#415: The Naked Prey

April 1, 2010

#415: The Naked Prey

1966, 96 minutes, Color, 2.35:1

Language: English

Directed by Cornel Wilde

[A note on spoilers: I pretty much give away the ending, but I announce it before I do.]

Okay, enough with the detours and back on the Criterion path.

As is often the case, I was having difficulty deciding what to watch next. I pondered half a dozen titles or more before finally saying to hell with it and turning the decision over to fate. A couple of clicks on a random number generator button displayed a number coinciding with one of those on the spine of a case on my shelf: 415, The Naked Prey.

I think it was a good idea to go the random route. Of the dozens of DVDs in my library, there are those that definitely appeal to me more than others, and I will of course be drawn to them sooner. Using a method other than personal preference will help to keep me from burning through my favorites first and leaving those less appealing to me to pile up as I progress and turn this adventure into more of a chore than something fun. Also, there is a handful of discs that, for various reasons, I have yet to see. The Naked Prey was one of those few. That movie has been collecting dust for over two years now, and I don’t know how much longer it would have remained in its factory wrap before I finally watched it.

I do remember buying it within days of its release on DVD. I was at the bookstore during a post-holiday buy-two-get-the-third-free sale. I had just finished watching Bad Timing and was so impressed that I wanted to see more of director Nicolas Roeg’s creations. I stood in the store with The Man Who Fell to Earth and Walkabout in my hands looking for a third. The Naked Prey had been pretty well hyped by Criterion through their newsletter and website from the time it was announced until it was released. Also, it seemed to bear some semblance, though minimal, to Walkabout, and I’m a bit of a sucker for going with themes. In a sense it was free, so I really had nothing to lose. I was compelled enough to buy it, but I was never compelled enough to actually watch it until a random number caused me to pull it from the shelf and peel the cellophane wrap and security sticker away from the case.

There was a sense of satisfaction in unwrapping it. I was finally getting around to something I had been putting off for far too long. I don’t like having movies on the shelf that I paid good money for but don’t watch for some inexplicable reason. Also, it kindled that pleasant feeling of opening something new, even though it was over two years old. Adding to the fun, once opened, I discovered that this DVD was released at a time when I noticed Criterion was including postcards depicting the cover art of some of their releases in the package. I bought a few discs, around the same time, that included the postcards. I thought it was a neat little gimmick, one that they seem to have done away with. It was like getting a prize in the cereal box. This one was “Three Films by Hiroshi Teshigahara.”

I think The Naked Prey epitomizes the Criterion mission of gathering great movies and publishing them in the best quality with supplemental features that enhance the appreciation of the art of film. I think it is best stated in the included essay “Into the Wild” by film critic Michael Atkinson when he writes, “Insofar as the movie is remembered at all, it remains the best known in Wilde’s lost filmography.” By other accounts I have read, Cornel Wilde and his work has been largely lost to history, so it is very much in keeping with Criterion’s mission to release this film. They hold true to the rest of their promise as well, for the film comes to life wonderfully on the screen and the supplemental features go a long way towards enhancing the appreciation of the film.

A side benefit of starting this blog, one that I expected, is that I also get to more fully appreciate not only the art of film in general but each of the films individually. The Naked Prey exemplifies that aspect more than any other film I’ve written about so far, or any of the more than one hundred and fifty Criterion releases I’ve watched. This is a film that I’ve owned for some time yet managed to dismiss on numerous occasions when looking for something to watch. After watching it the first time, I felt my doubts about it were well founded. I wasn’t greatly moved by it after just one viewing and if that were all I did I probably would have put it away never to watch it again. It took repeated viewings and delving into the supplemental features, few as they are, for the value of this film to have the appropriate impact on me.

The odd thing about The Naked Prey, for me, was that it was difficult for me to appreciate it. Even after letting things sink in, I still wouldn’t list it among my favorites. Though I can now better appreciate it for its worth, I had to work too hard for that appreciation and that does take away some from my total enjoyment of it for pleasure’s sake. I am not averse to working to understand or appreciate a movie, mind you, it’s just that this one does not resonate much with me in spite of its merit. Now, what’s so odd about it is that there is much about The Naked Prey that I really like!

I must admit that it has been very difficult for me to write about The Naked Prey. It’s been over three weeks since I first popped it into the DVD player and watched it for the first time. What makes it so hard to write about it is that I can’t find the words to express my contradictory feelings about it. There is so much about it I do like, but as a whole, I don’t find it as fulfilling as I feel I should. I can’t by any means say it is a bad movie or even unlikable. After all, it is listed on the Criterion website in their “Cult Movies” section. A cult film earns that designation by way of being very popular with some people, though not so much appreciated by a vast audience. So, I think it would be safe to assume that The Naked Prey is very much liked by some people, but it just happens that I’m not one of them. Which, also, is a bit odd for me because I do tend to favor cult movies. Criterion has nearly fifty of them in their list, including a few Eclipse titles. By my count I own, and have watched, about half of them, have seen a handful of the others, and still more that I am eager to see because I know I will certainly like them. Of all I already watched, I do like a vast majority of them to varying degrees. And, of those that leave me feeling a little flat, at least I can explain why. The thing about The Naked Prey is that there is so much I do like about it, yet it leaves me feeling a little flat, and I am bothered by the fact that I am at a loss for words to adequately explain why that is. I do, however, appreciate it.

Now, the story itself is quite simple, based on that of a member of the Lewis and Clark expedition, though the setting has been changed. A naked and unarmed man is set free in the wilds of Africa to be hunted as wild game by tribal warriors. The portrayal of the man’s run for his life is just about as bare bones as the story is simple. It’s very subtle and understated, and that is what I appreciate most about the film.

Cornel Wilde directs himself as the man on the run, billed only as “Man” in the opening credits. He is a man of strong moral fiber that is demonstrated in very subtle fashion. One thing I typically don’t like to do is compare a decades old film to one that would be made today, but I can’t help myself here. I must not be the only one who feels that way because there were several times in the audio commentary by film scholar Stephen Prince that echoed some of the same sentiments I had about the film. The most notable example would be that of Man’s personal and psychological background and history; there is none given. The only thing we know of Man is what is shown on the screen and what he says, which is very little. There are no dialogues or monologues that extrapolate on his past such as his education, his philosophical beliefs and upbringing, or whether he was an athlete to explain his character, either psychologically or physically. It’s apparent he is married because a wedding band is visible on his finger, but he never pines for his wife, or even mentions her for that matter. I think it’s safe to assume he does love her and is fighting just as much to get back to her as he is for his own life, but it is not dwelled upon in the least. Does he have children or not? That question is not answered, and doesn’t need to be because it’s not relevant. It has become very commonplace for latter day films to spend a lot of time and effort exposing those background characteristics in order to develop the character more and faster. It is somewhat refreshing to see a film where that technique is dispensed with.

