Cinematic Dregs: Mac and Me

(1988) Directed by Stewart Raffill; Written by Stewart Raffill and  Steve Feke;Starring: Christine Ebersole, Jonathan Ward, Tina Caspary and Jade Calegory;

Available on DVD.

Rating: *

Michael Cruise: You know what I feel like?

Eric Cruise: A Big Mac?

Michael Cruise: The man's psychic!

(from IMDB.com)

I only have myself to blame.  I was looking forward to watching Mac and Me as much as I’d anticipate a snuff film, but something compelled me to see it anyway.  Maybe it was a case of curiosity getting the best of me, or a deep-seated desire to take the contrarian stance and tout it as an unfairly maligned family classic.  The seed was planted long ago, in another life, as a video store clerk.  I recall a parent commenting that her kid thought Mac and Me was better than E.T. – The Extraterrestrial.  They were wrong… so very wrong.  My initial skepticism, prompted by an overwhelming flood of negative reviews, turned out to be correct.  This movie hurt, so I must hurt back.

 The opening scene sets the stage for the endurance test that’s the rest of the movie.  An unmanned NASA space probe travels an indeterminate distance from Earth, and lands on an unspecified alien planet.  While collecting samples, the probe inadvertently sucks up a curious family of humanoid creatures.*  It returns to Earth with the family intact and alive.  We, the audience, are expected to suspend our disbelief, and accept that the alien family has somehow survived a prolonged voyage through the vastness of space, without atmosphere, food or water.  Hey, they’re aliens, right?  Anything’s possible, unless you witness the ensuing scenes on Earth, where it’s apparent that they have similar needs to other life forms.  Of course, all of the preceding would be partially excusable if there was anything else worth watching.

* The creature design for Mac and his family is uninspired and borderline creepy.

What follows is a carbon copy of E.T.; that is, if the copy had been trampled by a herd of rhinos, torn up into little pieces and taped back together, and transcribed by an army of monkeys on typewriters.  The titular alien is separated from his alien family, and winds up in a suburban Southern California neighborhood.  His human host family (as in Spielberg’s film), consists of a single mom and her two sons.  Unlike E.T., none of the aggressively bland family members seem to possess any traits that would distinguish them from anyone else.  It’s established that they relocated from Illinois to California, but apart from one character’s Chicago Bears jersey, they might as well have come from Michigan or Iowa.  About the only discernible difference is its protagonist Elliot, um, I mean Eric (Jade Calegory), who is confined to a wheelchair.  It’s as if E.T. had been entirely re-cast with understudies. 

Product placement in motion pictures is nothing new, but rarely has it been as blatant as in Mac and Me.  The film becomes a virtual string of commercials for companies and products, including McDonald’s ([Big] Mac and Me… Get it? Wink, wink, nudge, nudge.) Sears (where Eric’s mom works), Skittles, United Van Lines and the now-defunct Wickes Furniture.  As for the ubiquitous presence of Coca Cola* in the film, I can only deduce that it was a ploy by Pepsi to defame its archrival.  Judging by Mac and Me’s $6.4 million box office take, I can’t imagine it was the marketing coup its distributor, Orion, anticipated.

* Coke is featured so prominently that the lead characters appear to drink it exclusively.  In one pivotal scene, Mac is revived by the magical soft drink.

Considering the parade of ineptitude on display, it’s hard to believe that some genuine talent worked on this film.  Alan Silvestri (Back to the Future, Predator) supplied a serviceable, if derivative score.  John Dykstra (Star Wars, Spider-Man) designed the visual effects, although he probably doesn’t want this on his resume.*  The effects range from mediocre to awful, but in his defense, Dykstra probably didn’t have much of a budget to work with.

* Oddly enough, Dykstra is listed in the movie’s credits, but his name is nowhere to be found in IMDB.

Mac and Me rises to the challenge of escalating the stupidity.  Just when you think the film has reached its nadir, it proves just how low it can go (try to watch the big dance number inside a McDonald’s restaurant and not cringe).  All of the characters in the film are unbelievably obtuse.  It takes almost half of the movie’s running time to establish that Mac (which stands for “mysterious alien creature”) is not a figment of someone’s imagination.  The relationship between Eric, his friends and the alien family is designed to tug at your heartstrings, but it’s simply a test of your endurance.  In the final scene, the words “We’ll be back” appear, which seem to be more of a threat than a promise.

