NJAFBIT: Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans / My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done

WHY I'M INTERESTED:
Sadly, in film there all too often is such a thing as the oft-mentioned "law of diminishing returns." Many would say that Werner Herzog has fallen prey to it, and although I am not exactly among them, I admit to some casual misgivings of late. But- say what you will about Herzog's post-millennial films (his 1999 documentary on Klaus Kinski proved to be the last film he would make entirely in German, officially ringing in his "American" period,) the guy is keeping himself busy. And, to be fair, he hasn't laid any massive stinkbombs just yet, even if he hasn't really equaled much of his earlier work, to say nothing of his earliest (and acknowledged) masterpieces, which now seem light years away. So, we take a deep breath, muddle through the internet rumblings, and wait for the next one to come out, ever fearful of that one giant misstep that could land him in America's bad graces, where he seems to have ended up in Germany.

Well.. Here they are. Both of them. He's got two in the pipeline. Both have annoyingly long titles, and both would seem to be, at least in so far as what is perceptible in these trailers, 'crime' movies. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you:

Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans



And,

My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done



Aaaaaand... I'm already lost.

I can hear the faint praise damning these two already. "Herzog riffs on the American cop movie." I can hear his voice in the interviews. "These were the films I was watching as a young man." BL:POCNO has got The Cage himself, Eva Mendes showing a little skin, and Val Kilmer. MSMSWHYD has got Willem Dafoe, Chloe Sevigny, and David Lynch himself on as producer (oh, and Udo Kier!) Both, wonderfully, have Brad Dourif, Irma P. Hall, guns, B+/A- list casts, a hint of marketability, and all sorts of baffling, tantalizing potential, so expect these two to be paired for a long time to come. Both will hopefully be out this year, but neither has an official release date announced (although both will be showing at the Toronto International Film Festival in just a few days, so keep your eyes peeled for the early reviews.)

Will Nick Cage bring the new Herzog to a big shiny multiplex near you? Let's hope not. But it might happen. Let's be real, though; Kinski (and, to a lesser extent, Bruno S.,) were Herzog's true muses in the fiction film. He seems to know this. Maybe he's shopping for a new one? If so, let's hope he chooses Shannon over Cage. Or that he has a clue what to do with either of them.

Either way, it's new Herzog. Two of them! You gotta get excited.

PREDICTIONS:
Not going there. Not this time.

RELEASE DATE(S):
see above

LOG: The Hurt Locker

I don't know if The Hurt Locker simply caught me at a particularly raw moment, or what exactly the explanation is, but I’ll be totally honest: this film sent me into a two-hour fit of knee-hugging, violent discomfort. It's merciless, offering the viewer ZERO comforts. Exiting the theater, I was deeply shaken, taking deep breaths, rubbing my eyes. Honestly, I don't think I have been this affected by a movie since Requiem for a Dream. And that is very high praise indeed.

While I would fully concede and even warn anyone that a film this visceral and intense can be a difficult experience in the dark enclosure of the theater, where there is no pause button to allow you a moment to catch your breath, I urge you to catch The Hurt Locker on the big screen. It’s the best movie I've seen all year, and the worst time I've had in a theater in quite a while (If that makes any sense..) Also, if you're anything like me, it's the only Iraq war movie you'll ever need.

Even more, this film is the perfect counterpoint to the phony, ridiculous pro-military flag-waving bullshit I can only imagine a movie like G.I. Joe is currently vomiting up onto the waiting laps of its legions of audiences. The Hurt Locker is definitive proof that, when done correctly, (i.e. with an eye toward realism,) an 'action' movie, particularly a war movie, is about the least fun, least escapist, most claustrophobic genre of film that there is. And that is how it should be.

To be fair: I have a tendency to oversell movies that kick my ass (most people whom I hyped up Audition to found it to be less than earth shattering,) so take my huffing and puffing with a grain of salt. But if nothing else, I am certain you will enjoy the experience of seeing this film.

