Interview - Jared Padalecki for FRIDAY THE 13TH

Taking part in a conference call to promote the Michael Bay-produced Friday the 13th “reimagining”, Texas-born actor Jared Padalecki proved to be a genuinely down-to-earth interviewee, effortlessly funny and filled with cheerful enthusiasm. A veteran of television, having starred on both The Gilmore Girls and the Vancouver-shot hit series Supernatural, the actor was eager to communicate his excitement over the highly anticipated Slasher film project, as well as to tell some amusing anecdotes regarding on-set hijinx and surreal shooting situations. Unfortunately for Mr. Padalecki, however, the topic of conversation often tended to shift away from the affable young man on the phone, and over to the hockey mask-wearing, machete-wielding white elephant in the room: the unstoppable, immortal horror icon Jason Voorhees.

So how does this Friday the 13th film differentiate itself from the eleven previous films in the series?Well, Jason got a little cheesy towards the end of [the latter instalments], I mean it was like “Jason Goes to the Moon”, “Jason Shops at Target”, "Jason and the Muppets"... What started out kind of scary became cheesy and campy... Which is fine, I mean that has its time and place, but I don’t think that kind of place is with Jason Voorhees and Camp Crystal Lake, you know?

The guys who put together the Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake and The Amityville Horror remake, they’re also behind [this film], and if you see any of those you see how they’re kind of new and hip and scary.

Despite being positioned as a remake, this Friday is completely unlike the 1980 original, based on Jason’s presence alone.
This is totally a reinterpretation! And not just of the original, but of the whole franchise. I think the writers have done a great job with paying homage not just to the first [film], but also to some of the ones in the middle as well. I mean, the original, with the mom being the killer and Jason just being a little boy, is not as scary to me. In my opinion, people go to see Friday the 13th movies to see Jason! You don’t want Jason to be some punk little kid! And you don’t want the killer to be Pamela Voorhees!

Our Jason, played by Derek Mears, is fit and capable, and he feels like a guy who could’ve survived in the woods for however many years. He’s like a pitbull with a machete, chasing you down so you feel like there’s no escape!

Is he Jason 24/7, even off-camera?No, not at all! In fact, one scene we were filming on top of a bus, we had a fight, and I don’t know what happened, like the camera got messed up or I missed a line, and so in the middle of the take we just started dancing. It was like 5 in the morning, and I’m all beat up and having a dance-a-thon with Jason Voorhees on top of an over-turned bus!

Have you seen the finished film yet?
Actually, I saw twenty minutes of it...

How was it?It was bad-ass, it’s amazing! And I’m not even saying that because I’m in the movie! I had a smile on my face the whole time. It’s better than it needs to be, I think, [and the movie] looks beautiful. It’s scary, it’s loud, it’s abrupt! The sound effects, the special effects, the gore and everything!

Now you’ve done a number of projects involving the horrific and frightening, ranging from TV’s Supernatural to the film House of Wax. Is there anything challenging that draws you to these types of roles?No, I mean there’s definitely a technique to acting scared because, you know, they’re about to role camera and they’re like “Okay, you’re running from Jason, you’re fighting Jason!” And then as they start rolling film your hair-stylist comes up and fixes your hair... So definitely it’s hard to be scared, but luckily one of the greatest things about acting in this genre is that my acting has very little to do with makes the movie scary.

Once I do my work, then that’s when the magic happens. They add sound effects and jump-cuts and weird point-of-view shots where somebody’s spying on me, [which] makes it exciting to watch because there’s so much done after my work is [finished] that I feel like an audience member!

So, was there any competition between you and your Supernatural co-star Jensen Ackles (who recently headlined My Bloody Valentine 3-D) over who could make the better Slasher film?
There is no competition. We are actually pretty close buddies man, we get along really well. We’ve worked together for years now. We actually live in the same house up in Canada where we shoot, so it’s nice man. And I think we both know we’re not in competition with each other. It’s like, it’s good to know a guy that’s happy for my success and vice versa. That’s cheesy, I’m like the Brady Bunch, but it’s cool, man. He’s a Texas

boy and I’m a Texas boy, and its not like the L.A. bullshit of “I want what you have and what can you do for me?” It’s like “You go get yours, I’ll get mine, and that’s fine!”

So how did you prepare for this particular film? I actually filmed Supernatural until April 28th, and [then] filmed Friday the 13th on April 29th, so there was no time to changeover. So what I do, when I’m preparing for a role, is try to familiarize myself with the script as much as possible and try and get some idea about what the director is doing, what the editors are gonna do, and what kind of movie they’re making.

