Review: BLACK MASS (2015)

BLACK MASS comes across as one of those movies engineered in a Hollywood lab to win awards. It's centered around a handsome A-lister whom we're all expected to applaud for willingly appearing less handsome—so brave. It's set in a place with a distinct regional accent so that everyone in the cast can prove to us how great they are. That cast is extensive, with every role, however small, filled by a relatively big name to increase the odds of a Best Supporting statuette. That sounds fine on paper, but not in your ear, when every other scene inevitably devolves into a battle of dueling fake Bostonian accents in which volume seems to be the only deciding factor, "GAWDDAMMIT MARIANNE, WHO BAWT YOU THAT NEW CAH?" All of that being said, the "true" story presented can be interesting, if only during its more intimate moments. Similarly, some of the subtler aspects of the performances, tucked between the "FACK"s and the "OH MY GAWD"s, are often captivating and occasionally downright frightening.

Johnny Depp plays Whitey Bulger (which, coincidentally, is how I refer to my penis), the infamously vicious/weird-looking Southie crime lord. Or at least he's infamously weird-looking now, because for some reason the BLACK MASS makeup department went for a "middle-aged Edward Scissorhands on meth" look that's the focus of every trailer. I looked up the real Whitey and while he's certainly no Clooney, he's definitely playing in a higher league than the bipedal mole-rat the film portrays him as. Whitey is the head of the Winter Hill Gang, a Boston Irish crime syndicate that practically runs Southie. Then there's John Connolly, played by Joel Edgerton, who grew up with Whitey on the streets of Boston, getting into fights and playing "cawps and robbahs." John went on to become a Fed but seems to wish he'd stuck with Whitey and become a career criminal because he breaks the law at every fucking turn. At first it's all for the greater good; he turns a blind eye to Whitey's business and Whitey coughs up information on the North Boston-based Italian mob, Winter Hill's rival and arguably the bigger threat of the two. It's a mutually beneficial "alliance," a word John throws around a lot whenever someone asks why he's having so many barbecues with a well-known murderer.

There's a definite bromantic dimension to their relationship, which I enjoyed. John tells his wife that Whitey once backed him in a schoolyard fight, earning his respect and admiration, "BUT DID HE TAKE YOU TRICK AH TREATIN', JOHN?" Unfortunately for her, John seems to adhere to the "bros before hoes" code, or more specifically, "Whiteys before wifeys," and his marriage begins to fall apart. Eventually it's "mobs before jobs." Witnesses with information tying Whitey to various murders start turning up dead themselves, which is suspicious, considering John was the only one they talked to. This somehow goes unnoticed by the initial DA, who seems like a good dude but also sort of a schmuck. His successor is a pre-fire (or acid, or whatever origin story you want to go with) Harvey Dent type with a hard-on for justice, which is bad news for John. There's a hilarious scene where John tries to win over this new DA with a pair of Red Sox tickets but gets utterly shut down. To make matters worse, the DA starts asking why Whitey's still running around murdering people and John flounders, throwing out nonsensical excuses for being caught off guard like, "I'm not in my office!" as if the answer is on a post-it note in there or something.

Meanwhile Whitey's still running around murdering people, or at least threatening to eat or bury them. Interestingly, while the makeup department tried to mole-ratify Whitey, the writers tried to humanize him, tossing out all sorts of possible explanations for why he's so fucked up. These range from clinical LSD testing during his bid on Alcatraz, to the unexpected loss of his loved ones. The plot structure lends credence to these explanations, with the majority of the really fucked up shit following in wake of a particularly tragic death, whereas before, it seems as if Whitey was mostly just helping old ladies carry their groceries and playing Gin Rummy with his mother. Johnny Depp charms during these nice bad guy bits, which is a real testament to his performance considering he can't rely on his looks. He's played smooth criminals before, the sort who woo girls with a smile and lines like, "I like baseball, movies, good clothes, fast cars, whiskey, and you..." (PUBLIC ENEMIES), but Whitey is different. He may be humanized but he's never romanticized. Even Jason Voorhees loved his mom, though, and the scenes where Whitey isn't beating someone with a wrench or strangling teenage prostitutes help to create a more three-dimensional character. He's just not someone you want to be, which I think distinguishes BLACK MASS from movies like SCARFACE or GOODFELLAS, male power fantasies where well-dressed guys with nice cars are up to their eyeballs in drugs and women.

