"NOSFERATU" INFECTIOUS

          F.W. Murnau's 1922 German Expressionist vision of Dracula casts an indelible portrait of the vampire.
          Featuring the enigmatic Max Schreck as Count Orlok, Nosferatu excels in spite of Murnau's inability to secure the rights to Bram Stoker's novel.
          Murnau's "Symphony of Horror," with a screenplay freely adapted by Henrik Galeen, concerns the Great Plague of Wisborg in 1838--or rather, its cause: Nosferatu, a pestilential Son of Belial with "a name like the sound of the death bird at midnight."
          Industrious young real estate agent Hutter believes he stands to make a healthy commission delivering in person papers drawn up for the Transylvanian Count's purchase of a "handsome, deserted house" in Wisborg. Hutter's boss, Knock--who acts like the character Renfield in the novel--pointedly neglects to mention that he's sending Hutter on an errand to a highly unusual client with long claws, rat-like teeth, and an appetite for human blood obtained directly from the source. Like a juice-box.
          Hutter has a wife, Ellen, whose neck the Count immediately covets. She, meanwhile, has a mystical connection through sleep and dream with Hutter and the Count far away in the Carpathians.
          In 1922, black and white was not exactly black and white. It was actually common practice to use a colored filter over the camera lens. A blue filter, for example, indicates outdoor nighttime shots. Particularly in the restored Kino edition, astoundingly clean and clear frames repeatedly please the eye.
          This is because it's Expressionist. Due to WWI, German filmmakers were cut off from the world in terms of the still-emerging art and the business associated with it. The striking visuals--stylized sets, unconventional camera angles, and exceptional use of shadows--plus extreme subject matter (such as vampires) speaking to the present and the eternal in the higher language of the figurative, still provide the stock for the cinematic soup of the world.
          Werner Herzog re-made the classic in 1979 with Klaus Kinski as Orlok, and in most ways it's the better version. That same year, Stephen King's made-for-TV 'Salem's Lot was filmed in Ferndale, California, with a non-vocal vampire looking like a dead-ringer for Orlok. (For that matter, so does Freddy Kruger in silhouette, who also operates in the dream realm.)
          Another goodie is Shadow of the Vampire (2000), which stars John Malkovich as Murnau and Willem Dafoe as, not the actor Max Schreck, but as an actual vampire that Murnau was somehow able to procure.
          The first vampire movie got it right. The Count is supposed to be repellent. That's in keeping with the novel, and that's what works best. Not a suave dude, but a repugnant figure. Bela Lugosi, Christopher Lee, Frank Langella, and Gary Oldman all bring their own fantastic interpretation, but it is Max Schreck who casts the longest vampire shadow.
          Seek Nosferatu wherever fine films are found--and preferably do so by train.

