Paper Fruit

You are all aware by now that Jesse Bullington and I have decided to embark upon a quest: watching “classic” adventure movies that informed one or both of our childhoods. These columns will run every Wednesday on our blogs, excluding the last post of each month, which will appear over at Fantasy Magazine. This week we do some good work filling in yet another Arnold-shaped gap in my movie knowledge. . .

Film: Predator (1987)

AKA: Hunter (insert Frisky Dingo reference here), and Primevil—would it still be a classic if it had been saddled with this horrible title?

WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS??? Direction by John McTiernan, who once gave a less than convincing explanation for how his film Die Hard is actually an adaptation of A Midsummer’s Night Dream. Screenplay by Jim and John Thomas, who also penned the De Palma not-classic Mission to Mars. Not-really-all-that-appropriate soundtrack by Alan Silvestri (The Abyss, Lilo and Stitch), with a number by the always-appropriate Little Richard. Starring more beefcake than is really reasonable for a single film: Arnold Schwarzenegger, Jesse “The Body” Ventura, Carl Weathers, Bill Duke, Sonny Landham, Kevin Peter Hall, and some other people who don’t deserve mention by virtue of not being super beasts, except maybe action movie screenwriter Shane Black, who plays the terrible nerd commando. Oh, and Elpidia Carrillo as the film’s single female character, who spends most of the time cowering.

Quote: “You’re ghostin’ us, motherfucker. I don’t care who you are back in the world, you give away our position one more time, I’ll bleed ya, real quiet.”

Alternate quote: “If it bleeds we can kill it.”

Alternate alternate quote: Not as strong guy: “You’re bleeding, man.” Stronger guy (Jesse the Body, specifically): “I ain’t got time to bleed.”

First viewing by Molly: A couple of nights ago.

First viewing by Jesse: Around eight years old.

Most recent viewing by both: A couple of nights ago.

Impact on Molly’s childhood development: Honestly, I had no idea there was even a monster in Predator until, seriously, I saw the trailer for Alien vs. Predator and I laughed bemusedly along with the rest of the theatre.

Impact on Jesse’s childhood development: Sizable. Mind, I didn’t actually watch the movie with sound for years after my initial viewing, which makes a pretty big difference in appreciating the film, though the muted viewing wasn’t the impediment to understanding that it would be for most movies.

See, when I first watched this I was a really little kid visiting my family in California because my grandfather was dying. He was at home, hospice being the only real option, and wasn’t conscious most of the time. Since the only tv was in his room—he loved to watch horse racing when he was awake—when my brother Aaron and my cousin John rented Predator they had to watch it with my semi-comatose grandfather right behind them, and obviously all the shouting and explosions and gunfire and flaying of human skin wouldn’t help a dying man find peace, so they did the considerate thing and put on head phones. There weren’t enough jacks for me to listen as well, so I had to watch in silence; well, not quite silence, since the wheezing of my grandfather was right beside me. Thinking back on it, I really hope he slept through the film and didn’t awake to images of skinned people strung up in the jungle where his ponies should have been. Even without sound the film made no small impression on me, I assure you.

Random youtube clip that hasn’t been taken down for copyright infringement:

Molly’s thoughts prior to watching:

(cell phone rings)

John:             Hey, Beez! What? Hold on, lemme ask. Hey Molly—Jesse wants to know if we                                     want to watch Predator tonight?

Me:                What? OK? I guess?

Jesse’s thoughts prior to re-watching: Pretty happy—Molly’s reactions to seeing these movies for the first time are usually every bit as entertaining as the films themselves, and I very much doubted Predator would be the exception to the rule. I also had beer and freedom fries, which enhances the viewing of such things exponentially. The only thing I was really worried about was whether or not the movie would set off my beef allergy, and so I kept benadryl at the ready lest I break out in hives.

Molly’s thoughts post-viewing: I know I have a degree in Women’s Studies, but fuck that noise, I’ve seen the light (hallelujah!) and that light is men. MEN. In the jungle. With MUSCLES. Solid, rippling man-flesh and man-cunning, and also sometimes a Native American with sixth sense to go with his man-flesh and man-cunning. Oh, and guns! Guns with lots and lots of bullets. But in the end, what matters is men. In the world of jungle, where a predator stalks the unwary, bullets can only take you so far. I know this now. It is man-muscles and man-brain that determine whether you’ll be skinned and hung from a tree by a snatch-faced alien, or standing above said alien until it’s time to book it away from a nuclear explosion. (Jesse says: really, it’s a small nuclear explosion, so it’s not as implausible as she’s making it sound. Also, Molly is forbidden from describing movie monsters in the future—not cool)

But seriously, wow. Wow! This movie. I got into trouble with my friend David for alleging that the first part of Predator has nothing to do with the actual movie itself, documented here in this Facebook conversation:

David: Molly, the beginning of that movie is the plot. Coincidentally an alien shows up, guns are fired, people die, but the real question remains–who is the strongest (physically that is) warrior? Only a power handshake can tell us who the greatest of foes for the predator can possibly be.

Molly: David, no. The beginning of the movie is entirely irrelevant. They could’ve plugged in any “reason” to get Arnold and Jesse the Body into South America to bazooka a bunch of huts (is that a verb? it is now!) and then get messed with by the Predator. I was unmoved at the time and remain nonplussed that Arnold’s team “only does rescue missions” or whatever, it makes no difference to his “character” since his character was mostly biceps and tying spikes to tree limbs with vines and the awesomeness of being called “Dutch” as a nickname. Which is pretty cool, don’t get me wrong–but the plot has nothing to do with the beef between the CIA and the Army or whatever Arnold and Carl Weathers argue about intensely for a few minutes before the explosions start.

David: Molly, you are mistaken and this is why. The power handshake (Jesse says: see clip below) determines not only who is the most powerful, as in who will be the champion, but also to show us the audience exactly what kind of champion we actually have. It is Dutch that will defeat any foe. As you can see, he [can] and will beat all foes in the way most fitting. Carl Weathers (or Dillon) tries to subdue Dutch with politics, but Dutch will hear no lies and defeats him with his own tactics. A handshake of unmatched power is the weapon against the enemies of freedom.

And yet.

Regardless, it is silly, and I liked it a lot. It’s not often that you find a film as educational as Predator—being in the Army is awesome; mud negates your body heat—as well as explaining perfectly why the citizens of California have elected Arnold Schwarzenegger as the Governator (a phrase that Wikipedia earnestly informs us is a “portmanteau” of Terminator and governor!) more than once. Seriously! Why? Because in one scene Dutch demands that Anna tell them what she saw; Anna has, up until that point, spoken only Spanish, but then, through the sheer willpower of man, Arnold Schwarzenegger (apparently) makes that girl speak English. From what I hear out of CA these days, that really, really matters to folks out there.

Jesse’s thoughts post-viewing: Jesus, man—fucking Predator. Molly’s reactions ranged from a mild gape to a full-on gawp at points, and I know my arms gained about three inches of thickness just from exposure to the testosterone levels. Really, there’s not much to be said about this film that hasn’t been said elsewhere, but holy goddamn hell, it is one stupid, loud, awesome film. My friend David wrote a paper in college breaking down the worth of the characters by their physical strength and BMI, and I’ve gotta say he hit the nail right on the head—strength is everything; well, strength, and an ability to set traps that would make Wile E. Coyote jealous.