Had you seen all of the previous Friday’s?I haven’t seen all of them. I guess I’ve seen one through four, and the last one; Freddy Vs. Jason.

Did you do any stunts?I did some of the fight scenes, but I also had a stunt man to do everything. I think I heard Harrison Ford say one time “I don’t do stunts. I run, jump and fall.” I guess that’s how I feel.

What was the most enjoyable part of being in this movie?I get to go head-to-head with Jason... More than once! So that was really cool, having grown up watching those movies, and watching Jason Voorhees, and never thinking I’d ever be a part of it.

Why do you think Jason is such a lasting character?
Yeah, he’s been around for a long time. I think with any villain, and with any of these iconic movies, I think the villain is such a huge part. But what makes Jason so exciting to me is the mask. I mean, with Freddy it’s kinda, like, corny. Like “I’m gonna be in your dreams!”. [Jason] doesn’t have to do any cheesy one-liners, you don’t have to hear him talk, you don’t have to see his face... It’s just this huge guy that lives in the woods, which is scary enough, and you don’t feel that you can reason with him. You can’t go, like, “Well I’ll just stay awake!” or “Maybe I can talk him down from the ledge...” It just feels like he’s big and he’s bad and there’s just no escape.

Would you like to be Jason one day?I thought I would like to be, but seeing what Derek had to do, and what he had to go through, I don’t think I would like to be... I’ll just leave it to the professionals and [...] enjoy it from the other side.

If you could be murdered by Jason, how would you like it done?With a machete, man! Machete through the head would be the way I wouldn’t mind [going out]!

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Feb. 16th, 2009.

Film Review - THE UNINVITED: Ghastly, Ghostly Cliches...

Imagine, if you will, an ominously moonlit kitchen, filled with jumbled wooden furniture and half-eaten food gathering flies on discarded acrylic dinner plates. Sitting amongst these abandoned dishes and used silverware sits a raven, head curiously tilted, with its soulless gaze fixated on a closed door at the end of a long hallway. Moving past the raven, who barely acknowledges your presence, you make your way slowly towards the lone door. However, just as you are reaching out apprehensively towards the shiny black antique knob, a thick, oozing stream of glistening blood gushes from the keyhole. Then, just as you are recoiling in revulsion from this sinister spectacle, a pale, creepy child with corpse-like eyes elicits a piercing shriek and bolts towards you from the darkness.

This should feel like a scenario straight out of the most spine-chilling of nightmares, a portentous vision of a grim fate to come. So then, why does it feel so much like déjà vu? Perhaps the answer lies in the sheer number of pointlessly derivative horror films such as The Uninvited clogging up the collective arteries of fright-seeking filmgoers across the free world.

Adapted from the South Korean smash-hit A Tale of Two Sisters, The Uninvited (a generic title if ever there was one) stars the fresh-faced young actress Emily Browning, likely known best as the eldest child in Lemony Snicket's A Series of Unfortunate Events, as Anna, a young girl with a routinely tragic past. After her terminally ill mother perished in a burning guesthouse, under shady circumstances, poor despairing Anna became mentally unhinged and suicidal, causing her to be locked away in a loony bin for ten long months.

Returning home to her family's isolated sea-side home for the first time since that fateful occurrence, Anna quickly finds herself at odds with both her stern author father (David Strathairn) and his significantly younger new lady-friend Rachael (the ubiquitous Elizabeth Banks – who, despite a memorable scene involving a roast, goes a little too broad here). As well, she begins to experience disturbing nocturnal visions of ghostly cadavers, including her own char-broiled mother, who hint that Anna's new step-mom-to-be may not be who she says she is. Joining forces with her rebellious older sister Alex (Arielle Kebbel), our young heroine is tasked with solving the perplexing riddles behind the nature of her menacing apparitions and...

...I have to stop there. What little interest and surprise that the film holds is entirely dependent on you knowing as little as possible before dropping your dollars at the ticket booth. Nonetheless, I will warn you that learning The Uninvited's dirty little secret, which is sort of a cheat, comes at the often exasperating cost of being incessantly clobbered upside the head by a blatant red herring for about, oh, ninety-five percent of the flick's run-time.

Due to the endlessly tireless (and tiresome) efforts at misdirection in the screenplay by Craig Rosenberg, Doug Miro and Carlo Bernard, it's easy to overlook the brightest spot within the film, which is the lead performance by Emily Browning. With her pale visage, wide-eyes and child-like features, she comes across as being Christina Ricci's wounded and vulnerable little sister. The few effective moments within The Uninvited, such as an eerie night-time encounter with a creature under the bed or a tense encounter with a string of pearls, work solely due to Browning's ability to project real internal struggle. This kid has serious talent, and I look forward to witnessing great performances, in better movies, from her in the future.

