movies a welcome respite from the usual big-budget, story-by-committee dreck that the Hollywood blockbuster factory normally turns out.

Combining elements of Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas with The Stuff, John Dies at the End concerns a mysterious, addictive substance, known as Soy Sauce, which heightens senses and opens doors to parallel worlds.  Its effects on users is permanent, leaving them with the ability to perceive what has remained shrouded from the rest of the world.  Writer/director Coscarelli explored similar themes in his Phantasm series, which frequently blurred the line between reality and fantasy.

Coscarelli’s script, based on David Wong’s (aka: Cracked contributor Jason Pargin) hallucinatory novel of the same name, seems underdeveloped, with weak lead characterizations and a lack of focus.  The protagonists, millennial slackers Dave (Chase Williamson) and John (Rob Mayes) make Bill and Ted seem nuanced by comparison. Williamson and Mayes do the best they can with their underwritten characters.  Neither character possesses a distinct personality; both appear more or less interchangeable.  They simply drift from one predicament to another, manipulated by the whims of the otherworldly Soy Sauce.  The clever dialogue, peppered throughout the film, is clearly the script’s greatest asset.

Another high point is the excellent character actor work.  Glynn Turman stands out in a small but memorable role as the no-nonsense Detective Lawrence Appleton, who’s determined to eradicate the Soy Sauce and its detrimental effects.  Paul Giamatti (who shared executive producer credits with Coscarelli’s father Dac and Daniel Carey) is also noteworthy, as skeptical feature reporter Arnie.  And be sure to watch for a nice little cameo by Coscarelli regular Angus Scrimm as Father Shellnut.

After watching John Dies at the End, I was left with the impression that Coscarelli either didn’t go far enough or should have shown a little more restraint.  I tend to favor the second assertion.  The film suffers in comparison to Coscarelli’s previous feature, Bubba Ho-Tep, which successfully walked the  line between outlandish and poignant.  Even with its wild conspiracy theories and absurd premise, Bubba Ho-Tep managed to keep everything together, thanks to a clarity of vision and adhering to its own set of rules.  The rules, if they exist in John Dies at the End, do not seem to apply.  Random stuff happens frequently, and nothing seems connected.  Because of the film’s dissociative, sporadic nature, it’s more about the parts than the whole.  There are some undeniably fun bits trapped within this jumbled mess.  It’s hard not to laugh when David eschews his cellphone, in favor of a bratwurst, to speak to his recently deceased friend John.  While the climax is a little ho-hum, I have to give the film points for the final scene, and the ironic payoff. 

Misgivings aside, it’s virtually impossible for me to dislike John Dies at the End. Coscarelli shot for the stars, even if he barely made it out of the clouds.  He made a sincere effort to show us something that hadn’t been seen, throwing as much weird shit at the screen as possible and seeing what stuck.  Yes, the film is wildly inconsistent, but that describes Coscarelli’s filmography.  His overall body of work, while rough around the edges, frequently delivers more than we get from lesser directors with bigger budgets.  Even if the final results are a trifle underwhelming, it’s a crazy enough ride, well worth your time.  Unlike its main characters, however, don’t expect John Dies at the End to change your life.

In Memoriam: Ray Harryhausen

“I think the whole point of any fantasy film is to stretch the imagination, because when one lives in a dream world like me, it’s always ‘what if this could happen?’”

– Ray Harryhausen (excerpt from Monsters in the Movies by John Landis)

Frequent visitors to this blog are likely aware of my professed admiration for the work of special effects pioneer Ray Harryhausen, who passed away today at the age of 92.  I previously discussed his painstaking stop-motion technique in films such as Mighty Joe Young and The 7^th Voyage of Sinbad, which has directly inspired many gifted individuals in the special effects industry, including Dennis Muren, the Chiodo brothers, and Henry Selick.  Although Harryhausen’s last feature film, Clash of the Titans (1981), was completed more than 30 years ago, he continued to spark the imagination of fantasy film enthusiasts and effects professionals throughout his lifetime.  His legacy arguably resides in the DNA of many (if not all) of the creature effects animators who have followed in his footsteps.

To modern-day audiences, his stop-motion effects might appear archaic or quaint, but that’s missing the point.  They possess a warm, handcrafted quality that can’t be matched by sterile computer-generated imagery.  Harryhausen singlehandedly animated his creations, meticulously employing slight adjustments frame by frame, to create the illusion of movement.  He always added a special touch to each of his creations, imbuing them with distinctly idiosyncratic personalities.  He often performed miracles working with shoestring budgets, depicting the destruction of the Washington Monument by a flying saucer in Earth vs. the Flying Saucers (which received a direct, ironically CGI nod in Tim Burton’s Mars Attacks) and an assault on the Golden Gate Bridge by a giant octopus (minus two tentacles).

