Category Archives: 1990s

An American Werewolf in Paris (1997)

*. Maybe this was just ahead of its time. Yes, An American Werewolf in London was a horror/rom-com too, but the story here seems bending toward the twenty-first century and YA romantic horror. Think Twilight and Underworld. An American Werewolf in Paris might have just been jumping the gun.
*. It was also jumping the gun with its use of CGI for the werewolf effects. But you don’t always want to be an early adopter of technology. By today’s standards, the CGI looks really bad.
*. Or maybe it was behind the times. I had to keep reminding myself while watching it that it came out in 1997. It seems so 1980s, right from the opening scene on the train introducing the three buddies. Surely one of them must be Ferris Bueller, right? And the soundtrack . . . were we listening to music like that in the ’90s? I wasn’t listening to much music in the ’90s so I don’t know.
*. This is a good example, perhaps the perfect example, of a sequel that has suffered badly because of comparisons to the original. In fact it has almost nothing to do with the original, and was so belated (a reported six years in development hell) that comparisons are almost useless. The actual link between Serafine and Alex Price is, for legal reasons, only implied. There are a couple of nods to An American Werewolf in London — the double-fake dream, the ghosts of the victims following the hero around — but it’s really a stand-alone effort and I think needs to be approached as such.
*. It has enough of its own problems. Aside from Julie Delpy the cast is forgettable. Tom Everett Scott seems too goofy for his part. The direction, by Anthony Waller, is just workmanlike. The plot is full of wild improbabilities, beginning with the dive from the Eiffel Tower. The werewolf effects, as already noted, are terrible. But I think the biggest problem is that there’s just too much going on. All the business with Serafine’s back story, the clan of werewolves led by Claude, the two ghost victims, the buff bro Chris (Phil Buckman) hanging around in a dungeon (couldn’t they have at least given him a shirt to put on?), a police investigation, the old ambivalence in Franco-American relations, the attempt to find a cure for lycanthropy . . . all of this and a boy-meets-girl werewolf story too. It’s hard to keep focused on what’s important.
*. This is a shame, as there some things to like here. I know most people didn’t find it funny, but I thought it had its moments. The condom-bubblegum bit. Andy’s animal instincts being activated by the hottie in the zebra-print skirt. The cop, upon being asked by Andy what he’s being arrested for, replying dryly that “the possibilities are limitless.”
*. But instead of staying light on its feet with witty banter and letting the two leads work together (admittedly, without any trace of chemistry between them), the film gets bogged down in a lot of extraneous matters and predictable action sequences.
*. An American Werewolf in London got a lot of flack when it came out for not knowing what it was about. I don’t think that was a fair criticism of that movie, but it really fits here. The comedy and the romance and the horror remain completely distinct elements. At some point someone had to decide which way they wanted to go with this. They didn’t, and ended up going nowhere. It’s not as painful as some critics have made it out to be, but it sure isn’t very good.

Bad Moon (1996)

*. There’s a basic problem that horror films dealing with classic movie monsters have to deal with. How long do you want to wait before the protagonists figure out what it is they’re up against?
*. This is a problem because the audience, in almost every case, knows what’s going on right from the beginning. They already know this is a vampire/werewolf/zombie movie. So part of the fun is seeing how long it takes the hero to cotton on to what’s happening.
*. But you don’t want to stretch it out too long. After a while an audience will get exasperated, and start muttering at the screen “Damn it, Janet. Your brother is a werewolf. That’s his problem!” Better to err in the other direction, as in the movie Late Phases where Ambrose knows just from hearing some growls and screams next door that he’s up against a lycanthrope. Off to the gun store to buy some silver bullets! And Ambrose is blind!
*. This basic problem is front and center in Bad Moon because the audience, and the family’s dog, Thor, already know that Uncle Ted (Michael Paré) is a werewolf. So it’s frustrating that Janet (Mariel Hemingway) and her son Brett (Mason Gamble) take so long to figure it out. It’s not as though there weren’t enough clues, including Thor’s animosity toward Ted. And while I know in the real world a werewolf probably wouldn’t be everyone’s first guess as to what’s going on, this is a werewolf movie!
*. It’s interesting though that Thor doesn’t pick up on Uncle Ted being a werewolf right away. He initially jumps into his arms and doesn’t give any indication of having suspicions. It’s only after a bit of detective work in the woods that he pieces things together.
*. Sticking with this same line of thought, it’s kind of disappointing that the reveal comes by way of Janet discovering Ted’s werewolf diary, which is read in a voiceover. That’s pretty cheesy, even for fare such as this. But then even that doesn’t convince her as to what’s going on, and she blames Thor for the killings! By this point I imagine a lot of people were throwing things at the screen. “You should have listened to the dog, Janet.” Damn it.
*. Nothing says you’re a heel quite as well as rolling a toothpick in your mouth, does it? It’s a conventional bit of film shorthand, which makes you wonder what people who do it in real life are thinking. I guess it’s just a bad-ass image they’re trying to project.
*. That’s quite a jump Brett (or his double) does off the roof of the house when he’s escaping the house at night. As I mentioned in my notes on Bullitt, it’s unglamorous stunts like this that impress me the most.
*. Hm. So Ted thinks that by “spending time with his family” his lycanthropy might go into remission. Well, I guess if all else has failed . . .
*. The werewolf? Looks pretty good. The transformation scene, however, is weak. Lame early CGI.
*. The novel this was based on, Wayne Smith’s Thor, was apparently told mainly from the dog’s point of view. Obviously this wasn’t going to work for a movie, though they try and do a bit in that way with the doggy POV shots. Unfortunately, that still left them with a situation where the most interesting and compelling character is the dog. It’s a small cast, and the three leads are pretty much just types: the boy, his mom (who is just defending her boy, same as Thor), and the cursed uncle.
*. The centrality of the dog, however, is really the movie’s only claim to our attention. Aside from that, this is a very conventional werewolf movie, obvious in almost every respect. There’s the bit where they introduce the book on lycanthropy with all the old woodcuts of werewolves (though this plays no part in the story at all), there’s the jump scare that turns out to be a nightmare that Janet wakes up from, there’s the caricature asshole of Flopsy who we know is going to be werewolf fodder right from the moment of his introduction.
*. Then there is the matter of tone. I think they never settled on this. It seems as though it should be a sort of YA horror-comedy along the lines of Fright Night or Silver Bullet, but there’s nothing funny going on and the sex at the beginning feels out of place. What we’re left with is a simple werewolf vs. dog story that plays out very predictably. It might have worked as a TV-movie, but bombed on the big screen. It’s a good marker of the doldrums the werewolf genre had hit in the ’90s. Something was going to have to change for this classic monster to stage a comeback.