British directing duo the Guard Brothers (Charles and Thomas, respectively) manfully attempt to differentiate The Uninvited from the rest of its ilk by embracing the film's sunny Bowen Island shooting location. Their exterior shots are often beautiful, and a refreshing alternative to the more traditional murky gloominess which overtakes the film's latter half. However, perhaps concerned with appearing too unique, they self-consciously crib the lion's share of their scare tactics from a smorgasbord of other Asian-influenced scary movies. I may have said it in my review of The Unborn, but I'll say it again: the effectiveness in using spooky youngsters as fright props died with the miserable final convulsions of The Ring and The Grudge series.

While The Uninvited is far from the worst fright-flick currently infecting theatres – that would be The Unborn - it's a sad testament to the current flagging state of modern mainstream horror, where the most minimal of quality is viewed by fans as a success. It's time for prospective filmmakers to embrace the art of the genre and start finding innovative and inventive ways to parlay our elemental human terrors into something that'll really leave us sleeping with one eye open. Because, as proved by The Uninvited, the notion of Hollywood trying something new at this point is far scarier than anything currently on-screen.

2 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Feb. 9th, 2009.

Film Review - UNDERWORLD: RISE OF THE LYCANS: A Bloodless Vampire/Werewolf Prequel Without Any Bite.

Out of all the cash-earning franchises available for prequel treatment, it’s difficult to think of one more undeserving and unnecessary than the Underworld series. Filled with warring factions of gun-wielding vampires and werewolves (dubbed Lycans) and digitally enhanced gore, 2003’s Underworld and 2006’s Underworld: Evolution were lazy, CG-stuffed supernatural riffs on The Matrix, whose only memorable feature was star Kate Beckinsale’s tight black latex bodysuit. At least in my lowly opinion...

Sadly, Beckinsale is largely absent from the series’ latest turgid entry, Underworld: Rise of the Lycans, which instead shifts its focus towards the Lycan’s tormented leader, Lucian, played by Frost/Nixon and The Queen star Michael Sheen. Set in the Dark Ages, during a tumultuous time where vampires and Lycans battled for ruler-ship of the free-land, Rise of the Lycans begins in flashback, describing the miraculous birth of Lucian, a Lycan of unique attributes. Bearing a human appearance and rational mind, with little of his brethren’s uncontrollable bloodlust, he was adopted by the vampire lord Viktor (Bill Nighy), and used to breed a new race of subservient Lycan slaves.

Nevertheless, after defying orders and rushing to the aid of his secret lover Sonja (Rhona Mitra), who happens to be Viktor’s warrior daughter, Lucian is relentlessly whipped and imprisoned, thus losing what little freedom he once possessed. Under the threat of having his illicit love affair with Sonja revealed, and spurned by the suffering of his fellow werewolves, the reluctant leader doggedly plots to unite his Lycan people and lead a brutal rebellion against Viktor’s malicious forces in a last-ditch quest for freedom.

Curiously, despite a 35 million dollar budget, and an occasionally ambitious story featuring epic confrontations and dramatic revelations, Underworld: Rise of the Lycans comes across as a disastrously small-scale bore, seemingly lifted from a Direct-to-DVD pile. With shoddy production values, which apparently required that the film be staged almost entirely on a single location, or frequently jerky creature effects work, Rise of the Lycans seems less inspired by its forebears than by an obvious determination to become a bargain-basement supernatural rip-off of Spartacus.

Undoubtedly aware of his film’s shortcomings, Patrick Tatopoulos, a novice director taking over for the series’ founder Len Wiseman, attempts to mask the limited resources available to him by shooting the entire movie through an annoying foggy blue lens filter, and editing his action scenes into mish-mashy collages of Lycan fur, shining steel blades and more blood-splashed stone walls than you can shake a broadsword at. While there’s absolutely nothing wrong with attempting to over-come budget constraints, Tatapoulos, in the process, has forfeited any sense of visual coherency or flow, making the film’s numerous climactic clashes about as exciting as staring a flickering screen-saver.

