tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-12214280973970244502024-03-13T03:20:15.993-07:00THIS DARK EXEGESISWe all go a little mad sometimes....haven't you? Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comBlogger120125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-25881585132853534622024-03-09T10:01:00.000-08:002024-03-09T10:01:53.270-08:00HANGOVER SQUARE (John Brahm, 1945, USA) <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpEX9QOeU0GnpgQOXYLpfk8XGrPZBWvQEfENDINpz9pfjiwdld8Ol9ec7YKaPwrIRSOPD2rttEOg4oM64yEdxCVBlpRIIfDsQ8b0uPbj7ZLRYusoQZ5jSO3J6pPai6PL-Sbwc7VmDXEZHr8AM8Lb79U2958A1eS-n41_HDB8S25UK3nMf96Yy-GcxJn25/s1285/hangover%20square01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1285" data-original-width="890" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcpEX9QOeU0GnpgQOXYLpfk8XGrPZBWvQEfENDINpz9pfjiwdld8Ol9ec7YKaPwrIRSOPD2rttEOg4oM64yEdxCVBlpRIIfDsQ8b0uPbj7ZLRYusoQZ5jSO3J6pPai6PL-Sbwc7VmDXEZHr8AM8Lb79U2958A1eS-n41_HDB8S25UK3nMf96Yy-GcxJn25/w278-h400/hangover%20square01.jpg" width="278" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Musician George Harvey Bone lingers amid the 19th century London streets like a bad hangover, suffering a ghost of violent memories that haunt his conscience. The film opens with an excellent shot as the camera races from street level to a second story building and, in Hitchcock-like fashion, through the window glass to the scene of a grisly murder. The protagonist is clearly revealed as he escapes the conflagration in a fugue, seemingly in a drunken state as he stumbles through the midnight streets. We quickly learn that George Bones is the murderer, but he suffers from blackouts, an undiagnosed schizophrenic disorder. He even turns himself in to the police with what he believes to be the murder weapon, but he is soon released for lack of evidence. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Director John Brahm breaks with traditional formula and doesn't create a whodunit’…he paints a lonely portrait of an artist who has unknowingly committed these heinous acts, a pianist whose tenuous connection to the world is through music: even his beautiful concerto cannot calm the savage beast within his own broken mind. Laird Cregar as George Bones is politely genuine in his performance and domination by Netta, a raven-haired femme fatale, whose love he shall feel nevermore. He spurns the love of his life for the momentary tempest of this affair and sacrifices his talent and reputation for inane “pop songs” to assuage Netta’s ravenous hunger for fortune. His fugues are provoked by harsh discordant sounds, like the clatter of metal pipes crashing into the street, and he acts upon some primal impulse that becomes a dull ache in the base of his skull. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The marvelous Bernard Herrmann music flits from pop standard to dark brooding piano score; the diegetic music creates visual frisson with the events as they unfold on-screen. George finally kills Netta and disposes of her body atop a bonfire, and its destructive touch eventually becomes a Pyrrhic victory as his final concerto is swallowed by a Hellish inferno. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-4280572285336951702024-02-10T19:50:00.000-08:002024-02-10T19:50:12.277-08:00PEEPING TOM (Michael Powell, 1960, UK)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwd6-cRVXg3BNE0uy0XhV4P-idh_LsdC45pbvwr-UOkqGXAbEVqT4Klng0TvHX5UR5mB51PYcab28OOtERjctTXMubCit0jgWgaQfNtUQMVBkIx09m-TeVBHFLTAGLVdGMHLsRDXX5nEiGxTDU-d42Ba-U9zMkT0HDoVNQfQT2wfO-zy44g3qeTvcwgrEU/s1119/peeping%20tom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1119" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwd6-cRVXg3BNE0uy0XhV4P-idh_LsdC45pbvwr-UOkqGXAbEVqT4Klng0TvHX5UR5mB51PYcab28OOtERjctTXMubCit0jgWgaQfNtUQMVBkIx09m-TeVBHFLTAGLVdGMHLsRDXX5nEiGxTDU-d42Ba-U9zMkT0HDoVNQfQT2wfO-zy44g3qeTvcwgrEU/w286-h400/peeping%20tom.jpg" width="286" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Mark is subsumed by his monochrome pathology as his bright eyes becomes grim lenses, the convolutions of his confused brain tangled celluloid that captures the dying of the light as focus is pulled towards infinite darkness. He is a damaged child in a man’s body, victim of his father’s cruel psychological experiments to understand fear by causing it, to extract this noxious ether from Mark which traps the boy forever in this flammable element. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Suffering from Scopophilia, Mark is a photographer by hobby and 1st Assistant Camera by profession: he sees the world only through an objective lens and experiences relationships through the purring revolutions of a projector. He is distanced from reality by a morally reduced aperture, and murders women while filming them, which yields his zealous sadistic pleasure…but the light always fades too quickly. Director Michael Powell has ingeniously crafted a vicious thriller whose elements precede both Hitchcock’s <b>PSYCHO</b> and Antonioni’s <b>BLOWUP</b>. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Masterfully written by subverting cultural mores, the narrative concerns the very act of filmmaking…and film viewing: a subtle condemnation of the audience as participant in voyeuristic pleasure. Powell’s expert editing and mise-en-scene reveals Mark’s interior dialogue without the need for exposition: his ghostly shadow cast surreally upon his blank screen, his eyes seen through the spokes of a film reel, or the mimicry of his 24/fps reality all convey his deepening madness in a more terrifying way than the grisly murders. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Carl Boehm’s portrayal of Mark Lewis is too shy and backwards, a man whose humanity is isolated beyond a fully compassionate relationship with the audience: he is no cruel monster but lost in his own Idios Cosmos. Though a victim of childhood trauma like Norman Bates, there is nothing very likable about Mark Lewis and it’s difficult to believe in his minor romantic interest. Marks’ nightmares haunt him in black and white and this becomes his existence, while the world of color becomes a violent fantasy. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B) </span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-74631253932101644932024-01-31T19:23:00.000-08:002024-01-31T19:23:42.297-08:00NIGHT OF THE EAGLE (Sidney Hayers, 1962, UK)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXzjiW8Wd7AcUXCIri_MYh7z5dCNgw3N3EoY6S52glMs1LRp24llOWp9Q8TDSVoiNKVVDvGgfFm4RV3CP-57xrY51nNoEs60oHTymnWHhNIfKEYCZdbQmjrEF12k6fQZ1qAzaePd9ud2Tilgj0HvW23Sl7_ryNs-9fjt_PQvPLOVUYKee4u0SvogmkXLCF/s498/night%20of%20the%20eagle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="498" data-original-width="359" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXzjiW8Wd7AcUXCIri_MYh7z5dCNgw3N3EoY6S52glMs1LRp24llOWp9Q8TDSVoiNKVVDvGgfFm4RV3CP-57xrY51nNoEs60oHTymnWHhNIfKEYCZdbQmjrEF12k6fQZ1qAzaePd9ud2Tilgj0HvW23Sl7_ryNs-9fjt_PQvPLOVUYKee4u0SvogmkXLCF/w289-h400/night%20of%20the%20eagle.jpg" width="289" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Norman Taylor must face his disbeliefs and intellectual limitations, his home a volatile house of tarot cards, summoning his charm to conjure wife. Director Sidney Hayers casts a cinematic spell of witchcraft and trickery by utilizing tight framing and solid compositions often dominated by looming statues, creating a sense of impending doom in a rational world. Richard Matheson and Charles Beaumont adapt the classic Fritz Leiber novel into a believable domestic melodrama amid the politics of an English College. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Norman is a young and successful professor, well-liked by his students and colleagues. He teaches the psychology of superstition, that it's the believer who powers the supernatural with post hoc fallacies and wishful thinking, not the ability to control reality with secret ceremonies and trinkets. But his wife Tansy believes that her charms guard Norman against the sinister urges of the faculty wives. Like the protagonist of Matheson's <b>HELL HOUSE</b>, Norman cannot accept the possibility of magic superseding science and it could drive him to madness. What makes the story so intriguing is that each encounter has a potential rational explanation, either hypnosis or self-fulfilling prophecy. When Norman destroys his wife's protective charms and bad things begin to happen, he must race against time to save her from the evil clutches of a crippled witch...or from her own crippled beliefs. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The dénouement brings poetic justice to the vengeful and plotting antagonist: the eagle finally makes its landing. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B+)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-8822053885233990822024-01-11T18:49:00.000-08:002024-01-11T18:49:41.514-08:00WATERSHIP DOWN (Martin Rosen, 1978, UK)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0WXwHBTE_41siu3k9dqucMhSlqD7rJDGZ2ZeZipD7fhsmHatR9L4rQEeErBD5moN5vUHWt3RDrpeYrHW96t8_Q5Rv3S_xLjerfZ_wtHvOyRjksd_RSNiz15wobhRZTKCcgHyBVZIHsg9u-AzY1X38ifsSaf0JsaUXkkPM7Ge6br11CZ_M4jUvDffCuKf/s699/watership%20down01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="699" data-original-width="479" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT0WXwHBTE_41siu3k9dqucMhSlqD7rJDGZ2ZeZipD7fhsmHatR9L4rQEeErBD5moN5vUHWt3RDrpeYrHW96t8_Q5Rv3S_xLjerfZ_wtHvOyRjksd_RSNiz15wobhRZTKCcgHyBVZIHsg9u-AzY1X38ifsSaf0JsaUXkkPM7Ge6br11CZ_M4jUvDffCuKf/w274-h400/watership%20down01.jpg" width="274" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A prophecy of blood inspires a small group of survivors to flee their oppressive warren and search for a new life. Richard Adams’ anthropomorphic odyssey is transposed to the silver screen, a larger-than-life reproduction that captures the essence of imagination in two dimensions. This violent adventure is composed of shadow and light, fear and laughter, birth and mournful death, to create a suspenseful travelogue that doesn’t condescend to the child or adult.