Hard Target (1993)

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*. In going from Predator to Predator 2 we moved from jungle to urban jungle, and that same movement has taken place with this chestnut of a hunting-humans story, where we’ve gone from the tropical island of The Most Dangerous Game (or Mexican jungle of Run for the Sun) to the streets of New Orleans (described here as just another “unhappy corner of the planet” where the Organization can ply its trade). The “game” has gone undercover by hiding in plain sight. Hell, one victim is gunned down in the middle of the street, with dozens of witnesses, but nobody seems to care.
*. I’d add there’s a similar sort of movement in the Hostel franchise, with the first two films being set in an Eastern European backwater and Hostel: Part III moving to Las Vegas. (In this movie Fouchon is planning on taking the hunt back to Eastern Europe, as New Orleans has become too hot.) I think the point being made is that the cruel war of all against all is as much, if not more, a feature of modern, “civilized” life as it is a harkening back to some primitive state. It’s war, but war as entertainment, and there are rules to the game. As Fouchon tells one of his clients, “This is New Orleans, not Beirut.”
*. A final observation, following on this same line of thinking. Not only have we left the jungle, we’ve also left behind the idea that homicidal savagery is the mark of a maniac. Leslie Banks as Count Zaroff was an obvious candidate for the asylum, as was Balleau in Bloodlust! But the corporate killers in this film, like the members of the Elite Hunting society in the Hostel movies, though they may be evil sadists, are not eccentric in their psychopathy. We take them for granted, as recognizable types of bloodthirsty capitalists who just want ever more exotic and expensive ways to blow off a bit of steam.
*. This was John Woo’s English-language debut. The Killer and Hard-Boiled had made quite an impression but he wasn’t just given the keys to the Hollywood kingdom, in part because he didn’t know English very well. Sam Raimi was tasked with overseeing the project.
*. I don’t know how much Raimi was involved. It looks like a John Woo film. What that means is lots of slow-motion action scenes. Lots of guns blazing. A climactic battle that takes up the final third of the picture. And pigeons.
*. Aside from all that, Woo also has a weird habit in this film of letting his camera seem to drift aimlessly around people’s faces. He likes to isolate on eyes, but this rarely makes any sense. I couldn’t help thinking he just didn’t care what any of the characters were saying, because he didn’t understand it anyway. I believe Leone had some of the same issues.
*. I don’t think the slow-motion helps very much, and in some scenes it actually makes the stunts look bad. Take the shot of Chance (Jean-Claude Van Damme) kicking the man off the motorcycle. They show three different cuts of that and none of them and they’re all terrible.
*. Why do none of the motorcycle killers take their helmets off when they’re in the warehouse? I think that would have really cut down on their range of vision. They don’t even raise their dark visors! I wonder if they were all being played by the same stunt man.
*. Woo doesn’t make this movie good, but he does it give it moments of interest that raise it above the usual ’90s action fare. The script is mostly a throwaway to hang the battles on, but the poverty angle is different. The homeless or down-and-out are the natural prey of serial killers, as they have few if any friends or family and the police don’t really care when they wind up dead. They are also susceptible to Fouchon’s offer to make them “a man again, instead of a shadow of your former self.”
*. The plight of the homeless is underlined in the scene where the hunted (black) man can’t get anyone to help him. They all just walk by or tell him to “get a job.” He has become the invisible man. Chance will be their avenger, a social justice warrior taking the side of poor people, who, he tells us, are just as capable of getting bored as the idle rich who hunt them. The World, in an action film, is actually a very boring place. It needs a lot of gunshots and explosions to bring it to life.
*. Van Damme has a fantastic mullet, but seems somewhat disengaged. It wasn’t originally imagined as a martial arts film (Kurt Russell was supposed to star), so that stuff is kept to a minimum. Indeed, what little there is comes across as supererogatory, as, for example, Van Damme shooting bad guys a dozen times before polishing them off with a roundhouse kick. He also keeps his shirt on despite the Louisiana heat and, for the record, doesn’t do the splits once.
*. Lance Henriksen at least looks like he’s having fun. Yancy Butler, in her debut, appears to have been told to just make her eyes go wide every time she sees the camera pointed at her. Wilford Brimley as the Cajun moonshiner Uncle Douvee is one of the funniest miscastings you’ll ever see. But since he’s only there to lighten things up, why not?
*. I’m sure I saw this movie when it came out, but re-watching it now I had almost no memory of it. There’s really nothing here to hold one’s attention, or to spend any more time discussing.