See you in five years, THL...

(500) Days of Summer

(500) Days of Summer is a movie that is desperate to relate to you. Yes, you. It is a film, following in a grand and old tradition, which attempts to define and condense a generation's romantic zeitgeist into a tidy, ninety-minute package. In this case, it's aiming at our generation. And at our hearts. Does it hit? Regardless of some of the careless comparisons being thrown around, 500 Days is not nearly on the same plane as something like Annie Hall. It takes fewer chances, and its story is less remarkable. But on the whole, it's almost as irresistible. Very good, not great, even if the punches it lands are often clock-cleaning knockout blows. Still, it's a little tough when a not-all-that remarkable movie quickly reduces some of the deepest feelings of your life into a neat little pigeon hole of a character, without a whole lot of effort. But that’s exactly what 500 Days does, and does well. Let's consider how. And why that sucks.

First, let me level all the way: I had big fat ulterior motives for seeing this movie. There's not a lot I can do for 'objectivity' on this one, and so I'm not going to try all that hard. I wanted to see this film because I've been living some all-too-similar situations this year. And because I knew it would hit home in some way, and I felt like I was interested in having that experience, for better or worse.

As we begin, Joseph Gordon-Levitt plays a weary and worn-down twenty something, biding his time at a menial job at a greeting card company in L.A. He subsists, without very much apparent resistance, on occasional bar nights with the office crew, work time, home time, and some kind of very vague, loose grip on his former high hopes of a career in architecture. Right off the bat, a sign of the times; how many of these people (us) are there? Slaving away at some laughably uninteresting and unworthy drone work, sheepishly sidled into arrested development, personally and professionally, by the nagging realities of the paycheck life. If you don’t know this guy’s life, you know someone who knows it. And if it all feels a little mundane, that's because it is, but that certainly does not make it any less true. It does explain why these types of revelations have so often failed to make their way onto movie screens. Audiences, generally speaking, are not headed to the movies to feel like they are staring into a mirror. For this bravery, 500 Days is laudable.

Here we find a suitable point to begin to pick at this film’s myriad comparisons to Annie Hall, a bold and, frankly, lazy proclamation with which I take some umbrage. It’s an interesting exercise to examine the films’ differences. On their surfaces, the dual plot lines (guy meets girl from out of town, unlikely romances blooms, flourishes, sours, ends) would certainly seems quite compatible. They even employ (500 Days straight up quotes) a lot of the same filmic quirks (direct-to-screen dialogue, animation, etc.) But there are key differences.

First and foremost, and crucially, Allen’s character in Annie Hall was a lot more likable of a guy. As Alvy Singer, Allen’s hero-self at least had delusions of himself as partly remarkable, which ingratiated that film further to those males (read: all of us) who have a hard time letting go of the idea they truly are the best thing that could happen to anybody, including pretty ladies. Indeed, Joseph Gordon-Levitt only partially steps out of the slimy shadow of Keanu Reeves he has been crouched under for the last few years. As a performance, it’s probably perfect. He does major justice to the role, but alas, the film affords him precious few opportunities to show us much other than what we have already seen from him.

Ditto and likewise for Zooey Deschanel, whose character remains the most troubling, if perhaps for reasons which remain mostly unclear, by design or otherwise. For all the films perceived posturing about how right everything could have been, Summer, as a character, is nowhere near as memorable to us as should perhaps could or should have been. The script seems to too often hedge its bets, perhaps an attempt to bridge the audience through generality; get too specific, and it's not relatable anymore, apparently. Contrast this with Annie Hall's various very specific, very pointed moments; Annie on stage in the noisy restaurant, or Alvy on her bed after a late night call to kill a spider. Woody, for all the other misgivings that have been laid on him, at least had the balls to get real with us. 500 Days mostly just wants to approximate real, or perhaps wholly underestimates its audience’s capacity for anything outside the straight lines of Tom and Summer. Or maybe that’s not right. Maybe Annie Hall’s realities were too heightened, too elevated, removed from truth. Can you decide?? I sure can’t.