I don’t normally comment about Netflix user reviews, but I think it’s worth addressing the alarmingly large number of positive accolades, proclaiming that Mac and Me shouldn’t be held under an adult’s scrutiny (“It’s a kids movie!”).  Kids deserve better.  The best so-called “kids” movies value the audience’s intelligence, no matter what age they may be, and appeal to our sensibilities on overt and subtextual levels.  This low-rent interpretation of E.T. is nothing more than a cynical, condescending exercise in corporate greed that confuses idiocy with whimsy.  If you’re looking for a title for bad movie night, then you’ve struck gold.  Everyone else should steer clear.

Classics Revisited: Horror of Dracula (aka: Dracula)

(1958) Directed by Terence Fisher; Written by: Jimmy Sangster; Based on the novel by Bram Stoker; Starring: Peter Cushing, Christopher Lee, Melissa Stribling, Valerie Gaunt and Michael Gough; Available on DVD.

Rating: **** ½

Before delving into my featured review, I’d like to give special thanks to Annmarie Gatti at Classic Movie Hub and Aurora at Once Upon a Screen for hosting the Dynamic Duos in Classic Films Blogathon.  I’m thrilled with this opportunity to participate by celebrating one of horror cinema’s greatest pairs: Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing, as Count Dracula and Dr. Van Helsing in Horror of Dracula.

“…there were aspects of him with which I could readily identify – his extraordinary stillness, punctuated by bouts of manic energy…” – Christopher Lee (on Dracula, from his autobiography Tall, Dark and Gruesome)

“He [Christopher Lee] is an enormously charming gentleman, but when he became that terrifying creature, even I jumped.” – Peter Cushing (from Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing and Horror Cinema: A Filmography by Mark A. Miller)

In its effort to revitalize horror properties popularized by Universal in the 30s and 40s British upstart Hammer Film Productions delivered a one-two punch with The Curse of Frankenstein, followed by Horror of Dracula (or just Dracula in the U.K.).  Horror of Dracula featured the same directing/writing team (Terence Fisher and Jimmy Sangster) as the previous project, and the results were equally impressive. 

Jonathan Harker (John Van Eyssen), Dr. Van Helsing’s protégé, arrives at Dracula’s castle, intent on ridding humanity of the vampire scourge.  The plan doesn’t work out too well for Harker, who’s almost overtaken by one of Dracula’s female minions (played by Valerie Gaunt in a short but memorable role), and becomes the Count’s victim.  Van Helsing attempts to re-trace Harker’s steps, but Dracula has already given him the slip, and relocated to England.  Before you can say Vlad the Impaler, Harker’s nubile fiancé Lucy (Carol Marsh) and her sister, Mina (Melissa Stribling) are Dracula’s new targets.

Cushing and Lee frequently portrayed mortal enemies onscreen, but enjoyed a lifelong friendship offscreen, starting with their first collaboration on The Curse of Frankenstein.  Throughout the 50s, 60s and 70s, they would appear together in many Hammer and Amicus films, often as adversaries.  In Horror of Dracula, Cushing’s genteel, erudite Van Helsing provided the perfect foil to Lee’s seductive, animalistic presence.  It’s a classic battle of good and evil, which served as the template for the stars’ future roles, often with lesser results.  Lee would eventually star in six Hammer sequels, with diminishing results, culminating in 1974’s The Satanic Rites of Dracula.  Dracula and Van Helsing’s cat and mouse dynamics would continue to play out over the years, but would never again seem as fresh as the original production.  Cushing appeared in several other Hammer vampire-themed productions, sans Lee, including The Brides of Dracula, The Vampire Lovers and Twins of Evil. 