Predator 2 (1990)

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*. Not bad. Not up to the level of the original, but not bad at all.
*. They had a lot of good ideas. I love the opening shot, transitioning from the palm trees and bird cries that make you think we’re still back in Central America, and then revealing the urban jungle of L.A.
*. As an aside, Schwarzenegger turned this film down in part because he thought changing the location to L.A. was a bad idea. He was wrong. It was an obvious progression. If they’d stayed in the jungle the whole movie would have just been more of the same.
*. The time stamp tells us it’s 1997, which ushers in Morton Downey Jr. (remember him?) as the obnoxious TV journalist hosting the tabloid-news program Hardcore. The over-the-top, jingoistic media satire, complete with a scorecard of body counts, has a flavour of Verhoeven to it.
*. Picking on the media was popular at the time. It’s a recurring theme in the Die Hard franchise as well. Another favourite target is the government, or the Feds, who are either seen as incompetent or somehow part of the problem. That was the case in the original Predator, with Carl Weathers’s character being up to some dirty spook business (I mean “spook” as in CIA), and it’s back again here with Gary Busey’s secret team of Predator investigators. Is it any wonder government and the media remain among the most distrusted and despised institutions in America today? Look at how they’re represented.
*. When I say Predator 2 isn’t up to the level of the original I’m thinking of several things. In the first place, Danny Glover is a big guy but he doesn’t quite fill the screen like Arnie did. He’s a better actor, but doesn’t have the same presence or intensity. He’s more the buddy in a buddy picture (Lethal Weapon) than a leading man.
*. He’s also more an Everyman figure than a bad-ass, which makes him seem like a square peg trying to fit into the round hole of the part. It’s as though they thought they were getting Murtaugh and Riggs all in  one, but ended up with neither.
*. And I really don’t understand why he has to vocalize everything. When he sits at the bar he has to talk us through every step of what he’s thinking. When he sees Danny’s necklace hanging from the tree he has to say “Danny’s necklace!” When he’s startled by some birds on the roof he has to say “Birds!” Did the writers or director think we were this dumb?
*. Things could have been worse. Much worse. The studio wanted Steven Seagal in the Harrigan part. Thank the movie gods that didn’t happen.
*. Another reason I think it’s a let down from Predator is the cliché factor. There are too many familiar scenes: the chaotic downtown police headquarters, the honest cop having his balls busted by the bureaucracy, the new transfer with an annoying catchphrase who’s trying to fit in, the trip to the graveyard to mourn a fallen comrade/vow vengeance, the disco lighting in the subway battle so we can’t really see anything, the bit of comic relief when the Predator crashes into an elderly couple’s apartment for some self-repair work. These are all routine moments, as much a part of the basic grammar of action films of the time as the bodies doing somersaults in the air after every explosion.
*. Speaking of that shootout in the subway, since it’s established that the Predator isn’t wearing body armour, why do none of the shots Paxton fires at him even slow him down? Indeed he seems to not even get wounded. And yet Paxton empties two clips into him at close range.
*. I was pulled up short by the scientist telling Harrigan that the material the Predator’s harpoon tip is made out of “doesn’t correspond to anything in the periodic table.” Isn’t that impossible? I mean, if we’re going to discover any new elements in the universe we sort of know what they would correspond to, don’t we? And any totally new element would have to be something incredibly unstable and short-lived. Not something you’d make a weapon out of.
*. Finally we hear the obvious expressed when Harrigan calls the Predator “pussy face.” This had been noticeable at least since the Alien creature opened up like an aroused vulva, and is a strain of imagery that would continue to have a long afterlife (appearing at the end of Starship Troopers, for example). As an icon of anxiety it goes back to the vagina dentata, or vagina with teeth, a cross-cultural folk tale with ancient roots. “Pussy face” is nothing new, but then neither is the castration complex.
*. It’s interesting that the same structural difficulty I noticed in the first film is back here. What I mean is that things get started on a high note and maintain such a violent pace that the film actually slows down in the final act after a strong median climax. It’s not a big problem in either movie, as the climactic duels are reasonably well done, but it is an issue.
*. So, in short, it’s a pretty good movie, in a functional and generic way. It’s not often that a formula will be so firmly set only two movies into a franchise, but the first rule of commercial filmmaking is not to surprise the audience. That way, at least they’ll never be disappointed.

Slacker (1991)

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*. A lot of the people who dislike this movie do so because they dislike the people in it. The slackers. They seem like prototypes of the currently (as of this writing) despised hipster. Indeed they might not even be prototypes so much as the advance guard. The London photographer identifies the Anti-artist as “one of those neo-poseur types that hang out at coffee shops and doesn’t do much of anything,” and several other characters are easily identifiable as the hipster type avant la lettre, even without beards and scarves.
*. I don’t dislike these people, at least as a type, and as I was a university student at the same time I can even recognize a bit of myself in them. It’s perhaps because of this identification that instead of finding them annoying they only get me down.
*. The next question is what Richard Linklater’s opinion is of these people. Does he despise them? I don’t think so. He says on the Criterion DVD commentary that he was disappointed when “slacker” entered the mainstream as a pejorative term, having always thought of it as a “badge of honour.” He even says that “doing your own thing,” which is what the slackers are all about, is “kind of heroic.”