To make matters all the worse, Rise of the Lycans is a dour affair, taking its ham-fisted story and limited character development deadly serious at all times. While Bill Nighy manages, perhaps as a private joke, to camp up his later dramatic scenes in a last-ditch attempt to entertain, poor Michael Sheen - a dead-ringer, with his flowing locks and bugged-out eyes, for System of a Down guitarist Daron Malakian - is straight-jacketed by his goofy role as a lycanthropic Jesus figure (Passion of the Lycan would have been a more suitable title). When not being scourged to a pulp, the actor is forced to endlessly holler unspeakably awful lines such as “We are not animals!” and “We can be slaves... or we can be LYCANS!” Sheen does what he can with this flat material, but is eventually buried by the suffocating absurdity of the role.

The majority of the blame for why Rise of the Lycans falls apart so badly, and why it ends up being as terrible an experience as it is, lies mostly in the restrictions imposed by its framing device. As it is a prequel, there is an amazingly minute amount of story to tell, and we know exactly who will live or die. Hence, we find ourselves bored to tears by the film’s countless painful dialogue scenes, and waiting impatiently for the inevitable to occur. Excluding credits, the film runs roughly only 85 minutes, and even still feels padded for length, and the ending featuring stock footage intended to clumsily tie the three films together, is just plain embarrassing.

The most frustrating aspect of Underworld: Rise of the Lycans, not to mention the entire Underworld series, is that it aims so painfully low. Content to pacify fans with tedious flashes of mindless blood and gore, and resemble little more than an extended PS3 pre-game cut-scene, the film fails to deliver on its kitchsy-cool premise. The filmmakers may have recognized the marketability in pitting vampires against werewolves, but movies as toothless as Rise of the Lycans sure don’t give movie-goers a whole lot to excitedly howl about.

1 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Feb. 2nd, 2009.

Film Review - NEW IN TOWN: ...But Same Ol' Story...

There are few actresses harder to dislike on-screen than Renee Zellweger. With her blond hair, perpetually pursed lips, and innocent doe-eyes with just a hint of mischief, she calls to mind Walt Disney’s classic depiction of Peter Pan’s Tinkerbell. In films as dissimilar as Bridget Jones’s Diary, Nurse Betty and Cold Mountain she’s shown a durable knack for mixing dramatic weight with a spot-on talent for comic timing that puts many of her peers to shame.

So what is she doing in a romantic comedy as exhaustedly formulaic and insipid as New in Town? Really, I want, no wait, make that DEMAND to know!

Initially set in sunny Miami, Zellweger’s Lucy Hill is a fashionable, business-minded consultant with a love of the fast-life and single-minded dreams for professional success, who tirelessly works for a powerful, faceless corporate entity called Munck Foods. Overshadowed and out-numbered by her male co-workers, Lucy is unanimously nominated to travel to a small Minnesota town (actually Winnipeg according to the film’s credits) and, in preparation for the company’s new line of “Rocketbar” energy bars, oversee the reconfiguration of their local manufacturing plant.

Arriving in the sleepy frozen burg of New Alms, however, Lucy quickly finds her assertive, domineering attitude at odds with the jovial, scrapbook-making, tapioca-eating, Jesus-worshipping town residents. Even more troubling is her constant conflicts with the local union leader, a tough but lovable single-father named Ted (played by Harry Connick Jr.). Over time, though, Lucy finds herself warming to her strange new friends (and Ted in particular), but when the new line fails, and the corporation demands the factory be closed, Lucy must decide what is more important: her friends or her work.

By now, you can probably easily connect the dots to figure out the ending, as well as every single possible plot development with the film, and therein lays the predicament. It’s as if the filmmakers simply tossed Notting Hill, Mr. Deeds Goes to Town, Welcome To Mooseport, Groundhog Day, You’ve Got Mail, Picture Perfect and Fargo (I’ll get to that part very shortly) in a blender and hit “goo-ify”. In fact, New in Town is so by-the-books predictable that had it been made in the forties or early fifties, and a variant of the blueprint likely was, it would’ve starred Doris Day or Jean Arthur. And still felt stale.

It’s hard to say whether writers Ken Rance or C. Jay Cox were attempting to add a touch of edginess to their floppy script by including blatant references to the Coen Brothers’ Fargo, or whether it was a last minute directorial decision, but either way it stinks. Not content to simply give all the characters cartoonish accents and cutesy-pie lines - which often recall Kathy Bates’ character in Misery - the filmmaker’s even cast an irritating Frances McDormand look-alike (Siobhan Fallon Hogan) in a carbon-copy role of McDormand’s Oscar-winning Fargo character. Hell, they even give her the same last name! (Gunderson, for those short of memory) Oy vey!