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Fiver suffers from prophetic visions, a small, scared rabbit who sees the writing in the sky, and convinces his brother to search for a new home. Hazel is skeptical, but after being scolded by the aged Chief Rabbit, a taciturn curmudgeon stuck in the old ways, convinces others to join the exodus. They must fight their way past Capt. Holly of the repressive Owsla (police force) and continue on their many adventures. The small band of survivors must use their wits and strength to survive this cruel journey, and above all work together, each utilizing his unique talent. They encounter a den of complacent rabbits, whose existential dread poisons Fiver’s dreams, and soon realize that the warren is a gluttonous snare. Their exploits take them across the open fields where fear is always chasing them like a hungry elil, but they are fast and cunning. Safe upon the verdant down, the irascible bucks divine their situation: without does, their new society cannot prosper. With the help of a friendly seagull named Kehaar, they seek out mates to expand the warren. But General Woundwort and his fascist Owsla stand in the way.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>WATERSHIP DOWN</b> is an epic tale of heroism and sacrifice, of friendship and leadership, of love and duty that becomes life-affirming even though the Black Rabbit of Inle ever stalks the protagonists. It is also a tale of blood and woe, a fight against tyranny, and the film doesn’t shy away from the fierceness of war: Bigwig stuck in a snare as blood froths at his mouth, the horrible injuries of Capt. Holly, or the final battle between Woundwort and Bigwig are shown in viscous detail. Death is part of every great adventure story, a nuclear element that sustains the narrative frisson.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The introduction imparts the wonderful myth of Frith and his gift to El-ahrairah, as the angry god blesses El-ahrairah’s posterior and gives him supple strength, intelligence and speed to outrun his enemies…but Frith makes everything the enemy of rabbits. The abstract animation captures the whimsical nature of Leporidae mythology while the vivid watercolors of the main story represent a pristine natural beauty. The film’s conclusion is both sad and joyous, as Hazel finally joins the great Owsla in the sky, his blood preserved in the young kits grazing in the field. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B+)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-56209490111192668002024-01-08T17:40:00.000-08:002024-01-08T17:40:40.045-08:00THE MOST DANGEROUS GAME (Irving Pichel, 1932, USA)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxo647mIxZ7y7GM3RalHEBxskb4ua5XOn32xJIVnADGAFnxamCkh7iN2LcMUTV7Z6VxgWmtWCQjLsSMTAKf-cRa4oUBsHcb100MX2KsK0B1HW_b0boArAuqpuYnvQIPcK4fV4QjtyPWu1MtfWEggFtUuVWDiwNH1SUe7viZgWBQSBDJrHwYiq2EaLjRPVy/s550/the%20most%20dangerous%20game04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="371" data-original-width="550" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxo647mIxZ7y7GM3RalHEBxskb4ua5XOn32xJIVnADGAFnxamCkh7iN2LcMUTV7Z6VxgWmtWCQjLsSMTAKf-cRa4oUBsHcb100MX2KsK0B1HW_b0boArAuqpuYnvQIPcK4fV4QjtyPWu1MtfWEggFtUuVWDiwNH1SUe7viZgWBQSBDJrHwYiq2EaLjRPVy/w400-h270/the%20most%20dangerous%20game04.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Bob Rainsford learns that the world is indeed divided into two kinds of people and on a mysterious island the predator becomes prey. The title is a double entendre representing the exploits of two Big Game hunters whose machismo is reinforced by hunting dangerous animals and the competition (or game) that will soon exists between these men. Bob Rainsford is a world-renowned hunter whose ship is purposely lead astray upon a coral reef: as the only survivor he swims ashore towards an island and stumbles upon an archaic castle, looming above the jungle like some barbaric idol. It’s here that he meets Count Zaroff, a man who not only knows Rainsford but also considers himself to be the best hunter in the world, and soon a contest for survival ensues. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Director Irving Pichel utilizes all the horror tropes of early cinema: the haunting castle, the evil henchmen, the dank torturous dungeon replete with severed heads, the evil and cunning genius, the beautiful scream-queen whose survival depends upon our protagonist, but instead of leading the narrative into the supernatural…he leads it into the realm of the hyper-natural. Though the setup is easily contrived, Count Zaroff and his henchmen of Russian caricatures, there is an interesting subtext to the film. As technology moves into the modern age and we homo sapiens dominate the world, the only natural predator of our species has become ourselves. Zaroff's mens rea is explained with moral ambiguity, suffering a head injury that may have cause his homicidal impulses. Or did this only allow his true self to emerge? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Count Zaroff decides to hunt Rainsford and the sultry Eve Trowbridge, and she is the voluptuous prize whose fate is to be raped by this despicable coward. If the two can survive until sunrise, Zaroff promises to give them the boat to the mainland, but he reminds them that he has never lost this “chess game”. But Rainsford is resourceful and this mano-a-mano confrontation wastes no time creating tension: our protagonists set pits and deadfalls to kill Zaroff but to no avail. He hunts them with a bow but sensing defeat, retreats to his domain and gets a high-powered rife with a scope while his henchmen bring the dogs. The victims escape into the foggy swamps rendering the rifle useless, but the dogs hunt them through moor and vine choked trees, until they are trapped upon a treacherous precipice. With one shot, Rainsford seems to fall to his doom as the sun rises, and Eve’s light is dimmed by the coming of Zaroff’s violent ecstasy. Finally, poetic justice is served as the boat races from the harbor and Zaroff becomes the food of the dogs. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-54974104194481698522023-12-29T14:56:00.000-08:002023-12-29T14:56:04.430-08:00HALLOWEEN III: THE SEASON OF THE WITCH (Tommy Lee Wallace, 1982, USA)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MqA85sl6y5VIDdePkBzjU7eu_3nvqJHC5LGGarsd_YbZfI9NSDowJrfOzizBLNxAq8Qzc1wPOr1LapSur1tXUk0czSDtD_LyYs385HDhCMNd_ayfvP7_Wa7cktGc30lPHqI_l3XY2Qsd9rfrZ3c_dTtcSz9-NL64Vhyphenhyphen4uV0VzCUvthLw33vKpO64YKWy/s976/halloween%203.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="976" data-original-width="730" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6MqA85sl6y5VIDdePkBzjU7eu_3nvqJHC5LGGarsd_YbZfI9NSDowJrfOzizBLNxAq8Qzc1wPOr1LapSur1tXUk0czSDtD_LyYs385HDhCMNd_ayfvP7_Wa7cktGc30lPHqI_l3XY2Qsd9rfrZ3c_dTtcSz9-NL64Vhyphenhyphen4uV0VzCUvthLw33vKpO64YKWy/w299-h400/halloween%203.jpg" width="299" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">This is the night of an ancient Celtic festival as the cobwebs between the living and the dead dissolve, allowing the tendrils of death and disease to traverse this nebulous boundary between worlds. This pedophobic nightmare concerns the Silver Shamrock Corporate Empire whose only goal is to murder children, to reawaken the true meaning of Samhain, to make this gleeful holiday nightmarish and murderous…just like the good old days. This includes an explosive orgy of insects and reptiles bursting forth from the ripe craniums of Halloween mask wearing children who expect a treat but get the unkindest trick of all. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The story may seem far-fetched and nonsensical; a stolen Stonehenge monolith, androids, computer chips the size of silver-dollars, a factory that barely seems capable of making a hundred latex masks (and not millions!), and an elaborate murder scheme that requires complex subliminal advertising, but it all fits loosely together and becomes gruesome fun. Conal Cochran, the mortal Thanatos, even captures the protagonist, a hard-drinking and cheating doctor, and repeats his “evil plans” in standard comic book exposition instead of just killing him outright. Of course, Dr. Challis escapes to destroy this brutal plot (and its author) but this is where the film’s structure rises slightly above the treacle and becomes brimstone: our protagonist ultimately fails.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Director Tommy Lee Wallace mimics his mentor John Carpenter by using subtle character movements and medium shots; he lets the camera linger down long corridors following softly the footsteps of the reaper. He doesn't rely on quick-cuts or flashy gimmicks…but drives us crazy with an agonizing jingle. Carpenter’s electronic score creates a few scares but layers the film in a spoiled malaise, like a secret corpse rotting under a dark porch, barely recognized before its putrescent pungency alarms our senses and creates an unsettling and disturbing atmosphere. The ActoVision-like special effect of a flashing pumpkin broadcast to millions of viewers, their supernaturally powered Halloween masks firmly secured, is a chilling conclusion to this nihilistic drama. <b>HALLOWEEN III</b> discards the slasher convention and aims higher than it actually achieves but is still entertaining and darkly tumorous. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B+)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-5829615011817451902023-12-27T15:09:00.000-08:002023-12-27T15:14:14.275-08:00TEETH (Michael Lichtenstein, 2007, USA)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3te9uUWREdYZqC0N8ZATFHlLIHDV3l6fPmCZ29kZ_PGNofZoKGt0diPDmKNBmzDfv-KE5_T02OK3dkBc7Gk4l98tNFrSE4cA9SOywUM0Z895Bddo2SbXblHVHeN-vZ3WnaCNY2yRfbAZNJHZ8sJKtODyjuRvdrdMgGzCU38soP0tHzKGpU8vMCpwGxnl/s500/teeth.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="350" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho3te9uUWREdYZqC0N8ZATFHlLIHDV3l6fPmCZ29kZ_PGNofZoKGt0diPDmKNBmzDfv-KE5_T02OK3dkBc7Gk4l98tNFrSE4cA9SOywUM0Z895Bddo2SbXblHVHeN-vZ3WnaCNY2yRfbAZNJHZ8sJKtODyjuRvdrdMgGzCU38soP0tHzKGpU8vMCpwGxnl/w280-h400/teeth.jpg" width="280" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>TEETH</b> is a post-modern Geek tragedy told not from the perspective of the Hero but from the mythological beast that must be conquered. Dawn is just an ordinary girl who has a rather peculiar evolutionary adaptation: she has the teeth of the Hydra inside her and waits for Hercules to wield his sickle and slay the evil mutation. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Dawn is a proponent of abstinence and is wracked with guilt when she fantasizes healthily about sex. Tobey is her friend and colleague who also pledged abstinence, but he has other darker desires: one day while swimming he rapes her. Of course, the beast that guards the portal to the sacred underworld is awakened and Tobey is emasculated and bleeds to death. Dawn struggles for understanding and unknowingly visits a perverted gynecologist who takes advantage of her too. He’s caught with his hand in the cookie jar and his punishment for thievery is befitting of the Codex Hammurabi. When she finally gives her body willingly to a boy, she enjoys the experience and is relieved to exert control over her blossoming womanhood. But he soon gets his cum-uppance. Dawn uses her newly discovered talents to exact revenge against a cruel and tyrannical stepbrother in a scene reminiscent of De Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom. She learns that indeed sex is a weapon. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Mitchell Lichtenstein directs with an eye for his father’s pop-culture comic book style visuals with exaggerated close-ups and colorful compositions. I especially like the ominous cooling towers hovering over Dawn’s house. But the condescending travelogue is amorphous and leaves Dawn as a wandering victim searching for Hercules. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (C+)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-68528870988623476442023-12-18T18:21:00.000-08:002023-12-18T18:21:24.211-08:00ALIEN (Ridley Scott, 1979, USA)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja_SAqQdQ0QjL5sPNIt2zXc76-udK5CBcgb1RemcF3QhDVPFqqfc-eHr1pzjLhzGmDMWHPgqBEuWCAvnA8lP6MBsWIr8FSiOKjmWfpWR1YZoWpbnkGTZI4peTyUjfFxOfcOhR3e-UfdWgRHVuRS1ynD6W-SRpQWRYdvmhZad1z8vMjoTmAb1p6piLfuMCM/s1280/alien01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="882" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEja_SAqQdQ0QjL5sPNIt2zXc76-udK5CBcgb1RemcF3QhDVPFqqfc-eHr1pzjLhzGmDMWHPgqBEuWCAvnA8lP6MBsWIr8FSiOKjmWfpWR1YZoWpbnkGTZI4peTyUjfFxOfcOhR3e-UfdWgRHVuRS1ynD6W-SRpQWRYdvmhZad1z8vMjoTmAb1p6piLfuMCM/w276-h400/alien01.jpg" width="276" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Seven human commodities to be traded in the free market, devalued and expendable, purchased at the cost of one dark entity...the almighty dollar. Ridley Scott adapts Dan O'Bannon's terse screenplay into equal parts terror and corporate fait acompli, transforming the haunted house tropes into science fiction, future echoes imbued with a healthy dose of prescient Wall Street morality.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Ridley Scott limits the cast of characters and imprisons them in the dank and grim confines of an industrial spaceship, to be stalked by the perfect predator: a creature that invokes fear of the Dark Ages, whose elongated appendages and multiple rows of jagged teeth could have clawed its way from a Hieronymus Bosch painting. Scott lights the hallways and rooms with chiaroscuro delight, allowing fear of what is not seen to override the senses. Sounds echo and reverberate surrounding the victims with a cloak of terror. ALIEN is a horror film impregnated with science fiction elements, as the film’s structure utilizes horror tropes but sets them in the future: here, technology is only a trapping of suspense, not a means to scientific ends.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The script is taught and well-paced allowing character discovery and interaction to become believable, which is necessary to create audience frisson; otherwise, the crew would be reduced to a bucket of raw chum. But there is an electric charge to the script that powers certain character’s motivations, and this sublime subplot equates human life to a monetary equation where an alien organism is worth more than seven lives (or more!). Like HAL 9000, the mother computer seems caught in the perplexing nexus of pure reason, diminishing culpability by reducing lives to binary code and stock market evaluations. It’s a brilliant touch that heightens the melodrama by creating a backlash among the crew, internal friction against an enemy never revealed on screen! The true alien becomes the faceless men and women of the “corporation” who are truly inhuman.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The story spins on the cliché of a billion-dollar spaceship endowed with a self-destruct mechanism, a deus ex machina plot device that is as inane as it is idiotic. Why would a spacecraft that is obviously built for interstellar travel have a hardwired program that could allow a disgruntled employee (or malfunction) to obliterate its investment? And not only is this computer program difficult to begin but becomes impossible to defuse! Modern rockets are built with a mechanism to allow it to explode if it goes off-course with the flick of a switch: if needed, this would be an emergency procedure. Instead, it’s a lame plot mechanic to create suspense as Ripley rushes about the ship attempting to abort the final countdown. The denouement unfortunately becomes the weak link to an otherwise strong chain of events.</span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (A)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-88754004786044727372023-11-30T18:45:00.000-08:002023-11-30T18:45:58.900-08:00THE QUIET EARTH (Geoff Murphy, 1985, New Zealand) <p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihs5-TOHxl-8kYXO2FsTQdH9U_gnEbTk8ohhSTa-a0xoUptQ8Bvv8AQEvcYyuOLi3WqD2UmPADE7D0BcR9-kZSOM9mucXmKNWJIju_xjJ23sXU9VZuDKbB9aRqsIgqiXtmZobETev62XriP_BNA41bMqEL8TS2ORC9uc4UTyfZp3ddSJ5xoscaXsyL4dP/s447/the%20quiet%20earth%20(1985)%20poster.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="447" data-original-width="300" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhihs5-TOHxl-8kYXO2FsTQdH9U_gnEbTk8ohhSTa-a0xoUptQ8Bvv8AQEvcYyuOLi3WqD2UmPADE7D0BcR9-kZSOM9mucXmKNWJIju_xjJ23sXU9VZuDKbB9aRqsIgqiXtmZobETev62XriP_BNA41bMqEL8TS2ORC9uc4UTyfZp3ddSJ5xoscaXsyL4dP/w269-h400/the%20quiet%20earth%20(1985)%20poster.jpg" width="269" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Scientist Zac Hobson’s world ends with a bottle of pills at precisely 6:12 A.M. but he awakens to a new reality: he is seemingly the last man on Earth. Confused, he explores this strange geography not sure if this is some internal dimension or an external result of the failed Project Flashlight, a unilateral experiment involving countries across the globe.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Zac begins to slowly lose his mind to the madness of isolation, becoming god of the empty streets and echoing lifeless cities. The gunmetal taste of suicide brings him back to sanity and he begins to monitor the world around him, taking measurements of the now pulsating sun. He meets Joanne and Api and their base human conflicts threaten to push them apart, to isolate them in a world of silence and create an emotional vacuum filled with the ether of despair. Through dialogue, they discover the reason for their existence; they all died at the moment the Project malfunctioned, preserving them in this empty world. Soon Zac discovers that this electromagnetic pulse is going to reoccur and their only hope for survival is to destroy the facility.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Director Geoff Murphy films in long shots of deserted streets and towns, lending an air of realism to this somewhat trite narrative. As Zac explores an empty house, a torrent of water flows from the kitchen ceiling, homage to Tarkovsky’s masterpiece <b>SOLARIS</b>. A crashed jet plane, abandoned vehicles, burning wreckage, and a still hot coffee pot, inform the audience that everyone just disappeared without a trace, and which adds a level of realism for such a small budget film. But it’s the character’s juvenile emotional turmoil that almost unravels the story, which removes us from any sympathetic coherence: the three protagonists aren't very likable. Though we know more about Zac than Joanne and Api, we are still too detached from caring about their dilemma. Finally, Zac disappears in a mushroom cloud but awakens once again to an alien terrain where spidery clouds caress the violent blue surf, and a ringed planet rises above the gentle mist.</span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (C)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-89777372026470321502023-11-21T18:40:00.000-08:002023-11-21T18:40:03.755-08:00DEEP RED (Dario Argento, 1975, Italy)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHXSTaz4eNS6R2nvOqZBNLA5oQVcMzkjDfY7aOsiRyhvzgT9HPZHd7Em3oTK8HS5cvHqv8NfKoNZfF1wpM__P0KF85qFGHv1dGmfTh_OTPoLP3EkzrlShlYRLeMkxJQJAjoV8ypUpqHfpDntimAGTyjbVWPXc9cWFfLOfdeLzvFiEPRpbJAESbxd6aBNqS/s4900/deep%20red.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4900" data-original-width="3245" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHXSTaz4eNS6R2nvOqZBNLA5oQVcMzkjDfY7aOsiRyhvzgT9HPZHd7Em3oTK8HS5cvHqv8NfKoNZfF1wpM__P0KF85qFGHv1dGmfTh_OTPoLP3EkzrlShlYRLeMkxJQJAjoV8ypUpqHfpDntimAGTyjbVWPXc9cWFfLOfdeLzvFiEPRpbJAESbxd6aBNqS/w265-h400/deep%20red.jpeg" width="265" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A pianist must use his delicate hands to scrape away a mystery, revealing the bones of forgotten crime beneath plaster and paint. Dario Argento's Hitchcockian thriller is an admixture of Aphroditic humor and gruesome Thanatos, a bubbling cauldron of sexual innuendo and bloody in your-end-o.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Marcus Daly is a transplanted Englishman who witnesses a murder, and with the help of a feminist reporter he must solve the crime before he becomes victim of it. Argento once again questions reality and perspective, as Daly struggles to remember vital details (such as a painting) lost amid the convolutions of his brain, desperately trying to discover the electrical impulse that powers specific neurotransmitters but left with a void in the synapse. His drunken friend is of little use as his recollection can be found at the bottom of a bottle, a ninety-proof memory. Between teeth chattering, face scalding, and hatchet wielding murder scenarios Daly must fend off the sexual advances of a rather cute reporter who tries desperately to bed him. This humor releases volatile tension and becomes important to the atmosphere of thick humors, expunging another type of bodily fluid.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The film is perfectly paced (this is the longer Italian cut) and each scenario dazzling and eerily beautiful, the murders shown in gruesome detail. The opening scene of domestic violence subsumes expected tranquility, as a creeping shadow cast larger than life commits its own violent covenant, and a child is left with the Christmas aftermath. Argento holds back vital clues and information from Daly and the viewer, leading the story from the haunted halls of a deserted villa to Leonardo Da Vinci’s childish scrawl. The subtext of feminine empowerment and equality plays an important role in solving the mystery, a nice twist in the narrative knot.