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*. Elsewhere he has put it this way: “Slackers might look like the left-behinds of society, but they are actually one step ahead, rejecting most of society and the social hierarchy before it rejects them. The dictionary defines slackers as people who evade duties and responsibilities. A more modern notion would be people who are ultimately being responsible to themselves and not wasting their time in a realm of activity that has nothing to do with who they are or what they might be ultimately striving for.”
*. I’m not so sure about this part. I wouldn’t call everyone here lazy, but society clearly has left them behind in an economic sense. They are not one step ahead of anything. And this is a big part of what gets me down about them.
*. Mostly, the slackers are students. The few who most obviously aren’t are either old men or criminals. But what are they students of? I don’t think they’re MBAs or in law or med school. They’re not engineers or science majors. Instead, the sad joke is that they’re what had become, by the 1980s, the ring of scum around the university bathtub. They are students of the arts and humanities. Their interests are music, literature, film, history, and philosophy. Which means they have no role at all to play in modern life.
*. This is why they seem so adrift. While perhaps not lazy (a charge Linklater fiercely resists), they clearly aren’t getting much done. Hence the refrain we hear throughout the film of people being asked what they are up to and them saying “nothing much” or “um, nothing.” One of them has a band practice in another five hours, so . . . there’s the rest of the day shot.
*. But they are more lost than even this implies. They are a hundred performers in search of an audience. As Linklater sits in the back seat of the cab he drones on about alternate realities while the cabbie is clearly paying no attention to him at all. This encounter becomes the model for almost all the subsequent engagements. Even the band at the end is playing to an empty club. As Linklater points out in his commentary over this scene, most dialogue is a conversation and involves interaction but “this movie is very one-sided.”
*. Essentially what we get are a series of monologues delivered to people, like the cab driver, who give every appearance of being zoned out or wanting to be somewhere else. Linklater specifically instructed these auditors not to respond to the monologues, not to judge anything being said. So we have endless scenes of people talking to human walls.
*. Their response to this is to turn inwards. If the slacker is the first coming of the hipster he is also a prototype of the blogger. It’s 1991 so the Internet hasn’t fully arrived yet, but it’s there glowing on the horizon. We can see it most obviously in the office of the Video backpacker, but also in the carefree envoi as the car full of young people turn their cameras on themselves (doing their bit to pollute a park while they’re at it). You can see this as the film swallowing its own tail, or a preview of the rise of the shaky cam (I half expected to see a monster burst out of the woods and eat them), but I think mostly it’s just the terminal point arrived at by artists (or people who study the arts) who have lost any thought of an audience and are just reveling in self-indulgence. This is the way the arts end: not with a bang but with a YouTube channel that gets twelve views.

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*. One offshoot of this failure — and make no mistake, that is what it is — is the constant self-denigration of the artistic class. Though intelligent, they seem to take delight in making themselves sound stupid. Their monologues are something very different from the arguments about pop culture we get in Tarantino. In Tarantino we’re listening in on people who are talking smarter than they are, much as they dress up-class in suits and ties. Tarantino’s gangsters and sundry aren’t university students, only having been educated in the school of MTV (not life). In comparison, in Slacker the characters are, mostly, very well educated, but don’t act like it, and seem not to care very much about anything they’ve learned. They are representatives of the closing of the American mind: not interested in anything aside from doing their own thing and expressing their own half-baked philosophies.
*. I want to extend the comparison to Tarantino, and in particular Pulp Fiction, just a bit. Like Pulp Fiction, Slacker is a movie built out of talk. But in Tarantino the people argue while in Linklater they deliver set-piece speeches that define individual scenes. As already noted, nobody is really listening to them. Also very different is the importance in Tarantino of structure. His stories intersect in various interesting ways, while in Slacker there is really no attempt at structure at all.
*. Slacker is the type of film that seems to want us to make connections, but offers none. There isn’t even the illusion of a thread holding it all together. I believe only one of the actors appears twice, and I don’t think he’s meant to be playing the same character. None of the stories loops around to be reintroduced later. The people we meet are simply left behind like bubbles in the film’s wake.
*. In this way it’s really an anti-conspiracy film. Conspiracy is a leitmotif  — Been on the moon since the 50’s, the Conspiracy-A-Go-Go author, the Video backpacker, the Old anarchist (if that’s what he is) — but the lack of any connections between the dots frustrates any sense that there might be conspiracies at work.
*. During his commentary for Pink Flamingos, John Water expresses surprise at the credit he was given for having so many long takes. This hadn’t been something he’d done for any aesthetic reason but just because he couldn’t afford editing. I thought of that here. But while long takes are cheap, they are not easy, and Linklater (and his cast and crew) deserve a lot of credit for making them work. It’s really remarkable how a largely non-professional cast pulls them off.
*. The pacing is also nicely maintained. All things considered, this is a very well made film that, if it doesn’t go anywhere, at least doesn’t lag in its peregrinations.