Man is a man of very little words. Much of the movie transpires with no dialogue at all. Most of what is said is at the beginning and the end of the film, mostly near the beginning.

The story takes place in nineteenth century colonial Africa. Man is managing an ivory hunting expedition that is financed by a rich and indignant gentleman for whom Man appears to only begrudgingly tolerate. Early in the hunt the expedition is met by a band of tribesmen. Man knows their language and converses with the leader, ascertaining that they ask for some sort of token of respect, a gift. The hunter earnestly refuses, saying he will not give handouts to every beggar that they come across. Despite Man’s pointed arguments that not giving them a gift could lead to bigger problems later on the hunter pushes the tribal spokesman aside and forges ahead. Man has no option but to follow and the hurt and displeased look on the tribal warrior as he stands up indicates that Man’s prediction of greater problems will likely come to be.

The hunter is a self-indulgent man with little conscience. He sees the slave trade as a lucrative venture and proposes the idea to Man during a break, asking him if he would like to join him. Man politely declines the offer and gives little explanation as to why before quickly calling the expedition to move on again.

After they do the gruesome task of harvesting some ivory Man again finds himself in conversation with the hunter, and his disdain is thinly veiled. The hunter drinks and gets loud, Man declines the beverage and insists that the hunter has had too much, but the hunter will have none of it and declares he will drink his fill.

Man also chastises the hunter for killing unnecessarily. The hunter is a braggart and can’t help but to compete. He boasts of how many he elephants he killed, and also knows the exact tally of how many Man has killed as well when Man says he doesn’t know how many creatures fell to his gun. When the hunter brags that he killed more, Man points out that those he killed all bore ivory whereas such is not the case for the hunter, who in the end killed fewer ivory-bearing beasts. The hunter drunkenly dismisses this chastisement, not seeing anything wrong with killing for sport. Though even killing for ivory, by today’s standards, is a widely condemned practice, such wasn’t the case in the setting of the movie. Even so, Man has enough respect for life to not kill wantonly.

So, it is through his actions and his words it is apparent that Man lives to a strict moral code and high personal standards. He has respect for life and for others and disdains those, such as the hunter, who are destructive, brash, and disrespectful.

These qualities Man possesses are not lost on the tribe which, as expected, does raid the expedition and captures the entire hunting party, European and African alike. They mete out their justice as they see fit. It is apparent that they are cruel in their methods of carrying out the sentences on the captives. Watching the different episodes of execution made me wonder if Pier Paolo Pasolini had watched this movie before making Salò. But, there is also a subtle factor to the executions that I would have missed if it weren’t for the audio commentary. The natives are dispatched more quickly and humanely, their crime being accomplices to the white men that disrespected the land and the natives and the creatures. The hunters, however, are tortured and humiliated. All except for Man. He too is a criminal in the eyes of the tribe, but his crime is mitigated by the fact that he demonstrates respect and courage.

Man is remembered from the original encounter as the one who argued for paying a respectable tribute to the tribesmen. He also fought well and courageously when taken. When he saw his comrades killed he did so with fortitude. They could also tell that he was a fine physical specimen. Man’s sentence was to be stripped of all clothing and weapons, given a head start, and hunted as prey by a select few warriors. His death seems a certainty, but he is at least given a fighting chance at freedom, and the honor of being killed in a battle, even if that of a beast, instead of bound and tortured.

Wilde was fifty years old when he made this movie. He bears a physique impressive for a man many years younger that, combined with his self possessed and stoic manner, suggests he is not going to be easy prey for his pursuers.

An arrow is shot into the distance and he is set loose. Once he passes the arrow sticking up from the ground one of the warriors takes chase and thus begins the hunt. Man uses all his wit, cunning, and endurance—and no small amount of luck—to evade and survive as best he can.

To further demonstrate Man’s morality and courage, there is a scene where he comes across a village that is attacked by a band of slavers. Though he is being pursued, he doesn’t hesitate to throw himself into the fray and foil the efforts of those looking to enslave human beings. His pursuers witness this, and also witness Man risk himself to save the life of a little girl. She later returns the favor by fishing him from the water and saving his life. They in turn form a fleeting friendship and provide for each other during their short time shared together—he has the flint stones for starting fire and she the ability to cook him a meal that may not be all too appetizing considering the source of the meat, but gives Man much needed sustenance. The little girl also sings an infectious little tune, and he teaches her one of his own. Their relationship, brief as it is, is not laden with sentimentality, another refreshing aspect of the film.

I hesitate to give away the ending, but there is such a striking gesture, done with Wilde’s signature subtlety, that I can’t help but to comment on it. Man has finally, barely, found his salvation yet still has the presence of minde to wave to the lead warrior as a kind of salute, which is returned in kind by the warrior. Though they were bitter adversaries, through the chase learned to respect each other for their skill and endurance. Though Man jumped for joy and screamed, “Die, you devils, die!” when he trapped his pursuers in a forest fire of his making, and though the warrior was distraught by the comrades Man had managed to kill defending himself, they can respect each other and show that mutual respect through a small gesture. Man can understand why he was put in that situation and the warriors can admire him for having made good on the opportunity given to him.

The movie can have the appearance of an epic feature, but that too is understated. The widescreen images come to life with a full rich palette of colors that are unique to Technicolor. It is almost like an oil painting on the screen and made me somewhat nostalgic for movies of the era that I enjoyed seeing when I was a kid. The camera works as more of a window to just observe Man’s plight. About the closest it comes to portraying something epic on the scale of a film such a Spartacus is the village battle against the slavers, but in a much more subdued tone. Another subdued fight scene is artfully done. In a man-to-man battle between Man and a warrior, the duel is wonderfully choreographed and I liked how the sounds of the blades cut through the air. Even the death scenes are very subtle. The kill is never directly shown. The deathblow may occur off screen but is evidenced by a spurt of blood that shoots into view, obscured by a log, or merely suggested by the imposition of blood red flowers in the scene. Those techniques may have been employed out of necessity, but they still more than adequately serve the purpose intended. It just goes to show that much can be said without explicitly showing the deed.

I would have to imagine that much of Cornel Wilde, the man himself, is portrayed in the screen. There is little in the biographies I’ve read of him that explicitly says so, but I would believe he was a man of moral conviction and respect for others and the world he lives in. It is clear that some of animal killings in the movie were taken from stock footage or faked. It is made clear in the audio commentary that he went to great pains not to harm or kill the animals, and was himself severely injured when trying to prevent two reptiles from killing each other.

The way he portrays the tribal people is not demeaning or caricatured. By today’s standards it may be a bit stereotypical, but I think the film was ahead of its time and made a statement about the co-existence of different peoples and the respect due to all of them. The audio commentary goes into greater depth about this aspect and is a bit enlightening, especially that he shot the film in Apartheid South Africa, even with the assistance of its government.