The Winter Hill Gang are blue-collar criminals who never forget where they came from because they never left. When Whitey comes home from "work," he might as well be coming home from the mill or something. He tosses his keys down, tells his ma he's beat, and tries to go upstairs for a nap, before ultimately being suckered into another game of Gin Rummy. In this scene, there is nothing about his appearance, most accurately described as Springsteen-esque (worn leather jacket, blue jeans, and boots), or general demeanor that betrays his position as a successful mob boss. When the filmmakers want to illustrate that the Winter Hill Gang is prospering, we get a scene where Whitey buys himself a new pair of boots, and that's it—no fancy suits, nice cars, or big houses. There's just a refreshing air of modesty about these guys, which, again, distinguishes BLACK MASS from other gangster movies.

As far as the performances go, they're all fine. Maybe it's partly due to a lackluster script, but few people really stand out. There are some notable exceptions, however, my favorite being Peter Sarsgaard, who seems to be doing an impression of John Malkovich doing an impression of Woody Allen. His character is Brian Halloran, a sweaty, unstable hitman who even makes Whitey's boys, a bunch of hardened killers, uncomfortable. Brian apparently shot his drug dealers in the middle of a Chinese restaurant, in full view of dozens of people, so everyone's a little wary of him. Sarsgaard seems like sort of an eccentric guy in real life, making him a natural fit for these types of roles. Jesse Plemons, who I don't remember ever seeing in anything and first thought was Ike Barinholtz in prosthetic makeup, is also worth mentioning. He plays Kevin Weeks, a bouncer-turned-mobster who impresses Whitey by taking on four unruly drunks, one of whom turns out to be Whitey's cousin—the kid's got balls... Plemons doesn't have too many lines, but his physical performance is scary. I mean, look at this guy. I wouldn't fuck with him.

Then there's Johnny Depp, who's obviously great. You don't need me to tell you that. I don't want to disregard his performance, though, so let me just say that some of his scenes are genuinely hair-raising. Whitey often shifts straight from amiable to menacing, and Depp handles this with ease. Joel Edgerton is good, too. John is an ass-hole and Edgerton really sells it, to the point where I have to remind myself that Edgerton's probably an alright guy in real life, or else I'll end up disliking him for years, like I did Timothy Olyphant after LIVE FREE OR DIE HARD.

I guess my biggest issue with BLACK MASS is that it's just sort of soulless. Aside from the interesting dynamic between John and Whitey, the novelty of a blue-collared Boston Irish mob focus, and the guys I just mentioned, everything else is exactly what you'd expect from this sort of movie. The senior law enforcement officer yells and swears a lot (only in BLACK MASS, everyone yells and swears a lot, so it's especially tedious), women are portrayed as a nagging hindrance to men's ambition, and everyone learns the hard way that crime doesn't pay—except for when it pays for a new pair of boots, but you'll eventually lose them when you go to prison.

Review: LADY TERMINATOR (1989)

LADY TERMINATOR may very well be the quintessential "so bad, it's good" movie. Marketed as Indonesia's answer to James Cameron's 1984 classic, the film is an hour and twenty minutes of glorious garbage haphazardly strewn over THE TERMINATOR's narrative framework. You've still got your time-travelling, super assassin, sure, but you've also got a crotch-dwelling eel that bites off unsuspecting men's penises. I don't really remember that being in THE TERMINATOR, but then again, it has been a few years since I sat down and watched the whole thing.

The film begins with a sex scene, fulfilling the first half of its tagline's promise, "SHE MATES..." Things seem to be going pretty well, and this despite the fact that they're both wearing clothes, à la Steven Seagal's work between the sheets (no bulky hoodies, though). Then out of nowhere, the woman, who's straddling the guy, makes a face like she's trying to bend a spoon with her mind and blood starts shooting all over the guy's chest. He dies and the woman summons attendants to haul his corpse away. Truly, "SHE MATES, THEN SHE TERMINATES." THEN SHE EATS GRAPES and asks herself if there's any man who can satisfy her. The next guy comes close, but really kills the mood when he pulls an eel out from between her legs, transforms it into a dagger, and shouts, "You are my wife now!"—I love learning about other countries' marital customs. The woman isn't looking to settle down though, and swears vengeance on the guy's great-granddaughter before vanishing.