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Marcus Daly is forced to reconsider his views on feminism and entitlement, as he finally sees his true self reflected in deep red.</span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B+)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-51779944062800073592023-10-28T10:27:00.002-07:002023-10-28T10:27:48.321-07:00THE ROAD (John Hillcoat, 2009, USA)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYYoauHE8SOgqAOY-MlS8C2a5S_jn_nWHSHP4iAG7jsEd4BdPtpNBe_HEChJn7Q8HZaZ6uaNWfwWEQdnucZq0KeUsrkWE6saYeiwRnSfXN2ea73S06SmrmRDbYTtrTjAO3EVdqwHL2i53TbhzDMJMLBQH7EbM2uktx6IwKdAuXp9JWn-9cyaSAIFvRs2X/s990/the%20road.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="990" data-original-width="700" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcYYoauHE8SOgqAOY-MlS8C2a5S_jn_nWHSHP4iAG7jsEd4BdPtpNBe_HEChJn7Q8HZaZ6uaNWfwWEQdnucZq0KeUsrkWE6saYeiwRnSfXN2ea73S06SmrmRDbYTtrTjAO3EVdqwHL2i53TbhzDMJMLBQH7EbM2uktx6IwKdAuXp9JWn-9cyaSAIFvRs2X/w283-h400/the%20road.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A father and son live moment by sickly moment in the now here, but listlessly wander the damaged path to nowhere. Director John Hillcoat’s apocalyptical vision is as ephemeral as the ashes of human beings drifting like snowflakes upon the thick poisonous air, and as solid as a vacant house ravaged by time, a skeletal ode to the passing of a species.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Adapted from the Cormac McCarthy novel, Hillcoat delays the narrative tension with the use of superficial flashbacks that intrude upon the urgency of the situational drama. Though Hillcoat doesn’t sink to the lower depths of trite exposition to explain the world-changing disaster, he unfortunately feels the need to explain the father’s emotional world, to peer inside his head to relive the past and use voice-over to propel the journey: both are disjointed functions that become condescending and unnecessary. The power of the story is in the never-ending drudgery of survival, in drawing each thick breath because of an inherent will to survive while retaining their humanity. Instead of utilizing long takes with minimal editing to take us along on this heart wrenching travelogue, the editing is fractured until the film plays like small vignettes pieced together without care.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The soundtrack is horribly melodramatic and typical, with swelling strings for sad moments and pounding percussion for action sequences. The look of the film is interesting, with a washed-out color palette that contrasts with the vibrant colors of memory that relies too much on CGI and becomes too digital: the computer enhancement is a detriment. Hillcoat fails to use the eerie murk, the absence of all light in this dark night of the world to full advantage, magnifying sounds into monstrous imaginings. When the “bad guys” wander into the story, they look like recycled antagonists from a Mad Max flick.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Viggo Mortensen’s face is a roadmap of destruction, wearing the weary determination of a dying father like a badge of honor upon his stoic countenance. Pain is the currency of this new world order, and Viggo is less effective as he speaks; Hillcoat has failed to imbue the characters with a subtle mimicry, conveying emotion without dialogue because words are limitations. The child actor Kodi Smit-McPhee is neither good nor bad as the son, he merely is; that’s really all that is required for the role. This could have been constructed as a silent film and been much more effective. The main fault that cracks the narrative foundation is that it isn’t depressing enough; it only carries the illusion of tragedy because the audience isn’t given enough time to care. Michael Haneke’s <b>TIME OF THE WOLF</b> is a much better post-apocryphal allegory.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Overall, <b>THE ROAD</b> is a film that has lost its path, detouring into the realm of the conventional and clichéd. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (C)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-52783717561760763772023-10-16T16:10:00.002-07:002023-10-16T16:10:11.251-07:00CARRIE (Brian DePalma, 1976, USA)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEislk5y2xjQAHzR1PzvXhxhhgQqq9dHs6k67IfQnjeptgn0py7vJQ6hIwO8BxZVinMFVC9kHLpVpMFGMl6h5-9F_KNqNCk4Jz5XqpYZG4BjTfafTckDONCZ0jMBpJ7zf7Cj-auHKYNKVFPt2dypZ6HaG-vXggWqFfJ06Hq2zCmCBHi22OQJfbpaaKj_GR8x/s830/carrie02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="830" data-original-width="571" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEislk5y2xjQAHzR1PzvXhxhhgQqq9dHs6k67IfQnjeptgn0py7vJQ6hIwO8BxZVinMFVC9kHLpVpMFGMl6h5-9F_KNqNCk4Jz5XqpYZG4BjTfafTckDONCZ0jMBpJ7zf7Cj-auHKYNKVFPt2dypZ6HaG-vXggWqFfJ06Hq2zCmCBHi22OQJfbpaaKj_GR8x/w275-h400/carrie02.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Carrie White is baptized into adulthood by blood and fire, victimized by both religious and high school dogma. Director Brian DePalma adapts the Stephen King novel which offers an excellent narrative foundation without excess, unlike many of King’s subsequent books. Depalma cut quickly to the chase by depicting the characters as iconic representations: the jock, the bad boy, the promiscuous girl, etc. In the hallowed halls of high school hierarchy, stereotypes are an essential element of exclusivity. This allows the film to burn quickly forward as Depalma pulls focus upon the titular outcast, eschewing subplot and exposition. We know these characters by different names and wearing different faces, but they haunt our own past.</span><p></p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">The film begins with a slow tracking shot through a girl’s locker room, nubile young bodies like ghosts in the showery haze. DePalma doesn’t linger upon the nudity but glides through the steam until he rests our attention upon a single young lady who is masturbating in the shower. He cuts to close-up of her freckled face, then her hand washing the inside of her leg, up and down in a sensual rhythm, until blood interrupts Carrie’s reverie. When the girls taunt and ridicule poor Carrie (and they all do), it is an uncomfortable and disgusting scene because it taps the pregnant vein of our high school neurosis: fears of abasement and denial, of not fitting in, of not being handsome enough or wearing the right clothes. Inside dark shadows of our psyche lurks a Carrie White being laughed at, and how we wish for the power to even the score. <strong>CARRIE</strong> is about these fears, but it is also about the troubling obsession of religious extremism, how mythology overrides reason and becomes a dangerous weapon of humiliation and mind control. Carrie’s mother wields that weapon like a scythe, locking Carrie in the closet with a gruesome depiction of her crucified god.</span><br /><br /><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif">DePalma utilizes split screen once again, a technical signature, during the prom sequence as literally all hell breaks loose. Covered in pig’s blood, Carrie’s perceptions are cursed with her mother’s mantra, so she takes revenge upon the world…and burns it down. She wanders home to seek her unjust reward. </span></span><div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><strong><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></strong></span></div><div><span face=""Trebuchet MS", sans-serif"><strong><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B+)</span></strong></span></div>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-50516878929303230602023-10-12T18:22:00.005-07:002023-10-12T18:22:22.253-07:00COUNT DRACULA (Jesus Franco, 1970, Spain)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8LQkppiZzlMaH_5kPHcutMTbRQ1u_pagDT0kXkPGsZiPhAQnVmUXKJHQyNh5SlIvv7MER23UVRPvStdRPB1w69m65DuzIqvjApK6VXm_iTgb1cEwQRRIgU2bEePYSEeCW4kTzSV7wQpVILAo66iwHigOf4TZ-tY3ZU4p9ZCLzmRdSllfK3e40-w8i_9p/s837/count%20dracula.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="837" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv8LQkppiZzlMaH_5kPHcutMTbRQ1u_pagDT0kXkPGsZiPhAQnVmUXKJHQyNh5SlIvv7MER23UVRPvStdRPB1w69m65DuzIqvjApK6VXm_iTgb1cEwQRRIgU2bEePYSEeCW4kTzSV7wQpVILAo66iwHigOf4TZ-tY3ZU4p9ZCLzmRdSllfK3e40-w8i_9p/w270-h400/count%20dracula.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Filmed in 1970, Jess Franco’s version of <b>DRACULA</b> was touted with the tag tine as the most faithful adaptation of Stoker’s classic. Unfortunately, Franco’s film deviates in both plot and subtext by taking liberal narrative short cuts and expunging the sexual riptide that drowns the characters in Victorian guilt and shameful physical desires.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The film begins much like the novel as Jonathan Harker travels to the dank keep of his mysterious benefactor, chagrined at the furtive glances and whispers of the local villagers. Franco is able to build a modicum of suspense though his style quickly becomes visually tiresome: he uses a pan and quick zoom for reaction shots that seems rather clumsy. His style eschews the need for inserts, and it would be interesting if used for effect, but it becomes a matter of routine and thus stands out instead of accentuating the emotive response. The first act is enjoyable as Franco transforms dream and reality into Harker’s nightmarish journey into the sepulcher of his unholy host. But the story soon excises all suspense and adventure and unites the major characters at Van Helsing’s (?) Sanitarium. Franco also diminishes the strong-willed Lucy to a weak-minded victim who fails to partake in the action. And why is Van Helsing relegated to a wheelchair at the midway point, when it plays no role in the outcome of the redacted story? The acting is neither good nor bad, it just is, and Klaus Kinski is sinfully mitigated to a voiceless and static role (though his eyes mirror madness). However, Christopher Lee as the Count is both Lordly and lethal, speaking much of Stoker’s dialogue with the perfection of a Shakespearean performance.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Bruno Nicolai’s score seems a poor man’s Ennio Morricone, more spaghetti western than gothic horror. The music often stands out in opposition to the visual, more aggressive than the motionless story. The cinematography is bland and forgettable, as the compositions are mostly framed in close up. Franco somehow transforms Stoker’s adventure story into stagnant dialogue. The ending of the film is laughable as Styrofoam blocks bounce harmlessly off a horse’s head, and then cut to Gypsies crushed by the cheaply made props.