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*. Why would Rachael be worried about the guy at the door licking her wrist when she’s just seen her friend lick her own wrist to get the stamp? That seems like a mistake.
*. It’s a movie that’s very much of its time. I think Linklater is aware of this, as he has a thing for this kind of time-capsule sensibility in his movies. But the time can also become a label, as Linklater is also aware of. On the commentary he talks about the historical moment of the slacker, which included Coupland’s Generation X, Nirvana, and the Seattle grunge scene. The generation became a brand (it was “never content based”): something publicists could roll with and which could be used to sell stuff. The target audience created by marketers became the subject itself and Linklater found this speedy co-option creepy. In his contemporary review Roger Ebert remarks that “We are listening in on a whole stratum of American life that never gets paid attention to in the movies.” That was going to change in a big way.
*. Linklater wanted the song that plays over the end credits to be Peggy Lee’s “Is That All There Is?” but couldn’t afford the rights. Thank heavens. What a mistake that would have been. It would have been trite, and without any connection to the people whose lives we’ve just been watching pieces of. Whatever else you think of them, the Butthole Surfers were the correct choice.
*. I like Slacker, in the sense that I enjoy watching it. But it’s not a movie that repays many subsequent viewings. Is it because we’ve grown more familiar with the type, and fallen out of love with them? Perhaps. But the type has always been with us. Maybe it’s the way they’ve become a marketing cliché, or the fact that their patter just doesn’t sound as fresh decades later (the fate of all cleverness).
*. Or perhaps it’s just natural to want to turn the page. Think of the backlash in the 1980s against hippies. People who were once thought, or who thought themselves, to be idealists came to be recognized as either sell-outs or just bums. Twenty-five years later, where are the slackers? Still in the coffee shop I guess. Upstairs is the Austin Film Society. The next generation, self-pitying but not without some justification, might still be redeemed. But it will have to be on YouTube. As for me, I don’t hate them. But even though I want to like them — I really do — I just don’t have it in me.

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Funny Games (1997)

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*. Cynicism and nihilism are near allied, and the artistic form they produce is parody, the mockery of meaning.
*. You could call Funny Games a parody of a home-invasion horror film, and Michael Haneke has said that the point of what the preppy killers are up to is that there is no point aside from its entertainment value. It’s a form of art for art’s sake. But I don’t think Haneke has the same attitude.
*. The reason I say this is because Haneke is an angry guy, and anger takes the form of polemic, not parody. Haneke is not a nihilist. He has a mission, and something to say.
*. Nevertheless, Funny Games was attacked by a lot of critics, I think mainly for its cynicism. It was a movie that pushed a lot of people’s buttons, but it’s worth asking why and how.
*. David Edelstein, for one, took the DVD, snapped it in two and then cut it up into pieces before throwing it away. Now that’s a reaction! Exactly the sort of thing Haneke was aiming for.
*. What upset Edelstein was that he found Funny Games to be “little more than high-toned torture porn.” Seeing as Edelstein is often credited with coining the term torture porn, one thinks this should mean something. But it doesn’t. Nor does A. O. Scott’s likening Funny Games (the 2007 edition, but for all intents and purposes the same as this film) to Hostel in its reveling in the “pornography of blood and pain,” an appetite which Haneke hypocritically feeds while managing to express his own “mandarin distaste for it.”
*. “Mandarin distaste,” by the way, is offensive because it’s the preserve of critics like Scott. I don’t think he likes Haneke jumping the queue.
*. I think complaints like these are nonsense. The fact is, Funny Games is not a graphically violent movie. The murders, even of the dog, take place off screen (except for that of Peter, who is immediately brought back to life). There’s plenty of potential here for nastiness, but we don’t see it. The other chief act of violence, where Anna is made to strip, only shows her from the neck up. There’s nothing prurient or porny about it.
*. If this is a violent movie, it’s one where you have to imagine the violence. Isn’t the powerful, hard-to-watch effect the film has, that it manages to shock and disturb without being graphic, to Haneke’s credit? That perhaps the most frightening scene in it is Peter’s quietly persistent asking for eggs?
*. The other thing that seems to have really bothered critics is the breaking of the fourth wall.
*. Innocent or naive critics thought this unfair, or in breach of the rules. That Haneke was deliberately setting out to draw attention to and mock those rules (the need for such a story to still respect a basic sense of justice and narrative decorum, for example) seems to me, again, to only draw attention to his success.
*. More advanced critics understood what Haneke was doing, but thought it was too obvious and old hat. In his review of the 2007 remake (also directed by Haneke) A. O. Scott makes reference to “techniques that might have seemed audacious to an undergraduate literary theory class in 1985 or so.” Get that? Undergrad. Yes, horror movies make us all into voyeurs, adopting the point of view of the killer, etc., etc. We know all that. Psycho had said the same thing and done it with more intelligence and style. We don’t need the actors winking at us or being able to magically rewind the film. Apparently Haneke’s drawing attention to the film’s artificial status makes him a “fraud” (Scott). Why?
*. If it was such a tired point to be making, and in such an obvious manner, why did it upset so many people so much? Would they have liked it more if it had just been a traditional home-invasion, family-terror film? With a happy ending?
*. I don’t want to make the claim that I think Funny Games is an incredible breakthrough or particularly bold or original in its form or message, but I do find most of the complaints about it not just unfair but downright bizarre.
*. Kim Newman, for example, finds both versions of Funny Games to be “effective horror,” but finds Haneke’s “smugness” unbearable. According to Newman, Haneke “is ashamed of cinema and only embarks on genre movies with contempt.” I don’t believe that, and can’t see any evidence for it here.
*. Most critics do grant that the film is well made, but then immediately go on the attack with both barrels. Newman again: “Most of his [Haneke’s] films are rewarding, stimulating and affecting, but the only way to get people to watch them more than once is to remake them in different languages.”
*. I’ve watched Funny Games more than once. It has an interesting look, builds suspense very well, and the actors are all fun to watch. It’s hard to take your eyes off of any of the main four, and if the father is presented as too much of a wimp (he should be able to get around better than that even with a broken arm and leg), that’s the only criticism I can make in the premise.