...And yet these self-conscious attempts to be endearing could be forgiven had the film bothered to come up with a single original idea. Even the romance between Zellweger and Connick Jr. is strangely under-developed and ill-fitting. She seems too prim and intelligent for him, while Connick Jr. just seems to darn weird and off-putting. The actor has a strangely unsettling look in his eyes, like he’d rather be hunting human beings for sport than romancing this adorably uptight cutie.

So, okay, the romance doesn’t work. But neither does the comedy, which relies on really awkward pratfalls and extended “naughty” comedy bits. Watching Zellweger furiously attempt to find a way to pee through a suffocating snowsuit is painful at best, while a bit featuring, ahem, the effects of cold air on a certain part of the female anatomy has the comic timing of a two-bit narcoleptic stand-up.

Regardless of its countless flaws, it’s hard to truly hate New in Town (although the use of “Walking on Sunshine” on the soundtrack pushed me ever closer!) due to the sheer good intentions behind it, and because of Zellweger’s effortless lovability. This is a square, junky, banal effort of minimal ability that will probably still manage to mildly entertain a certain demographic of middle-aged female viewers. But I’d urge that their friends, families and significant others would be significantly well-served in skipping Town.

2 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Feb. 2nd, 2009.

Epi-cast: Episode 4 - "Clash Of The Eurotrash"

Yep. It's here again. Despite the many deadlines, assignments and chores which fill my daily life to the brim on any given week, there is ALWAYS time for another righteous slice of Epi-Cast. So, yes, once again my unhinged vocal co-host Tom Wytrwal and I attack the big film issues and topics for your collective amusement. Laugh at us, or with us. We don't care.

...Maybe Tom does...

Epicast: Episode 4 - "Clash of the Eurotrash."
In this stalwart return to form after last week's truncated tomfoolery, Cam and Tom contemplate a duo of European-set action extravaganzas: Underworld: Rise of the Lycans and Liam Neeson's Taken. You'll never guess which one almost sends Cam over the edge into a raving cacophony of rage. As well, they get in touch with their feminine sides discussing the Renee Zellweger vehicle New In Town, Woody Allen's Hannah And Her Sisters, and Tom finally reveals his feelings towards The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Ed Harris' retro-western Appaloosa is also mentioned, along with your favourite hosts-with-the-mosts' opinions regarding the Oscar nominations. It's fun for the whole dysfunctional flesh-eating family!

To download, right-click and save on the green episode title above and then listen/suffer to your heart's content.

P.S.: We are also now available on iTunes as well. Simply do a store search for "Epi-Cast" and lo and behold we're there. Oh, but we're not the Christian blither-blather one.

Film Review - MY BLOODY VALENTINE 3-D: Three Dimensions of Gory Bad-Assery!

Is there any film-making technology rifer with possibilities for cheesy excess than the 3-D format? While Hollywood has recently made multi-million dollar efforts to rehabilitate the once bastardized film-making technique with semi-classy experiments such as Beowulf, Journey to the Centre of the Earth and Bolt, these efforts have been met with mixed critical and commercial response. For sure the improved filming process allows for more clearly rendered images, and the immersive quality of the technology thrills ADD-addled ankle-biters, but where’s the goofy audience-jolting fun that the format once offered? When nasty characters like Jason, Freddy and Jaws leapt ferociously off the screen and into the popcorn-stuffed faces of packed houses of screaming teenage movie-goers?

Spotting the chance to exploit this desire for eye-popping cinematic cheese, Lionsgate films bought up the rights to a little-remembered 1981 Canadian splatter-house epic and set out to create the mother of all 3-D Slasher pictures. Fortunately for gore-hounds and carnage-connoisseurs of all ages, the resulting film, My Bloody Valentine 3-D, is both a playfully amusing throwback to the Dead Teenager classics of yesteryear, as well as a rapturously entertaining exercise in three-dimensional grisliness.

Set in the small mining community of Harmony, where a tragic mining accident recently left five dead and one man in a coma, MBV 3-D opens in spectacular fashion with the surviving victim abruptly awakening from his hospital bed with blood-thirsty vengeance running through his fractured psyche. Donning a sinister black gas mask, hard-hat and jumpsuit, he goes on a Valentine’s Day mass-murder spree which results in roughly twenty sorry individuals being impaled on his merciless pick-axe. However, after being seemingly shot down by police, and left to die in a crushing mine collapse, life is once again allowed to revert back to normal in the once-peaceful town.