At the risk of sounding blasphemous, I prefer Hammer’s audacious interpretation of Dracula to Tod Browning’s stodgy version.  Compared to Bela Lugosi’s formal, stagey performance, Lee’s Dracula is more visceral, suggesting a raw, unbridled sensuality. Lee’s relatively short screen time and paucity of dialogue (13 lines) belie his pervasive influence on the rest of the film.  In contrast to the chaste scenes in the 1931 film, Hammer’s Dracula overtly invades his victims’ bedrooms and dines on their necks.  Lee’s formidable predator is a thing of awe and erotic energy, with blood dribbling down his lips, and crimson eyes.  His female prey invite him into their bedrooms with open windows and outstretched arms, suggesting that something is missing from their humdrum domestic lives.*  Hammer’s updated Dracula reflected the evolving tastes of audiences, amidst the milieu of repressed Victorian society (embodied by Michael Gough as Mina’s uppity husband and Van Eyssen as Lucy’s milquetoast suitor).

* Fisher remarked, “Dracula preyed on the sexual frustrations of his women victims” (The Hammer Story by Marcus Hearne and Alan Barnes). 

One of the hallmarks of Hammer films has always been doing more with less, and Horror of Dracula is no exception.  Produced on a relatively tiny budget of £81,412, it looked like a lavish film, thanks to Bernard Robinson’s inspired production design.  Dracula’s castle is suitably ostentatious, and the graveyard set appears fittingly gothic and forlorn.

Horror of Dracula was a hit with audiences, but it was initially reviled by most critics of the period.  Many were quick to tout the film as vulgar and “revolting,” with some implying that its release was a sign of the demise of civilization. While tame by today’s standards, the film represented a paradigm shift in horror cinema, which The Curse of Frankenstein had initiated.   For the first time, filmgoers could view what had only been suggested before.  Many talented (and not so talented) filmmakers have attempted to re-interpret Hammer’s formula over the years, but few have succeeded (witness Francis Coppola’s overdone 1992 production).  Recently, we’ve heard some rumblings from the revitalized Hammer about a possible remake.  Although I’m not fond of the idea, I realize remakes are inevitable.  And if they omit Lee from a potential cameo, they’d be missing a great opportunity.  Horror of Dracula is one for the ages.

The Colossus of New York

(1958) Directed by Eugène Lourié; Written by Thelma Schnee; Based on a story by Willis Goldbeck; Starring: John Baragrey, Mala Powers, Otto Kruger and Ross Martin;

Available on Blu-ray and DVD

Rating: ***

“…any brain divorced from human experience must become dehumanized to the point of monstrousness.” – Dr. John Robert Carrington (Robert Hutton)

I’m not entirely sure when I first watched The Colossus of New York on TV, but it left a huge impact on my impressionable young mind.  I was fascinated and terrified by images of a lumbering robot with a human brain, which continued to resonate decades later.  Based on my childhood memories, I came to regard the film as an obscure classic, despite the fact that I was unable to see it for many years afterward.  Thanks to the film’s recent release on DVD, I was able to experience it again.  Knowing that it was impossible to duplicate the impact that it once had, would still hold up after all these years?

When gifted scientist/inventor Dr. Jeremy Spensser (Ross Martin of Wild, Wild West fame) dies in a tragic accident, his father, Dr. William Spensser (Otto Kruger), does what any grieving parent (okay, maybe not every grieving parent) would do, and endeavors to keep the brain alive.  He enlists the aid of Jeremy’s brother Henry (John Baragrey) to design a robot body to house the brain.  As Jeremy regains consciousness, he isn’t too pleased with his new corporeal arrangements.  Bereft of the ability to smell, taste or feel, he’s a prisoner in his artificial body.  His father convinces him to continue his experiments in secret, for the benefit of humankind.  It’s an uneasy arrangement that works for a time, until Jeremy decides that humanity isn’t worth saving.

Makeup supervisor Wally Westmore’s imposing robotic creation is the true star of The Colossus of New York.  While it evokes comparison to Paul Wegener’s Golem and Boris Karloff’s Frankenstein monster, Westmore’s robot is a truly original piece of work.  In fact, the results are so intimidating that they beg the question why anyone would want to create an oversized and immensely powerful body for a potentially unstable brain.  Of course, the real answer is so the robot can go berserk and embark on a rampage through the streets of Manhattan.  Unable to experience physical love, isolated from his wife and son, and confined to a small private laboratory (back in the days when every aspiring scientist had one built into their home), it’s only a matter of time before Jeremy flips his lid.  Thankfully, for the purpose of plot convenience, he’s equipped with a handy shut-off switch on his side.