I admire the way Wilde played Man. I would think it could be argued that it was vain on his part to bare, literally, so much of his physique on the screen, but I don’t think that to be the case. He was well suited to the role. A sinewy young man could not do as well. The story is best suited to an older man, one who is wiser in the ways of the world and be able to so quietly yet resolutely carry forth with the challenge thrust on him. Yet, an older man who was not so physically capable would not be believable. He was the perfect hero for this story. So much of what Man says is done through physical performance and expression, yet it is not overdone or melodramatic. His grimace when he bites into some of the food he has to consume to survive gets the point across that it is not appetizing but not wholly disgusting. I like best how it is when he gets up from a night’s sleep and works out the kinks. I can almost feel the stiffness. He is a man who is in great shape, but he is taking his body to a greater degree than it is unaccustomed and will indeed stiffen up quickly during the night. I’ve trained for, and run, several marathons and I so vividly recalled those days after a long training run, or the marathon itself, when I was stiff as a board. Thankfully, I wasn’t running for my life in those instances like Man was.

One of the things I like most about The Naked Prey is just how subtle, understated, and bare bones it is. But it may be those qualities that make Wilde and this movie something that is, for the most part, lost in the history of cinema. This movie couldn’t be made today without the psychological profile and background of the hero, artificially heightened tension and suspense, and banging the moralistic gong, yet it does have a complex hero, is full of suspense, and does make a statement about society that is maybe just a little too subtle for its own good, allowing it to be so easily overlooked.

If there is one aspect of the film that doesn’t appear to be subtle, it would be some of the scenes of the beasts in the wild. Many of them are taken from stock footage, or other sources, that are apparent by the difference in the graininess of the images compared to the rest of the film, and demonstrate just how dire the situation is for Man. It really is a situation of kill or be killed. But, there is still a bit of subtlety mixed in there. One scene in particular encapsulates Man’s plight, when a tiger and a baboon meet. It would seem that the primate would be easy prey for the predator, but things aren’t always as they seem, as Man demonstrates throughout. Another scene has Man on what appears to be his last leg. A vulture watches him stumble and fall in expectant anticipation. I had to crack a bit of a smile when the vulture looked so dejected when Man found some sustenance and deprived the vulture of his own meal.

As I said before, this movie doesn’t exactly ring my bell, but it truly is an admirable film, and a great film on many levels even though it doesn’t resonate much with me personally. I am glad I was exposed to it and did enjoy it. I would certainly recommend it to any fan of cinema and think it does very well to be a part of the Criterion Collection, both on account of the film itself and for the purpose of the Collection. I hope that other works of Wilde, especially Beach Red and No Blade of Grass which are oft mentioned in the accompanying essays and video commentary. I would be very glad to experience those films as well.

Special Features:

Audio Commentary:

The audio commentary, by film scholar Stephen Prince, is very well done. He expounded quite a bit on the movie, the story, and Cornel Wilde, glorifying subtle techniques used in The Naked Prey, and expounding on how such techniques are pretty much lost in today’s filmmaking. A lot of time was spent on the social message of the move; a parable meant to convey a warning, discussions of Apartheid in South Africa and the concurrent civil rights movement in the U.S. He speaks of the double irony of The Naked Prey, how man is prey but doesn’t lose his humanity. Though The Naked Prey does much to show that Man is in a kill or be killed situation through almost documentary-like scenes of animals in the wild, it does not endorse a Darwinian way of life. Those are just a handful of the jewels that I culled from the commentary track that I found to be very enlightening and did much to help me appreciate this film as it deserves to be appreciated.

“John Colter”

Actor Paul Giametti reads “John Colter’s Escape,” an account of the original story of Colter’s escape from Blackfoot Indians, the story on which The Naked Prey is based. The reading runs just shy of five minues and is illustrated with maps and woodcuts and is worth the time to hear this foundational story for the film.

“Soundtrack”

This is an interesting special feature. All of the music used in the music can be selected from an index and listened to individually and apart from the film. There is a statement by Andrew Tracey who composed and directed the music used in the film that explains how he came to be associated with the film, some of the challenges of putting the music to film, and of the instruments used. I myself am a percussionist, so I do find this feature to be of great personal interest.

“Trailer”

The film trailer runs just over three minutes. It does much to play up the savagery of the African people and the nobility of the white man. It is interesting to watch, but doesn’t quite do the film true justice.

Written Works:

“Into the Wild,” an essay my Michael Atkinson, gives the synopsis and history of The Naked Prey as well as personal history of Cornel Wilde. It does much to put the movie in a historical context and show what Wilde brought to the film and to cinema in general. There is some discussion of other works of Wilde, too. I appreciated this essay for the greater understanding it brought to the film.

“Survival!” is made up of excerpts from a 1970 discussion between Wilde and Gordon Gow that was published in Films and Filming. It was refreshing to learn more about Wilde from the man himself and touches more on Wilde’s personal life, and his transition from actor to director, something that was very rare, and even frowned upon, in that era.

Well, it has been quite a journey I’ve taken with The Naked Prey. I did enjoy it, though it wasn’t without a bit of effort on my part, but it was a worthwhile effort. If it hadn’t been for delving into all of the special features of this film and watching it a few times for the purpose of this blog, I would have watched it once, probably distractedly, and put it back on the shelf. It is a film that certainly deserves more attention and respect than that.

The biggest reason I took so long to post this is because I found it most difficult to put together the words that spoke well of a good film, but a film that, good as it is, doesn’t float my boat as I would expect. Still, I don’t think my words portray my thoughts as well as I would like, but I suppose they do an adequate job. Regardless, it was time for me to bite the bullet, plough through it, and get it done. It’s time to move on to something else, and I didn’t want to make such a chore of this movie that I grew to dislike it for the wrong reasons. I am happy to have experienced it, but now I am also glad to be finished with it. I do, however, look forward to seeing more of Wilde’s work.

For now, though, I think I will move on to Jim Jarmusch. I don’t know what it is, but I just have a hankering for one or two of his films. So, next, I will see you either in the bayous of Louisiana, or on a road trip from Cleveland to Florida. It won’t be a random number generator, but I may have to flip a coin between Down by Law or Stranger than Paradise. Either way, I know I won’t be disappointed.

Hoped for Coming Soon from Criterion: House (Hausu)

March 6, 2010

#TBD (let’s hope!): House (Hausu)

1977, 87 minutes, Color, 1.37:1

Language: Japanese w/ English subtitles

Directed by Nobuhiku Obayashi

[A note on spoilers: None—spoiler free. It would be almost impossible to include a spoiler for this crazy cinematic concoction.]

[Note on the essay: At the rate I’m going, straying from the Criterion path as I have been of late, this adventure seems ever more quixotic. For this movie, however, I don’t think of it so much as a detour, but as a premonition of a future Criterion spine number.]