Jean Claude Van Damme actually played the Predator for a few days before quitting and leaving the role to Kevin Peter Hall (who played Harry, of the Henderson Harrys); van Damme was apparently pissed that his face would not be shown. Sixty-four people die in the course of the film. The Predator’s blood is, indeed, made of the stuff inside glowsticks. All this is incidental, anecdotal, irrelevant: Arnold fights an alien badass in the jungle. That’s it.

High Points: The unapologetic and unintentionally hilarious machismo, which starts at farcical levels and only increases as the movie progresses. The Predator itself, which remains a pretty sweet cinematic monster. Arnold’s trap-building montage. The hand shake, which sums up the whole movie perfectly, as does the giggling in the background of the clip:

Final Verdict: Though Molly prefers her Arnold with long hair, sword, and loincloth, in terms of modern action movies where shit blows up and guns are fired, Predator is hard to match.

Film: Batman (1989)

WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS??? Direction by Tim Burton, back before he came the thing he is today. Screenplay by Sam Hamm (the M.A.N.T.I.S. tv show) and Warren Skaaren (Beetle Juice), from characters created by Bob Kane. Atmospheric soundtrack by Danny Elfman and Prince—the atmosphere of the film changes quite a bit, dig? Suitably campy performances by Michael Keaton, Jack Nicholson, Kim Bassinger, Robert Wuhl, Billy Dee Williams, Pat Hingle, and Jack Palance.

Quote: “Never rub another man’s rhubarb!”

Alternate quote: “I have given a name to my pain. . . and it is Batman.”

First viewing by Molly: When it first came to VHS, my parents shockingly allowed me to rent it, so def. still in grade school, possibly as early as 2^nd or 3^rd grade?

First viewing by Jesse: At the pictures, when I was seven years old.

Most recent viewing by both: Last night.

Impact on Molly’s childhood development: Substantial. Violent and/or scary movies were rarely allowed in my house—seriously, when I was in high school (yes, high school) my father forbade me from watching Deliverance after a friend told me it was pretty awesome—so anything mildly spooky that squiggled through the cracks made an impression because I was always pretty hungry for dark or weird stuff. Batman was deemed acceptable for some reason, probably because of my father’s fondness for the Adam West Batman, or perhaps because it was directed by Tim Burton, and my parents enjoyed Frankenweenie and Beetlejuice. Super heroes generally held little appeal for Young Molly—too much machismo, not enough decent female characters—but the aesthetic of Batman tempted me, because while my parents were iffy about allowing violent weird movies in the house, they were dedicated to the laudable project of exposing me to Quality Cinema from Days of Yore from an early age. I’d at that point already seen quite a bit of Hitchcock, screwball comedies, and other such fare that tended to have art-deco movie magic goin on, so I could relate to the aesthetics of Batman as seen in the trailers. . . also the little snippits of the Joker really spooked me out in a way that I found interesting, so I begged and begged and lo, Batman was rented.

Impact on Jesse’s childhood development: High. As far as tights went, I was always a Bats fan—the Adam West series was one of the few programs I watched with any real regularity growing up, and so my appreciating a big budget film about the caped crusader was never really in question. I was a weird kid, though, and thus recall harboring a strong desire to see the Weird Al Yankovic vanity piece UHF instead of Batman when the choice was put to me, but my parents wisely vetoed that selection. The sequel had a bit stronger of an effect, I think, but we’ll get to that when we get to that—the point is, this movie pretty much solidified Batman’s place as my favorite superhero growing up, which is no small thing for children of my temperament.

Random youtube clip that hasn’t been taken down for copyright infringement:

Molly’s thoughts prior to re-watching: Excited. I own the movie, as my husband is in the process of building his Michael Keaton Collection. I can’t remember the last time I sat down to watch Batman all the way through, but it had been, as they say, a while. I’d seen the Nolan Dark Knight in the theatre as part of the process of mourning Heath Ledger, but as much as I loved Heath’s take on the Joker, it wasn’t Jack Nicholson, who will always, for me, be the person who defined the role.

Jesse’s thoughts prior to re-watching: Pretty pleased about the prospect—I hadn’t watched it in maybe ten years, long before the Christopher Nolan reboots arrived. The circumstances leading to that last screening involved my going to a flea market, which is every bit as tawdry as it sounds. A greasy creep was selling old vhs tapes, most of which were lacking any kind of case, and there amidst the rubber-banded-together Titanics and Bravehearts I saw a copy of Batman.

“How much is this?” I asked.

The merchant squinted at me through horn-rimmed glasses that hadn’t been wiped off since the Reagan administration. If then. “Two bucks.”

Casually inspecting the dusty plastic vhs, I noticed the tape had long ago snapped off inside, and peering closer through the clear plastic windows that exposed the reels I could see several dead cockroaches. I said, “The tape’s broken off inside, and it’s full of dead bugs.”

“Huh,” said the merchant, wiping funnel cake sugar off on his shirt and inspecting the tape. After a moment he handed it back and said, “No charge, then.”

So I did what any eighteen year old weirdo would do—I took the vhs home, opened it up and cleaned out the bugs, and then spliced the ends of the snapped tape using the special silver splicing stickers I had gotten from a video store through some equally bizarre sequence of events. I realize this diversion had gotten rather far from the point of the movie itself and is instead show-casing my legendary—and unfairly mocked—frugality, so perhaps it would be best if we simply pretended I never said anything beyond, “Batman, yeah, awesome flick, looking forward to rewatching it.”

Molly’s thoughts post-viewing: It’s really good. The aesthetics and effects have aged reasonably well for a movie from that late 80s era of OMGNOOOOOO-ness, with excellent set-design and cool costumes—in particular the purple tailcoat the Joker wears is amazing, and Michael Keaton in nerd-glasses is a nice touch, too.

Given that Tim Burton directed the film, I spent a lot of time being just so, so happy that Batman wasn’t being played by Johnny Depp and Vikki Vale’s character wasn’t obliterated by the comedic stylings. . . excuse me, acting, of Helena Bonham Carter. The triple wowza of Batman, Beetlejuice, and Edward Scissorhands has long been the reason I get so irritated with the recent epicness of Tim Burton’s directorial failures. Every single damn time a new Tim Burton movie comes out these days to disappoint and horrify all but the most dedicated Hot Topic employees, the 5^th grader in me remembers crying her eyes out at the ending of Edward Scissorhands; thinking Beetlejuice was the coolest movie ever; being terrified by the Joker. I’d throw in something about how viscerally I responded to The Nightmare Before Christmas when I saw it a million times in the theatre in 6^th grade, but I don’t want to perpetuate the mistaken belief that Burton directed that film. One only need compare Corpse Bride to Coraline to see that Henry Selick was responsible for the awesomeness of Nightmare. Him, and Danny Elfman.

Enough—back to Batman. The script is pretty awesome, especially the Joker’s one-liners, though this time round I kinda noticed there are some. . . problems with the movie. I mean, OK. So at the beginning, it’s mentioned a bunch of times that Batman is a newcomer to the Gotham city crime scene. . . but then later on Bruce Wayne goes on and on about how he “has” to do this, and all this additional weirdness that makes it seem like he’d been the World’s Greatest Detective for a lot longer than, say, a month or two? I mean—did he just get all his Batman gear at once, plane, car, suit, computer station, and all? How? Who manufactures it? How does he know how to research stuff? Where does he get all his files on criminal proceedings in a pre-The Smoking Gun age? Is he naturally good at detective-ing? Was it like in Kick Ass and he started out in a black jumpsuit punching people in the face? If he’s such a great crime fighter, why isn’t he going after Jack Palance’s skyscraper full of organized criminals, instead of beating up street punks, some of whom are likely turning to crime due to, and I’m just speculating here, a damn-plausible lack of social services available in Gotham City?