It would be virtually impossible for me to single out one of Harryhausen’s brilliant creations as my personal favorite.  Some highlights are: the Ymir from 20 Million Miles to Earth, the intricately staged battle with skeleton warriors in Jason and the Argonauts, the titular beast in Mighty Joe Young, and the wonderful dragon from the aforementioned The 7^th Voyage of Sinbad.  Ray Harryhausen was all about possibilities; bringing life to creatures that never existed, yet making us believe that they somehow could have.  His contributions to film remain a treasure trove for the imagination – a lasting gift for all who wish to nourish our childlike sense of wonder.

April Quick Picks and Pans – 30s Edition

The Clairvoyant (1935) Claude Rains stars in this low-key British thriller as Maximus, a stage performer who runs a successful, albeit phony psychic act, along with his wife Rene, played by Fay Wray.  Things suddenly take a strange turn when he discovers he has the power to make true prophecies (he foretells a train collision and the winner of a horse race).  Maximus’ success is short-lived, however, when he predicts a massive cave-in at an underground tunnel project, and he’s subsequently blamed for the ensuing loss of life, and placed on trial for triggering the panic that “causes” the incident.  One minor quibble is that the filmmakers seem to pull their punches, opting for a tacked-on happy ending, rather than the tragic conclusion suggested by the plot’s trajectory.  Rains is great in his role, conflicted between the love of his wife and the desire to hone his newly uncovered talent.  The Clairvoyant is a moody, nicely acted little gem that’s worth seeking out.

Rating: *** ½.  Available on DVD and Netflix Streaming

Mark of the Vampire (1935) Director Tod Browning’s stylish, silly mystery/horror flick is a muddled, but eminently watchable mess.  Originally titled Vampires Over Prague, it’s a virtual remake of Browning’s earlier (and famously lost) silent film, London After Midnight, with Bela Lugosi in the role previously occupied by Lon Chaney.  The story concerns police inspector Neumann’s (Lionel Atwill) investigation of a series of mysterious deaths, and a plot to catch a killer who leaves his victims’ bodies drained of blood. Vampires are suspected to be the cause; or are they?

Mark of the Vampire was originally screened for preview audiences at 80 minutes, but its final cut was a lean 60 minutes.  While it’s probably one of the lesser Browning films, it’s still worthwhile for the atmospheric sets and fun performances.  Carroll Borland is entrancing, in a mute role, as Lugosi’s shadowy companion Luna.  Her distinctive pallid, moribund appearance prefigures the Goth movement by several decades, and has often been credited as the inspiration for Charles Addams’ character Morticia.  Check it out.

Rating: ***.  Available on DVD

Night Nurse (1931) Barbara Stanwyck stars in this curiosity from the Pre-Code era as the plucky Lora Hart.  Night Nurse depicts a bygone age, when just a strong constitution and can-do attitude, in lieu of a formal education, was sufficient to become a nurse.  In her first assignment, nurse Hart is placed in charge of two sickly young children in a large manor.  It’s surprising to see Clark Gable, who’s usually associated with protagonist roles, playing the bad guy – a chauffeur suspected of conspiring to starve the children.  Hart finds an unlikely ally in a charismatic bootlegger, played by Ben Lyon.  While the situations never seem quite believable, it’s still an enjoyable viewing experience, since we’re never sure what’s going to happen next.  While I would never deign to reveal the film’s ending, suffice it to say the final scene could only have occurred before the restrictions of the Hays Code were enforced.

Rating: ***.  Available on DVD

Happiness (aka: Schastye) (1935) In Russia, comedy laughs at you!  I think there’s a good reason why Soviet cinema wasn’t known for its raucous slapstick farces.  Writer/director Aleksandr Medvedkin’s bleak, dismal silent comedy proves that he’s no Chaplin.  While it’s easy to feel pathos for the protagonist, it’s much harder to find anything to laugh about.  The story follows sad sack peasant farmer Khmyr (Pyotr Zinovyev) as he moves from one crushing tragedy to the next, enduring a string of hardships that would have made Stalin proud.  To its credit, there are a few decent gags, with a tractor running in circles, various townspeople collecting all of Khymr’s earnings from a harvest, and a tiny house literally walking away, carried by the feet of several thieves.  I suppose the central message, the triumph of the proletariat over tsarist Russia (or something like that) is intended to be uplifting, but the comedic elements just appear forced.  Maybe you have to be Russian to truly appreciate it. 