I simply cannot remember the last time I got such a kick from going to the movies. You know a film is good when the audience applauds it afterwards. Now, a film must really be something else when the audience claps at the beginning! House really, truly, hands down, without a doubt, is absolutely something else.

It was late January when I first learned of this freaky flick during a trailer before another freaky flick I caught at the Siskel, Lars von Trier’s Antichrist. And though I used the same term in reference to both films, they were both freaky in ways that are worlds apart from one another. Antichrist was a good. You’ll find those who strongly disagree, but I liked it. But, House, now that was a real treat!

The seed to see House was firmly planted by that trailer, and it took root when I read the following synopsis online:

Since first being unleashed on unsuspecting American cinephiles last summer, this 1977 Japanese haunted-house movie has erupted into a cult phenomenon whose utterly uncategorizable mixture of Grand Guignol, kiddie TV, psychedelia, and softcore nymphetphilia has had critics grasping for comparisons (a few examples: "An episode of Scooby Doo as directed by Dario Argento" "RINGU on a Pixy Stix-fueled hug-a-thon" "Sid and Marty Krofft meet Salvador Dalí"). Pouting over her widowed dad's new fiancée, teen princess Gorgeous takes her pals Melody, Prof, Kung Fu, Mac, Sweet, and Fantasy for a getaway at her aunt's gothic mansion, but both aunt and mansion have a voracious appetite for nubile girls. In his first feature, former experimental-film and TV-commercial director Obayashi uses blatant artifice, startling transitions, postmodern japes, and a pre-digital arsenal of goofy-gory f/x to concoct a film that is unsettling, enchanting, inventive, and relentlessly astonishing.

The deal was cemented. I noted the dates and marked the calendar to be sure not to miss it.

A weeklong run at the Gene Siskel Film Center, one of my favorite haunts, with more than a dozen showings provided plenty of opportunity to check it out. Eager as I was to see it, my amazing powers of procrastination gave me the ability to put it off until the very last showing. It was such a thrill that I have no doubt had I seen it earlier I would have surely gone again. And again. So, I suppose it may be a good thing I went later rather than sooner, otherwise the rent check may have turned to rubber. Difficult as it may be, gotta keep those priorities straight, right?

Words can't adequately describe House. If I were to try, I would only stumble over hyperbolic adjectives modified with hyperbolic adverbs. I’ve heard other comparisons, similar to those in the synopsis above, but there just ain’t nothin’ no one can say gonna make you understand. You just gotta see it to believe it. The best I can do is just try to describe the experience.

Anyone out there remember Crazy People with Dudley Moore? The one where he’s an ad man? Yeah, you know, the one where he buckles under the pressure and goes a bit flaky, tending too much towards truth in advertising? Don’t worry if you don’t, few probably do. In spite of it’s 38% rating on Rotten Tomatoes, I liked it (shocker, that, I know), but mostly because it came out in the midst of my college career and, majoring in advertising (really!), I found the movie more substantive than going to class. Aaaanyway, House made me think of Crazy People—well, I suppose just one scene in particular. One of Moore’s cut-to-the-chase ads came to his boss’s attention, played by J.T. Walsh at his apoplectic finest, who had this to say, “’Paramount Pictures presents The Freak. This movie won’t just scare you, it will fuck you up for life.’ I want to know how the fuck the word ‘fuck’ gets in the New York fucking Times!” That ad, with some leeway on the definition of “scary” could suffice for House. Ah, but I don’t think even the RedEye would print something like that, let alone the Sun-Times.

One thing is certain, seeing this film while under the influence of psychedelic drugs does indeed have the distinct possibility—probability, more accurately—of fucking you up for life. You may, if you’re lucky, come out of it relatively unscathed if it was only a couple of bong hits. But, dropping acid? Not a chance. No one would survive that. That’s not to say that this film couldn’t be made while on acid. I would have to imagine, however, that it’s the only way this film could have been made. Doubtless, I’m not the first to voice such a suspicion. It’s not to accuse the director, Nobuhiko Obayashi, of being an acid freak, I wouldn’t know, but I didn’t see Timothy Leary listed as an advisor in the credits. Whether Obayashi’s synapses were chemically polluted or not, I can envision him making this movie with gleeful abandon, his head bobbing back and forth in a metronomic manner to the beat of a catchy sing-songey tune, much like the “Shoes Maker” does in the film. I have seen nothing else of Obayashi’s work, but I intend to check out some of his stuff that I found at an intriguing website called UbuWeb, which will also require further investigation, soon.

Based on the trailer and synopsis, I fully expected enough cheese to make Kraft jealous, enough corn to require a plunger the next day (it’s a poo joke—you know how corn works!), and enough camp to make me think I was in the Boy Scouts again. I got what I went to see. And it was cheesy, corny, and campy in a wonderfully magical way! (See? Tripping over adjectives and adverbs is inevitable.)

Walking to the film center, I wondered what the crowd might be like. Being a bit of an obscure movie, and since it had already been playing for a week, I thought there might not be many people there to see it. If so, it wouldn’t be the first time I was one of only a handful of people in the audience. Sometimes it’s nice to feel you have the whole place to yourself. Then again, there are times when the more the merrier. There was no line at the box office window so I thought maybe my hunch wasn’t too far off the mark. There was a bit more of a buzz in the lobby than usual though. Maybe there was another movie starting, or one had just let out, I figured. Once into the crowd, I sensed a discernable vibe. People were talking, and it was about House. It was a good vibe, and I could tell it was going to be a good crowd to be a part of.

The usher directed me to the larger of the two theaters, which seats almost two hundred people. I was quite surprised to see it almost full. Flying solo as I was, I managed a prime seat even though I was a bit of a latecomer to the party. After all the stragglers wandered in, there were only a handful of seats empty, so it was pushing full capacity. It was certainly the biggest crowd I’ve ever seen there.

Sometimes a large crowd in a movie theater is not all that great. The munching and crunching, the whispering, the rustling of candy wrappers, harsh bumps to the back of the seat, can be too distracting to fully enjoy the show. But, when it’s something fun and the crowd is into it, the movie can be that much better for it.

The crowd was full of positive energy. There have been few times I’ve experienced such an atmosphere of anticipation before a movie such as this. Once would be a time in college when I ventured to the largest theater in town for a midnight showing of The Rocky Horror Picture Show. I figured it was a rite of passage mandating I go at least once. Now, the sense of anticipation before the shows was similar, minus the dude passed out in his own vomit in the bathroom, but that’s where the similarity ended. Well, other than a cameo of a large pair of floating lips in House, leading me to believe that though few Americans have been exposed to House, that the Japanese, or at least Obayashi, have been exposed to Rocky Horror. At least I hope so, otherwise that’s just a one hell of an amazing coincidence. But, for comparisons, Rocky Horror pales next to House.