"AMERICAN PSYCHO" FLAWED MASTERPIECE

          Nine years after the publication of Bret Easton Ellis' banned book comes this blackly comic wry satire featuring one of the best performances by one of film's finest actors.
          Christian Bale stars as Patrick Bateman, an investment banker at the firm of Pierce and Pierce. Just as Bateman's name suggests Norman Bates from Psycho, so too does the name of the firm broadly hint at the investment banker's homicidal interests.
          What makes American Psycho (2000) a masterpiece is tying together rapacious hollow greed, white male privilege, empty consumerism, and wounded narcissism with mental imbalance and murder. That, plus a razor-sharp dead-on performance by Bale.
          However, the ending falls apart like over-boiled chicken. Falls apart so bad, it's enough to drive a person crazy.
          The story wouldn't have any of the impact if Bateman was a plumber. But this is a movie with something to say. Which also seems to be pretty much why the book got banned.
          So many great images, so many great moments. Bale captures Bateman's lifeless eyes just right. Everything he does is selfish, everything he says, artificial. He has no tastes of his own, but rather only rattles off critiques from other sources used like weapons against people in lieu of conversation.
          He's not really human, he's not really there, and he's not really different from any of the others.
          When the story starts (set in 1987), we have no way of knowing whether Bateman has killed anyone yet. We see him kill a transient here, a prostitute there. He tells us in Voice Over all about the designer toiletries he uses and various lotions he applies to keep his skin soft.
          Then we see another guy at the firm who has the same haircut as Bateman, and wears the same style suit and eyeglasses, but whose business card is just a little bit better than Bateman's.
          Big mistake for that guy.
          And ultimately a big mistake for the filmmaker. Writer-director Mary Harron in an interview with Charlie Rose admitted she made a mistake with the film's ending by creating too much ambiguity. This ambiguity is the film's fatal flaw. The viewer is left wondering if Bateman ever even killed anyone. Was it all merely his violent imagination or delusions?
          Well, no. And that's where Harron regrets the ambiguity. Patrick Bateman definitely does commit the murders. (Except maybe for a few, not to quibble.) Yet the film makes a better double-feature with Wall Street or The Wolf of Wall Street than Psycho. This is because, even though Bateman quotes serial killer Ed Gein, the real-life inspiration for Robert Bloch's novel later to become the Alfred Hitchcock masterpiece, that fact is in service of the larger issues concerning who and what gets called success.
          Also starring Josh Lucas as one of Bateman's silky Pierce and Pierce frenemies, Jared Leto as the guy whose business card is better than Bateman's, Reese Witherspoon as Bateman's clueless fiancée, and Willem Dafoe as the friendly neighborhood detective who would like to ask Mr. Bateman a few questions.

"L'HOMME QUI RIT" CARVES MOVIE MARK

          Excellent production value highlights this faithful adaptation of Victor Hugo's 1869 novel.
          The title means "The Man Who Laughs"--and this is the name of the first film version of the story, from 1928, starring Conrad Veidt in the role of a traveling freak show performer whose face was horrifically carved into a huge permanent smile when he was a young boy by a so-called "doctor" of child-stealing Gypsies.
          The real name of The Man Who Laughs is Gwynplaine (Grondin). Abandoned as a child one night in a snowstorm, he saves a blind girl yet younger than himself, and the two are taken in by the gruff, bear-like Ursus (Depardieu) who travels in his tiny caravan around the countryside with a wolf for a companion as he sells potions and performs little stage productions. In the book, which provides seemingly extraneous details which help set the stage for the main storyline, it takes a long time to finally get where the story properly starts, which is with the abandonment of young Gwynplaine.
          The main thing the 2012 version gets wrong is softening Gwynplaine's disfigurement and playing up all his other attributes to the point where he basically could have been played by Johnny Depp as a sort of heartthrob-type version of the character. But the best version of the role by far is Veidt's interpretation.
          Remaining intentionally vague to preserve the experience, suffice to say Gwynplaine learns a secret about himself that changes his life, and the second half of the story takes a wildly different turn.
          One thing happens in this movie that we almost never see in any film: The events take place in England, but all of the characters speak French. In a world where comic book Norse gods owned by the Disney corporation all speak in prestige British dialect, what a welcome change to hear members of Parliament speaking French.
          The most unbelievable aspect of the story, almost unforgivably so, is Gwynplaine's inexplicable desire for a Platonic relationship with Dea (Theret). Where others despise him on sight, the beautiful young blind woman loves Gwynplaine because she sees his soul. And she's all totally into it. But no, instead Gwynplaine says, "I can never make you happy." And that's probably true, but it's not because of his face.
          Starring also Emmanuelle Seigner (aka Mrs. Roman Polanski) as a duchess interested in The Man Who Laughs. A scene in L'Homme Qui Rit calls to mind another from Polanski's The Fearless Vampire Killers. The former is visually and thematically in keeping with the latter because it depicts a lifeless waltz danced by the rich. For that matter, moments later we see a reference to Jean Cocteau's La Belle et la Bete, specifically the white fluttering curtains in the castle hall.
          In particular the end of the highly literate 2012 version is faithful to Hugo's vision. This fact, coupled with the excellent look of the film, effective use of music and overall artistry, raise it to the same level of the 1928 original.
          It is worth noting that Veidt's portrayal of Gwynplaine is unforgettable, so influential it served as the inspiration for Batman-creator Bob Kane's villainous character, the Joker. Jack Nicholson plays the Joker in the 1989 Batman the same way Cesar Romero did in the mid-'60s TV show, smiling and hoo-hooing underneath a painted-on smile. What's more interesting is a frown or a scowl beneath the fake permanent smile. We do get this with the superior portrayal by Heath Ledger in his final film role. And it would appear this is repeated with the new film, Joker, starring Joaquin Phoenix. But no one has ever matched the performance by Conrad Veidt.
          Note: A French version of the story filmed in 1971 does exist, but it looks and sounds like a home movie, so foolish, its only merit is in, ironically, providing the reason for derisive laughter.
          Seek the 2012 melodrama masterpiece wherever fine films are found.