...For ten years at least. Unfortunately, with the sudden reappearance of the former mine-owner’s son Tom Hanniger (Jensen Ackles), who’s returning after a decade-long, soul-searching sabbatical with plans to sell the prosperous mine, the amount of pick-axe-related homicides begins to drastically rise. Doggedly in pursuit of the slayer’s identity is the shady Sheriff Axel Palmer (Kerr Smith), a stubble-faced womanizer who is now married to Tom’s High School sweetheart Sarah (Jaime King). As the horrifically butchered bodies begin to pile-up, all suspicions begin to fall on Tom, who, with the aid of the conflicted Sarah, must attempt to clear his name and unravel the mystery behind who exactly is hiding behind that ghastly wheezing mask.

While My Bloody Valentine 3-D’s plotline seems undeniably ripped from a thousand other horror tales featuring marauding masked executioners, it seems doubtful that anyone will truly care. Rather, it’s infinitely more important to spotlight the brilliantly seamy methods in which director Patrick Lussier utilizes the flick’s state-of-the-art 3-D effects. With gleeful sadism which recalls Alexander Aja’s The Hills Have Eyes remake, Lussier fills his frames with countless sordid sights, including a multitude of merciless acts of pick-axe slaughter, horrendously graphic glimpses at dismembered corpses and even a five-minute chase scene featuring a nubile blonde wearing nothing but a look of terror.

For all the credit – or perhaps blame – Lussier deserves for delivering such an unapologetic visual disgustathon, his actors do a good job in keeping the audience involved when heads, eyeballs and jawbones aren’t rolling. Kerr Smith, of Dawson’s Creek fame, is a compelling jerk, while Jaime King is nicely understated and natural playing the prototypical Slasher film heroine. Jensen Ackles is charismatic and likable, yet also displays a nice level of torment which aids considerably in underscoring the ambiguity of the character. Also, it’s great to see the legendary Tom Atkins, star of The Fog and Halloween III, back on the big screen as the town’s tough-talking, hard-assed former Sheriff.

It can’t be stressed enough, though, the importance in seeing this film in its intended 3-D projection, inside a theatre packed with like-minded patrons. My own experience, which featured a gaggle of screeching teenagers – some of whom proved to be under-age, and were loudly removed by humourless theatre staff members - mixed with unkempt middle-aged men who likely hadn’t bathed since Jason took Manhattan, added a delicious layer of amusement park joviality to the whole event. Indeed, every squirt of blood, jutting blade and flash of nudity was met with celebratory gratitude.

Ultimately, MBV 3-D lives and dies by its gimmick as, in terms of its respective genre, the film is only slightly above par. However, as a wickedly rowdy three-dimensional roller-coaster ride, it’s a much-appreciated reminder of the tasteless excitement offered by the grossest of B-movie delights. Before seeing the film, logic told me that there was a limit on how many three-dimensional pick-axe murders one could see before becoming bored. To my surprise and relief, My Bloody Valentine 3-D proved me dead wrong.

The Movie: 3 out of 5

The 3-D Experience: 4 out of 5

Over-all: 3.5 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Jan. 26th, 2009.

Epi-cast: Episode 3.5 - "Rourkes, Reichs and Mac Tonights!"

Yup, you begged, you pleaded, and yet we still ignored you all and have continued to crank out these half-witted verbal travelogues of the inner workings of our film-plugged psyches. So strap on your stupid-hats and get ready for another slap-tastic journey with your iron-fisted overlords/podcast hosts: Cam Smith and Tom Wytrwal.

Epi-Cast: Episode 3.5 - "Rourkes, Reichs and Mac Tonights!
In this abbreviated quickie entry Cam and Tom strap on their jock-straps and chin-guards and get all oiled up and, um... they, er... Oh right, they enter a cage match of death in attempting to review and analyze Darren Aronofsky's Mickey Rourke vehicle The Wrestler. They also kick around a few choice thought-provoking films including The Unborn, Downfall, The Golden Compass and American Pie 2(!?). And just when you thought they were burrowing down and getting all professional-like, they wander off on a ten-minute tangeant in which they mourn the absence of out-dated McDonald's mascots. Seriously.

To download, right-click and save on the green episode title above and then listen/suffer to your heart's content.

P.S.: We are also now available on iTunes as well. Simply do a store search for "Epi-Cast" and lo and behold we're there. Oh, but our's is the film show, not the Christian talky one.

Film Review - THE WRESTLER: A Gripping Grappler Drama.

While very few memories of my early childhood still remain present in my increasingly over-taxed frontal lobes, I still hold preciously vivid memories of attending the WWF spectacular at the PNE Coliseum in the now distant year of 1986. Over the course of an enchanting evening, which surely put my mom’s infinite patience to the test, the audience was treated to a litany of unforgettable sights such as Bret “The Hitman” Hart, in his ever-present hot pink tank top, sneering and spitting on a rowdily appreciative crowd, as well as Jake “The Snake” Roberts lugging his trademark python around the ring to mass applause and adoration.