The audience was giddy with excitement when the lights went down and the curtains drew open. The fun began instantly—with the previews, even. One in particular that sucked us all in was lovely, mesmerizing, and cinematic: Music; soothing, hypnotic guitar chords. Spellbinding images; the desert, fog-shrouded rivers, lonely road into infinity, city lights, misty mountains. Entrancing people; People alone. People together. Young and old; lovers, artists, athletes, searchers, seekers. The emotions evoked; peaceful, forlorn, content, longing, hoping. The message; People on a journey. A life journey. A process. Discovery. Self-discovery. The question; “Does the person create the journey…” Oh yes, we were enrapt, we were in awe. “Or does the journey create the person?” What we’re seeing is profound; it will be enlightenment. “The journey is life itself.” Oh yes! We held our collective breath, waiting as one for the revelation of the movie masterpiece this looked to be. And then busted out laughing. Louis fucking Vuitton! Not a preview; a commercial!

And from there the laughter just kept rolling. The audience couldn’t contain its excitement. We chuckled when the bright letters announced “A… MOVIE,” clapped when the title hit the screen, and laughed when the animated “O” in “HOUSE” foreshadowed some of the fun that was in store for us. Immediately, almost every image, every cut, every visual effect, every flourish, every change of scene, every line of dialogue, elicited a chuckle or laugh.

I managed to fall in love with the characters. This film isn’t even an hour and a half long, but all seven of the girls, like the seven dwarves, have distinct personalities, as well as names to match, that make them memorable. Gorgeous is quite the princess, a little spoiled, but loved by everyone, who unwittingly leads her friend to The House. Melody can tickle the ivories with the best of them, though the ivories don’t quite tickle back. Prof is the brain wearing scholarly glasses and trying to deduce a solution to their predicament. Kung Fu has some moves that would make Bruce Lee envious (and she’d kick Chuck Norris’s ass in the blink of a cat’s eye!) to protect them from what they can’t be protected from. Mac has an insatiable appetite, but plump as she is, she may be the one to satiate other appetites. Sweet would do anything for anyone. And Fantasy is always dreaming that her Prince Charming will come riding to the rescue. The girls are adorable, and a big part of what gives this film its charm.

I have to believe that a majority of cult films aren’t made with the intent of being such. They just happen. And, that most of those that do set out with it as a goal tend to fail miserably and end up farcical at best. House, if it isn’t already, is certain to be a cult classic. Whether it was Obayashi’s goal or not to make a cult movie, he had to at least be aware he was making pulp, even having the characters reference that if they were in a horror movie, it was outdated. Oh, there were so many things that could have made this film unbearable, but made it delightful instead.

Looking back on it, I don’t know what I would think of this movie had I been alone when I watched it. The audience, I think, is what really brought it to life in such a wonderful way. I’m so glad I got to see it on the silver screen with a good group of people. It still has quite a few showings around the U.S. and Canada, and I would suggest that if it comes within a hundred miles of you to not hesitate checking it out. Hell, maybe even two hundred miles. It at all possible, at least try to take it in with a crowd to most fully appreciate the campy humor. It’s ripe for group fun.

Writing about the movie does make me wish that I could have seen it again before it blew outta town. It made a single appearance in Evanston after it was done at the Siskel, but sadly I wasn’t able to make it. As enthusiastic as the audience was downtown, I can only imagine what it would have been like on a college campus.

I see it’s a Janus film, and not only hope, but expect Criterion Collection to be issuing this freaky filmic funhouse some time in the not-to-distant future. Also, hoping like hell it sees the light of day as Blu-ray. If so, I see myself going to the point of harvesting my own organs to bring that technology to my home theater, humble as it is. Once this funky freak fest hits the market on DVD, it will be sure to earn its cult status bona fides in short order, that is if it hasn’t already. Though I think it’s prime for group viewings, I will dig the hell out of it on the home screen too. And, if Criterion does put this Japanese gem out, I’m expecting a shit-ton of special features, such as some samples of experimental films and television commercials I’ve heard Obayashi to be famous for before producing this anomaly.

I must give a big warning, however. This is NOT a first date movie, unless you’ve found that perfect someone who you are absolutely certain shares your eccentric cinematic tastes. It may not be quite a Travis Bickle movie-date faux pas, but it might make a second date a little more challenging—and you certainly won’t be allowed to choose the movie!

I spent a few moments surfing around the Internets looking for news on a (Criterion!) DVD/Blu-ray release of Hausu. All I could find was a tweet from Janus Films saying there will be a DVD, but only after the theatrical tour of the movie is over. I did also find an interesting site called Asian-Horror-Movies that has House (of Internet quality, mind you), in two parts. The subtitles are vastly different from what I saw on the silver screen the other night. They seemed more humorous in the theatrical version. It will be interesting to see what is done for subtitles if it does make it onto DVD. In the theatrical version, the main character was referred to as Gorgeous and the cat as Blanch, but online they were called Oshare and Snowflake, just as a couple examples. I also saw somewhere else that referred to Gorgeous/Oshare as Angel. Maybe it will get something like Criterion’s Throne of Blood, where there are two subtitle translations. That would be cool. (My imagination keeps making the DVD, should it ever come, bigger and better by the minute. Let’s hope they deliver!)

Yes, I had a great experience with House. I hope it’s not my last, for the fun of it, but also because I’m certain there is so much I missed due to sensory overload. The Gene Siskel Film Center has a holiday tradition of showing Hiroshi Teshigahara’s Antonio Gaudí every year. I think it would be nothing less than awesome if they were to make House an annual tradition too. I may have to see if there’s a suggestion box the next time I’m there.

Another Detour: Free Movies Website

February 28, 2010

Website: Indie Movies Online

Reviewed: Three Feature Length Films, and One Short Film

Well, I’ve heard mention lately of this thing online called Twitter. Always wanting to be the first one to the party when it comes to such things, I decided to check it out. It’s kind of cool. I’d explain a little more about it, but like with so many things in the early stages, I don’t want to jinx it by giving away too much about it. It looks like something that has potential, though, so I wouldn’t be surprised if you start to hear about it some time soon.

Anyway, while investigating this interesting phenomenon, I thought it might be fun to see what a gentleman who goes by the name of Roger Ebert might have to say. Some of his tweets have made the news in recent weeks, so I thought it would be interesting to see firsthand for myself. It turns out he is quite the avid tweeter. Just his tweets alone can keep you occupied for a quite some time, but if you follow the links he posts you will find a multitude of ways to while away the hours, most of them quite interesting.

One of his tweets told of Indie Movies Online, for a place to check out movies that are not only free, but legally so. In keeping with this current phase of procrastination I’m in, I did indeed check it out, testing the waters so to speak, by taking in three movies and a short film, all of quite disparate degrees of goodness (maybe my list of movies that I think ain’t all that hot will grow now—not that it’s a goal of mine).