</span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (D)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-64451889587396834332023-10-01T18:19:00.003-07:002023-10-01T18:19:31.823-07:00THE HAUNTING (Robert Wise, 1963, USA)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRXusZkf_yK59P48C__n9W7sp8X9RfuGbthyentdAqJSfKGNEcajE5ad9U9TJIXBMaBRsSgtgwsjpzHkT78xrpCKPGKqw2Mit0cNwSL89pg8k-XHuZSWkwFfZfei5URaQh1Qite49cK_CV0M1xiF0eWERLR_meEJslzd3ZgeguxLEypDajQrENNEHAWgZW/s1200/the%20haunting.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="847" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRXusZkf_yK59P48C__n9W7sp8X9RfuGbthyentdAqJSfKGNEcajE5ad9U9TJIXBMaBRsSgtgwsjpzHkT78xrpCKPGKqw2Mit0cNwSL89pg8k-XHuZSWkwFfZfei5URaQh1Qite49cK_CV0M1xiF0eWERLR_meEJslzd3ZgeguxLEypDajQrENNEHAWgZW/w283-h400/the%20haunting.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>"Silence lay steadily against the wood and stone of Hill House, and whatever walked there, walked alone.”</i> – Shirley Jackson, The Haunting of Hill House.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">There is a Hill House in every old town, a lonely sentinel standing guard over the past, refusing to change, and haunted by sordid rumor and half-truths. Neighbors complain that it should be cut out like a malignant tumor to stop the spread of its awful dis-ease. Robert Wise faithfully adapts the Shirley Jackson classic about four disparate individuals who come together for a common cause: to unlock the moribund secret of Hill House.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Dr. Markway enlists the help of Eleanor, Theodora, and (grudgingly) Luke to explore the cavernous depths of the old house, utilizing scientific principles to prove the existence of the haunting as preternatural. The story’s focus is upon Eleanor, a lonely and castigated woman who answers Markway’s letter and becomes intoxicated by Hill House. After eleven years of mental abuse while caring for her elderly mother and her spirit as empty as the echoing chambers of a tomb, Eleanor finally discovers her raison d’être.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Dr. Markway has sacrificed his reputation in this endeavor and, in the final act, clashes with his bullying and skeptical wife. Theo’s acute perceptions seem to indicate some level of the paranormal; her keen insight into the others (and House) akin to ESP. Luke is along for the ride…and martinis. The sexual frisson between Theo and Eleanor, the latter’s desire for the Dr., and Luke’s infatuation with Theo is a palpable tension; hot, thick, and heavy.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Hill House is the true antagonist of the film; it’s dark windows and eerie balustrades, its gothic spires and disjointed architecture are a ubiquitous presence. Through the genius of his cinematic composition and editing, Wise creates suspense and ghostly fear seemingly out of the ether. High angle shots reveal the House’s omniscient viewpoint, like a Giant watching insects scratch fitfully in the dirt. He also uses many low-angle camera shots to create a feeling of claustrophobia and malaise, exposing the ceilings and room’s four corners like a cage. The inexplicable thumping is the heartbeat of Hill House and its sullen whispers a warning. There are subterranean waters that rush like flood currents here, but they exist metaphorically in Eleanor’s fractured mind. She finds her lover at journey’s end and now walks the deserted corridors of Purgatory. In the night. In the dark. Alone. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (A)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-22028223117986812182023-09-30T09:31:00.003-07:002023-09-30T09:31:29.545-07:00PSYCHO (Alfred Hitchcock, 1960, USA)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi34NvSk7Gwy6S49eokkMdeQ5By0t05lcyZFh2aj17OFlQTDeDIGNmmmsgci3uwHdYo4w78SCZcdWXOQSfDEvdQnFNJ5jj889dXpmDMwnHSJFtpDIwUozy1LDjcAQMNsKZWLC_ZdOcBr6IqM5qsrgy6sXWhQpy1_KULyqAxHQZ6viP_xUz8EJ1krxNZzDCS/s632/Psycho.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="632" data-original-width="446" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi34NvSk7Gwy6S49eokkMdeQ5By0t05lcyZFh2aj17OFlQTDeDIGNmmmsgci3uwHdYo4w78SCZcdWXOQSfDEvdQnFNJ5jj889dXpmDMwnHSJFtpDIwUozy1LDjcAQMNsKZWLC_ZdOcBr6IqM5qsrgy6sXWhQpy1_KULyqAxHQZ6viP_xUz8EJ1krxNZzDCS/w283-h400/Psycho.jpg" width="283" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In search of a private island, a woman steps out of her own personal trap and into another’s, scratching and clawing at the air. In the humid darkness, her fate is washed down a drain and drowned in a brackish bog, at the whim of a mad matriarch. But we all go a little mad sometimes…don’t we? </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Alfred Hitchcock’s pièce de rèsistance may be the shower sequence, as Marion Crane begins to metaphorically wash her sin away, deciding to return the stolen money. But the consequences of her felony will outweigh the crime itself, as a diaphanous figure looms behind the shower curtain with eyes that burn like coal. Bernard Herrmann’s ripcord score shrieks with slashing strings, and though Hitchcock never depicts one puncture wound the quicksilver editing allows imagination to trump revelation. Her palsied hand clutches at the shower curtain and she slumps forward, the dull thud on the tile floor chilling and final. A match cut shows thick blood spiraling down the drain juxtaposed with her lifeless eye now starring into the abyss, as the camera pulls slowly back from extreme close-up.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The most disturbing scene of the film may be the one that precedes this murder, as Norman and Marion share company in his parlor surrounded by stuffed birds. The conversation proceeds from small talk to deep insight, as Marion recognizes her own mistake and Norman slowly transforms his boyish charm into accusatory malignancy. Hitchcock often frames Norman in low angle with the birds hovering above him in raptor-like frenzy, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down like a bird being fed by its mother. In this case, Norman has been totally consumed by his mother! Norman leans towards Marion and spits his venomous judgment: “People always mean well! They cluck their thick tongues and shake their heads and suggest, oh so very delicately!” These dark reflections foreshadow the tumultuous events and derail the entire narrative structure, shifting the final two acts into a murder mystery: it’s one of the most dramatic paradigm shifts in popular film…a $40,000 McGuffin! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>PSYCHO</b> is Hitchcock’s most famous film and arguably his best and has become the foundation for an entire genre that continues to influence modern cinema.</span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (A+)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-7037534795888234862023-09-18T18:08:00.003-07:002023-09-18T18:08:27.615-07:00THE THING FROM ANOTHER WORLD (Christian Nyby, 1951, USA)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGC-yc5zGPhglUiAArcPORO1womDWLtzocBMKzoVj29MrZfxDFiAi4Hi_WsUEdROVjYme9vaR1xQmeanVU1k0Bla3IESKGy5unj5uX7CwB3zBSE2xmTPZtGaT-vqJldkpQC1usmSid4L1IS3lh0mt9-2ns7auggKb_IUS-WubGvRrmLFP7SJ8d8Nl0w7ig/s800/the%20thing%20from%20another%20world.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGC-yc5zGPhglUiAArcPORO1womDWLtzocBMKzoVj29MrZfxDFiAi4Hi_WsUEdROVjYme9vaR1xQmeanVU1k0Bla3IESKGy5unj5uX7CwB3zBSE2xmTPZtGaT-vqJldkpQC1usmSid4L1IS3lh0mt9-2ns7auggKb_IUS-WubGvRrmLFP7SJ8d8Nl0w7ig/w400-h300/the%20thing%20from%20another%20world.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Cold War paranoia as a foreign invader attacks a small research facility, a minor conflict indicative of a growing menace whose malignant seeds could take root and destroy the World. A frightening metaphor concerning the Korean War, as this tiny plot of land becomes the battleground where the future of our world hangs precariously in the balance. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Though Christian Nyby is credited as Director, this has the pulse of a Howard Hawks film with overlapping dialogue, quick-witted sarcasm and a strong feminist romance. Ben Hecht is uncredited as a screenwriter; his innuendo and double entendre adds spice and flavor to the characters, helping to define each minor participant as an individual. The film begins with a wink and a nudge as Captain Hendry must re-supply an isolated research outpost and confront Nikki, a brief encounter (Re: one night stand) who drank him under the table a few weeks prior. But the joking quickly turns towards fear as the soldiers discover a crashed spaceship and its frozen occupant. Science and morality quickly clash, and the military’s bumbling orders puts the entire crew at risk. Though very little violence is shown, the allusions to butchered men hanging from the rafters, their blood feeding the spawns of this alien creature is truly gruesome. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Nyby films mostly indoors and in medium close-up, packing each frame with multiple characters creating a claustrophobic sense of fear, as the narrow corridors and tight spaces are now prison walls while the creature walks free. The Geiger counter’s clicking alerts reminds me of the device used in <b>ALIENS</b> to heighten the tension as death stalks the base; their brief lives ticking quickly away. The vegetative alien is far more advanced than we are, but it still shambles about like a Frankenstein’s monster and acts rashly rather than intelligently…even though it does turn off the heat. Dr. Carrington attempts to communicate with the beast, but he is violently ignored while the resourceful soldiers ultimately save the day with lightening quick ingenuity. The story ends with a blossoming romance and a fried vegetable…and this dire warning: Watch the skies, everywhere, keep watching the skies! </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B+)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-10089600825081514252023-09-09T20:10:00.000-07:002023-09-09T20:10:00.452-07:00THE THING (John Carpenter, 1982, USA)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZsSo0C-AxVn3D8djV-vp6V8A1ChkqvfzT9q8Cz53ffSy4STvyEsN5ojF2tcQ3oEpS9Dnt-ebG64K2W3FBOXemjEA9b9hn4vC8wVio-PvxUm_360EbgiB3QXfzpYqxsRVvohBXqfj6Dem_eDD250M9KJ7sOxofuk2h81YxeO9-v_HE1q5yCttEEMCkJBK/s2021/the%20thing%20japanese.