But none of that seriously takes away from the film as a whole, though. I know Jesse will follow my write-up with a burn on the decision to make the Joker responsible for Batman’s parents’ death, but I like it. I think the single best thing about Tim Burton’s Batman is the careful effort to make the Joker and Batman mirror-perfect foils for one another.  This is illustrated so perfectly in the scene where Bruce Wayne tries to tell Vikki Vale about being Batman, which I could not for the life of me find on YouTube, but no matter—at first, it just seems like a nice gag when Wayne says “Nice apartment—lots of space” and the Joker reiterates that same sentiment verbatim. It becomes more apparent what’s really going on when the Joker goes on to break his former girlfriend’s mask after placing it on Vikki’s mantle, and then Brucie proves himself to be just as fucking. . . well, nuts, as the Joker:

After all, they’re both grown men who put on elaborate costumes to shape the world according to their unique vision, whether or not anyone thinks that’s a good idea or not, right? I think it’s handled lusciously, and the “we made each other” weirdness at the end works for me.

Jesse’s thoughts post-viewing: When Batman Begins came out people were falling all over themselves to point how much darker it was than the previous four Batman films. “It’s just so dark,” they would say, as if they had just spent two hours sitting in a cave. “The old ones weren’t, you know, so dark, but this one was just, like, a really dark movie. Dark dark dark.” Sometimes that was a bad thing, as in, “it’s way too dark,” but more often than not it was a sign of respect, because we all know darkness is totally cool. Personally, although I enjoyed Nolan’s films I hate his fight sequences—they’re not “dark,” they’re muddled (Word! exclaims Molly), and while he’s obviously trying to convey the frantic feel of actually being in a fight, I for one like to see what is going on in a movie, especially when something cool is presumably happening inside all that dark dark darkness. The thing is, Tim Burton’s first crack at the Caped Crusader is plenty dark in its own right—the tone is much, for lack of a better word, darker than the Adam West series, which admittedly isn’t such a feat, but it also manages to retains some of the camp and humor of the old show while still bringing bite to the proceedings.

Jack Nicholson is clearly having the time of his life, and both his impressive costumes and accompanying Prince jams compliment his Joker nicely—but for all his campy lines and dances, this is a Joker who doesn’t think twice about murdering anyone he can get a hold of. Though he isn’t played as straight as Heath Ledger’s take on the role in The Dark Knight, Nicholson is no mustachioed Caesar Romero, either. Then there’s Batman himself, who doesn’t even attempt to take the Joker alive in the end, and Burton does some nice—if not always subtle—layering to highlight the similarities between hero and villain, though the decision to make the Joker the one who killed Bruce Wayne’s parents is a bit overkill. Michael Keaton makes a surprisingly satisfying Batman, though his Bruce Wayne is more late eighties super-nerd than playboy.

Batman is Tim Burton near the top of his game, with a superficial noir atmosphere layered nicely over the timeless Gotham his set design team assembled. The problematic class issues inherent in the Batman mythology are on prominent display here—blue collar good guy Knox gets his ass handed to him when he tries to take on the bad guys with a baseball bat, whereas Batman swoops in with his private plane and not only saves the girl Knox is after but also the whole city—but that’s always been an issue with the character, and even Christopher Nolan’s ham-fisted swipe at subverting it in The Dark Knight didn’t quite wash the taste of moldering class trash from the mouth, but so it goes. Batman may be a crypto-fascist, but he’s always been a damn cool one.

High Points: The Joker doing his thing, especially the scene in the museum. Being reminded of how impressive Tim Burton is when working with a good script and predominantly practical effects—the small uses of jarring animated effects here are a grim reminder of the over-reliance he would put on CGI in his later films. The soundtrack—Danny Elfman and Prince, together at last. The part where Conan’s sidekick from Destroyer gets shot in the gut and left in the dirt (Jesse Says: Molly’s hatred for Tracey Walter is kinda spooky—I like the guy, personally). The costumes. And, really, the Joker, who steals the show from Bats every moment he’s onscreen:

Final Verdict: We’ll dance with that devil in the pale moonlight any time.

After a hiatus of some amount of time, Jesse Bullington are once again doing Films of High Adventure, you know, where we watch “classic” adventure movies that informed one or both of our childhoods. This week we recap something we viewed a while ago, which was definitely a film, but the adventure in it was more bizarre than high, at least in the sense of the word “high” that we usually intend to evoke. . .

Film: The Abominable Dr. Phibes (1971)

Also Known As: No joke, the first two times I started writing the title I wrote The Awesome Dr. Phibes, and then, catching myself, started typing The Amazing Dr. Phibes instead. Ok, so not technically alternate titles, but a telling sign nonetheless. . .

WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS??? Direction by Robert Fuest, who also helmed The Last Man on Earth (I Am Legend with Vincent Price in the lead!), The Devil’s Rain (The Milk and Cheese favorite starring Ernest Borgnine!), and a bunch of episodes of The Avengers (if you’re not familiar with John Steed and Mrs. Emma Peel it’s high time you made their acquaintance). Script by James Whiton (uh, an episode of The Man From U.N.C.L.E.) and William Goldstein (screen story credit for The Amazing Dobermans, a movie featuring Fred Astaire fighting crime with a pack of pinschers), although Fuest apparently rewrote most of it. On one side of the ring of absurdity we have Vincent Price (everything that is good in this world) as Dr. Phibes and Bond-girl (On her Majesty’s Secret Service) Virginia North as his assistant Vulnavia (!), and on the other we have Joseph Cotton (The Third Man), Hugh Griffith (Tom Jones, the whacked out Oh Dad, Poor Dad, Mama’s Hung You in the Closet and I’m Feeling So Sad), Peter Jeffrey (Count Grendel in some old Dr. Who episodes), and a host of other actors looking to chew some scenery and get done in by the good Dr. Phibes. Bizzaro soundtrack by various artists, including lots of organ music and Vincent singing “Over the Rainbow.”

Quote: “Nine killed you! Nine shall die! Nine eternities in DOOM!”

Alternate quote: “A brass unicorn has been catapulted across a London street and impaled an eminent surgeon. Words fail me, gentlemen.”

First viewing by Molly: Pretty recently

First viewing by Jesse: Really young

Most recent viewing by both: The aforementioned “pretty recently”

Impact on Molly’s childhood development: Well, none, given that I’d never even heard of this weird little movie, but given that my early adolescence was largely me thinking The Phantom of the Opera was like, the single most amazingly romantic book evarrrrrrrr and why didn’t Christine go for the Phantom when he was clearly so much more interesting than that milquetoast nothing-master Raoul, I feel like I was a pump well-primed for this omgwtfbbq-fest, especially the bizarre Phibes/Vulnavia relationship.

Impact on Jesse’s childhood development: High. Of all the old horror movie icons, Price was my favorite, and of all his roles, this was perhaps the most important to Young Me.

Random youtube clip that hasn’t been taken down for copyright infringement:

Molly’s thoughts prior to re-watching: “WTF is this?”

Jesse’s thoughts prior to re-watching: Excited. Price undeniably made some stinkers in his time, but I was confident that this film had aged like a fine Roquefort. I had no idea if Molly would love it or hate it, and, frankly, didn’t give a damn—nothing could possibly diminish the experience, though I of course hoped she would dig it. . . contrary to what this column might occasionally imply, I don’t actually enjoy punishing Molly with cinema.