Rating: ** ½.  Available on Netflix Streaming

Classics Revisited: Mad Love

(1935) Directed by Karl Freund; Written by P.J. Wolfson and John L. Balderston; Based on the novel Les Mains D'Orlac by Maurice Renard; Starring: Peter Lorre, Frances Drake and Colin Clive; Available on DVD

Rating: **** ½

“I believe in the low-spoken villain, who’s absolutely blasé about what he does, who works on the murder like a mathematical problem…” – Peter Lorre

Depending on your point of view, dear reader, you might say this review was long overdue, or two and a half years in the making.  Personally, I like to believe the former, since the latter implies I’ve taken that long to craft this blog post, instead of employing the usual slap-dash effort.  I’m not entirely sure how or why it happened, but Peter Lorre, specifically his character Dr. Gogol in Mad Love, became my blog’s official mascot.  Maybe it was a Jungian collective unconscious thing, but he seemed to capture the Cinematic Catharsis zeitgeist, for lack of a better word.  It’s as if one character represented the perfect distillation of the conscious and subconscious power that films wield.  But enough of that… Let’s examine the movie a little closer, shall we?

I was first introduced to Mad Love through an unlikely source – TNT channel’s 100% Weird, a weekly showcase of unusual genre films.  The show’s introduction featured a clip from one of the most famous scenes in the film.  Just those few seconds of footage suggested this wasn’t an ordinary schlock horror flick, but a work to be reckoned with.

Mad Love was based on Maurice Renard’s 1920 novel Les Mains D'Orlac, which was originally filmed in 1924 as The Hands of Orlac, starring Conrad Veidt in the titular role.  MGM’s 1935 version retained the thematic elements of Orlac coping with the transplanted hands of a killer, but chose to turn the spotlight on the mad doctor, instead.  Karl Freund, a veteran of German expressionist cinema, was chosen to helm the film, which proved to be his final directorial effort.  Freund, who predominantly worked as a cinematographer (Metropolis, The Man Who Laughs), continued to work in films and television for the next twenty years.

Following the heels of his English-language debut in the original version of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much, Peter Lorre (born in Hungary as László Löwenstein) signaled his entrance into Hollywood with Mad Love.  Lorre was perfectly cast as the obsessive surgeon Dr. Gogol, who becomes infatuated with Yvonne Orlac (Frances Drake), a performer in Le Théatre des Horreurs (a nod to Paris’ infamous Grand Guignol Theatre).  During his nightly visits to the theatre, he witnesses various gruesome re-enactments, and takes perverse pleasure in seeing Yvonne subjected to sadistic torments.  Gogol keeps a lifelike wax figure of Yvonne in his home – a constant reminder of what he cannot possess.  Her inaccessibility merely strengthens Gogol’s resolve to pursue her relentlessly.  In his DVD commentary, film historian Steve Haberman cited a critic of the time, who observed that Lorre’s performance vacillated between “dull apathy and hysterical outbursts.”  This perfectly encapsulates his ability to create his signature brand of brooding menace, aided by his distinctive sleepy voice and hypnotic eyes.  Lorre was keenly fascinated with mental illness, and once studied with Freud and Adler in Austria.  With Gogol, he appeared to be channeling the darker recesses of the human mind.  In his book Heroes of the Horrors, writer Calvin Thomas Beck opined that Lorre probably would have pursued a career in the field of psychiatry if he had not found success in film

Employing his twisted logic, Gogol finds what he considers to be the perfect way to win the affections of Yvonne – through her husband’s misfortune.  When acclaimed concert pianist Stephen Orlac’s (Colin Clive*, best known for his role of Dr. Frankenstein in the first two Universal Frankenstein films) hands become irreparably damaged in a train wreck, Yvonne reluctantly turns to Dr. Gogol for help.  Gogol transplants the hands of recently executed knife-thrower Rollo (Edward Brophy) to Orlac’s body.  Shortly after the operation, however, Orlac’s new hands seem to take on a life of their own, displaying the homicidal tendencies of their previous owner.  In one of the film’s most chilling scenes, Gogol tries to take Orlac out of the picture by convincing him that he has gone insane.  He poses as the formerly dead Rollo, brought back to life by medical science, donning metal gauntlets, dark goggles and an elaborate neck brace.  His ghastly visage and maniacal laugh contribute to one of horror cinema’s most unforgettable moments.

* Colin Clive, suffering from years of chronic alcoholism and generally poor health, died two years after Mad Love was filmed.  In a sad, but morbidly fitting twist, Lorre served as one of the pallbearers at Clive’s funeral.

Another compelling aspect of Mad Love, aside from Lorre’s captivating performance, is the dazzling cinematography by Chester A. Lyons and Gregg Toland.  It was said that Freund, with his years of camerawork experience, had trouble staying focused on his director’s duties, which makes it difficult to ascertain how much he contributed to the finished product.  Mad Love certainly feels like one of the German silents, with its emphasis on expressionism and the distortion of reality.  The scene in which Gogol argues with his reflection in a mirror would be copied many times over the years, notably by Sam Raimi (with Ash in Evil Dead 2 and Norman Osborn in Spider-Man confronting their respective doppelgängers) and Peter Jackson (Gollum/Smeagol’s schism, reflected in a pool of water, in Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers).