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2021" data-original-width="1454" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJZsSo0C-AxVn3D8djV-vp6V8A1ChkqvfzT9q8Cz53ffSy4STvyEsN5ojF2tcQ3oEpS9Dnt-ebG64K2W3FBOXemjEA9b9hn4vC8wVio-PvxUm_360EbgiB3QXfzpYqxsRVvohBXqfj6Dem_eDD250M9KJ7sOxofuk2h81YxeO9-v_HE1q5yCttEEMCkJBK/w288-h400/the%20thing%20japanese.jpg" width="288" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A Cold War is fought in the Antarctic by an American research team who must battle a shape-shifting invader, a gruesome horror that absorbs its victims, both physically and mentally, and subverts the social structure from within. This classic film begins with a helicopter rising over stark jagged mountains chasing a seemingly innocuous Husky; then almost subliminally, Ennio Morricone’s eerie synthesizer score creeps into our subconscious and we realize that all is not what is seems. When the alien finally reveals itself in an awesome display of slime, blood, tentacles, and gore, the infiltration has already begun.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">John Carpenter has created a sublime terror, an emotional tremor more powerful than any alien monstrosity because the enemy is unseen: it could be your best friend…or even yourself. As the death toll rises, accusations begin to undermine their fraternity, and MacReady must discover a way to distinguish the human from the inhuman. In this truly fascinating and complex scene, blood samples are drawn and tested with a hot needle. Each character, especially the ones who are human, shows absolute relief as if expecting themselves to be revealed as monsters: how devastating to be unsure of your own identity.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The true power of the film is in the disintegration of Authority reflective of Reagan Era America, where the proletariat can no longer trust those in control; we’re still suffering the consequences from Oakland to Wall Street. Here, in the cold charnel house of Antarctica, it is MacReady the helicopter pilot and Childs the mechanic who potentially saves the human race, not the fierce leader with his “pop” gun. Carpenter’s nihilistic social commentary is perfectly revealed in the ambiguous conclusion, as MacReady and Childs confront one another, they futilely wonder, “Who goes there?” The only answer is a slow fade to black.</span></p><p><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Final Grade: (A+)</b></span></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-429286842337555502023-07-23T13:00:00.004-07:002023-07-27T11:32:24.014-07:00HORROR EXPRESS (Eugenio Martin, 1973, Spain)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZW-8wb6A5YFve449zT7l5tIIYtrpBmi0xr5zWJcsJCPIlNY-h3hGZ55yTpbI3ovDJatKLAfPq0r6W9ytmbEaKSmwPSOr4GLwdlI9krkRC0JKcJ3Dnpfh1wXBF5_71xr_sy_an8LNdenKDbyN0fmz5VOcbm6V-SwRbUPB956-JGV_BMbAuYIZ2t3UiCe4/s1200/horror%20express.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="890" data-original-width="1200" height="296" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZW-8wb6A5YFve449zT7l5tIIYtrpBmi0xr5zWJcsJCPIlNY-h3hGZ55yTpbI3ovDJatKLAfPq0r6W9ytmbEaKSmwPSOr4GLwdlI9krkRC0JKcJ3Dnpfh1wXBF5_71xr_sy_an8LNdenKDbyN0fmz5VOcbm6V-SwRbUPB956-JGV_BMbAuYIZ2t3UiCe4/w400-h296/horror%20express.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">From the mountains a madness is recovered and released, a vitreous humour on the Trans-Siberian Express. That sentence is actually more interesting than the film itself, as director Eugenio Martin’s debacle assaults and insults with a barely cohesive script and unintelligible internal logic.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Professor Saxton transports a well-preserved hominid fossil upon the isolated railway. The gangly fossil is corrupted by an alien intelligence, and it comes to life, murdering by absorbing thoughts through its eyes, leeching the life force from any living creature. The victims bleed from their orifices and are left vacant, their cranial convolutions now eroded like a smooth river stone. The entity jumps from victim to victim and the passengers become paranoid, unable to discern a human from the inhuman. But the story becomes frighteningly illogical as the Detective, when possessed, sports the withered hand of the fossil; or those killed by the being can now be reanimated as zombies; or the monk who suddenly casts aside his faith to follow “Satan”; or the ability to see images of the past in a creature’s eye (not the alien’s eye mind you, but the fossil’s...how could fragile tissue remain preserved even in the Russian cold for two million years?); or the final transmission to derail the train; or the fact that the Russians would build a railroad that ended on the edge of a cliff (as absurd as a self-destruct mechanism in a spaceship).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Though there are some neat ideas, the film stutters and stalls in every scene, muting tension and suspense by showing the audience the mystery before allowing it to unfold dramatically. Christopher Lee and Peter Cushing are respectable (as always) but Telly Savalas is as incoherent as his accent, detracting from the ensemble. <b>HORROR EXPRESS</b> is derailed by its director’s incompetence.</span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (D)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-763808174467655462023-07-02T20:26:00.000-07:002023-07-02T20:26:04.911-07:00THE VAULT OF HORROR (Roy Ward Baker, 1973, UK)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0M2Z639BqqwL-uyYdq_QsrlOvA1KqdLUCkqrITx6EWEvYTLZW6BmvkOP7GZY-s00crSxFulMJctIoaf9qyNoItdC95HsuUKp0O2iaXDKigHKG8x1NqQ_Yo4WIGui0NHkXBqfrIST58bzBIhy-Ku9aVplqS4MQD-539_LsOXY3qvhhEbJPqrzyQgro5S6/s894/vault%20of%20horror.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="687" data-original-width="894" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjY0M2Z639BqqwL-uyYdq_QsrlOvA1KqdLUCkqrITx6EWEvYTLZW6BmvkOP7GZY-s00crSxFulMJctIoaf9qyNoItdC95HsuUKp0O2iaXDKigHKG8x1NqQ_Yo4WIGui0NHkXBqfrIST58bzBIhy-Ku9aVplqS4MQD-539_LsOXY3qvhhEbJPqrzyQgro5S6/w400-h308/vault%20of%20horror.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p><i><b><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Heh. Heh. Ready for another fiendish feast? Then welcome to my Blooditarian restaurant; hope the atmosphere doesn't err…suck! Looks like a seeping serving of supernatural is the soup de jour. What? You’ve already eaten? No matter, you just happen to be on the menu this evening. Fangs for the tap!”</span></b></i></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">This Amicus produced companion to their first EC adaptation <b>TALES FROM THE CRYPT</b> is just as darkly humorous and enjoyable. Roy Ward Baker takes the helm this time; director of one of my favorite science fiction flicks <b>QUATERMASS AND THE PIT</b>. He competently sews together the five various extremities into a coherent whole, tapping the vein of the delicious corpus delicti. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The story involves five strangers on a mysterious elevator ride who find themselves in a fully furnished sub-basement. They each begin to talk about their insane dreams, which seem so real and convincing. The first story <b>MIDNIGHT MESS</b> (<i>Tales from the Crypt #35</i>) has been altered from the original to make the brother a more despicable and deserving late night snack. Upon reflection, he probably regrets his choice of fine dining establishments because he is served as a just dessert! <b>THE NEAT JOB</b> (<i>Shock SuspenStories #1</i>) finds the wife of an obsessive-compulsive domineering husband finally organizing their cluttered marriage. <b>THIS TRICK’LL KILL YOU</b> (<i>Tales from the Crypt #3</i>) concerns a vacationing magician and his wife who get all tied up over a magic trick…but the husband just can’t overcome his hang-ups. An insurance scam goes awry in <b>BARGAIN IN DEATH</b> (<i>Tales from the Crypt #28</i>). The scammer gets more than he bargained for and digs himself deeper into a hole he can’t escape from. The artist in <b>DRAWN AND QUARTERED</b> (<i>Tales from the Crypt #26</i>) draws a self-preserving portrait…but he should have used permanent ink. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The film ends as four characters wander through the doorway (once the elevator shaft) and into a ghostly graveyard. They each fade away like a bad memory as the final character proclaims their punishment: to meet unknowingly each night and profess their ghastly crimes. For all eternity. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B-)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-80674391315824133782023-05-31T06:20:00.011-07:002023-05-31T06:20:58.935-07:00WITCHFINDER GENERAL (Michael Reeves, 1968, UK)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje9OANzPxLbcbLsKB699BZf47a6nSFLyE2xEIa60ga3DPpTmr_VZ6b2NWPd5bhAAWHfPVAwKSqfhOQGBOv4scHhqjQJdIsA15eAIOsMcHkLdIMY2x_IBQGrAlhIP7pvuEk-R8WZLUXtU2SwQqACklkvkQJtA_kAH8Vl5Q346QFXAuRyqH1B5olhcD1Ew/s598/witchfinder%20general.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="598" data-original-width="440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje9OANzPxLbcbLsKB699BZf47a6nSFLyE2xEIa60ga3DPpTmr_VZ6b2NWPd5bhAAWHfPVAwKSqfhOQGBOv4scHhqjQJdIsA15eAIOsMcHkLdIMY2x_IBQGrAlhIP7pvuEk-R8WZLUXtU2SwQqACklkvkQJtA_kAH8Vl5Q346QFXAuRyqH1B5olhcD1Ew/w294-h400/witchfinder%20general.jpg" width="294" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Two men swear blood oaths to a violent god, seeking deific approval for their murderous acts, intentions tainted by toxic orthodoxy. Michael Reeves' anachronistic tale of witch trials and revenge is a slow burn towards soul consuming conflagration where enlightenment is reduced to ashes and dust.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Two wars rage in England: a Civil War to depose the divine right of Kings, and a religious war that elects murderers and charlatans as Messianic authority. Each preys upon the common man, trapped between biblical verse and Rule of Law sanctioned by the conqueror. Matthew Hopkins, a fine understated performance by Vincent Price, is the harbinger of a dreadful faith where an ethereal god writes human law into coded text. He walks the English countryside, a specter of Death, punishing those accused of witchcraft by scared and jealous magistrates. Blood money courses through his course veins, a grim reaper who extracts lies by torture and names it Truth: he's not saving souls...he's damning his. He rapes a young woman and torture her uncle and must face the Earthly judgment of cold steel and gunpowder. Hopkins is cruel and egocentric, but it's his assistant John Stearne who revels in sadistic pleasure.