Sadly, the human characters in the film are much less effective.  William comes across as self-righteous, while Henry just seems smug.  Jeremy’s widow Anne (Mala Powers) plays the stereotypical helpless female protagonist, thwarting Henry’s clumsy advances, while failing to ask the most basic questions about experiments being conducted right under her nose.  Even when she suspects something is awry, she fails to press the issue, even when William admonishes her not to see her son Billy in the daytime (conveniently enabling Jeremy to meet with Billy in secret). The filmmakers seem hell-bent on presenting the Jeremy robot as a monster, but William is the true antagonist.  (Spoiler Alert) His half-assed little speech at the end of the movie about the brain not containing a soul ignores the tenderness that Jeremy displays for his son.  His expression of remorse does little to absolve his poor decisions throughout the film, nor does he receive the comeuppance his character deserves (usually a 50s sci-fi staple).

Despite the film’s problematic elements, there’s a lot that clicks.  Lourié, who worked predominantly as an art director, imbues an atmospheric, pseudo-gothic feel to the movie.     Shots of the errant robot lurking in the shadows recall German expressionism, and scenes involving Jeremy walking underwater possess a dreamlike quality.  Van Cleave’s subdued piano-based score contributes to an overwhelming sense of dread.  I also can’t forget the robot’s plaintive, screeching wail, which follows his initial activation.  It’s nothing short of nightmare fuel.

The Colossus of New York may not have been the lost classic I had anticipated, but it’s still a moderately effective take on the Frankenstein formula.  Westmore’s unforgettable creation and a dark, pervasive atmosphere mostly offset the poor characterizations and uninspired story.  It’s interesting to note that many of the themes presented in the film (such as where man ends and machine begins) would be explored thirty years later, albeit more successfully, with Robocop. Although The Colossus of New York may not have followed through with the more provocative issues it raises, it remains a worthwhile attempt.   

June Quick Picks and Pans – Australia Month

Proof (1991) Writer/director Jocelyn Moorhouse’s debut film features great early roles by Hugo Weaving and Russell Crowe.  Weaving stars as Martin, a blind man who documents his world through photography.  He befriends Andy (Crowe), a busboy at a restaurant, and tasks him with describing his photos in an effort to confirm that the images represent reality.  Martin’s housekeeper Celia (Geneviève Picot) constantly toys with him, rearranging his furniture and hiding his things to push buttons. 

Proof is a fascinating character study populated by emotionally stunted individuals.  Martin and Celia, stumble around in the dark, but fail to connect.  They’re prisoners of their ambivalence toward each other.  Martin is embroiled in a perpetual struggle to make sense of reality, which involves an inherent mistrust of people.  Celia is in love with Martin, but resorts to elaborate mind games and deception as her primary tools of interaction.  Proof is at once an amusing portrait of human eccentricity and a painful exploration of dysfunctional relationships.   

Rating: ****.  Available on DVD

Red Dog (2011) Based on a book by Louis de Bernières about a legendary canine that roamed a small mining town in 1970s Northwestern Australia, Red Dog blends fact and fiction to create a bittersweet story of love and community.  Director Kriv Stenders and writer Daniel Taplitz spin a contemporary folk yarn (sort of a postmodern Old Yeller), which packs a surprisingly emotional wallop.  As the eponymous, wayward dog ingratiates himself to the town’s diverse inhabitants, he becomes an agent of change amidst the harsh landscape, provoking a series of serendipitous encounters.  Red Dog hooks you with verve and humor, which does little to soften the blow of its emotional climax. Maybe I’m just a pushover for this sort of thing, but it’s hard to imagine not being affected by this simple, yet effective story.  If you have a pulse, or if you’re a dog lover, like me, you’ll want to bring the Kleenex.