L'HOMME QUI RIT
Starring Gerard Depardieu,
Marc-Andre Grondin,
Emmanuelle Seigner,
Christa Theret,
Romain Morelli,
Fanie Zanini
Directed by Jean-Pierre Ameris
Written by Jean-Pierre Ameris, Guillaume Laurant
Based on the novel by Victor Hugo
Runtime 95 minutes

ABBOTT AND COSTELLO TRY TO RUIN "FRANKENSTEIN"

          In the late-1920s, Carl Laemmle Jr., the head of production at Universal pictures, requested horror as a genre on which to focus, resulting in a string of classics--most notably, Dracula, Frankenstein, The Mummy, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, and The Invisible Man. Some of the films deserve their fame more than others; all, however, share in common a degree of gravity, strong emotional truth fantastically presented.
          After 1936, however, when the tenure of Laemmle Jr. ended, something horrific occurred. Somebody else at the desk a few years later figured those old horror movies might just hold a little more blood for the squeezing. So, with nary an intent to appreciate the genre, a second cycle of Universal horror flicks got cranked out, riding on the success of the first.
          Like a kid smashing together a toy in each fist, Universal came up with Frankenstein Meets the Wolf Man. Then it was the House of movies--House of Frankenstein, House of Dracula. By 1948 this schlock degenerated into the Abbott and Costello series billed as hilarious spoofs, yet holding genuine thrills and chills.
          Nothing could be further from the truth.
          What Abbott and Costello do for classic Universal monsters is right up there with what they did for religion with the lost film Abbott and Costello Meet Moses. In that one, Charlton Heston, playing Moses, pops up from behind a crate, causing the short fat one, Lou Costello as Wilbur, to point and stammer ineffectually, finally frantically calling out for the taller one, Bud Abbott as Chick, who comes over and says, "What's the matter with you? Get back to work!" Then when Chick leaves, Moses appears behind another crate, scaring Wilbur a second time, and the whole bit gets repeated again.
          Billed as a hilarious spoof of Biblical movies, while also providing genuine spiritual thrills, what this lost film did was make people hate Moses.
          Same sort of thing with the not lost stuff.
          One movie in history truly is hilarious and also pays legitimate homage to the Universal classics, Young Frankenstein (1974), produced by Twentieth Century Fox.
          The original films already have problems enough. For one thing, why is Frankenstein's monster so symmetrical? To indicate the haphazard collection of robbed separate parts stitched together, everything should be wrongly proportioned. Why does Dracula have a tiny little coffin for a potato bug? Vampires can't handle the shape of the cross, but there are cross-shapes all over the floors and the walls of Dracula's castle. Why?
          When Lon Chaney Jr. turns into the Wolf Man, he's wearing a white tank top t-shirt. But then in the next scene he's wearing a dark long-sleeved button-down shirt. NO WAY!
          The better werewolf movie--and it's a mystery why we rarely see any mention of it--is the earlier film Werewolf of London (1935), starring Henry Hull. More to say about that film another time.
          The Mummy is basically a cheap Dracula re-make. Both of those movies start with the best scenes, then taper off for the bulk of the picture. A lot of drawing room nonsense, not enough action.
          Yet these are the films that we love, despite House of Abbott Meets Costello. The classics open magnificently with great use of silence broken only by lovely old crackles and pops in the film, like a favorite vinyl LP. The films have their flaws, yes. They're not like the books, no. But one thing's for sure: They make Abbott and Costello look like crud.