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Michael Reeves allows the story time to unfold dramatically instead of rushing from one exploitive scene to the next. He places the tale firmly in a historical context, even frames a scene between the protagonist Richard Marshall and the legendary Oliver Cromwell. Though his narrative short-cut redacts the trials of those accused of witchcraft, the point is directly made that petty squabbles and arguments lead from finger pointing to neck stretching verdicts, and the townsfolk who cheer have each escaped their fate, for now. The methods of extracting a confession are steeped in historicity; from stabbing into birthmarks, throwing weakened victims into rivers, and burning at the stake, Reeves shows the brutality in deep red.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Hopkins finally eats his just desserts but here, on the cusp of the Age of Enlightenment, even the victors become victims to despicable violence, where Law is twisted not to serve mankind but powerful men, those touched by the wicked spell of Christianity are left to shout their pain to the heart of an uncaring world.</span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-14699918616424817062023-03-16T09:42:00.003-07:002023-03-16T09:42:30.531-07:00INFERNO (Dario Argento, 1980, Italy)<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggbEmLJh6KZZyy1Iz5HaYyQBMp5GrNlLqi_xh2oaaRjr3DmVVDghCNq4xkMOgPU4ZBiXzIHDcKcLpE4NEooR5kD7es3TTPD5LzzR8gCWyd4ZPecj6KC2IN54pIo6EOOvASZUHKAcNXZxVrhLkmrFYTth5YrMaa-s41Io_Rh-D1NmeVpunrcdQKGDQ6zQ/s730/inferno02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="730" data-original-width="500" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggbEmLJh6KZZyy1Iz5HaYyQBMp5GrNlLqi_xh2oaaRjr3DmVVDghCNq4xkMOgPU4ZBiXzIHDcKcLpE4NEooR5kD7es3TTPD5LzzR8gCWyd4ZPecj6KC2IN54pIo6EOOvASZUHKAcNXZxVrhLkmrFYTth5YrMaa-s41Io_Rh-D1NmeVpunrcdQKGDQ6zQ/w274-h400/inferno02.jpg" width="274" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">A mysterious tome shines the light of revelation upon a maternal shadow, leading to a conflagration that eclipses a diabolical darkness. Dario Argento’s sequel to <b>SUSPIRIA</b> is style over substance, a patchwork of events that operates outside the confines of traditional narrative but are woven together to create an enigma, ripe with anxiety and desperation.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Rose is strangely gifted a book, detailing an architecture of superstition and fear, the building blocks of a metaphysical reality that transcends and transforms rationality. She follows the clues until she descends into the subterranean sepulcher buried in the very foundation of her home, a threat under her very feet. Rose discovers a key but forfeits her life, a long-distance connection that beckons her brother to her eerie domicile that is now her tomb. This first act is brilliant as Argento makes this fluid world burst with surface tension, as Rose dives into a watery hole to retrieve her keychain, molested by a rotting corpse, an inverted world of elemental mystery. Unfortunately, Argento fails to revisit (or explain) this set piece and the remainder of the narrative becomes mere flotsam and jetsam.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The film's structure becomes tangential vignettes drenched in primary colors and surrealistic fury, an atmosphere of confounding narrative but extraordinary design. The characters are merely beings who stumble through the story as Argento doesn't care to forge an empathetic link to the viewer, fodder for the visual hijinks.</span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B-)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-91153884823284034252023-02-11T20:44:00.002-08:002023-02-11T20:44:19.069-08:00SUPERNATURAL (Victor Halperin, 1933)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvTq9tNhs2LbXC1kauYm_H6-VO56zwhY9aInVWdKEyl-aBTTKYKvSgaeT_6PGHyS93aNa3DR0RZ0MausOV6dPrq-UWFhgZ3uDONPU5unONS7Gr2vvo7mAsdIGufEYeSwtfp5bUoACPOQPiXsuh0r8knfWgPvWkAX3ppPRrnIybzBNBz2rqsl5-tUAoA/s350/supernatural01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="350" data-original-width="236" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPvTq9tNhs2LbXC1kauYm_H6-VO56zwhY9aInVWdKEyl-aBTTKYKvSgaeT_6PGHyS93aNa3DR0RZ0MausOV6dPrq-UWFhgZ3uDONPU5unONS7Gr2vvo7mAsdIGufEYeSwtfp5bUoACPOQPiXsuh0r8knfWgPvWkAX3ppPRrnIybzBNBz2rqsl5-tUAoA/w270-h400/supernatural01.jpg" width="270" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Dr. Houston, we have a problem. And the problem is the abeyance of reason, logic and critical thinking skills as leaden hypothesis is transmuted into golden theory without application of the scientific method...or any method! Here, a medical doctor proclaims ultraviolet radiation (RE: soul) transfers personality after death and can possess another person, like a virus from a host’s infection. Though the premise is absurd, we can suspend our disbelief if the thesis remains consistent, yet the final act contains a brief contradiction. However, Victor Halperin’s solid direction sustains the suspense and DP Arthur Martinelli raises the spook-factor with subtle low-key lighting and wonderful compositions. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Serial killer Ruth Rogen (Vivienne Osborne) is sentenced to death and Dr. Houston (H. B. Warner) is allowed to experiment on the corpse in his art deco high-rise apartment. Unfortunately, his friend Roma (Carol Lombard) stumbles by his place one evening while the experiment is reaching its electrifying climax and Rogen’s ultraviolent spirit enters Roma’s body. Seems Roma and her fiancé Grant (Randolph Scott) are being hoodwinked by Paul Bavian (Alan Dinehart), a fraud spiritualist (is there any other kind?) and were seeking the good doctor for advice. Now Roma is the vessel for vengeance against Bavian, the man who scorned Rogen and somehow led to her arrest for her three brutal murders by strangulation. Cool! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Some thoughts of the film: the film begins with quotes from the Koran, the Bible and Confucius while lightning flashes, ancient text superimposed over the modern New York City skyline, as if to proclaim the mysteries of the past still remain embedded in our modernity, the industrial age advancing our knowledge of matter but not the spirit. Then a montage of Rogen’s murder trial revealing her laughing, scornful face while being sentenced to death. In Tod Browning fashion, we get insight into the parlor tricks of the circus-like profession of spiritualist, see the inner mechanism of the fraud even though some are rather obtuse. How in the world does Bavian make a plaster death mask without being caught? He just mixes some plaster while the body lies in repose and no one notices? And Bavian is a cold-blooded murderer himself, killing his blackmailing landlady and Roma’s cohort by a poison needle hidden in his ring. We also get a wonderful performance from Carol Lombard who must play the good rich girl, mourning the loss of her brother and also the killer possessed by Rogen, and she does so with subtlety of expression and body language. And lighting. When she lures Bavian to Rogen’s repo’d apartment, we see a life size portrait of Ruth Rogen holding an apple. WTF? It’s fucking awesome, I guess serial killers have always been extremely narcissistic. Poison apple or fruit of forbidden knowledge? When the climax comes, the nexus of circumstances instigated from the netherworld, we see the spirit of Rogen finally leave her host while Bavian escapes. Here’s the contradiction: it is clearly evident by the editing that Rogen manipulates the rope that wraps around Bavian’s neck and leads to his strangulation. Poetic Justice. But she didn’t need a host to do that, so why all this possession stuff to complicate things? Why didn’t her spirit just manipulate things, like make his ring malfunction or his razor slip while shaving? I mean, her spirit obviously didn’t need another person's hands to complete its final task. Very good ending though, reminiscent of the EC Comics (Vault of Horror, Tales from the Crypt) much later in the early 1950s. Until censorship took that away too, sadly. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (B)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-57999590021184630252023-02-10T20:24:00.003-08:002023-02-10T20:24:53.269-08:00SVENGALI (Archie Mayo, 1931)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpThwYYUpTLzYryaDM1xZ-HVMk9jUJHG4Td8onp0TXkvE92flQrr_fWqcKAxOgI8EZwx3T41hue9JYEMwZm946kwqZiFFhLP2IJ2jnfNS4tvFPkFd6Yy5kutNhf5MhtbPkENuoM3IHWUuJFYpyGSPxXk0waHXxd_BCqZ19UuKu4KxBdm1sV8sSueUlbQ/s1143/svengali%202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1143" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpThwYYUpTLzYryaDM1xZ-HVMk9jUJHG4Td8onp0TXkvE92flQrr_fWqcKAxOgI8EZwx3T41hue9JYEMwZm946kwqZiFFhLP2IJ2jnfNS4tvFPkFd6Yy5kutNhf5MhtbPkENuoM3IHWUuJFYpyGSPxXk0waHXxd_BCqZ19UuKu4KxBdm1sV8sSueUlbQ/w280-h400/svengali%202.jpg" width="280" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">Trilby is a victim of patriarchy, indebted to two men: one has taken her soul and the other her heart. Director Archie Mayo deftly balances on the tightrope between comedy and horror, a precarious stunt as one-misstep transforms shock and suspense into unintentional laughter.</span></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">John Barrymore is excellent in his characterization as he is able to imbue Svengali with human pathos while never minimizing his abusive pathology. It’s not often a villain is depicted as wholly human, a self-deprecating beggar who can own-up to his shortcomings and laugh at his dire circumstances. His sidekick and servant Gecko is even treated more fairly than most, benefiting from Svengali’s circumstances as opposed to obeying from fear: cruel overlords never seem to learn this! Gecko remains loyal until the end. Bramwell Fletcher is Billee, the opposing love interest but he remains sketchily portrayed (literally, he’s an Artist). That is, he’s rather undefined and just expected to be the forthright knight in shining armor. He does little but proclaim his love and stalks the pair through the second and third Act. But it’s Marion Marsh as Trilby who shines in every scene, her exuberant laughter, bright eyes and uncommon beauty in such a humble girl make it so easy to accept that these two men would fall instantly in love (or lust) with her.