Even within the kept realm of Woody Allen, love this grand always was a young man's (read: fools) game. Compare Annie Hall to more recent Allen films, such as Vicky Cristina Barcelona, with Scarlett Johanssen vamping her way across Spain, or even worse, to Whatever Works, which casually bandies around some of the most ridiculously unearned and unnecessary sexual motifs since Caligula. Even Allen himself, it seems, has given up on all his old romantic preoccupations. He’s moved on. And yet.. Annie Hall is still the one we talk about.

On one hand, we should perhaps be at least somewhat grateful that our generation’s seemingly ubiquitous, (??) fumbling journey toward Gen-Y love has been cataloged, imperfectly or not, and committed to celluloid for posterity. For all its inviting of your personal baggage to color the frames, 500 Days remains on track, telling the story it needs to tell, and telling it well. More than a few moments will ring more than true for nearly any viewer who has ever found themselves in any kind of similar predicament. It's like a choose-your-own old adventure. If this scene doesn't remind you of When, the next one probably will. There is a lot of awful, messy truth about love in this movie. But if it really is the truth, how bad is it, really?

Marc Webb’s direction is good, in an average, tentative sort of way. Rightfully, his focus remains on the story, and so we are spared all but a few super-cutesy, gratingly zany moments, and they are paced out well enough that it never gets to be too much. Contrary to the buzz, 500 Days is actually remarkably unflashy for at least 70% of its run time. The flairs that do turn up mostly work, even if it's clear that music video director-cum-filmmaker Webb certainly does not possess the brilliance of a Gondry or a Jonze, try as he might to emulate their quirky sensibilities. If 500 Days is his flash in the pan, I wouldn't be that surprised. When the kookiness fades out and the movie shows us its true feelings, it's all about Summer and Tom. And that's good. A couple of very nice, bravura moments, particularly the much talked about split-screen “expectations/reality” scene, will certainly be enough to place this film firmly in the hearts of many. Including myself.

Now, to get personal.

It's probably not fair, but it's more than a little nice that the movie takes Tom's side through all this. After all, all the Summers in the audience aren’t paying attention anyway. Guess what? It takes balls to be Tom. For every Tom, a genuine, if imperfect, and totally normal guy, there are a hundred other guys out on the fringes that would be more than happy to give Summer the no-strings-attached attention she so adamantly proclaims she wants. And why not? What’s wrong with all that? What the hell does a guy like Tom have to offer, anyway? (Um.... don't get me started.)

Being so close to it, I can quickly pick apart 500 Days’ many misdelivered arrows, like a Star Wars fanboy maniacally spotting the shot-for-shot differences in Boba Fett's face masks. If I may- *ahem:*

If we want to believe that a certain one is 'the one,' then we will believe it.

And if we believe that they are 'the one,' then.. They are.. Aren’t they?

I have no doubt that I will return to 500 Days, and I have no doubt that there is much truth in what it conveys. How and why the things it portrays do or do not apply to my life (or yours) is certainly a fair question. But, if you're anything like Tom (or me,) you'll have no trouble figuring out where the movie ends, and what you lived (or are living) begins. If nothing else, it may be of some comfort to know that, yup.. You’re not alone, cowboy.

I say- be proud, Toms. Stay the course. Your day will come, and so will mine. And if, when it does, it ends up being some version other than that pie-in-the-sky one you dreamed up with your Summer, that is a reality you will simply have to deal with. For, as you know, the alternatives will certainly not suit you any better. In the meantime, there are lots of morals you can pull out of a film like 500 Days of Summer. It’s quite malleable, actually. Take the pieces you want, and leave the rest. That’s what Tom and Summer did. Well, Summer did, anyway.

Now it’s your turn.