[A note on spoilers: Yes, there are plenty, including one in the note on spoilers. This is a review of approximately three-and-a-quarter movies. There are sure to be a few spoilers here and there, but none that really give away the whole farm. As an example, I made an attempt at humor with a reference to The Crying Game in which I did give away a significant plot point, but I didn’t give away the Big Surprise (though I was mightily tempted when talking about Brian’s Johnson—oh my, I think I just secured myself a special place in hell, but I don’t know if it’s in the ring reserved for those guilty of egregious use of puns, or the ring for those soulless cinematic sinners who not only serve up spoilers, but do so in the warning about spoilers—and I suppose it’s too much to ask dispensation for style and creativity in brazenly combining the two offenses for a wicked double-whammy!).]

[A note on the note on spoilers: The parenthetical pun above really turns out to not be a pun at all. I have this little quirk of sometimes getting names that bear some sort of similarity mixed up. You’d think I’d have learned my lesson (explaining why I try not to date women with similar names, past or present), but apparently was able to mix up Jones and Johnson (which is a bit of a stretch, though much more understandable than mixing up, say, “Bonnie” and “Mariana,” so I suppose it’s an improvement). The guy’s name is Brian Jones, not Brian Johnson. Why did I go to the bother to explain the mistake, yet not correct it or erase it? Well, I do think that if the guy’s name really were Johnson that it would be somewhat funny. And what funniness may be lost in the fiasco is actually made up for, at least a little bit, by the funniness of making such a silly error. And, again, sorry if the lame joke really did spoil anything about The Crying Game for you—but, as old is the movie is, if you haven’t seen it yet, you probably already know all about it.]

Sex Sells: The Making of Touché (2005, Comedy, 96 minutes):

The first movie I checked out, Sex Sells: The Making of Touché, is a mockumentary on the making of an “adult film” director’s last hurrah, a pornographic production with aspirations to set a record for the world’s largest orgy ever captured on film. One of the stars is Priscilla Barnes, who is likely best known as Suzanne Somers’s replacement on “Three’s Company.” Though she was pushing fifty when this film was made, she wasn’t modest in portraying a porn star—and had no reason to be.

It appeared to be cheese-ball flick, but sex does sell, after all, and I was sold enough to at least give it shot. It did look like it was gonna suck, but it quickly grew on me (swear to god, none of those multiple puns were intended, and I didn’t even notice them until proofreading). It certainly has some redeeming values. The man with the plan of filming the über-orgy is named Chuck Steak (pronounced stee-ack), played by Mark DeCarlo, who I found to be rather reminiscent of Paul Reiser. Steak’s ambitious goal, as may be expected, is threatened to be derailed by a variety of mishaps and dramas. I thought the character was going to be way over-played, and was at moments, but for the most part was reined in enough to achieve the humor intended. He gets to shout out some fun lines when blocking out his pièce de résistance scene while under duress.

As far as mockumentaries go, it falls far short in its attempt. To compare it to This is Spinal Tap or Best in Show would be unfair, because that would be like bashing the local high school’s production of Hamlet for not being of the same caliber as that of The Royal Shakespeare Company (or comparing Mel Gibson to Laurence Olivier, for that matter), but you can give ‘em an “A” for effort. I guess where they fall the shortest, is that supposed documentarian, Bernard Heiman (pronounced hymen in an obvious play for a cheap laugh), played by Jay Michael Ferguson, is too much a part of the story. He’s in almost every scene, plays a key part in the plot (which there actually is), diminishing the whole documentary feel almost completely, but it still works.

If there is any one thing that makes this flick worthwhile, it would be a clip of an “old” movie shown when the cast gathers to reminisces about their early days in the industry. It’s a grainy segment of light saber dueling nymphos in a Star Wars rendering aptly titled Star Whores. It’s a wonderfully cheesy ode to vintage seventies porn, and any sci-fi geek will love the tributes to “Space: 1999,” “Lost in Space,” “Star Trek,” “Battlestar Galactica,” and of course Star Wars, complete with “Darth Vibrator” and cameos by some familiar but very well-endowed robots. A light saber serves dual purpose, prompting the question, “Can you feel the Force glowing inside you?”

It certainly has its lowbrow humor, such as what purpose pineapple juice may serve, and a man looking for a world record with his exceptional tool of the trade (yeah, lowbrow humor begets lowbrow humor). But it’s the type of humor I can appreciate and they’re not too far off the mark.

All in all, in spite of its shortcomings, this movie does achieve what it sets out to accomplish, whether or not the director achieves his swan song goal (which does require a significant suspension of disbelief considering that orgies of greater magnitude than the supposedly epic-size one offered in the movie can readily be found in the back alleys of the Internet, shot on a cell phone no less—or so I’ve heard, anyway). And, though there is nudity it is by no means gratuitous based on the foundational premise of the movie. This flick is a nice diversion if you’re looking for one.

The Phantom of the Opera (1998, Drama, 99 minutes):

Nope, not that Phantom of the Opera. Or that one. Yes, there you go, that one there. The one from 1998, directed by Dario Argento starring Asia Argento and Julian Sands. It’s the one that tried to play up more of the horror aspect of the oft-told story, but just ended up being scary, in a rather more dreadful than horrific kind of way.

I knew I shouldn’t have clicked on this one, but my morbid curiosity got the better of me and I went there anyway. Then, once witnessing the train wreck, I couldn’t turn away. The setting is Paris, populated mostly by Italians, and everyone speaks perfect English, albeit with a wide array of accents. From there, it just gets weirder.

For this translation, the Phantom’s mask, the fame of which is probably rivaled only by the mask of Jason Voorhees, is nowhere to be seen. This Phantom is not disfigured but, rather, dashing. Well, supposedly, anyway. Instead, Julian Sands just comes off as kinda creepy lookin’. He has the stringy-haired look of the guy in the dilapidated house at the end of the street who does little to assuage the rumors of a possible pedophiliac penchant. (But, you can rest assured the Phantom is not a pedophile, for that position is already filled by a fat bourgeois pig who lures the pubescent ballerinas-to-be into his snare with chocolates—and meets with subterranean vigilante justice—of phantasmal variety—as a result. No, the Phantom’s perversion of choice is not children, but one that is no less disturbing.) Instead of bearing a physical affliction, the Phantom’s misanthropic attitude is rooted in a supernatural bond with the rats that raised him.