While Mad Love received generally favorable reviews, it was not appreciated by the film-going public, bombing at the box office, and losing money for MGM.  Perhaps Lorre’s portrait of mental illness, culled from his personal insights, was too much for audiences to take.  The film’s subsequent revival, decades later, would ultimately vindicate Mad Love’s place in film history as a significant entry in the horror genre, and a successful melding of artistic ambition with mainstream filmmaking. Lorre’s characterization of unrequited lust and sadistic desire remains the gold standard, which other, mostly lesser, performances are compared against.

The Man Who Could Work Miracles

(1936) Directed by Lothar Mendes; Written by H.G. Wells (Scenario and dialogue) and Lajos Biró (Screenplay); Based on a short story by H.G. Wells; Starring: Roland Young, Ralph Richardson, Edward Chapman, Ernest Thesiger, Joan Gardner and Sophie Stewart; Available on DVD

Rating: ****

“A miracle, I say, is something contrariwise to the usual cause of nature, done by an act of will.” – George Fotheringay

One of the biggest discoveries of this month-long exploration of 30s films has been the delightful fantasy/comedy gem The Man Who Could Work Miracles from director Lothar Mendes and producer Alexander Korda.  Based on a story by H.G. Wells, and co-written by Wells and Lajos Biró (who was uncredited), the film is a fascinating take on the “absolute power corrupts absolutely” theme, with a populist twist.  Compared to the better-known Things to Come (also written by Wells and produced by Korda), which was released the same year, The Man Who Could Work Miracles remains relatively obscure.

In the opening scene, three omnipotent beings dispute the merits of humanity.  As an experiment to “see what is in the human heart,” one of the observers chooses an ordinary man, draper’s assistant George Fotheringay (Roland Young), as a test subject.  The meek Fotheringay is suddenly endowed with virtually limitless power.  At first, his miracles are relatively banal, making small animals and food appear at will, and fixing a co-worker’s sprained arm.  As he gradually accepts his powers, however, his ambitions increase.  He enjoys a chaste friendship with his co-worker Maggie Hooper (Sophie Stewart), but truly has eyes for another female employee, Ada Price (played by Joan Gardner).  Fotheringay quickly learns that his power has limits when he attempts to make Ada love him, but he finds he can’t change her heart.

Reflecting Wells’ socialistic leanings, our protagonist is not a world leader or captain of industry, but an average working stiff.  He doesn’t lust for power, but intends to make the world a better place.  His attempts to seek counsel from other, presumably wiser individuals yield little insight about how to best channel his miraculous energies.  Each, in his own way, would use Fotheringay for his own selfish ends.   He first consults his employer, Major Grigsby (Edward Chapman), who values dominance, greed and profit above all else.  He wants to use Fotheringay as his exclusive tool for financial gain, admonishing him that there should be “no outside miracles.”  Mr. Bamfylde (Laurence Hanray), Grigsby’s pragmatic banker, stands by his employer, appalled by Fotheringay’s suggestion to just give people everything they desire, stating that “human society is based on want.”   Rev. Silas Maydig (Ernest Thesiger, best known as Doctor Pretorius in The Bride of Frankenstein), is little help as an indecisive intellectual, willing to proselytize about a perfect world ad infinitum, but reluctant to act.  Ralph Richardson, as wealthy retired Colonel Winstanley, has some of the film’s funniest moments.  He desires to preserve the status quo, enjoying the spoils of war.  When Fotheringay shares his vision of a new world, with people loving one another, Winstanley replies, with utter horror, “Have you no sense of decency?”

Fotheringay’s powers culminate in the construction of an enormous palace, where he summons the world’s political and business leaders to sort out the world’s problems and “run it better.”   Young’s indignant speech at the film’s climax, a rallying cry for empowerment of the disenfranchised, speaks to the vast percentage of the population that will never have the opportunity to influence world-changing decisions.  While the preceding description might sound like a heavy-handed dissertation on societal imbalance, it’s all handled with deft charm, dry wit, and customary British reserve.

H.G. Wells’ cynical and thoughtful social satire is just as topical today, suggesting that human nature hasn’t changed much over the years.  Its basic premise has been recycled in film many times, and could have easily formed the basis for many Twilight Zone episodes.  The film’s reluctantly optimistic final message asserts that there may be hope for humanity one day, if we don’t give in to our baser desires and petty disputes.  According to The Psychotronic Book of Film, a remake with Richard Pryor had been planned at one time.  Several decades later, a remake still seems a viable possibility, if handled right.  Marketability aside, this charming, wonderfully acted, and surreptitiously thought-provoking film deserves to be better known.