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*. Also very effective is the way the two sets of characters (the family and the intruders) seem to inhabit two different fictive worlds. Haneke thought that Peter and Paul were essentially clowns, figures belonging to a comedy, while the family are tragic characters. This makes sense as Peter and Paul stand outside of the action, controlling it in a god-like (or director-like) fashion, while the fate of the family is to suffer. But is it cynical to draw attention to how we empathize with them? Do we really enjoy their suffering? I don’t think the audience is meant to identify with Peter and Paul, who are just after sensation and entertainment.
*. Haneke describes Peter and Paul as anarchic figures who “make fun of all the rules that exist to keep society running.” In much the same way, they make fun of the rules that exist to keep us believing in the film. There may not be anything profound in that equation of the rules of artistic convention with good manners (which the intruders are careful to insist on), both of which Haneke seems to despise, but I think it’s a perfectly valid point to make. Good manners can be not just absurd but disgusting. Hannibal Lecter always insists on them too.
*. It’s not Haneke who is the smug undergrad but Peter and Paul, and I don’t see them as the auteur’s avatars. They seem typical students, and in their final conversation on the boat they even get into an undergrad rap session about postmodern fiction of the kind they enact. Paul’s loud, horsey laugh after he throws Anna overboard gives the game away. He is an ivy-league jock, a privileged boor with a smattering of learning and nothing else.
*. The basic critique of the portrayal of violence in film is, I’ll admit, nothing new. But I think it’s presented in a powerful and original way. My own reading of the film is that it’s about the tragedy of entitlement. The family are living an affluent fairy tale of a life. We don’t like them right from their opera guessing-game in the car, and a gated cottage will probably strike us all as more than a little much (the cottage itself being as big as a barn).
*. Of course we’ve seen our share of zombie movies and films like The Purge, so we know that civilization, however privileged and pretty, is a tissue-thin layer that just barely conceals our desire to rape and murder our neighbours. So we want to see the family taken down. Their lives seem a little too perfect, even if what they have are all the things that we in the audience aspire to. Maybe they didn’t earn it, but they’re entitled to their lifestyle. It may not be fair, but that’s the way the world works.
*. Values like these are not to be trifled with. Having paid for our ticket, we feel we’re entitled to the same thing as the family: entertainment, fun and games. Perhaps more violent and shocking than what they’re in the market for, but still entertainment that plays by the rules, that has good manners. Maybe some partner-swapping with the other couples around the lake. But Haneke has cheated us. He is, in Scott’s telling final judgement, a “fraud.”
*. A fraud! Do these critics want their money back? Talk about entitlement! They didn’t even pay in the first place! What more do they want?
*. Whatever it is, Haneke isn’t interested in providing it. He’s less interested in criticizing our atavistic desire to be entertained by pointless violence than our faith in a transaction that will faithfully give us what we pay for. If you think art has to play by the rules then you’re no better than the dull, bourgeois family. Which means you’re in real need of a wake-up call.

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Lethal Weapon 4 (1998)

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*. I’ve written before about the phenomenon of “franchise bloat.” This is the process of inflation whereby each sequel in a franchise gets longer, more expensive, and so cluttered with characters and other material from the earlier films that has to keep being carried over that the whole enterprise starts to sink under its own weight.
*. A good example are the MarvelCrap superhero movies (see my notes on The Avengers) or the Pirates of the Caribbean franchise (see my notes on Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End). An even earlier instance, however, is the Lethal Weapon tetralogy.
*. So Leo Getz is back again, and even doing his “they fuck you with the ____” routine (this time with cell phones). Rene Russo’s Lorna is back, and pregnant. Even the police psychiatrist, a pointless character with only a line or two in each of the earlier films, returns for another scene here, serving no purpose at all that I can see.

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*. This is a series that seems incapable of letting anything go. Remember how Dirty Harry got a dog, the bulldog Meathead in Sudden Impact, but in The Dead Pool it had disappeared with no explanation? Well, in this movie we have Riggs’s original dog, plus the Rotweiler he picked up in Lethal Weapon 3, all living together in one happy doggy household. They have to get their scene too. No one is left out.
*. Even the tag line “I’m getting too old for this shit” gets recycled, this time by Riggs. Talk about things coming full circle.
*. The franchise acts like a snowball, picking up accretions as it keeps rolling downhill because with every turn something new has to be added to the formula. Like Chris Rock here. Can you doubt that if there’d been a Lethal Weapon 5 he would have been included?
*. About the only thing that’s lighter is Riggs’s head. It must have been a relief for Mel to finally join the ’90s and get a haircut.
*. Danny Glover. I was wondering whatever happened to him and then checked his filmography online and saw that he’s been incredibly busy appearing in a lot of third-rate stuff. It’s hard to figure. He was really good in these movies. Did yeoman work in Predator 2. A dramatic turn in The Color Purple. Showed up and had some fun in Saw. You’d think he would have been in some bigger, better stuff.
*. What on earth does it mean when Murtaugh keeps yelling “Will it to me, Riggs!” and “Will me!” at the end? I’d never heard that expression before and I’ve never heard it since. I guess it has something to do with psychically signaling each other, so that he can “hear” Riggs calling underwater. But that, as they like to say throughout the series, is thin.