Molly’s thoughts post-viewing: Awesome. I really, really liked it, even though now, as an adult, I often find things that have a sort of Phantom of the Opera-ish sensibility about them to be pretty tiresome—obsession is really only sexy on the page or on the screen, a lesson I hope the legions of Twilight fans realize before they end up in problematic relationships with dudes who like to creep into the bedrooms of girls that smell real good and only have two emotional modes—constipated disapproval or condescending amusement.

N-E-WAYZ, I had my doubts during the opening sequence that has Dr. Phibes in a hooded robe playing an organ, but as the movie progressed into unapologetic insanity, I warmed to it, and then thoroughly enjoyed it. At the center of my affection was the Phibes-Vulnavia relationship, which is just so outright bizarre that it works perfectly without explanation. Wikipedia says that originally it was to be revealed that Vulnavia was one of Dr. Phibes’ clockwork creations, but I call bullshit on that, and I’m glad they left it undefined. For me, it’s a much more amazing scenario if Vulnavia is. . . just. . . some girl he met somehow? Who was totally OK hunting down and murdering doctors and nurses as long as Dr. Phibes kept her in furry hats and let her pose like a Mucha girl while he put on his gold lame cape and played music. Sure! Why not?

Good times.

Jesse’s thoughts post-viewing: Such exquisite film-making! Fitting tidily into the “Vincent Price whacks a bunch of people according to a theme” sub-genre of the great man’s career, I say, with only slight reservation, that this is the best of the bunch. Theatre of Blood makes it a tough call, as the murders in that film are all based on scenes from Shakespeare instead of biblical plagues, and it features a fencing match on trampolines, but Phibes still comes out ahead if no other reason than I saw it first and that has to count for something.

I suppose the main thing I had forgotten over the years was how bugfuck the movie really is—virtually no effort is put into explaining how Phibes manages to pull off his outlandish murders, let alone build a clockwork band and, maybe, girlfriend. . . he’s a doctor, sure, but a doctor of divinity and musicology (for serious). I suppose if they had started worrying about logic and realism they would have had to scrap the scene where fruitbats suck a guy’s blood, or the part with the locusts that. . . well, it really has to be seen to be believed, but the point is if reality intruded then all the fun would be gone and you’d be left with, I dunno, Se7en.*

The thing is, other than the poster and spoiler-heavy trailer, the movie seems to play it fairly straight-faced. Maybe? As a kid I certainly took it very seriously, yet rooted unreservedly for Phibes—he did what he did for love, after all, and is that so wrong? As an eight year old I had a hard time holding him accountable for his nefarious deeds, and as a twenty-eight year old I still refuse to pass judgment on the doctor.

It’s a bizarre, campy picture even by Price standards, and the script gives him ample room to do what he does best, even if he is talking out of his neck. It’s impossible not to root for Phibes, if only to see what insanely complicated murder he will pull off next, and I still get choked up thinking about what happens to poor Vulnavia. To say they don’t make them like this anymore is a bit of an understatement—gone are the days when studios would be like “this makes absolutely no sense, and doesn’t seem to be a comedy but definitely isn’t a horror film, either, and will use up a decent sized budget. . . but what the hell, go nuts—have your proto-slasher lead cover Judy Garland while you’re at it.” Alas.

High Points: Vincent Price doing what he does best. How straight everyone is playing it. The unsettling—and unaddressed—relationship between Phibes and Vulnavia. Vulnavia herself, and apparently we’re not the only ones to realize this—somebody out there on the internet not only recognized her importance, but also the importance of mistakenly attributing the Flashdance theme to Hall and Oates:

Final Verdict: Excellent.

Next week: Batman? This column needs an enema, so. . .

*Uninteresting Facts about Molly’s Youth: I’ve never seen Se7en all the way through because when I was in 8th grade or thereabouts, I had a friend who wanted me to see it, but she claimed most of the movie was “boring” and thus fast-forwarded her VHS copy to all the murders. So to this day, my only notion of that film is something along the lines of Brad Pitt being Angry (or something) at Keven Spacey for asploding a fat man and raping someone with a bizarre BDSM-inspired knife harness? Yeah.

Over at Fantasy Magazine!

I don’t even know where to begin with this, but I’ll try just saying that Jonathan L. Howard’s Johannes Cabal books are awesome and you should go read them right now.

As you might imagine from the cover image to the left, both books are about a gentleman by the name of Johannes Cabal, and he is a notorious, unscrupulous, and irritable necromancer. They are both also completely lovely examples of how it is indeed possible to make fantasy humor work without resorting to puns, or–even worse–wisecracking stock fantasy characters like dwarves or goblins.

The first in the series, Johannes Cabal the Necromancer (2009) chronicles a year in the life of Johannes Cabal as he co-runs a demonic carnival. It is written in a style that I can only really describe as “wouldn’t it be awesome if The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy novels dealt with demons and vampires instead of spaceships? Yes.” The plot is well-conceived, the writing is excellent, and the characters are amazing. Johannes Cabal himself is deliciously nasty, socially inept, and utterly unscrupulous according to our meagre standards of what it means to have scruples. He does the things lesser men fear to do–if you’ve ever imagined, for example, snatching the iPhone out of the hand of that man on the plane who keeps waving away the flight attendant as she asks him time and again to power down his device so you can take off, and then braining him with it, sitting down, and wishing that the flight attendant would stop gawping at you and just bring over your little plastic cup of orange juice because you’re a bit thirsty, then this book will likely appeal to you. My only complaint with the entire endeavor is the pacing, which I felt faltered briefly in the third act–that said, the novel recovered completely in the fourth, and the ending left me all misty-eyed and deeply grateful that I had the sequel to comfort me in my distress at having to shut the book because it was over.

Johannes Cabal the Detective is somehow even better than Johannes Cabal the Necromancer. It is a masterpiece of silliness and good times, and I enjoyed every single moment I spent reading it. I can’t say anything about it, because I would hate to rob people other than my husband and my two best friends, who have spent the last week being very understanding of me chuckling to myself and occasionally spoiling bits of the plot, of the experience of discovering just what’s up with this book. Just go read it.

So yeah. Watch this space for more Johannes Cabal craziness, as there’s something fun in the works, let me tell you–I, however, must nip off and find the two Johannes Cabal short stories available in issues 1 and 3 of H.P. Lovecraft’s Magazine of Horror. It’ll help me deal with the sense of loss that I shan’t hear anything new of Herr Cabal until I get ahold of The Way of the Wizard, which I’ve heard contains an all new Johannes Cabal adventure called “The Ereshkigal Working.” Huzzah!

It seems that Running with the Pack was reviewed over at Innsmouth Free Press, and that, among others, “In Sheep’s Clothing” attracted the notice of Ms. Kinney enough that she discussed it in depth! Yay!

I continue to be touched and amazed by the favorable attention my story has received. Yet, I must admit, while I was intensely happy that my narrator was dubbed the “heroine” of the story by Ms. Kinney over at IFP, my favorite review of all actually appeared on my facebook page, courtesy my good friend David, who said on the matter, “[I] do like the black magick references and lessons against working with one’s neighbors.”

Being in the business of providing valuable advice and life-lessons has its rewards, and it’s nice to know that my message was interpreted correctly by at least one kind soul. Cheers!

Before we begin, a little linky-poo: Matt Staggs has an article up over at Suvudu.com about why some folks get dragon tattoos. My little demon-dude is up at the end after many interesting responses, so as Dr. Steven Brule would say, go check it out!