While silly in retrospect, those unforgettable sights over-powered my 6-year-old imagination like a Flux Capacitor on a DeLorean, and as I’ve grown older they’ve remained encapsulated in a hazy golden glow of nostalgia. Yet, watching Darren Aronofsky’s new film The Wrestler, which arrives on a tidal wave of goodwill for newly resurrected comeback kid Mickey Rourke, I found those wistful childhood memories frequently dragged kicking and screaming into the present.

Playing Randy “The Ram” Robinson, a once great superstar in the WWF tradition, who is now a lonely trailer-park denizen with bad knees, a hearing aid and an over-reliance on prescription medication, Rourke disappears under a cloak of physical and emotional pain. As he travels to beat-up gyms and dingy community centres to perform in violent low-level wrestling matches for cash and perhaps one last chance for glory, Randy’s disappointment and understanding of his rapidly dwindling celebrity is reflected through the battered eyes of Rourke, a once-great talent also very familiar with lost potential.

For all his flaws, injuries and emotional shortcomings however, Randy remains a sadly loving individual who yearns to connect with those around him. Between visits to a scuzzy local strip club, where he pines for a middle-aged pole dancer named Cassidy (Marisa Tomei), he clumsily attempts to repair his broken relationship with his rightfully resentful daughter (Evan Rachel Wood). Captured with near-documentary precision by Aronofsky and cinematographer Maryse Alberti, these relationships and affecting encounters, as well as Randy’s quest for relevance, form the central narrative of The Wrestler, a film which eschews typical Hollywood story-telling in favour of in-depth character study and profound emotional truths.

With his long, tacky bleached blonde hair, as well as an imposing stature and craggy features which bring to mind Marvel Comic’s The Thing, it’s amazing how winning Rourke comes across, and how he manages to convey the experience of living within Randy’s skin to the audience. From the exhilaration of standing in front of a crowd of enthusiastic screaming fans, to the humiliation of being forced to work for low wages at a measly deli counter job, there is an uncanny sense of transference at work, washing Randy’s joys and sorrows over us in unstoppable waves. To call the performance a masterwork is to sell it short; Rourke is the pulsating exposed heart of The Wrestler, delivering a performance so steeped in reality that it’s often difficult to separate the creator from the creation.

Rourke’s co-stars prove to be equally up to the daunting challenge of matching his go-for-broke portrayal. Tomei, an actress who seems to be hitting her professional stride in recent years, is a fine counterpart to the commanding star. A mirror reflection of Randy’s own battle to remain viable in a youth-driven field, her stripper character walks a fine line between loving and distant. She recognizes as much good in him as bad, and Tomei’s brave performance allows us to sympathize with her at the same time we crave for a solution to Randy’s crippling loneliness. Similarly Evan Rachel Wood creates an honest and gripping three-dimensional portrait of bare childhood wounds in just a few short but invaluable scenes.

The performances would be for nought though, if it weren’t for Aronofsky’s steady directorial hand, unobtrusively revealing the layers of Randy’s world and allowing his actors supportive free reign over their environment and performances. There isn’t a single clumsy moment or false sentiment in The Wrestler, and Aronofsky’s effortless mastery over the film’s key scenes, such as Randy’s heartbreaking beach-side walk with his daughter or a gruesome extreme wrestling match featuring staple-guns and barb wire, further solidifies him as one of our most important of new directors.

For all of his dreams, virtues and faults, Randy “The Ram” Robinson goes on the short-list of the greatest of modern film characters, an individual who I felt strangely richer for having been able to be introduced to. The Wrestler is a stirring exploration of the human spirit, as well as a painful reminder of one of life’s many tragedies: that our heroes, no matter how romanticized or forgotten, are ultimately destined to grow old along with us.

5 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Jan. 19th, 2009.

Film Review - THE UNBORN: Kill It! Kill It!

When reviewing a truly stupid and clunky film, it’s often tempting to avoid critical thought and instead simply hurl an endless assortment of pithy puns and one-liners in a self-conscious attempt to feel superior to the lame subject at hand. For example, in dealing with the Michael Bay-produced The Unborn I could simply snidely refer to it as being “poorly conceived”, “labourously delivered” or, perhaps more crudely, “a messy afterbirth”. But I shan’t let these alluring temptations sway my course in properly informing you of how truly pitiful and dunderheaded The Unborn truly is.