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*. If you liked the first three movies then you’ll probably like this one too. More explosions and chase scenes, even more expensively produced. Things get started with a tremendous bang as an outlandish figure in a suit of armour and a flamethrower is fired like a missile into a fuel tanker. There’s a terrific sequence that plays out on the highway that juggles a bunch of novel elements. Jet Li (cast against type as the villain, because Jackie Chan wouldn’t play a bad guy) is the leader of a Chinese gang, which means we finally get to see some real martial arts being performed. There are a couple of references to the O. J. Simpson trial that I doubt many young people will get today. In another ten years they will go over everybody’s heads.
*. Even with all the extra padding — I think I could have found at least a half hour of cuts, including getting rid of Rene Russo entirely (not because I dislike her but just because there’s no point in her being here) — I still wouldn’t have any trouble rating this as a solid enough outing but for the ending. The final act drags out for nearly twenty minutes! And nothing about Riggs and Lorna getting married and Lorna having a baby is funny or interesting at all. In fact, with all of Lorna’s demands to get married before she’ll give birth I was hoping one of the nurses would sedate her and have done with it. Before long everyone seems hysterical and is screaming and it’s all perfectly terrible. I was cringing through the whole thing before the credits finally came, mercifully, in the form of a rather self-indulgent photo album.
*. That’s a long way from ending on a high note, but it does have the virtue of drawing a line under the series. There has been talk of a reboot, but it hasn’t materialized as of this writing. A television series debuted in 2016, for no other reason I can think of other than to cash in on the name since there was never anything original or unique about the franchise. Re-watching all of these movies twenty and even thirty years later, that’s something I feel more than ever. I’m too old for this shit.

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Judge Dredd (1995)

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*. This is a movie I don’t want to spend a whole lot of time on. Not because it stinks, but because it’s so generic there’s nothing to say. Even the story plays like a repeat of Demolition Man (1993), and that wasn’t worth saying much about either.
*. Sylvester Stallone is the human action figure, dressed up like Sgt. Pepper and walking with a painful strut and arms-akimbo motion that looks like he might actually be a model made out of some stiff material being filmed in stop motion.
*. The comic-book character of Judge Dredd is one of a long line of moviedom’s legal enforcers. Pauline Kael famously expressed concerns about the fascistic tendencies inherent in Dirty Harry, but Eastwood’s maverick cop was soon eclipsed in the sudden-and-violent justice sweepstakes by RoboCop and Judge Joseph Dredd. As mechanical (or mechanical-seeming) embodiments of the law they provide a satire on taking retribution too far, but in the end we’re on their side. They have no time for technicalities or extenuating circumstances. The law is the law, and they are not its representatives but its embodiment.
*. The look and style is Paul Verhoeven, with the now obligatory borrowing of Blade Runner‘s neon and rain-slick streets. Renny Harlin and Richard Donner were first choices to direct. Schwarzenegger was considered to star. These names are all interchangeable. Oddly enough, the Coen brothers were also offered the job but turned it down to make Fargo.
*. Fan boys were upset because Dredd shows his face, which he doesn’t do in the comic book. This is a bind producers put themselves in when adapting such material. I don’t think they should give a damn what the fan base thinks, but then that is the built-in audience.
*. I know bigger is always better, but that giant composite weapon Dredd has, clearly the BFG (Big Fucking Gun) from the Doom videogame, is as big as he is!

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*. There were conflicts between Stallone and director Danny Cannon about the right tone to take. Stallone wanted it to play more as comedy, while Cannon wanted something darker and more violent. Again, this was a line that they needed a Verhoeven to walk. Here they fell on their faces.
*. Has there ever been as useless and unfunny a sidekick as Rob Schneider’s Fergie?
*. The script has a decent premise, but it’s poorly written. All the tag lines are dreadful. Stallone’s “I knew you’d say that” is introduced, awkwardly, a bunch of times at the beginning but then nothing much is done with it. Just before Hershey kills her adversary she is called a bitch, to which she responds “Judge bitch!” When Dredd tosses Rico from the Statue of Liberty after his own Saboteur-style dangling he says “Court’s adjourned.” That’s awful. I don’t even get it. Is Rico being given an adjournment or sent to his death?
*. I do like that giant old-school battlebot that Rico brings back to life, but if it’s so darn effective why don’t the police use more of them?
*. It’s not a terrible movie. If you’re not picky, or too hooked on the comic book, you can still enjoy parts of it. But it’s very much the tail-end of the SF-action-blockbuster genre of the time, which is to say right before CGI moved in and made this kind of movie the equivalent of a silent film or something shot in black-and-white. I don’t mind the movies of this earlier dispensation, indeed in some ways I prefer them to what came after, but there are many better such films than Judge Dredd to re-watch.

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Timecop (1994)