You know the drill: Jesse Bullington and I have (perhaps foolishly) decided to embark upon a quest: watching “classic” adventure movies that informed one or both of our childhoods. These columns will run every Wednesday on our blogs, excluding the last post of each month, which will appear over at Fantasy Magazine. After watching and loving The Terminator we decided to give the sequel its due. While I still can’t figure out why the movie was called Judgment Day–didn’t they, you know, stop it from happening?–I’m ready to do some judging of my own, so let’s get to work!

The Film: Terminator 2: Judgment Day (1991)

WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS??? James Cameron—big time. Though he directed and co-wrote, Cameron did receive screenwriting help from his old buddy William Wisher, Jr., who went on to work on Judge Dredd and the Exorcist prequels. Seemingly straight-faced soundtrack by Guns N’ Roses, Dwight Yoakam, and George “Bad to the Bone” Thorogood. Hackting by Arnold, Linda “Chin-up” Hamilton, Edward “Is this Really the Height of My Career?” Furlong, Robert “It Was for Me, Too, Kid, So Suck it Up” Patrick, and Joe “Eureka” Morton.

Quote: If you can’t come up with a quote from this on your own, well, you’re probably better off.

Alternate quote: For reals.

First viewing by Molly: Last week.

First viewing by Jesse: In the theatre—so, nine years old.

Most recent viewing by both: Last week.

Impact on Molly’s childhood development: See The Terminator.

Impact on Jesse’s childhood development: Decent. I was thrilled to be allowed to see it in the theatre, which was a first where this sort of thing was concerned, and consequently the last for some time thereafter. I remember thinking Edward Furlong was pretty awesome, and, as with a whole generation of kids who wanted a dirtbike and a pet Terminator, I got my hair cut just like him. The ‘do went well with my brightly colored hammer pants. Ah, 1991.

Random youtube clip that hasn’t been taken down for copyright infringement:

For some reason it won’t let me embed these clips, so link!

Molly’s thoughts prior to re-watching: I was really excited, as I remembered the hype surrounding T2 and thought The Terminator was just marvelous. Little did I know. . . never mind. I’ll say it all later.

Jesse’s thoughts prior to re-watching: After being wary of re-watching the first Terminator, I was more optimistic about re-watching T2, not having seen it all the way through since I was a kid. Which shows how very, very mixed-up and foolish these columns make me.

Molly’s thoughts post-viewing: Who could’ve guessed that the high jinks and kid-friendly action of T2 would please me less than the dark horror/sci-fi balance struck so wonderfully in The Terminator? Wowza! Shocking revelations aside, I suppose I should be generous enough to mention that I believe, had I viewed these films as a kid, my feelings would be somewhat different, since I can’t believe Young Molly would be the only kid in America to not squee at the notion of a pet Terminator. Anywho, I started getting really philosophical watching Terminator 2: Judgment Day, and I think I’ll share those musings, as even in the sober light of day, I think my theory about T2 holds up. Here it is: with a few notable exceptions, the problematic differences between The Terminator and T2 mirror the problematic differences between Conan the Barbarian and Conan the Destroyer. Many of the stinky decisions Richard Fleischer made in order to completely ruin Conan the Destroyer have some bafflingly-accurate counterpart in T2. A short list in the order I thought about them writing this right now (and feel free to add your own):

• Music: The gravitas of the scores of both Barbarian and Terminator are legendary—though I might personally feel that Poledouris’ epic, weighty score for Conan the Barbarian outstrips the eerie synthesizer in Terminator, both effectively convey the fact that you should be paying attention because what’s going on onscreen fucking matters. Then we have the goofiness of Destroyer and T2. Destroyer, as I believe I noted in our official review, is sucky because it’s just the goddamn soundtrack to Barbarian but sped up and dumbed down. T2, for its part, adds in a bunch of annoying pop standards to try to jolt the audience out of the glassy-eyed state of  “oooooooh shiny!” James Cameron was clearly attempting to invoke, given the script.

• Presence of Wisecracking Sidekicks: How many wisecracking sidekicks appear to quip their lines adorably in Barbarian or Terminator? Fucking none, save Linda Hamilton’s friend, I guess, but calling her a sidekick would be a stretch. As we all know, Conan’s sidekick Subotai in Barbarian is the fucking jam for many reasons but his lack of wisecracking, “classic lines,” or “signature moves” elevates him exponentially. Then there’s Destroyer and T2. In Destroyer, we get the Most Annoying Sidekick of All Time, who I will not dignify by taking the time to google his name [Jesse says: say what you will, Tracy Walter was pretty ok in Repo Man]. In T2, Stock 90s Troubled Youth John Connor is kinda the main character, but so is the Terminator, so they sorta kinda become each other’s sidekicks and thus must both make wisecracks to fulfill that stereotype and omg I don’t even want to think about this any more AT ALL.

• Pacing: The presence (or absence) of wisecracking sidekicks is a decent indicator of intended audience with the Conan and Terminator franchises (who wants to hang out with Conan talking shit/have a pet Terminator? Kids, that’s who [Jesse says: that is some ageist bullshit right there, but I’ll let it slide]), but so is pacing. Barbarian/Terminator had a weight to them—careful plotting, attempts and even the occasional success with character development. They both do that thing where there’s rising action, several climaxes that keep getting more climax-y, and falling action. Destroyer/T2 bank on us knowing who these characters are (and caring due to our affection for the first films) and just go buck wild with ‘splosions and shit getting shot and fire and guns. Also they attempt to go for the yuk-yuks, but more on that in the next section.

• Self-Awareness: You know how Conan punches the camel in Conan the Destroyer for the yuk-yuk factor, because we all remember Conan getting trashed and punching that camel in Barbarian? And you know how they get Conan’s wisecracking sidekick to comment on the action? Yeah. You know how in T2 they repeat all the good lines from Terminator for the yuk-yuk factor and later reboot the Terminator so he can mug and grin for John Connor? Boo.

• Honorable Mention: Presence of A Really, Really Crazy Lady: I’m pretty much done here but I’d like to mention another odd coincidence/element of both Destroyer/T2 that kinda sucked—both feature a lady character who’s so single-minded that she ends up ruining things, big time. The fact that Queen Whatever from Conan the Destroyer is a villainess and Sarah Connor is just batshit insane from knowing the future and being abused in Stock Post-Cuckoo’s Nest Mental Institution doesn’t really matter very much, because they both are so incapable of just listening to the men in their lives that they totally ruin a bunch of stuff.

I—I just. . . I know everyone loves T2, especially one Raechel Lynn Dumas, and so I feel bad putting it in the same sequel-fail category as Conan the Destroyer. . . but still. Big dumb blockbusters that are awesome (in the “extremely impressive or daunting; inspiring great admiration, apprehension, or fear” sense of awesomeness) and dark just work better for me than yuk-yuks and craziness. But since as a kid I totally thought Return of the Jedi was waaaaay better than, you know, Empire Strikes Back, I’d like to reiterate that had I seen T2 as a kid I likely would’ve loved it and had some degree of nostalgia/affection to balance out my allergy to George Thorogood and pandering camp.

Jesse’s thoughts post-viewing: Cats alive, that movie. First and foremost, it most certainly does not hold up to the first film in terms of aging gracefully/tolerably. It’s a louder, flashier, longer, and far stupider film than The Terminator, and yet is revered as one of the best films of all time by many a poll. Which goes to show that the lowest common denominator is, surprise surprise, pretty goddamn low, and that most people would rather watch a nonsensical mega-budget action movie with good effects to a lean, mean thriller with perhaps more heart than ability. I know, I know, stop the fucking presses.