Set in a very murky looking Chicago, The Unborn opens with that most treasured standby of hacky horror scribes: the surreal dream sequence. In this particular nightmarish-reverie, young Casey Beldon (Odette Yustman – last seen playing monster fodder in Cloverfield) strolls uneasily through a lonely, foreboding suburban street where she encounters a paper-masked dog and a blue-eyed demon-child. Despite her friends’ and families’ dismissive attitudes toward these nocturnal terrors (not to mention her sudden change in eye colour), it becomes swiftly apparent during a particularly hellish babysitting gig that otherworldly forces are at fiendish play.

With a little light research, Casey discovers two vitally important facts: that she is of Jewish ancestry, with familial ties to Nazi concentration camps and experimentation, and more importantly, that she once had a twin brother who died while still in utero. In bringing these shocking revelations to light, our intrepid heroine learns that she is being supernaturally hounded by a dybbuk, a malevolent spirit famed in Jewish folklore, who yearns to enter into our world through her. With the aid of slumming special guest star Gary Oldman, playing a friendly neighbourhood rabbi, young Casey must valiantly attempt to exorcise the pesky demonic nuisance and forever close the book on her family’s own frighteningly tumultuous past.

Now, in theory, the concept of a Jewish variation on The Exorcist is a great idea. Why should the Catholics have all the fun in banishing paranormal trouble-makers and kicking undead ass? Unfortunately though, writer/director David S. Goyer (the screenwriting guiding force behind Wesley Snipes’ Blade trilogy, who also acted as a collaborator of increasingly dubious importance on the recent Batman films) is unquestionably not the man to accomplish so noble a task.

From the outset, in failing to establish a compelling canvas for his characters, Goyer bungles the whole project. The best atmospheric horror flicks, like The Shining or Poltergeist, depend on well-established relatable characters who involve us in their day-to-day lives, drawing us into a false sense of comfort before the screaming starts. The Unborn, unfortunately, ditches this philosophy and utilizes the Slasher film motif, which calls for one-dimensional Calvin Klein models who speak solely in the robotic type of teen-speak best known by forty-year-old Hollywood writers.

In addition, Goyer fails to create an interesting environment or back-story for Casey, his bland heroine. It’s hard to feel much empathy or fright when we’re asked to spend 87 minutes with frequently underwear-clad nonentity. Yustman, a pleasant Megan Fox lookalike, may possess talent but, judging from her often laughably overly sincere performance, lacks the charisma and skill to carry a film. (Yes, even this one!) Her limited range is especially apparent when acting opposite Gary Oldman, a pro even under the direst of circumstances, who understands the importance in adding dimension and idiosyncratic flair to tone-deaf dialogue and flat characterizations.

While Goyer fills his oddly self-important horror show with some creepy visuals, such as a dog with an upside down head and a freaky twisted-up old man who walks like a crab, he too often relies on annoying shots of his generic evil child antagonist shrieking. At this point, after sitting through umpteen Ring and Grudge clones, the days of finding well-dressed demonic children frightening are well behind me, not to mention endless chase scenes through moonlit abandoned gothic sets.

The fact that The Unborn is so cheerlessly dreary and persistently dull makes it almost impossible to really fire up much critical wrath over it. This is the type of artless quick-buck scary movie created to win a slow box-office weekend before vanishing into the nether realms of your local video store’s dusty horror section. You could almost pronounce it “stillborn” upon arrival... Not that I ever would, of course.

1 out of 5

*Originally printed in SFU's The Peak: Jan. 19th, 2009

Epi-Cast: Episode 3 - "The Curious Case of Bigoty Clint."

Hey guys, gals and that very specific group of weirdo degenerates that classify themselves as "other". Just dropping you all a quick note to clue you in on myself and co-host Tom Wytrwal's latest blast of aural pleasure: the newest, screwiest Epi-Cast yet!

To download, right-click and save on the green episode title above and then listen/suffer to your heart's content.

Epi-Cast: Episode 3 - "The Curious Case of Bigoty Clint."
Cam and Tom search their inner selves for an answer as to whether Clint Eastwood's Gran Torino manages to out-offend even their own combined ignorance, as well as nitpick, high-five and sternly approve of the film itself. As well, they journey well outside of their respective comfort zones both in debating President Obama's potentially unfortunate effect on Hollywood, as well as deciding whether Tyler Perry's movie output is an insult to his intended audience. When not inflaming race riots, they discuss films such as: Revolutionary Road, Amazing Grace, Watchmen, X-Men Origins: Wolverine, Body Of Lies and Cape Fear (1962).