Look, if I haven't already sold you on LADY TERMINATOR, then there must be a hole in your life that no amount of eels will fill. But, if like me, you're already writing the Academy to tell them they dropped the ball with their 1989 Best Foreign Language Film selection (sorry, CINEMA PARADISO), then take my hand, my friend, and come along with me...

Fast forward one hundred years. Tania, played by Barbara Anne Constable, is a budding young anthropology student writing her grad thesis on The Legend of the South Sea Queen, a story referenced in the opening credits as a basis for the film (no mention of THE TERMINATOR, though). It seems the woman from before—you know, the one with the crotch eel—, was said legendary Queen, and with the help of a strange library book and a local sea captain who looks a lot like an Indonesian Quint from JAWS, Tania sets sail to locate the submerged ruins of the Queen's former palace.

The Captain tries to warn Tania that his first mate, Popeye (seriously), lost his brother to the sea when he embarked on a similar expedition, but dammit, "people are building space stations on the moon," and Tania won't be deterred from diving down to the palace. She should have listened, because before long, she's tied to a bed with an eel all up in her. If I've lost you, I apologize, but that's really what happens next. Meanwhile, the Captain falls victim to a wave, which I assume is supposed to be one of those huge, PERFECT STORM, Clooney-killing type waves, but which comes across as a normal-sized wave that the camera operator zooms in on (because it is). I didn't realize what was happening until a stagehand or someone dumps a bucket of water on the Captain and we never see him again.

You're probably wondering, "Hey, Dylan, isn't this supposed to be a TERMINATOR knockoff or something?" Up until this point in the film, there hadn't been anything even remotely TERMINATOR-esque about LADY TERMINATOR, but a sudden, heavy synth score, very reminiscent of Brad Fiedel's work in T1 and T2, heralds change. If you'll recall, early in THE TERMINATOR, Arnold's T-800 has a run-in with some punks, including a blue-haired Bill Paxton. They seem like jerks, to be sure, but they really only poke fun at the T-800 for being ass-naked at a public observatory ("Wash day tomorrow... Nothing clean, right?"). Seems like fair game to me. It isn't until the T-800 demands that the punks fork over their clothes that they get hostile. In LADY TERMINATOR, we get a similar scene, except these two guys are fucking lunatics. I shit you not, one of them is drinking their own urine and talking about marrying his right fist—the epitome of self-sufficiency, I suppose, but crazy nonetheless. He also invokes our favorite pickpenis, "Hey, remember the legend of the South Sea Queen? Wouldn't it be nice if she could come now?" Apparently he skipped the chapter with all the dick thievery. Well, be careful what you wish for, bud, because just then, a naked Tania, possessed by the Queen via her crotch eel emissary and thus given supernatural powers, emerges from the water to seduce, and ultimately kill the men in a manner in keeping with the Queen's unique M.O. Granted, in THE TERMINATOR, the T-800 doesn't rely on penetration to kill the punks (excluding his fist penetrating that one dude's chest), but the synth score and Constable's steely gaze help LADY TERMINATOR to effectively mimic the general feel of Cameron's film. The scene ends the same way, too, with Tania stealing one of the punks' cool jackets.

I like this scene because it's the first to really illustrate what LADY TERMINATOR is in relation to THE TERMINATOR, i.e. a remake that substitutes an Indonesian legend for Cameron's dystopian drama, and schlock for his style. In THE TERMINATOR, the T-800 uses a phone book to find all the Sarah Connors in L.A. (this was before all that CATFISH, Spokeo shit, kids). He eventually gets the address right but ends up shooting Sarah Connor's roommate, having mistaken her for the mother of the resistance. Tania makes a similar mistake in pursuit of that guy's great-granddaughter, who we learn is named Erica, and shoots her friend instead. I don't know how Tania got so close to finding Erica—maybe the crotch eel acts as a sort of dowsing rod or compass needle—, but the point is, both films hit the same general story beats. The difference, though, is in the execution. Not how the women are killed, because they're both shot, but how the filmmakers handle these scenes. Cameron prefers to focus on the T-800 over the havoc he wreaks, because Arnold has incomparable screen presence. When the T-800 kills Sarah Connor's roommate, we get a quick shot of a bullet tearing through her nightgown and sending her flying, but the meat of the scene looks like this:

In LADY TERMINATOR, conversely, director H. Tjut Djalil (credited as Jalil Jackson), opts for the "schlock and awe, motherfuckers!" approach, so when Tania kills Erica's friend, it looks like this:

Later in THE TERMINATOR, the T-800 tracks Sarah Connor to a police station where she's being held and proceeds to trash the joint. He rams a car up some poor pencil-pusher's ass, cuts the power to the building, and kills a bunch of dudes—about 14, by my count. It's great, operatic violence that plays like a John Woo scene minus the doves and blood squibs (save for during a couple of key kills). In LADY TERMINATOR, Tania does nearly the same thing, right down to driving a car through the station, only everything's ramped up. Some guy is at the front desk complaining about his paycheck being short when Tania comes crashing through the front doors, and there's a third guy kicking around in the back that gets it, too. I counted at least 31 definite kills, more than twice the amount in THE TERMINATOR's equivalent scene. Shockingly, LADY TERMINATOR not only excels in terms of its kill quantity, but also in terms of its kill quality. Now I'm not saying that this crazy eel-stuffing, piss-drinking Indonesian ripoff is better than Cameron's original film, but I defy you to watch it and tell me that it isn't more fun. So while it's reasonable that the T-800, a machine programmed to kill, would go for vital organ shots (head, chest, etc.), these just aren't as laughably over the top as the stuff you find in LADY TERMINATOR. I mean, Tania's running around shooting people's dicks off.

One guy even gets the full Sonny Corleone treatment, but Tania puts her own special spin on it and kicks him in the crotch instead of the face.

You get the sense that this stupid movie is always actively trying to one up THE TERMINATOR, a film that cracked IMDb's top 250 (it currently holds the #206 spot) and that was selected for preservation by the Library of Congress, and you've just got to admire that degree of temerity. I mean, it even throws down the gauntlet to Linda Hamilton's mullet.

That mullet dude is Snake, by the way, and his scenes are undoubtedly my favorite parts of the film. We're first introduced to him during a bar fight between LADY TERMINATOR's Kyle Reese character, Max, and some guy with a ponytail who tries to proposition a girl by calling her "pretty face" twice and asking if "she wants to feel it first." Max punches the guy, who then stumbles over to Snake's corner of the bar, where he's greeted with a "HI, ASSHOLE," and treated to another shot in the breadbasket and several of Snake's overemphasized, mullet-whipping head turns. We learn that Snake is Max's old army buddy, which explains their great fight chemistry, but then he disappears until the end of the film, when he suddenly reappears to clasp hands with Max and their other buddies and shout, "Let's kick ass!" And kick ass they do. Snake definitely kicks the most, sprinting away for literally seconds and somehow returning with a tank. He rips around, shouting things like "CHARGE" and "FUCKIN' A" while standing up through the open hatch and flexing. He also gets the honor of diving through the air while a tanker truck explodes behind him. He's everything I wish I could be.

Man, I should really wrap this up before I fall any deeper down the eel hole. There's just too much crazy shit in this movie to try to contextualize. It has everything—Achilles crotches, laser eyes, hilariously inappropriate reactions to a friend's death, and the creepiest fucking fire mask I've ever seen on a stunt performer. Seriously, they look like Leatherface...

If you're wondering about the performances and the script and all that, well, you've probably come to the wrong critic, but you're definitely approaching this film the wrong way, because everything about LADY TERMINATOR is terrible. But it's that special kind of terrible, the kind that seems to transcend criticism. The film is one misstep after another, ultimately taking you somewhere the filmmakers likely hadn't intended, but the journey is enormously entertaining, and I'm of the belief that the only truly bad films are the boring ones.

Review: THE VISIT (2015)

I was at my local video store the other day to grab a copy of JESSABELLE when, seeing my selection, an employee struck up a conversation about contemporary horror films. I mentioned that my cousin and I were going to see THE VISIT later that evening and was surprised to learn that the guy, despite being an obvious genre fan, had no intention of ever seeing M. Night "Sixth Sense" Shyamalan's return to horror. In his mind, because Shyamalan's last few projects had been largely disappointing, there was little to no chance that THE VISIT would be worth his time. Well, here's a twist he didn't see coming: THE VISIT is effectively unsettling, surprisingly funny, and, at times, very reminiscent of the films that first put this talented, if inconsistent storyteller on the map.

Mo'Fuckin' M. Night playing the world's smallest violin for everyone upset over Airbender.

