Tuesday, August 13, 2024
Sunday, July 28, 2024
God's Reject
I thought I'd eventually outgrow The Devil's Rejects but I rewatched it last night and realized I've actually never fully grown into it. Here's this movie I've loved for damn near 20 years and suddenly it has a cranking, whirring and sliding Murphy Door to a winding staircase. In this subterranean epiphany I saw Dr. Robert Zombie's most accomplished lab experiment. On the surface Rejects is a spectacular Frankensteinian monster that appears to be a simple 'throwback' to '70s exploitation movies but it's also a unique and measured satire. It went from being one of my casual favorites to edging into my all-time Top 10 because it's pretty much perfect on all fronts.
First off, visually, it's almost a prototype for me. If I'm dissatisfied with a movie's aesthetic, Rejects is either first or second on my wishlist of How Most Movies Should Look. Every single aspect of the color, the contrast, the lighting, the grainy texture — I adore every frame so much. Even the way he blocks scenes, utilizes the frame, his slow zooms, voyeuristic close-ups, and the energy he brings to handheld is all so casual without being aimless or one-note. There's a distinct style here that's complimented by the sharp control in the editing, especially the use of slides and dissolves.
But more than that is how he navigates the varying tones and shifts in narrative framing, achieving an uncanny harmony that's pretty remarkable. RZ has as much desire to entertain as he does to horrify. None of the horror is ever undercut by a joke nor is any of the horror intrusive on the humor — which is important considering the upsetting places that this movie goes.
Our 'Antihero' (a dubious designation that rots before our eyes), John Quincy Wydell, is a deeply angry person who jumps to threaten someone with brutal assault simply for insulting "The King" Elvis Presley. So when it comes to his 'righteous' mission for vengeance and Frontier Justice, it's obvious his intentions have little to no nobility. He's full of faux-badass one-liners and monologues, even hypocritically balking when others do the same bullshit posturing that he does in front of a mirror at home. And that hypocrisy is what defines his arc: he becomes who he hates. Again, he's aware of this, but he thinks it's a necessary part of his mission, "walkin' The Line," instead of delusional entitlement to violence. Yeah, The Fireflies are irredeemable monsters, no doubt, but them being awful doesn't absolve Wydell—God's Reject—of his own accountability just cuz he's got a badge.
When no other police are around, Wydell slithers in and murders a handcuffed Mother Firefly but with the added venom of sexual violence. He initiates with erotic coercion as he 'fucks' her stomach with a knife. Hell, he even uses this later as a taunt to Baby, saying "I bet that old whore came before I took her miserable life." This isn't any different than the graphic sexual assault of Gloria Sullivan by Otis Firefly as he slid his gun into her panties and, later, uses it to taunt Roy Sullivan with "I think I can still smell your wife's pussy stink on my gun." The only difference is their choice of weapon.
The parallels and flip-flopping tones constantly challenge the very idea of any binary Allegiances. One of them is working for The Lord and the others are doing The Devil's Work; they're all scum but at least the Devil's Rejects are honest about what they are. There's even a specific point where Zombie shows his hand: the turn happens after Wydell has an incredibly tender moment with the Rejects' traumatized maid. Zombie holds on her pained face as Wydell walks away, making her and her pain feel significant rather than a backdrop. Right after this, though, Wydell meets up with The Unholy Two, a couple of scuzzy bounty hunters he's paid to track down the Fireflies. They look as gritty and fringe as the Rejects themselves and Wydell doesn't mince words as he makes it known he thinks they're beneath him, which means he's embraced a 'necessary evil' — nevermind the fact that he's turning toward evil. And right after their exchange we cut to the infamous Tutti-Frutti scene, the first moment where these sadistic murdering necrophiliacs are shown in an endearing light. This is a brilliant editing choice because, from here on out, The Line is completely blurred as Zombie challenges us to enjoy the Fireflies' company as Wydell becomes a more annoying, embittered killjoy.
The ethos of the bottlenecking narratives is for us to ask ourselves when and if we're okay with Sadism and Torture, and we even get to laugh along the way.
The chill hangout aspect to the character building brings the much-needed light that gives this movie balance. With rhythmic dialog that sounds naturalistic because of the cast's chemistry—they all sound like people who've worked together for years—playing off of each other with funny asides that also reveal enough to humanize them. Again, RZ never tells us what to feel, but he refuses to let any character, no matter how small, feel insignificant. Miraculously, the pacing doesn't suffer when we get a bit about how one of the deputies has low blood sugar or that the roadie for Banjo & Sullivan wishes he was a rodeo clown instead (or a prostitute who thinks she could really make some money cosplaying some "Star Wars shit" and her pimp not wanting to do it simply because he doesn't have the patience for clumsy nerds). With expert precision we're thrown from that back into terror and bloodshed without getting whiplash.
With this movie alone Zombie proves himself as a dab-hand juggler who's capable of never dropping any balls he throws up in the air. His coordination and everything he achieves with it makes for one of the most underappreciated American films ever made.