Mind, as far as campy shoot-em-ups go you’d be hard pressed to find another early 90s cheesefest to rival T2 for technical ability and action set pieces—but then the first movie had both of those, and managed to avoid the ankle-snapping pitfalls that T2 is pocked with. When you’re trying to make a sequel to a movie about time travel you’re already setting out with a strike or two against you, and T2’s solution is to make things even more nonsensically convoluted in the hope that nobody will notice it makes zero sense whatsoever. There’s a reason critics compare the series’ narrative paradoxes to the old Planet of the Apes movies, which is never a good thing. Granted, I haven’t seen the third or fourth movies, or the tv show, which maybe ties it up real good, but I did play the Robocop Vs. Terminator videogame and feel like I can talk about the franchise with some small authority.

That said, re-watching it was a lot of fun, because, well, for all the annoying bits and stupidity it’s a pretty goddamn fun flick if one has the childhood memories I do, or if you’re the type who enjoys non-stop explosions, car chases, and shoot-outs [Molly says: I do, but I’m nothing if not perpetually disappointed by life]. Not the sort of fun movie I’m ever going to re-watch now that I’ve been back to the well, but hey, better than Conan the Destroyer. Maybe.

High Points: The T-1000 effects, which, as far as CGI goes, have aged impressively well. S. Epatha Merkerson showing up and taking her role seriously. The nostalgia factor, that draws one back to a mindset where the acting, plot, and pretty much everything else could be overlooked in light of shit getting shot and blown up with extreme prejudice. Shit getting shot and blowing up with extreme prejudice:

Link!

Low Points: Crazy mom being crazy. Any scene where shit is not getting shot and blowing up with extreme prejudice. The kid. The clumsy stabs at acting, which miss all the major organs and leave the audience bleeding out through countless agonizing gashes. The relentlessly annoying pop-soundtrack, most especially the scene where the Terminator goes into that redneck bar to “Bad to the Bone.” The camp, which rather than being so-bad-it’s-good, is often so-bad-it’s-bad.

Final Verdict: Seriously, we just compared this movie to Conan the Destroyer.

Next Week: Probably Alien.

Films of High Adventure is over at Fantasy Magazine today, with a double-whammy nostalgia-heavy review of the Rankin/Bass The Hobbit and Return of the King cartoons. The Hobbit cartoon in particular was especially important to me as a kid, because The Hobbit was the standard for all things awesome for me until I reached maybe 13 years old or so.

This one was as fun to write as it was not-fun to re-watch (what?). True story: Jesse and I were bickering about watching RotK as we were renting it from the video store, which prompted the clerk to ask why we were spending four dollars on something neither of us wanted to watch at all. Such a query gave us pause, but then we came to the conclusion that it was worth it, because we were doing it all for you, gentle reader. So just keep that in mind, OK?

We’re kinder to The Hobbit than to RotK, which is only fair because The Hobbit is genuinely ok/good whereas RotK. . . never mind. It’s all there in the review, along with the only good scene in RotK, from which the still above is taken.

Uncle! I have avenged thee!

Jesse Bullington and I have (perhaps foolishly) decided to embark upon a quest: watching “classic” adventure movies that informed one or both of our childhoods. These columns will run every Wednesday on our blogs, excluding the last post of each month, which will appear over at Fantasy Magazine. Today we turn to science fiction to provide us with high adventure of the omg teh technologiez!! type:

The Film: The Terminator (1984)

WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS??? James Cameron, who directed and co-wrote with his then-wife Gale Anne Hurd (now a very successful producer in her own right), with “additional dialogue” written by William Wisher, Jr. (who also wrote The 13^th Warrior). Harlan Ellison later sued over, er, similarities between the movie and his Outer Limits scripts for the episodes Demon with a Glass Hand and Solider—the matter was settled out of court, with an acknowledgement to Ellison tacked on later prints. Acting, if you will, by Arnie (da-hoy), Linda Hamilton (Children of the Corn, the crazyass Beauty and the Beast tv show with Ron Perlman), Michael Biehn (The Abyss, Navy Seals), Paul Winfield (The Serpent and the Rainbow), and Lance Henriksen (Aliens, Near Dark), with wee little roles for Bill Paxton (Near Dark, Aliens) and Dick Miller (More B-movies than you’ve ever seen).

Quote: You really don’t need our help coming up with a quote from this.

Alternate quote: Seriously.

First viewing by Molly: Last week. Yes. I made it to almost 29 years of age without seeing Terminator. I’ve never seen Dirty Dancing, Alien, or Terminator 2, either. Are you new to this column or something?

First viewing by Jesse: The night before we went to see Terminator 2: Judgment Day in the theatre. So, nine years old.

Most recent viewing by both: Last week.

Impact on Molly’s childhood development: Beyond knowing the “I’ll be back” catchphrase, I suppose none. I remember seeing the previews for Terminator 2: Judgment Day and thinking it looked pretty cool. The likelihood of my parents allowing me to rent or see either was nonexistent, though, so I largely ignored the phenomenon.

Impact on Jesse’s childhood development: Honestly, not nearly as high as it was for a lot of kids my age. The reason, I suspect, is that I had already watched and become obsessed with a different film concerning androids, action, and the fate of the free world: Eliminators. The Terminator might have been cool, but after coming down from Eliminators there was a distinct lack of ninjas, dune buggies, and Denise Crosby. Terminator 2, on the other hand, did significantly better by nine year old Jesse’s estimation.

Random youtube clip that hasn’t been taken down for copyright infringement:

Molly’s thoughts prior to watching: I was excited. After all, I was a blank slate as far as this movie was concerned, and my affection for Arnold had grown substantially after Jesse and I watched Conan. John and Jesse tried to talk some trash about it being slow and/or boring, but Raechel assured me it was well worth my time.

Jesse’s thoughts prior to re-watching: Again, I liked it when I saw it but don’t think I ever went back to it after that childhood viewing, meaning almost twenty years had passed since watching it. I had confidence in Cameron’s ability to make a watchable action movie but had no idea if Molly would be terminally bored or blown away—movies like The Terminator don’t leave a lot of room in between. More than anything else I was eager to see how the practical effects held up, and anything with Lance Henriksen’s beautifully weathered face will get me to sit still—I’ve seen Pumpkinhead: Ashes to Ashes, for chrissake.

Molly’s thoughts post-viewing: I’d hoped it would be good, and I was rewarded for that hope. Though some of the practical effects left me giggling (the one post-apocalyptic cityscape they show constantly is just terrible, as are the various unconvincing latex Arnold-masks) I was pleased by how goddamn good this movie is. Really! It wasn’t slow, but rather had that slow-burn quality of 80s action movies, and I really appreciated that. It saddens me that in this Age of Michael Bay, a movie that is only, say, 50% explosions/stuff getting shot is considered “boring” by intelligent folks like Jesse and my husband (Jesse calls shenanigans—I said I thought Molly would find it boring. The times I’ve tried to expose her to Jarmusch and Bergman have led to much squirming and yawning, and I think we can agree Cameron is comparable to those directors, amirite?) (Molly says: did—did you just compare The Terminator to Dead Man? And/or The Seventh Seal? Whut?). Taste the burnsauce (Jesse says: too hot!)!

The Terminator is, I noted, the quintessential 80s movie. Moreso than even many of the John Hughes offerings, I think. While a Ferris Bueller’s Day Off is certainly a contender, The Terminator is this amazing pastiche of what was cool in ‘84: Punks in leather jackets being punks in leather jackets! Nikes! Trenchcoats! Guns! Sunglasses! Answering machines! Walkmen-wearing babes who chew gum constantly and wear said Walkman (1) getting ready for sex, (2) during sex, and (3) into the kitchen to make a giant post-sex sandwich! Payphones! A nightclub called Tech Noir! Synthesized music! A model tank rolling over model skulls! A bored psychologist! Cops! Polaroids! Arnold Fucking Schwarzenegger! It’s amazing.