Screwing up the title of my article is inexcusable.

"Try to Run Franke"?

Holy shit. All they had to do was simply cut and paste. 

So yeah, this is why I don't let them run my articles anymore. Wasn't their first time screwing up one of my titles, either. They've even managed to get my name wrong in a couple issues. And never had the character to print a correction, much less apologize for their errors.

Then to cap it all off, they never once paid me for my work anywhere near on time. Always took them about four months--literally four months--before they finally met their responsibilities. Even at the vastly reduced rate which I allowed, like charity. 

I helped them out for a long time, and I was the best part of that paper, I promise you.

Never again.

"LAST WALTZ" FIRST-RATE

          Martin Scorsese's 1978 film of The Band's final concert.
          Featuring an all-star lineup with performances by Eric Clapton, Neil Diamond, Bob Dylan, Joni Mitchell, Neil Young, Dr. John, Van Morrison, Muddy Waters, Ron Wood, The Band, and more, The Last Waltz is more than a concert. It's a celebration.
          At the time it was celebrating having, as guitarist Robbie Robertson states, "been together 16 years on the road." More specifically, not doing that anymore. But the statement is misleading. The title of The Band's 1968 seminal album Music From Big Pink refers to a house in New York state where they holed up writing music and developing their mystique, so it's not like they were constantly on the road.
          Still, Robertson had had his fill. Indeed, no one on the planet expected The Rolling Stones or anyone else to play for 50 or 60 years.
          It begins at the end, with Rick Danko, Richard Manuel, Levon Helm, Garth Hudson, and Robertson playing the perhaps prophetically titled "Don't Do It." For those unfamiliar with The Band, in the early-'60s they played for Ronnie Hawkins as The Hawks. By the mid-'60s, Bob Dylan saw them perform and was so impressed that he started playing electric guitar and changed his sound to folk-rock. Around this time The Hawks took a name change. They tried calling themselves The Crackers. They tried calling themselves The Honkies. But the only name that stuck was The Band--as in Bob Dylan and The Band.
          Their most famous song is "The Weight," the one with the line, "Take a load off, Annie..."
          In between songs we get little stories and insights from the members recalling the early days and difficult conditions therein.
          Prior to the 1978 movie release, Martin Scorsese's most famous films were Mean Streets (1973) and Taxi Driver (1976), both starring Robert De Niro. This year marks the release of Scorsese's latest collaboration with the legendary actor in The Irishman, as well as a Bob Dylan documentary on Netflix, Rolling Thunder Revue.
          The 11/25/76 concert which took place at the Winterland in San Francisco boasts unforgettable performances in a time-capsule of musicianship. No AutoTune, no lip-syncing, no synchronized dancing, just a wide variety of real music from actual musicians.
          Ten years after the concert, keyboardist Manuel took his life. In 1992 surviving members got together again with Bob Dylan for an evening, but the 1976 event remains the last performance.
          Available wherever fine films are found.