Monday, July 15, 2024
ↃL⊥\\Ↄ—\\ᘰ
"MOMMY! DADDY! UNMAKE ME!! AND SAVE ME FROM THE HELL OF LIVING!!!"
Like an entry wound bursting open, Longlegs starts with a bang and from there we tour a dark and wet cadaver until emerging from the exit wound bloody and confused, but at least T.Rex is playing.
Guided by a wicked command of anticipation with a torturous use of negative space, clever subversions of visual cliches, and paranoid pacing that only a stalker could instill, Osgood Perkins more than meets the hype NEON propped up for Longlegs: he shatters it. Due to that hype, I was ready for this movie to either knock me out or ruin my weekend but it actually managed to surprise me. It being an intensely spooky, moody, and doomy horror movie isn't surprising but what caught me off-guard was its wonderful comedic streak. I laughed quite a bit when I wasn't clenching my fists and my teeth.
And it isn't funny as a calculated means to release tension, but, almost incidentally amusing, like there's never a good time to let your guard down. There's a deadpan wit with whiffs of camp during scenes of awkward socialization. That uncanny mixture is what makes Nic Cage's casting so perfect: he's just as funny as he is scary. Anytime I laughed at/with something he said or did, it was never without a nervous rattle in my throat. He occupies every single frame of this movie whether he's visible or not because of how Perkins builds an oppressive atmosphere but also because Longlegs himself is so memorable. Part of the marketing was in hiding his face and enticing you to come see it–even the first half of the movie obscures his full visage–so naturally my curiosity hooked me in. But whence he was fully revealed, I fucking HATED looking at him.
Cursed with the kind of face that imprints on your eyelids, and not just because of the make-up layered on to make Cage unrecognizable, but because of how he brings it to life. He's currently squatting in the part of my brain that houses my other intrusive thoughts, cognitively summoning against my will, especially at night or when my apartment is quiet. His unique mode of sensorial eccentricity sticks like napalm; certain lines are burned into my tongue so when I'm stimming I'll blurt out his line deliveries like catchy song lyrics. He is an audio-visual parasite and I'm battling the inflections infection.
There's hardly any solace to be found in Maika Monroe's Lee Harker, either. Watching her navigate this movie's disciplined momentum creates another sense of unease on top of what Cage brings to it. She plays Lee with a reserved propulsion, like a hummingbird that's been wrapped in duct tape, matching the movie's pacing with a stifled anxiety. It's an evolution of the performance she gave in WATCHER, upping her already remarkable game as a modern Scream Queen; There's a vulnerability to Lee without fragility and a toughness without stoicism. People have characterized Lee as a riff on Clarice Starling which is a slightly sexist misread. I see her as more in line with Will Graham (Hugh Dancy's, to be specific) as she's perceptive and clever with cursed third-eye insight. This kind of performance could easily dip into shifty, fidgety, eye-darting cliches but Monroe showcases a control of subtlety. Lee is also socially alien which is where more of the humor pokes through, especially as she gets these great—albeit short-lived—odd couple moments with her charismatic boss. Blair Underwood plays FBI director Carter with a familiar warmth and charm; He brings an affable Dadness to this horror movie about Fatherly madness until the case roils frustration and confusion out of him. His impatience feels the most like an unturned cliche that the script ever comes close to, until it becomes explicitly clear that the resolution to the case won't be grounded in reality.
Refreshingly, LONGLEGS goes fully supernatural, there's no interpretative, allegory-pocked cop-out. Hell is downstairs and Satan is there under your feet. In an almost self-aware way, the eschewing of contemporary horror tendencies toward grief and trauma metaphors is baked into the narrative. Parents shielding their children from the Hell of living, trying to crystallize their innocence forever, is the real evil at the heart of this movie. With that said, there's a lot of minutiae and, I guess, lore, that I'm still unpacking (particularly the use of POV shots for the dolls). Perkins suggests so many different things without taking the whole curtain down. What remains shrouded demands a rewatch or two (or three or four or [...]).
So is Longlegs scary? I mean, that's such a subjective term and I can't encompass every which way that people approach horror movies. What I got out of it certainly scared me because it clung to me. Yeah, there are some effective jumpscares that frightened me (coiled and clever in execution) but if you like emphatic terror, I don't think this is the movie for you.
But if you like thick fucking dread forcing you to check over your shoulder, then you are the dark.
Tuesday, July 9, 2024
The Top 100: Albums
44. Marillion- Clutching At Straws (1987)
39. Van Der Graaf Generator- Still Life (1976)
19. The Clash- London Calling (1979)
18. The Beatles- Revolver (1966)
16. Frank Zappa/The Mothers of Invention- We're Only In It For the Money (1968)
12. Faith No More- Angel Dust (1992)
TOP TEN
6. Wu Tang Clan- Enter the 36 Chambers (1993)
5. Elton John- Goodbye Yellow Brick Road (1973)
4. Pink Floyd- The Dark Side of the Moon (1973)
3. The Beach Boys- Pet Sounds (1966)
2. Genesis- The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway (1974)
1. The Beatles- Abbey Road (1969)


















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