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*. It’s hard to make a bad time-travel movie.
*. It’s impossible (I think) to make a time-travel movie that makes sense.
*. From these two premises it’s possible to conclude that (1) Timecop is a good movie (not a classic, but modestly entertaining), and (2) it doesn’t make any sense.
*. Why is it so hard to make a bad time-travel movie? I think because the idea is so inherently interesting. It’s such a fundamental human desire to turn back the clock, have a do-over, a chance to get it right. Plus it’s a bit of trickery that keeps our minds occupied with the various ramifications just enough so that we don’t notice other weaknesses in the story quite as much.
*. Those “various ramifications” are, of course, why time-travel movies don’t make sense. I will not get sucked into a discussion of the many paradoxes and unanswered questions this film leaves us with, like why there aren’t two Max Walkers at the end of the film, why they have to go into the future in a rocket-car that doesn’t go with them, why returning to the present is so much easier than going back into the past, why the same matter occupying the same space has the effect of turning people into strawberry jam, or why it’s so hard to police time travel when there are only two time-travel machines in existence (and only one that anyone is aware of, so that there shouldn’t be any problem in the first place). This is all just nonsense, and everyone (the screenwriter, the producer, the audience) knows it.
*. Suffice it to say that time-travel technology can be put to nefarious purposes if it gets into the wrong hands. Here the wrong hands are those of Senator McComb, played by Ron Silver.
*. McComb seems a little too sleazy to make it all the way to the top, but his platform does have a familiar ring to it. “The country’s gone down the drain because of the special interests. We need someone in the White House who’s so rich that he doesn’t have to listen anybody. . . . When I’m in office it’s going to be just like the 80’s. Top 10% will get richer and the other 90% can emigrate to Mexico where they can live a better life.” Are we living in the alternative reality where this guy won? Things are a lot worse than they were in the ’80s, at least in terms of what McComb is talking about.
*. I noted in my notes on Bloodsport how rare it was at the time (1988) to run a couple of words together without a hyphen before the Internet era. And here we are again in 1994, when it was starting to be more in vogue. Shouldn’t Max be a “time cop”?
*. I also noted in my notes on Bloodsport how poor the fight choreography was. That’s a problem here as well. They try and get around it with lots of quick editing and shooting the fight scenes mostly in the dark, but I was still disappointed in how stilted and awkward most of the fights played out. Despite being a genuine martial artist, I’m not sure Jean-Claude Van Damme was that great at selling a fight on film. He was mostly built for posing and doing the splits.
*. Not that this matters much. This isn’t a martial arts movie. It’s a very simple sci-fi action flick.
*. Nice digs that Max and his young wife have moved into. As Roger Ebert noted, it’s just “the kind of turreted, gabled, four-story Gothic manor that, as we all know, is the typical residence of Washington, D.C. policemen.”
*. How cheesy is it that everything in the future (that is, the year of our lord 2004) has stayed the same except now we drive around in computerized space buggies?
*. I wonder whatever happened to Mia Sara. I guess she never made it as a big star, but she’s very good here.
*. I thought more might have been done with having two Van Dammes at the end fighting the bad guys, but for some reason they didn’t play that angle up as much. I’m not sure why. Perhaps they felt it was ground they’d already gone over in Double Impact (where Van Damme played long-separated twin brothers).
*. This was Van Damme’s biggest hit (of movies where he played the starring role). Afterwards he would go quickly downhill, only to reappear in curious, ironic form in JCVD (2008) and The Expendables 2 (2012).
*. He might have learned something from the success of Timecop, and realized that all he needed to do was work on projects just a little different from the run-of-the-mill chop-sockies that he kept churning out, to swiftly diminishing returns. Timecop is by no stretch of the imagination a great movie, but it is a decent entertainment that still plays reasonably well more than twenty years later. Of all Van Damme’s films, aside from the outlier JCVD, I think it’s the only one worth revisiting.

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RoboCop 3 (1993)

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*. Well, here’s the franchise killer. The first RoboCop can make some claim to being a minor genre classic. RoboCop 2 was very much cut from the same cloth, and while I thought it had some really big problems, I know people who actually prefer it to the original. But RoboCop 3 is just a piece of garbage.
*. You could say it wasn’t a franchise killer, as it was a lead-in to a TV series so the character did keep going. But that series didn’t go anywhere, and they had to really water this film down to get a PG-13 rating to help with the transition.

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*. Now RoboCop really is an action toy (it’s how we first see him), and the real hero of the movie is the spunky little girl Nikko. In fact, we’re over fifteen minutes into the movie before Murphy makes an appearance.
*. That jump from the punk kids in RoboCop 2 to Nikko in this film is probably the biggest indicator of how far things have gone. Not that I liked the kids in the previous movie very much, but compared to what we get here . . .
*. Poor Lewis. I guess Nancy Allen had had enough, and only agreed to appear in the film if she were killed off quickly. At least she gets to finally let her hair down, and dies in church.
*. Poor Rip Torn. Had it come to this? I guess it had. Well, The Larry Sanders Show was only a year away. (In case you’re wondering at my dates, while The Larry Sanders Show premiered in 1992 and Robocop 3 was released in 1993, it was actually filmed in 1991 and was held up because Orion went bankrupt.)
*. I wonder what’s going to happen to the people evicted from Cadillac Heights. Are they being sent to concentration camps? Gulags? At one point OCP says they’re going to be taken someplace where there are better jobs, but I don’t think we’re meant to believe this. The rebels simply complain that they’re being thrown “out of their homes and into the streets,” but they’re obviously being bused somewhere.
*. There was a little bit of potential with the ninja warrior(s) sent to deal with RoboCop, but aside from spinning some somersaults in the air they really don’t do much.

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*. It’s probably not worth thinking about this one too much. It’s a very bad movie. Some indication of just how bad is given by RoboCop’s first appearance. To set the scene: he comes to the rescue of Lewis and her fellow cops, who are surrounded by a punch of punks armed with knives and clubs. I guess the cops are out of ammunition, or something, because they are totally helpless. But then RoboCop arrives and shoots his way out of the roof of his car.
*. Yes, he shoots his way out of his car! He does not open the door and walk out, he shoots a hole in the roof and then pops out like a jack-in-the-box. It’s even stupider than it sounds, if you can believe it.
*. In the face of such a WTF? moment further criticism seems pointless. It’s a cheap, stupid movie that everyone seems to be embarrassed by. The satire and cynicism of the first two films has been inverted into a family-friendly entertainment that just rehashes the same old story about corporate power gone mad. It had me wondering for a moment if Delta City ever got built. But then I realized that I didn’t really care.

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