Inexplicably abandoned as a child, he was tossed, Moses-like, into the river flowing beneath the opera house where he was rescued by rats that chose not to eat his face (which they probably should have). Instead they raised him, clothed him in dandy attire, taught him perfect English, how to play the organ, how to rip out a woman’s tongue with his teeth (yeah, that’s one way to make the bitch shut her screamin’ yap), how to impale a man on a stalagmite (the big, long pokey rocks that stick up from the ground) and, oh yeah, mental telepathy. In case there was any misinterpretation, blood red words on a black background and a melodramatic voice spell things out, “Thus, by chance, a mysterious bond is forged between the abandoned child and the inhabitants of darkness,” so that the situation is crystal clear. The mysterious bond also means the Phantom has it in for the Quasimodo-looking opera house rat catcher and his midget (little person?) assistant who is charged with gleefully separating the tails from the rats to pickle them in formaldehyde as both trophies and a running tally of the rodents exterminated. On a side note, there is moral to be learned here, too. Although by all appearances and actions, the soulless murderer of rats doesn’t possess the mental acuity to count his own balls and get the same answer twice (with the assumption that it’s not for lack of trying), he is able to build an H.G. Wells-lookin’ contraption capable of wholesale slaughter of the long-tailed vermin. Later on, Asia Argento’s Christine spies the Phantom at “play” with some of the rats in a way that strongly suggests his mysterious bond transcends normal creepy to super-icky-creepy. It wasn’t explicitly shown, so that interpretation of his relationship with the rats is left somewhat to the imagination, but hardly at all. And, if I am misinterpreting the scene I really need to get my imagination some intense therapy, though I believe it may be Dario Argento who is in need of some sort of therapy for creating this scene of man-rat affection in the first place.

The movie has dialogue. It’s not good, but it has it. It also has some special effects. They’re not good, but it has them.

This movie does have its good qualities, too, such as a beautiful sets and costumes. The opera house is impressive, but not quite so much as the bathhouse, complete with hookahs that apparently produce smoke from sources other than regular tobacco, and extraordinarily voluptuous (read, very rotund), and equally immodest, patrons and staff.

Asia Argento is probably the only thing that makes the movie endurable at all. She does a marvelous job of inexplicably swinging from true love to pure hate and back to love that is so pure it can only be expressed in bloodcurdling screams and sobs. And, you know, she’s purty.

I think it would be fair to say it’s a bad movie. I guess the reason I hesitate to say it sucks is because it is right on the cusp of so-bad-it’s-good. I did see that there are two versions of this movie floating around out there, the one I saw, and the director’s cut, which runs about seven minutes longer. I going to guess that those seven minutes are comprised mostly of the tawdry bits that were deemed too salacious for American sensibilities. I would go out on the limb even further to guess that within those minutes lies the secret to why the bodice of Christine’s dress was torn asunder and her sleeve ripped when she arose alone from the Phantom’s bed after demonstrating his “courting skills” (perhaps the planting of the seeds for a sequel, one can only hope). As it is, it’s not so bad that I could bear to sit through it once, but it might be what’s in those missing minutes that determines if it’s so bad that it’s good enough to endure again. That’s not to say it takes nudity to make a movie good, but in the case of this movie, coupled with Asia Argento’s attributes, it sure can’t hurt.

Stoned (2005, Adaptation, 102 minutes):

Long, long… long, long, long… l-o-n-g, long ago. I mean like a really fuckin’ long time ago, there was an era on this planet called Earth when its terrestrial inhabitants had yet to be acquainted with the, ah, uniquely striking visages of the Rolling Stones. (Which reminds me, did you know Mick Jagger’s daughter just had a birthday? She turned 72! Rotflmfao!!!)

Oh, before I go on, I must beg forgiveness for the sophomoric humor. I’m operating on very little sleep, so that’s making me a little slappy. Despite the cheap jabs at the Rolling Stones, and there are more to come, I say with all seriousness that I do indeed like them, as I’m sure will be made a little more evident whenever I get around to reviewing Gimme Shelter. For now, you’ll just have to take my word for it. With the lack of sleep coupled with the fact that I just watched some very cheesy movies, I am in quite the mood for pedestrian jokes, and really have no qualms about it. Now, back to the riot wagon…

Before there was Sir Mick Jagger and his undead “partner” Keith Richards, who have become the poster boys for immortal rock-stardom, there was Brian Jones, without whom there would be no Rolling Stones. It was he, who through blind luck brought about the genesis of the band that defies death (in a 2004 Blender.com scientific study, Keith Richards’s projected year of death was 1995—though I suppose it would be fair to point out they projected Ol’ Dirty Bastard had another twenty-three years before meeting his maker but ended up going only nine months before shaking hands with the Grim Reaper, and they over-estimated Micheal Jackson by one-quarter of a century, so either we write it off as total hooey or go with the obvious and apply those lost years to Keith Richards with the confidence that he will certainly live to be 108, rocking every day along the way), apparently pulled the band’s iconic name out of his ass in a panic when on the phone and had to come up with something quick and pilfered it from the title of a track on a Muddy Waters LP that happened to be lying about (I looked that up and found as many variations of how the name came to be as sources I could find; I went with what was stated in Wikipedia’s article on Brian Jones, all others be damned), acted the primadonna for a while, realized he couldn’t carry Mick and Keith’s collective jock, further increased his musical and managerial inadequacy by turning his brain into the proverbial eggs that fried in the proverbial skillet of drugs, (though I haven’t confirmed that Mr. Jones partook of the mighty heroin, Rachael Leigh Cook made a pretty good case against smack, too, and “Robot Chicken” goes the extra yard to erase any possible remaining doubts that drugs=bad), dabbled in debauchery and a bit of domestic violence, lost his girlfriend to Keith Richards (go figure), got himself mired in a legal morass that prevented him from touring the U.S. with the band, which led to his firing by Mick and Keith, and then drowned to death at the age of twenty-seven, apparently in a spiteful attempt to play contrarian to Keith’s unlikely longevity. His passing was ruled “death by misadventure,” which I think is Limey-speak for “accidental.” Ah, but, was it?

The thrice-aptly title Stoned (1. It’s a play on the Rolling Stones. Get it? It’s even more appropriate because it’s in the past tense and the main character is dead, so he was a Stone, but is no more, ergo, “stoned”; 2. It’s a play on being stoned, as in the dude was stoned to the bejeezus-belt, as Carl Spackler so eloquently puts it; and 3. It’s a play on the manner of his death—found at the bottom of his swimming pool—as if he sank like a stone, though I think that meaning may not have been intentional) is a movie about the life—and death—of Brian Jones, played by Leo Gregory. Take all the pieces laid out above, throw in the house where Winnie-the-Pooh was born, a hot ex-girlfriend (the one who bails on Jones to strut her stuff under his nose with Keith) played by Monet Mazur, a super cute current girlfriend played by Tuva Novotny, a chauffeur who borrowed his glasses from Drew Carey, played by David Morrissey, a couple of guys who kinda almost resemble Mick and Keith who really don’t have more than bit parts in this flick so don’t really need to be acknowledged by their real names, and an impressionable construction worker who looks a little like Stephen Rea when he played the IRA guy in The Crying Game who broke the number one rule of terrorist kidnappings: don’t get emotionally involved with your kidnapping victims ‘cause it makes it that much harder to execute them when your demands aren’t met (which follows the same logic for not naming the turkey designated to be the centerpiece of the Thanksgiving dinner trimmings, though without the macabre irony of having the turkey mowed down by a rafter—turkey-speak for flock—of turkeys when it blindly flees once you find you ain’t got the cajones it takes to drop the axe), named Frank Thorogood, played by Paddy Considine, who becomes a bit of buddy, butler (I hope I didn’t give the ending away by comparing this flaky fellow to a butler—saying “the butler did it” is just too cliché), and plaything for Brian Jones who likes to mind-fuck Frank for shits and giggles from time to time.