Jesse was saying something I’m too lazy to verify about how the script was ripped off from the same script that would also become The Matrix, and I find that “conspiracy-theory reasonable” (Jesse says: I snopesed it and it seems the lawsuit in question was dropped, which of course means nothing to any conspiracy theorist worth his David Icke collection). It’s kind of the same movie in a lot of ways, with its fear of A.I./technology in general and amusing plot holes/belief that “just because” is enough of a reason for people to do stuff, since, seriously, people will be coming to this movie to see shit shot at with guns, anyway, right? To wit: why do the machines attack in The Matrix? “We don’t know who struck first,” I believe is how they cover that one, though it’s admittedly been a while. Why does La Resistance in The Terminator try to save Sarah Connor instead of, say, sending back people to prevent the creation of Skynet? Um! Maybe a person went back in time to 1995 and saw 12 Monkeys, therefore knowing such an effort to be futile? How, in The Matrix, did the original dude who “saw through the code” do that? Why does the titular Terminator drive a car through the police station after delivering the classic line, instead of just shooting stuff and breaking it with his fists? I don’t know! The most important thing is, of course, who cares! EXPLOSIONS! A TRUCK BLOWING UP BUT OMG HE’S STILL ALIVE! A METAL SKELETON BEING COMPRESSED TO DEATH IN SOME SORT OF FACTORY! WOOOOOOO!

I loved it.

Jesse’s thoughts post-viewing: Hey, not bad guys—way to go! As is the case with the sequel—and, I imagine, the rest of the series—intelligence, and often coherence, takes a back seat to impressive action sequences and chases scenes. That said, the inherently paradoxical plot actually works better here than in T2, if I’m remembering correctly, and in any event, it totally has a silhouette of Arnold’s dingus and a dude getting his heart ripped out in one scene alone, so who cares if the script makes sense, amirite?

Earlier I mentioned being curious as to how the practical effects held up—pretty good, as it turns out. I tend to be a bit more forgiving than Molly where non-CGI stuff is concerned and so I even dug the flesh-stripped android effect at the end, even if it did resemble a chromed Harryhausen skeleton. (Molly says: whatever. I love practical effects more than CGI as much as the next person who breathes with his or her mouth shut, but there’s a difference between, say, that weird eyeball-winged thing in Hellboy 2 and, well, the chromed Haryhausen skeleton in Terminator. So there.), I think part of the reason I like it is that it does hearken back to said stop-motion animated beasties, and I tend to agree with another friend who opinioned that even poor practical effects encourage us to suspend our disbelief, whereas CGI too often knocks us right out of the experience. Arnie doing surgery on himself? Still awesome twenty five years later, even if the inside of a complicated skin job android only consists of three little pistons.

In reading up on the film for this column I think I may have hit on James Cameron’s main problem as a director, which rears its face even here—with the exception, perhaps, of Aliens, he doesn’t know how to properly pace a movie; if imdb is to be believed, The Terminator is his only film that clocks in at less than two hours. Not a problem per se, except even The Terminator seems like it could have been a bit shorter, but then it’s still a helluva lot less boring than a lot of the films we’ve revisited here. Plus, Soldier of Fortune magazine approved, so who am I to diss the legend?

High Points: Arnold doing his dumbass thing. Sarah Connor’s totally 80s roommate who won’t take off her walkman during sex. Raechel trying to convince us all that the soundtrack was good. The scene in the gun store with Dick Miller:

Final Verdict: Yeah, ok, it’s still pretty awesome, in a lunkheaded sort of way.

Next Week: over at Fantasy Magazine again, this time with a double feature of the Hobbit/Return of the King cartoons, despite Jesse’s whining and dookie-frowns about watching the latter of the two.

Jesse Bullington and I have (perhaps foolishly) decided to embark upon a quest: watching “classic” adventure movies that informed one or both of our childhoods. These columns will run every Wednesday on our blogs, excluding the last post of each month, which will appear over at Fantasy Magazine. This week we take on what must be the most rented-and-then-returned-unfinished kids’ movies of all time. . .

The Film: Watership Down (1978)

WHOSE RESPONSIBLE THIS??? Richard Adams first and foremost, that funny-loving scribe who also penned Plague Dogs, a novel about a pair of dogs who escape from an animal testing lab and are subsequently hunted by scientists. Script and direction by Martin Rosen based on Adams’ novel—Rosen went on to adapt Plague Dogs into a cartoon as well. Rather baffling soundtrack by Angela Morton, with an especially odious Art Garfunkel song inserted into the latter half that not only slows the film down but also led to Conor Oberst finding the perfect name for his band, though he’ll deny it and claim it’s a reference to the Shirely Temple film of the same name. We know the truth, Conor. Excellent voice acting by John Hurt (pretty much everything that’s awesome), Richard Briers (a lot of Kenneth Branaugh’s Shakespeare adaptations, including Hamlet and Henry V), Michael Graham Cox (a huge amount of British television I’ve never watched), Ralph Richardson (Time Bandits, Dragonslayer—we’ll be seeing more of old Ralphie around here), Denholm Elliot (Noises Off, the Indiana Jones movies), Zero Mostel (A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum—Duh), and a load of other equally competent Britons. Finally, a stirring huzzah for the animation department—far too many individuals to name here, but props to the prop-worthy.

Quote: “There’s a dog loose in the wood!”

Alternate quote: “Stupid bunnies! Don’t got mates!”

First viewing by Jesse: Before age had any meaning—maybe six?

First viewing by Molly: Young. Young young young.

Most recent viewing by both: Last night.

Impact on Jesse’s childhood development: High. This was part of my parents’ betamax collection, and one I came back to again and again—yet for some reason I never took the time to read the novel, despite requesting and receiving a copy one early birthday. I was pretty young when I went through my bloody-mawed rabbits phase, so perhaps the book was over my head and by the time I was old enough to appreciate it the paperback had disappeared and I’d moved on to other bloody-mawed things.

Impact on Molly’s childhood development: High, for book and film. Let’s put it this way—my well-worn paperback copy of Watership Down has a quote on the front that’s something along the lines of “everyone who can read English should read this book” and I have a hard time disagreeing. So yeah, I like it.

I do recall that my first viewing was incomplete–I was forced to turn it off because it was traumatizing whichever friend I was watching it with. I believe it was during the horrifying scene where Captain Holly recounts the gassing of the Sandleford Warren. A charming film! If memory serves, the whimpers from my co-viewer began with the weeeeeeird, vaguely perhaps Aboriginal art-inspired opening where Frith punishes El-ahrairah—you know, the Prince with a Thousand Enemies, the John Henry/Robin Hood/King Arthur of the rabbits—for his cheek. I also recall pitching a fit when I was forced to turn it off—I wanted to know what happened to those goddamn rabbits.

Random youtube clip that hasn’t been taken down for copyright infringement:

Jesse’s thoughts prior to re-watching: I remember an incident, maybe six years ago, where I considered re-watching it but balked. I was still managing Video 21, this rad little independent video store in Tallahassee, and a guy came up the counter holding our battered vhs of Watership Down in one hand and his four year old daughter’s hand in the other. I asked if the movie was for her, and when he looked at me as if I was taking the piss I quickly asked if he had seen it. He had not. I explained that maybe it would be better if he screened it first considering some of the content, which led to him simply putting the movie back and getting a Beatrix Potter tape instead—his daughter’s go-to favorite, apparently. After they left I flirted with renting it myself, then re-shelved it in the Cult Classics instead of the Children’s films and called it a day—I do hope he went back and rented it for her when she was a little older.