NJAFBIT: 500 Days of Summer

WHY I'M INTERESTED: Good cast, great looking soundtrack. A former music video director at the helm. A few good reviews that peaked my interest. That'll do the trick. (Although, I'm really praying that Joseph Gordon-Levitt has not morphed into the second coming of Keanu Reeves.) I'm a sucker for Zooey D., anyway. Bigtime. What can I say.

This is flirting dangerously close to "too close for comfort." Maybe it will put my summer in perspective. Maybe it won't.

PREDICTION: Whatever. I'm seeing it.

RELEASE DATE: 7/17/09

LOG: The Merry Gentleman

If Die Hard is a Christmas movie (a claim which I now reluctantly accept,) then The Merry Gentleman is as well. But that's not all it is. It's also a romance, a cop movie, and a pretty damned good Chicago movie, too. And it's got Micheal Keaton! 'Nuff said?

The easy gravitas and charm of Micheal Keaton simply cannot be overstated. He is a five star actor, and although his widow's peak has slowly inched back into a kind of Mohawk over the past few years, his panache remains as fresh and fun as ever, even when he is saddled (as here) by a role which in and of itself demands that his performance be almost wooden. It's a joy to watch and listen to him. He's one of the best.

The Merry Gentleman also has the distinction of being Keaton's directorial debut, and as such, it's a pretty sound success, with a few minor caveats. It's hard to say if Keaton deliberately limited his screen time as some sort of ill-advised, self-deprecating directorial choice or if it was simply a symptom of the script, but I wanted more of him in this film. Also, Keaton executes a couple of bafflingly strange camera movements and scene progressions. But certainly no one could accuse him of not taking chances, and indeed a lot of the flourishes he goes with work quite nicely. Watching Keaton in the few films in which he has appeared in the last five or so years, a big part of me wishes that he would just reach back, one more time, and let loose to become again the bonafide movie star he once was. His sparse appearances are unbecoming of his massive talent. But I have resolved to take what I can get.

I can sympathize with some of the review judgments of this film as too sappy, too somber. It certainly can be both, in spots. Though it does fall prey to a few of the more annoying indie-flick trends of the moment (minor spoiler alert: the "thoughtfully ambiguous loose-string ending" is employed here once again, maddeningly.) But it's hard to get too upset at this film, which has quite a lot going for it. To it's credit, it never prods for emotions it doesn't earn. And anyway, it's a lousy target to pick to bemoan the ever-present tide of indie flicks where no one ever smiles (I could think of a few far better choices.) The film redeems itself very well with its unstylized, believable and interesting portraits. Especially interesting is newcomer Tom Bastounes, who plays his very juicy part (as a cop involved in the investigation of a murder) like a young Joe Mantegna. Kelly MacDonald too does a fine job with her lovably distant Scottish emigre, alone and vulnerable in the big city.

Very worthy of a watch, The Merry Gentleman should transition especially well to the small screen, where the (admittedly) gloomy tone will feel a little less claustrophobic. See it for Keaton. There is no better reason. All the rest is icing.

Gran Torino

Walt Kowalski in Gran Torino could be your dad. He sure is mine, or some version of mine, anyway. And if he's not your dad, he's your friends dad, or your girlfriend's dad. Trust me. He loves his dog, not his kids. His house is cleaner than it needs to be. Everything is organized and arranged just-so. He uses arcane expletives. Takes great pride in his lawn. And he's got a souped-up old car in the garage that he never drives. Sounding familiar yet? Perfectly rounding out this laser-etched archetype, Walt is a man filled up to the brim with a vaguely defined hatred of just about everything he encounters in his daily life. His kids and grand kids have been spoiled by his meager success and are now too busy for him. His neighbors, whom he calls 'gooks' and 'zipperheads' (as if those were still the preferred slurs even amongst racists..) are immigrants from Laos with a strange way of life that he tells himself he has no tolerance for or interest in. And his wife (whom we do not have the pleasure of meeting in Gran Torino,) has just died. Walt is a man isolated with his own rage.