Rating: ****.  Available on Blu-ray, DVD and Netflix Streaming

Kenny (2006) Director/co-writer Clayton Jacobson takes an unsavory topic for his mockumentary, and manages to make it engaging.  Shane Jacobson (who shares co-writing credit with the film with his brother Clayton) does a terrific job as Kenny Smyth, a likeable working stiff who finds solace working for a portable toilet/waste disposal company.  We witness his challenges and minor triumphs as he contends with crap, literally and figuratively in his personal and professional life. 

Kenny’s strength is also its weakness.  The acting by the performers (including Shane’s real-life father and son), is spot-on, and the everyday situations he encounters in his job seem entirely plausible.  It was easy to forget the film was a complete fabrication, and not someone’s actual life.  As a result, I wish the filmmakers had thrown in a few more absurd artistic flourishes.  The material also seems to be stretched thin at times, and scenes with Kenny stuck in his day-to-day grind get to be a bit redundant.  While the Jacobson brothers could have easily left some of the footage on the cutting room floor, the end result (pun unintended) is amiable enough, and definitely worth your time.  I was glad to have had the chance to meet Kenny.

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

Dead End Drive-In (1986) This intriguing film from director Brian Trenchard-Smith recalls Escape from New York, with Joe Lansdale’s novel, The Drive-in thrown in for good measure.  The film is set in the near future, after society has suffered a global economic collapse.  Rampant unemployment and restless youth are the norm in this changed social milieu.  Government officials resort to extreme measures to deal with the rising incidents of juvenile delinquency.  Young people are lured to the Star Drive-In to spend their idle time.  There’s just one catch: once they enter, they can’t leave.  They become prisoners of the state, left to eke out an existence in their new walled compound while movies play in the background (including scenes from Trenchard-Smith’s Turkey Shoot).  Dead End Drive-In sneaks in some social commentary, seeming to equate Australia with the drive-in, an island isolated from the rest of humanity.  Ned Manning plays the protagonist, Crabs, who just wants to escape, disgusted by the contingent of white supremacists that have taken over the drive-in.  It’s a silly premise that somehow works.

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

Escape 2000 (aka: Turkey Shoot) (1981) How could something so wrong seem so right?  Brian Trenchard-Smith directs this piece of dystopian exploitation, set in the future world of 1995(!).  Under the regime of a fascist dictatorship, dissidents are placed in internment camps for re-education.  Steve Railsback and Olivia Hussey play political prisoners, watched over by a sadistic head guard (Roger Ward).  I don’t need to overstate that Escape 2000 isn’t for everyone.  It’s exploitation through and through, packed with gratuitous nudity, rampant violence and over-the-top gory deaths, but I had a heck of a lot of fun with it (probably more than I’d care to admit).  It’s a variation of The Most Dangerous Game, along with shades of 1984, wrapped in a sleazy, but oddly entertaining package.

Rating: ***.  Available on DVD

Long Weekend (1978) Peter and Marcia (played by John Hargreaves and Briony Behets, respectively) embark on a camping trip, under the auspices of rekindling their strained marriage.  Instead, they find every possible opportunity to argue.  Director Colin Eggleston, working from Everett De Roche’s screenplay, suggests nature has become an antagonist, possibly as a reaction to the couple’s disintegrating relationship.  Long Weekend plays a bit like Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf mixed with Frogs, with its conflicting themes of marital discord and the natural world in revolt.  It all gets a bit tedious by the last third.  There’s only so much time you can spend with two bickering main characters before it gets really uncomfortable, but this was probably the point.

Rating: ***.  Available on DVD

Inn of the Damned (1975) The Australian film industry experienced a renaissance in the 1970s, stretching boundaries and breaking new ground.  Unfortunately, the revitalized industry also allowed for this dud, which attempts to combine the western and horror genres and fails miserably at both.  It’s two (count ‘em), two rotten stories in one!   Writer/director Terry Bourke borrows liberally from spaghetti westerns and sociopath- in-the-house movies to tell the story of a remote inn where the guests keep vanishing.  At least a half-hour could have been snipped from the bloated running time of nearly two hours.  The standard western outlaw subplot contributes nothing to the terror and only adds to the tedium.  You might feel damned after watching this flick, since the only thing you’re liable to experience is an overwhelming sense of boredom.

Rating: * ½.  Available on DVD