Fast forward to the present and I was a little nervous—as much as I loved it as a kid, I hadn’t re-watched it for the better part of twenty years and while sometimes that distance makes a movie even better, other times revisiting a cherish film obviously sours the memory. Granted, from what I remembered I knew I wasn’t descending into another Conan the Destroyer, but the fear is ever present. Would there be more comic relief than I remembered? Would I start blubbering at the sad parts, whereupon Molly would out me in this column as a great big crybaby? (Molly says: Look, I weep at the end of the book every time I read it, and would never call someone out for being moved when Hazel is called to join the Owsla of the Black Rabbit of Inle. Also—he totally did cry at the end, but tried to front like I hadn’t seen that tear run down his cheek! [Jesse says: point of order—this really should be addressed in the post-viewing thoughts section or, better yet, not at all] But in the interest of full disclosure. . . I cried too.) Was it as brutal as my memories? I loved it as a child, yes, but it also savaged my young mind something fierce.

Molly’s thoughts prior to re-watching: I was more confident in the film holding up because I’d rented it maybe eight or ten years ago, in a sort of precursor to this exercise. I also was in the mood because I’d picked it back up as some literary comfort food a few nights ago and ended up re-reading the whole thing.

The best thing was, however, the reaction our respective spouses had when we mentioned it was time to do Watership Down for Films of High Adventure. Normally, John and Raech are merely baffled by our odd need to punish our eyes, ears, and minds with films from our past—this time, they both looked downright apprehensive. Raech, I believe, asked some version of the very good question “why would you do that to yourselves?” John just shuddered.

Jesse’s thoughts post-viewing: Whoa. It’s crazy how much of this movie came back to me as I was watching it—I remembered just about every other scene as it was happening, right down to snatches of dialogue that have lay dormant in the old grey stuff for two decades; sleeper memories. I was genuinely impressed with how well everything held up, which is not often the case here around Films of High Adventure. Sure, we enjoy re-watching the movies, but that doesn’t mean they’re actually good, whereas with the exception of the occasionally fragmented storyline, and a certain wart named Art Garfunkel, this holds up crazy good.

It also wasn’t as grim as I remembered, or rather, I didn’t find it as sad/intense/scary, but then again I’m almost thirty so that probably impacts things a little. More than anything it really makes me want to read the novel one of these days, though I’ll probably give it some time—only so much bunny-on-bunny violence I can take in short span of time. Further differentiating itself from a lot of the movies we revisit here, I’d go so far as to say Watership Down is important, especially as a children’s film. Re-watching it made me regret moving Video 21’s copy to the Cult section instead of finding some other solution, because I can’t think of another movie that mixes a quest narrative with serious, realistic problems to better effect while still being highly accessible to kids. Plus, it has a silly bird, and kids love silly birds in cartoons:

Of course, the downside of this being a quality film about talking animals is that it was nigh impossible to find clips of it on youtube that weren’t overdubbed with the Lion King theme or some terrible pop song that bunbunfan69 really thinks captures the unspoken sexual tension simmering between Bigwig and General Woundwort in their final battle. At least I know if Molly ever really pisses me off and I need something truly evil to slip into an innocuous email I can find some Watership Down fanfic with the quickness.

Molly’s thoughts post-viewing: Ahahah. I knew this was going to be awesome even from the first moment, as the DVD menu is the same as the poster:

WTF? Really? I love that the brutality of this film comes out in even the DVD menu. . . but what was the thought process here? Hey guys, you know that poster we made of Bigwig getting caught in a snare, you know, where he almost dies? Yeah, let’s use that as the first thing viewers see on the DVD. That’ll teach ‘em to rent Watership Fucking Down.

Anywho, God, but this is a movie made to encourage children to be Anglophiles, or nurture the Anglophile in the initiated grownup.  The landscapes are all like, hey, do you know what was awesome? The Hay Wain. Let’s make the whole movie look like that! There’s even a scene where Hazel and a friend raid a farm and they hear BBC coming in through the open window. So good!

It’s weird. In some ways, the movie tries to soften the book. . . for instance, doe rabbits play a more prominent role than in Adams’ original text, which makes sense cuz WD is a kids’ movie, and in the book, does are really looked at as breeding stock but not much more by the bucks. Also, just by virtue of it being a faster text, the movie removes some of the weirdness of the Warren of the Snares, and some of the ickyness surrounding General Woundwort and his horrible warren, Efrafa. I mean—here. Let’s just take a look at one of the poems in the book, shall we? This one is sung by one of the does of Efrafa to her friends who tried to leave the oppression and the insanity of General Woundwort’s rule, only to be rebuked and punished:

Long ago,

The yellowhammer sang, high on the thorn,

He sang near the litter that the doe brought out to play

He sang in the wind, and the kittens played below.

Their time slipped by, all under the elder bloom.

But the bird flew away, and now my heart is dark

And time will never play in the fields again.

Long ago,

The orange beetles clung to the rye-grass stems.

The windy grass was waving. A buck and a doe

Ran through the meadow. They scratched a hole in the bank,

They did what they pleased all under the hazel leaves.

But the beetles died in the frost and my heart is dark;

And I shall never choose a mate again.

The frost is falling, the frost falls into my body,

My nostrils, my ears are torpid under the frost.

The swift will come in the spring, crying “News! News!

Does, flow with milk and dig holes for your litters!”

I shall not hear. The embryos return

Into my dulled body. Across my sleep

There runs a wire fence to imprison the wind.

I shall never feel the wind blowing again.

At the same time (Jesse says: Jesus! We’re just moving on after that?! Not, like, a moment of silence or something? Jesu—I mean, Frith!), the movie ups the terror in weird ways. Unlike in the book, Hazel and his group of rabbits leave the Sandelford Warren with a doe—Violet—who gets snatched up by a hawk early on, and it’s like. . . OK! Awesome! Also, for no reason, the rabbits take shelter in a mausoleum rather than a barn, necessitating they lope through the World’s Spookiest Graveyard.

I think, though, what I love most about Watership Down is its expectation of the audience having some familiarity with the text. Richard Adams, in the book, gives the rabbits their own language—“lapine,” natch—and thus terms like “Owsla” (a chief rabbit’s go-to crew), “hrair” (many), “elil” (blanket term for enemies), and “hraka” (poop) are revealed through explanatory notes and even a dictionary for reference. In the movie, of course, the viewer has no dictionary, and so the uninitiated are left to boggle at, say, one of the first scenes where Hazel and Fiver are chased off a coltsfoot by two big fuckin rabbits after one snaps “coltsfoots are for Owsla, you know that.” OK! Sure! Then later on Bigwig cries “hraka!” while frustrated, and so on. It’s really awesome.

High Points: That it was made, and in such an uncompromising fashion. The beautiful watercolor backgrounds where, if you look closely enough, you can even see the texture of the Bristol board coming through. The decision to make certain parts darker than the book. The disturbing bits, such as Cowslip’s crazy ass. John Hurt. The emotion one comes to feel for cartoon rabbits. That it allegedly spawned the first roleplaying game where you could play a non-human character—Bunnies and Burrows. The fact that they didn’t end the movie before the final, tear-jerking moment. The opening animation sequence:

Final Verdict: When the Black Rabbit of Inle calls, you must answer.