The film opens on a cookie cutter Catholic funeral, one like we've all been to, where the Pastor has nothing new or extraordinary to impart, and everyone knows it, but plays along in some kind of vague spirit of honoring the dead, even as the kids fumble with their video games, and the adults mumble quietly to themselves about it all. Walt stands up front, greeted passively by each visitor, seething with resentment. He sees the moment for what it is; an empty ritual more useful for assuaging the guilt of the attendees than for condoling his loss. From here, we begin our journey with Walt, which will end up in unexpected and barely believable places. Walt will do things that ordinary men, even desperate, challenged or 'brave' ordinary men, do not do in today's world. And we, the audience, will lap it all up. Why? Because Walt is played by Clint Eastwood.

In anyone else's hands, Gran Torino would probably be dismissed as just a bit too drama-by-numbers. A bit too easy and a bit too safe. But in Eastwood's, it's a portrait of a generation. HIS generation? Clint's charms, even at 79 years old (which he will be at the end of this month) are many. In Gran Torino, he growls a lot, and his scowl, decades removed from his Spaghetti-western roots, is as gruesome and gnarly as ever. Even all these years later, Eastwood is still delighting in his badassness. He's the "Last Cowboy," and he knows it. But lest we forget, Clint is also a cultured man, and he has let in show more and more in recent years. A lover of music, particularly jazz, Eastwood has hopped into and out of various genres in his career, ever since his white-knuckle directorial debut Play Misty For Me. Mystic River in 2003 proved a milestone, earning numerous awards and a renewed interest in his filmmaking, as well as signaling a shift towards the more bracing, "serious" dramas he continues to produce. His films since have not disappointed, and Gran Torino proves to be no exception.

Walt is a reverse-Peter Pan, a fully grown-up man who refuses to grow up into any other kind of man. Or does he? (dot dot dot... the film plays on.) About halfway through Gran Torino, glugging down a Tsing Tao, now slowly warming to the affections of his immigrants neighbors, Clint/Walt lets his guard down and cracks a smile. So it's the 'old bastard with the heart of gold' story, right? Fine, but should we really swallow that pill so easily? We have by now come to grips with the nature and implications of Walt's various ill-defined hatreds and prejudices. Some are bullshit, just talk and nothing more. Some are very real, very deserved, and totally logical. And so we, as viewers, must allow ourselves a moment to determine for ourselves if we really can excuse Walt these myriad imperfections. But before we can muster up our argument, we are swept up into some unpleasantly violent circumstances, which of course serve to hammer home the "we're all in this together,' flag-waving banner that Gran Torino seems to have no qualms about shoving down our throat.

Maybe Eastwood doesn't apologize for Walt. But true to his Hollywood roots, Clint can't resist a few hilariously easy and uber-schmaltzy pock shots to tug at the heartstrings. A true blue entertainer, just givin' us what we want. But in the process, the 'message' one might take from Gran Torino loses most of its credibility. Are we are allowed to ponder how all this relates to Clint himself? To the characters he has made a living playing for 50 years? To Dirty Harry? If I had to guess, seeing as Eastwood himself has never been necessarily averse to change, enduring at least three career 'revivials' and reinventions, I would say that Eastwood is not 100% sympathetic to Walt. Walt is a man, a part of a generation, who's lives, actions and demeanors might just have been influenced by the tough-as-nails portrayals of such characters as Clint practically invented. In this way, Gran Torino can be cautiously viewed as some sort of back-handed denouement, a conscience-clearing admission on the part of Eastwood that being a cranky, snarling son-of-a-bitch is only as good as the baggage you bring along to it. But didn't he already handle that in Unforgiven?