The movie starts with a seemingly pointless shot of Brian in one of those goofy red London telephone booths making a phone call and booking a gig. I suppose it is in order to establish Jones’s role of importance in the band’s nascent stages. Then, for the opening credits, it rolls into what I gather is supposed to resemble archival footage of the young Stones performing at said gig, complete with camera flashes leading to temporary still images of each of the band mates that I gather are to show how they got actors who almost resemble the actual band members, all the while a cover of “Little Red Rooster” is being played by a band that almost resembles the Rolling Stones doing a cover of “Little Red Rooster.” It all does very well in confirming any suspicions one may have that every aspect of the movie is fake. But, that’s cool, because it is a movie after all, and one should expect fakery. It then jumps right to Brian Jones’s lifeless body being dragged from the pool. As two chicks and a dude try to pull him from the pool with the all the grace of a monkey fucking a football, the camera drifts to a statue of a kid sitting on a log reading a book. Since it’s later revealed that the house once belonged to A.A. Milne, I assume that the boy with the book is Christopher Robin, and it is supposed to highlight the poignancy of such a tragedy taking place on the same site where such a loveable creature as Winnie-the-Pooh was created. As they try to revive him there is a montage of the carefree days of yesteryear, I suppose Brian’s life flashing before our eyes, such as driving through the mountains with his mates, naked chicks, sexual fetishes, dropping acid, painted faces, and a goat having its throat slit in an apparently ritual manner that don’t get taught in Sunday School. So the movie is off to quite a rollicking start. Then the intrigue really begins to set in: the gumby-looking, pasty white dude with bad hair, even by late-sixties standards, finally goes to phone for help. But, why does he call who he does? Archival radio and television broadcasts announce the death of Brian Jones in very stiff manner to show just how square people still were and to emphasize just how big the Stones will eventually be even though they are all still clueless to this fact. The announcer with the last word says that “the cause of death is still unknown.” Ah, but will it still be unknown to the discerning viewer ninety-some minutes later, at film’s end?

To aid in solving the mystery, the story helpfully goes three months back into the past so we can get to know Brian and the rest of the key players. The rest of the movie is a bunch of flashbacks intercut with the past-of-three-months-ago to show all the events of Brian’s life that led him to be in the state he was in at the time of his death as well as to establish man, method, and motive for what may not be such a “misadventurous” mortality after all. Keep a close eye on things as they are revealed, layer by layer and level by level, and you may just be able to figure it out for yourself.

I must warn all of the big Rolling Stones fans in the house that I was unable to detect a single note of actual Rolling Stones music being played in the movie, and the soundtrack information I located seems to confirm this belief. But, no worries, what this movie about the founding member of the Rolling Stones lacks in Rolling Stones music is compensated for by more than a modicum of nudity. And, they were kind enough to think of the ladies in the audience, too, for there is also man-nudity! More than just a fleeting cameo that raises the question, did I just see what I thought I saw? The twigs and berries get enough screen time to raise the question, why would Brian’s girlfriend really leave him for Keith?

Okay, now I gotta come clean. It certainly comes off like I’m dissing this poor movie big time. Yeah, I admit it, I am, but it is very unfair to do so. It’s just a symptom of the sardonic mood I was in when I started writing about it. In all actuality, it is quite a worthwhile flick. It’s not a great flick, I mean there’s a reason it didn’t draw any Oscar nominations, but it did get nominated for the Golden Hitchcock (seriously!) at the Dinard British Film Festival (don’t let the title fool ya, it’s French!) and it received not one, but two Empire Awards nominations. And, it is still free to watch at Indie Movies Online, so what do you really have to lose other than 102 irretrievable minutes of your life? I mean, seriously, if you’ve read this far you have more than enough time on your hands, so don’t go getting all indignant and self important now. Instead, just enjoy an interesting take on what happened to that one guy who started the Rolling Stones, but has been dead for four decades.

Traffic Warden (2004, Comedy, 11 minutes):

My last full sample from the free movie feast was a charming little ditty called Traffic Warden. I think the tag on the site sums it up best: “A comic short – in fact, a bite-size romantic comedy – in which a serendipitous series of events leads a traffic warden (played by David Tennant) to find true love.”

It uses dialogue most sparingly. By my count there were three spoken words, maybe four—they were spoken so quickly it was hard to tell if a contraction was used or if they were two separate words. Other than that, the expressions and looks speak volumes. The musical score really adds to the spirit of this sweet short. It’s something that can bring a smile to your face when you’re looking for one, or maybe to unwind with something pleasant before going to bed.

I suppose I do have two caveats about this short film. If you really love goldfish, this movie may not be for you, because the cute little buggers do suffer a tad bit of trauma, but it is tastefully done and does serve to advance the plot. And, if you really hate goldfish, this movie may not be for you, because they are just so dad-blamed cute that it would be sure to get your ire up if you’re a true hater. I guess there is a third caveat, and that would be if you watch this with your children you may want to shield their eyes at the end, because I’m not quite sure, but I think that shot of the tower may be a subliminal sexual reference. Maybe not, but better safe than sorry.

And, all kidding aside, I really did enjoy this short. Even the opening credits were done in a cute and refreshing manner. Enjoy!

Final Analysis of Indie Movies Online:

It is a cool and fun site. The free movies are not “for a short time only” and there is no limit to how many or how often you can watch them. There doesn’t seem to be an astronomic selection in the library right now, but it appears that in the few days since I discovered it new ones have been added. I’m sure there will be a dud or two in there, but I’m sure that they will be compensated for with some gems.

Speaking of duds, I just remembered, there was one that I tried, but couldn’t get through the first scene. On here it’s called Sleeping Dogs Lie, but goes by the aka Stay at IMDB. It’s written and directed by the one and only Bobcat Goldthwait. I’m not typically one to shy away from the cruder forms of humor, but wasn’t able to make it through the opening scene. Anyone else wanna give it a try, and then see if I can be enticed to give it another shot myself?

I was happy to see that they had the short film Creature Comforts (along with other Aardman shorts) available. It’s something a friend of mine showed me several years ago, and I liked it so much that I bought the DVD. Sadly, I had to give up the DVD as part of the settlement, so it’s nice to see it again. I heartily suggest giving it a look.

I really liked what this website is all about. It appears to be all above board as far as legality. There is no registration necessary, but registration allows access to some features that aren’t available otherwise. I do intend to register. Something like this is almost too good to be true, but it’s there, and highly recommended.