Stewart Kirby writes for
THE INDEPENDENT
and
TWO RIVERS TRIBUNE

"SiCKO" POTENT

          Michael Moore's healthcare industry documentary graphically illustrates the stark division between the United States and the rest of the Western world.
          In 2007, when the film was released, 250 million Americans had healthcare, and 50 million Americans had no healthcare coverage at all. But even the insured generally had a hard time getting the healthcare they required.
          In almost any other country, healthcare works. But not in America. And the reason for that is healthcare insurance companies. What the film makes clear: Healthcare is not a privilege, it's a right.
          The film shows a guy whose granddaughter was going to get an implant in one ear only, because he was told that's all his healthcare would cover...until he wrote his insurance company a letter apprising them of Michael Moore's new documentary. Whereupon he soon got a phone call from the health insurance company which did an about-face and now said, yes, no problem, the granddaughter would be covered for implants in both ears, after all.
          Elsewhere the film focuses on cases of uninsured sick people taken away from the hospital by cab and abandoned in the street. "Who are we?" Moore asks. "Is this what we've become? A nation that dumps its own citizens like so much garbage on the side of the curb because they can't pay their hospital bills?"
          Based on a wide variety of cases explored, one finishes the film feeling that the healthcare system has less of an interest in helping sick people become well, and more of an interest in making profit.
          "Looking back," says the guy whose job used to be trying to deny people the healthcare they paid for, "did I do harm to people's lives? Yeah, hell yeah."
          The film throws light on a "plan hatched between Nixon and Edgar Kaiser" wherein "patients were given less and less care."
          Healthcare industry contributions to the US Congress purchased a bill that lets drug companies charge whatever they want. No matter how exorbitant. For his complicity in the Prescription Drug Act of 2003, Bush was given almost $900,000.
          You don't have to bring your checkbook to the hospital for healthcare anywhere else in the Western world. Socialized systems in the US include police, firefighters, teachers, and postal workers. But nothing for the quality healthcare that everyone else gets.
          In United Kingdom, for example, healthcare is considered national insurance. There is no bill to pay. Giving birth? Zero charge. Heart attack? Zero charge. But everything would change in the UK if the healthcare system was purchased by lobbyists like we have here.
          Fact: the man behind the web's biggest anti-Michael Moore website had to shut it down because he couldn't afford to keep it going due to his wife's healthcare costs. So Michael Moore wrote him an anonymous check for $12,000 to cover his wife's healthcare costs. And because of Michael Moore's money, the Michael Moore-hater's wife got better.
          The fascinating film freely available online.


Stewart Kirby writes for 
THE INDEPENDENT
and
TWO RIVERS TRIBUNE

"METAL" RESOUNDS

          The 1981 film inspired by the adult sci-fi, horror, and fantasy magazine Heavy Metal, featuring a string of animated stories shown to a girl in a barn by a glowing green orb calling itself the Loknar.
          Bolstered by great songs from Cheap Trick, Sammy Hagar, Journey, and others, the cult classic reflects the magazine's futuristic-soft porn ethos. It's not an American invention, actually. Heavy Metal, first published in 1977, was the US version of a French magazine first published in 1973 called Metal Hurlant.
          Like the French animated masterpiece Fantastic Planet (1973), the strong suit of Heavy Metal is sheer imagination, with the additional benefit of humor thoroughly marbled, plus varying degrees of sex, drugs, and rock n' roll.
          One story, "Den", has a geeky kid named Dan earnestly attesting that when a weird glowing green meteor landed on his lawn, he was transported to another world where he became a muscular bald dude named Den. As voiced by John Candy, the affirmation, "I wasn't about to go around with my dork hanging out," greatly entertains and typifies much of the film's irreverent stoner tone.
          The hand-drawn animation appears flat compared to many computer-generated images, yet it's a cinematic breath of fresh air to see the variety and unique style that current Disney re-makes so woefully lack. Indeed, CG effects defeat the purpose of animation. That purpose is not to replicate reality, but rather to improve upon it with a vision which we call artistic. Bugs Bunny, for example, doesn't look like a real rabbit. Intentionally so. And that intention would be lost in a CG product of a regular old rabbit hopping around.
          Furthermore, Disney's decision to shove decades of differently animated movies into one ill-advised uniform CG shellac negates art. Because Disney bought ABC, Marvel, and Star Wars, everything they do is automatically and undeservedly too big to fail, but none of it's any good.
          Better off watching Heavy Metal, even though it has ten different directors and ten different writers. For additional animated kicks, check out the sword and sorcery action of Fire and Ice (1983), featuring the art of the great Frank Frazetta.


HEAVY METAL
Starring (the voices of)
John Candy,
Harold Ramis,
Eugene Levy,
John Vernon,
Douglas Kenney
Runtime 86 minutes


Stewart Kirby writes for
THE INDEPENDENT
and
TWO RIVERS TRIBUNE