In the end, as an entertainment, Gran Torino is a complete success and a film to relish, even though Eastwood (and screenwriters Nick Schenk and Dave Johansson) mostly just hint at the real emotions at play in these very real scenarios. When push comes to shove (and, in Gran Torino, it very literally does,) Walt just wants what's right in the world. Or so we are led by the hand to believe. It's worth asking why these emotions had laid dormant in Walt for so long. Why, in fact, he gives what he gives, when he gives it, to his sons, to his Pastor, and to Tao, the neighbor's young son whom he takes under his wing. And whether or not any of that is actually OK. But Gran Torino doesn't approach these details. It offers only the things we want to see, the things we WANT to believe about Walt. Perhaps even about our own fathers. And, let's be fair; Eastwood never did play no angel, did he?

Make no mistake, this is not realism, and not fantasy. It's Hollywood, Eastwood style. Where boys become men, and men.. are men. Everybody learns their 'valuable lesson,' and Walt (and Clint) have their last laugh, their scripted version of 'justice,' all the way up to the films laughably corny ending moment. And then, the credits roll.

Whatever you say, Clint. You nutty-ass Mick bastard. Tell me another one.


(note: I am well aware that I am writing reviews of movies on this site that are already well past the sights of the movie reviewer world. There is a multi-faceted explanation for this: 1.) It takes me a while to catch up to these movies, sometimes. 2.) I like the idea of being able to review something a little bit past it's buzz-generating opening. I like to let the dust settle and then see what I see. So.. stay tuned for my review of Iron Man! (you think I'm kidding..)

CLICK HERE

Blue Collar Film Scholar will be on semi-temporary hiatus as I wrap up my semester at school and continue sorting through bags, boxes and totes. So, in the meantime:





The Substance of Style

I had been planning for some time to write a piece entitled "In Defense of Wes Anderson" for this site, but Mr. Zoller Seitz does a pretty damn good job here. (Also - GOD DAMN IT I WANT AN AMBERSONS DVD. I WANT IT. YOU GIVE IT.) Watch all five parts. Will somebody give this guy a show on IFC or something? Speaking of which:


Green Porno

Issabella Rossellini is a freaky, hilarious chick. Watch both seasons. It'll take like twenty minutes.

"If I were a firefly, I would light up my ass at night..."


Not Again: 24 Films Too Painful To Watch Twice

This is old, but I somehow stumbled onto it recently. I'm glad I'm not the only one who doesn't have the balls (or the stomach) to put in Requiem again. It just sits there on my DVD shelf, menacingly. (PS- A.V. Club is the real deal.)


Criterion Collection: The Curious Case of Benjamin Button

Benjamin Button gets the Criterion treatment right out of the box. The first since "The Life Aquatic," I believe.

Thinking back on this film, I remember quite a bit, and this release especially has me excited to revisit it. The women in this film were remarkable. Tilda Swinton probably gives the best performance in the film, as she so often does (see: Michael Clayton,) and Blanchett too was memorable. So what if it's Forrest Gump? I liked Forrest Gump. Didn't you? (Also, for the requisite 8 pages of "OMG wHy iS TCCOBB oN cRiteeeRiON?" click HERE.)


Where the Wild Things Are

In place of a full NJAFBIT posting, click here to check out the trailer for Spike Jonze's Where the Wild Things Are. Best trailer song ever? It works fantastically well. This trailer is awesome, and Jonze has never made a bad movie (they're.. *cough..* both good.) Nuff said. This is a twenty-something indie-kid's Halloween wet dream. These damned hipster filmmakers just refuse to force us all to grow up. (Early contender for trailer of the year. Last years winner was Pineapple Express, btw.)

in the pipeline: LOG on The Relic. Seriously. Check back often!