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">If the eyes are the mirror to the soul, then Svengali sees the world through a glass darkly. His gaze hypnotizes women into compliance whether it be suicide or unconditional devotion. His first interaction is with a woman who leaves her husband for him but doesn’t accept a financial settlement. His apoplectic stare leads to her deluged demise and a slab in the morgue. When coincidence leads him to cross paths with Trilby, he is smitten with her beauty and angelic voice. With Demonic dominance, eyes circled in black, and irises bled of color, he purges her migraine and secretly invokes her spirit into complete compliance with his wishes. This leads to her apparent suicide and his disappearance: in actuality they run off together to tour Europe as Mr. & Mrs. Svengali a dynamic duo of operetta and symphony performance. Another chance encounter has Billee identifying his lost love after a show and then stalks them to the ends of the earth (or end of the film).</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The film is wonderfully photographed by Barney McGill with set designs that reflect German Expressionism such as the work of DP Karl Freund or Director Robert Wiene. From the apartments house of the first act to the rooftops of the supposedly French city, our perspectives are skewed just a bit, the camera often titled slightly or placed at a very low angle, that this vertiginous effect is psychologically unsettling. We end up feeling somewhat disjointed without being aware, much like poor Trilby throughout most of the film. There is one superlative camera movement as the film transitions from comedy (of sorts) to a much darker palette: McGill pulls his camera slowly away from an extreme closeup of Svengali’s eyes as he summons Trilby on that virgin night, and the shot tracks backwards through the window to the outside second story of the house. But now we’re above a model city! The camera then creeps towards another window and dissolves into Trilby’s room where she awakens disorganized and confused. Wow.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The finale is tragic, unbelievably bleak yet elevates the film another notch in its brutal intensity. As Svengali’s psychological grip tightens his body weakens until, stalked by Billee from Opera Houses in Europe to a dive bar in Cairo, he and Trilby close their final act. Svengali’s parting gift to Billee is not admitting defeat but embracing it by destroying his hope and desire with one last gasp of breath: as he collapses and dies, his stranglehold on Trilby chokes out her last sputtering words: Svengali. Even in death he wins as Billee holds her now lifeless corpse in his frantic grip.</span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (A)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-74451882840952216742023-02-09T09:23:00.010-08:002023-02-09T09:23:57.008-08:00THE VAMPIRE BAT (Frank R. Strayer, 1933)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtK1vSxmhlVP2sFIo3aIYiuPDgfsBmUFbMQ7A_PWYEpTp8LkS_gnyeWFLDlHL1gGSm8T23MuwGzq0fD05-py9AuesbpWEgH5d7ApGZ-0K-m7TBdKNtJobw8OiYfG4xYI35_lsArSKF3t61JiqvNMoTx1Wp-ISTIoNr9GffxiDmB3czicEizopx01wLQ/s1466/the%20vampire%20bat02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1466" data-original-width="564" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQtK1vSxmhlVP2sFIo3aIYiuPDgfsBmUFbMQ7A_PWYEpTp8LkS_gnyeWFLDlHL1gGSm8T23MuwGzq0fD05-py9AuesbpWEgH5d7ApGZ-0K-m7TBdKNtJobw8OiYfG4xYI35_lsArSKF3t61JiqvNMoTx1Wp-ISTIoNr9GffxiDmB3czicEizopx01wLQ/w154-h400/the%20vampire%20bat02.jpg" width="154" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Even in this Age of Reason and scientific enlightenment our modern world is haunted by its demons, who dwell in the dark corners of our psyche and superstitions. This Poverty Row picture is competently directed by Frank Strayer and together with journeyman DP Ira H. Morgan, they create an enjoyable 63 minutes of mystery, suspense, humor and outright horror. Morgan’s low-key lighting and low-angle compositions create a feeling of unease, and in one sequence the use of hand-colored tints to the mob’s torches adds a chilling effect. Strayer allows the film to get too talky at times and the hypochondriac maid’s humor gets annoying, but the film has three key elements that elevate it above the mundane: Fay Wray (though she doesn’t scream once), Dwight Fry (with a pocketful of soft bats), and the distinguished Lionel Atwill. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Plot: in a rural German village, citizens are being murdered and drained of blood through their jugular (pronounced joogular). Inspector Karl Brettschneider (Melvyn Douglas) believes a human monster is responsible but must fight against centuries of tradition and superstition as the townsfolk believe they are being hunted by a vampire, which could be in human form. The Inspector teams up with the local scientist Dr. Otto von Niemann (Lionel Atwill) and his beautiful research assistant Ruth Bertin (Fay Wray) to discover the truth before a mob kills Hermann (Dwight Fry), the intellectually disabled homeless man who has a fondness for bats: he even keeps one in his jacket pocket! When he innocently offers one to the “sickly” maid Gussie (Maude Eburne) in return for an apple, it’s both shocking and fucking hilarious! Soon, fear spreads like an infection among the villagers and they chase poor Hermann until he leaps to his death (then stake his heart). </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The story contrasts the power of magical thinking and rumor in the age of scientific discovery, as fear of the unknown propels the townsfolk into an absolute belief that an undead creature can transform into a giant bat and also take human form, instead of applying Occam’s Razor. Why not a human agent pretending to be a vampire? But this truth never occurs to anyone including the Inspector until the final act, after an innocent is murdered by mob rule. Seems Dr. von Niemann has a hypnotized henchman whom he communicates with telepathically, who brings bodies to his laboratory where their blood is drained using a two-pronged instrument to simulate bite marks, then the corpse is carried back to their domicile, so it appears as if they were attacked in their sleep. That’s a lot of work! And how in the world was his roof crawling cohort never seen or heard? And why go through all of this work, you may ask? To feed his fleshy potato creation that bubbles in a watery fish tank. Maybe you shouldn’t have asked. </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (C+)</span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1221428097397024450.post-81038794364164797092023-02-08T21:45:00.002-08:002023-02-08T21:45:17.157-08:00WHITE ZOMBIE (Victor Halperin, 1933)<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-Cywy2csRy8NdetLxx5AD9bQ6iQjfW2FVAG4QlY2HYUFMHvr2cUA47dyehHY-kNlzH3HDmVqU3QJ1fimUWa0XbPIKl2r6aAx0STfhYJTVaqYjJfBNvyoInUHChHfMxbhLUFoVqNg32C6tlMVQJ0VGk_HmK90NcjR9MII6jEE7NOQZbqZa5HmvwRCvQ/s1200/white-zombie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgK-Cywy2csRy8NdetLxx5AD9bQ6iQjfW2FVAG4QlY2HYUFMHvr2cUA47dyehHY-kNlzH3HDmVqU3QJ1fimUWa0XbPIKl2r6aAx0STfhYJTVaqYjJfBNvyoInUHChHfMxbhLUFoVqNg32C6tlMVQJ0VGk_HmK90NcjR9MII6jEE7NOQZbqZa5HmvwRCvQ/w266-h400/white-zombie.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Once again, the proverb from the Gospel of Matthew is proven correct: “He who lives by the zombie, dies by the zombie”. Victor Halperin directs with an economy of style and budget with long takes and minimal coverage while DP Arthur Martinelli’s low angle and low-key lighting allow Bela Lugosi to dominate every scene, towering over his victims with his mesmerizing eyes and menacing demeanor. Martinelli’s use of extreme close-ups of Lugosi’s dark disembodied eyes is powerful, while he often dollies the camera in for another extreme close-up of his leering face, slowly pulling focus until we are consumed by his presence. Imagine this magnified to 36 feet tall in a packed theatre circa 1933. Wow. </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Murder Legendre (Bela Lugosi) rules Haiti with a cadre of the walking undead, and once he becomes obsessed with visiting socialite Madeleine Short (Madge Bellamy) he schemes his way into her life, which now has an expectancy to match her last name. But Charles Beaumont (Robert Frazer) a white plantation owner has nefarious ideas of his own concerning Ms. Short, and he unknowingly utilizes the services of the one man who seeks to undermine his plans! Hint, when planning a crime, it’s best not to include a conspirator with the first name of Murder. So, after some voodoo alchemy the fight for Madeleine's body and soul begins between the triumvirate of Legendre, Beaumont and her fiancée Neil Parker (John Harron). </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">As one would expect in an early horror film, the woman is marginalized to nothing more than victim, an object that must be saved by her stalwart fiancée and his pipe smoking cohort Dr. Bruner (Joseph Cawthorn), who plays an incidental “Dr. Van Helsing” role to Parker’s “Jonathan Harker” persona. However, in Stoker’s novel Mina is an active participant and helps defeat the supernatural threat while here, Madeleine is nothing more than window dressing for male entitlement, a prize to be won. It’s still a creepy and disturbing film! In one scene, when Beaumont visits Legendre in his Mill to purchase the prenuptial alchemy, he sees a worker fall into the machine and the zombified servants continue to grind away without pause or emotion. Maybe the zombies should unionize! </span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">This is one of Bela Lugosi’s most cruel roles and he delivers almost to the point of parody. The other actors deliver their lines and are blocked accordingly, mere caricatures in a genre film. Joseph Cawthorn, in a lengthy conversation in the Second Act which slows the story considerably, even flubs a line, but Halperin prints it! Low budget indeed. We also get a raven, hawk, buzzard kinda thing that screams every so often. But we are blessed with a small role from the always wonderful Clarence Muse! There is another interesting story buried in this living dead melodrama, as Legendre brags about turning his mentor and enemies into his servants: that’s the film I’d rather watch! </span></p><p><b><span style="color: red; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Final Grade: (C+) </span></b></p>Alex DeLargehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17050773136046485614noreply@blogger.com