LOG: The Reader

Upon entering my local, neighborhood cheap (*AHEM* 'second run') theater this evening, I was struck with a dilemma; I had purchased my ticket for Doubt at 9:40, but found that The Reader was also playing at 9:45. I paused between the two theaters a moment, and weighed my options. Two hand-wringing dramas, neither of which figured to hold me a very captive audience. After a bit of thought, I decided that even the vaguest prospect of hot-and-heaviness courtesy of Kate Winslet was enough to undo my admittedly weak desire to watch Streep and Seymour-Hoffman act it up, Nazi subplot be damned

Well, I got my hot-and-heaviness. And I also got a by-the-numbers literary adaptation, co-starring that most by-the-numbers actor of them all, Ralph Fiennes. Even its most moving moments were badly contrived. Winslet does a nice job with her haggish, slightly sexy hausfrau, no question, but that whole Nazi business just felt tacked on. More than once I wondered if I had picked the right movie.. but I'm pretty confident I did. I'd rather watch Winslet over-compensate for an underwritten role then watch the Doubt folks do it the other way around.

I left as I entered, unenthused, unmoved, and ready to go home. A glance at the "coming soon" posters, however, with such future presentations as Milk and Coraline, was just enough to lift my spirits.. Indeed, thankfully, there will be better days.

NJAFBIT: Inglorious Basterds

WHY I'M INTERESTED:

You gotta hand it to Brad Pitt; he's making it almost impossible to hate him these days. Realistically, if you look at his output as a whole, he's pretty much ALWAYS been in cool movies. It's easy to forget how many. Since his breakout in Thelma & Louise (itself nothing to scoff at,) he's bounced from Cool World to Kalifornia, to Se7en, to Fight Club, to last years fantastic Burn After Reading and Benjamin Button, never going more than a couple years without appearing in something great. He's co-starring with (WTF?) Mike Myers, straight off his blockbuster star-making turn in The Love Guru.

The trailer shows shades of both Tarantino's lamer side (Pitt's lousy, boring monologue,) and awesome side (some fun, Kill Bill-ish action moments.) Worth betting that both sides will turn up in the finished film, but in what proportion, who can say. The problem I'm having more and more with QT movies is my inability to just listen to what these people are saying, without picturing it coming from the mouth of QT himself. This is the major problem with outspoken, wordy filmmakers (ie. Kevin Smith, et al.)

But, much as I may try to resist, I end up seeing every Tarantino movie in the theater. He is one of the defining filmmakers of our generation, and I tend to give him the benefit of the doubt until he gives me reason to think otherwise. For a 'teaser,' this gives a pretty damn good indication of what we will be getting. I'm intrigued enough not to immediately dismiss it.

PREDICTION: Imperfect, funny, weird, awkward.

RELEASE DATE: 8/21/09

LOG: Targets

Boris Karloff is, and will ever be, my favorite actor. I love him. He had the greatest voice, and one of the greatest presences in all of the movies. Targets was, by all accounts, his last important (read: good) film, finished and released less than a year before he would succumb to emphysema-related pneumonia at age 81. Famous names surround the production; Roger Corman produced, and Bogdanovich took the script to Sam Fuller for some uncredited rewrites. Karloff made $22,000 dollars for appearing in this film, refusing to accept pay for the additional time he worked (past the 2 days he owed Corman from a previous commitment.)

I could sing the praises of Bogdo all day long, but mostly as they relate to his excellent writing abilities. As a filmmaker, apart from this and The Last Picture Show, his output borders on dreadful, and in recent years he has retreated into menial acting jobs. But he is an ever-present, if oft-maligned, force on DVD and in film scholarship, and I say let him talk.

If Targets isn't a masterpiece, it's because the parallel plot lines (1- Karloff as washed up horror star, 2- Young man goes on rifle-fed killing spree) don't necessarily pair all that well. But they do pair well enough intellectually that you can concede the idea of the film, particularly knowing the restrictions that Bogdo had handed down to him from Corman. As meta-Karloff, the film succeeds, but only because Karloff was exactly the kind of man who could own up to the biographical aspects of Bogdo's script. When Boris is not on screen, however, the film suffers badly. What would you expect?

Putting what you know will be considered your film 'epitaph' in the hands of a young, unproven director? That's just Karloff doing what he always did- being the greatest professional of his time.

Strangely, this DVD has gone out of print. It's a gem at it's original $5.99 asking price (I think I bought it at a K-mart.)