THE VISIT follows two children, Becca and Tyler, played by Olivia DeJonge and Ed Oxenbould, who decide to visit their estranged grandparents at their remote country home. Becca and Tyler's mom, played by Kathryn Hahn, is very opposed to this, though, having had a falling out with her parents which she refuses to talk about. We're left to wonder what happened as Becca, who shares our curiosity, probes her mother and grandparents for answers, hoping to ultimately discover an "elixir," closure that will end her mother's emotional turmoil. Becca's intentions aren't completely selfless, however, as the pint-sized Povich always has her cameras rolling on the family drama. I suppose "drama" is somewhat of an understatement, though. "Shit storm" (literally) seems more apt, because as Becca and Tyler quickly discover, Nana and Pop Pop are fucked up. I want to avoid any potential spoilers, so suffice it to say that a cupboard full of expired canned goods and stacks of yellowed Reader's Digests, the stuff you'd usually expect to find at your grandparents' house, definitely pale in comparison to the Ed Gein shit Becca and Tyler discover.

Shyamalan is back doing what he does best, creating unbearable tension that has you squirming in your seat. Becca and Tyler investigating strange noises outside their bedroom door features nearly as prominently in my nightmares as Kyra entering Cole's tent in THE SIXTH SENSE, or that traumatizing Brazilian birthday party footage in SIGNS. Shyamalan always seems more interested in making our skin crawl than in making us jump, and it gives his films a certain haunting quality. I can honestly say that since seeing SIGNS, I haven't attended any birthday parties in Brazil.

I ought to mention that this is a found footage film, i.e. the characters themselves are supposed to have filmed what we're seeing. This is certainly well-trodden ground, but THE VISIT distinguishes itself by frequently forgoing the whole shaky realism thing. For a director, there's very little glory in making a found footage film, because when it's done well, it looks like you didn't do anything. Of course that's the point; these movies are made to appear as though they were shot by security cameras and ill-fated teens with iPhones, not USC grads. I imagine that this would be difficult. Most directors must be concerned with showcasing their talents, and those just aren't immediately apparent in a found footage film. Shyamalan circumvents this whole dilemma, though, making Becca a talented aspiring documentary filmmaker... It seems sort of cheap, I know, but the whole thing works. We feel as though we're right in the thick of things, and those things are all well lit and framed, etc.

THE VISIT also distinguishes itself from, say, Paranormal Activity, by showcasing a very strong cast. Look, I enjoy the PA series—I'll be at Ghost Dimension opening night—but nobody watches those movies for the performances. I expected similar degrees of hamminess, or worse, straight dickheadedness (looking at you, Micah from PA 1) here, but everyone holds their own, even Oxenbould, who first comes across as irksome, looking like a lost Sprouse brother and rapping under the name "T-Diamond Stylus," but eventually proves to be charming and funny. Deanna Dunagan undoubtedly steals the show though, effortlessly transitioning from sweet old lady to something akin to the cellar hag in EVIL DEAD. That she's able to communicate an underlying sinisterness while still maintaining an air of sweetness that Becca and Tyler might believably buy is impressive. Peter McRobbie, for his part, keeps pace as Pop Pop, but his performance is far less subtle. We know he's probably unstable when we get to the timeworn "guy's probably unstable because he's really into chopping wood" scene, à la THE AMITYVILLE HORROR remake. That being said, the award for most fucked up moment definitely goes to Pop Pop, or "Poop Poop," more like (I know, I hate myself too).

Now, if you'll allow me to awkwardly transition from poo jokes to real talk, it's been a few days since I saw THE VISIT and I can honestly say that the film has stayed with me. Interestingly, though, when I close my eyes and my mind is left to wander freely through the dark corners of my imagination, it isn't the image of crab-walking pensioners that assail it. Pop Pop wielding an ax is frightening, to be sure, but what's far more frightening is his conviction that he's late for a costume party, one he likely attended 20 years earlier. Both Nana and Pop Pop seem to exhibit symptoms of dementia, a frightening condition often associated with aging. In this way, THE VISIT touches upon a very real fear for many people, myself included, having witnessed the effects of dementia firsthand, and while it's certainly no AMOUR, this realism elevates THE VISIT above most found footage films, and disturbs you on a far deeper level.

So, video store guy, THE VISIT is most definitely worth your time. I sincerely hope that it helps Shyamalan to get back in Hollywood's good graces, which, at the end of the day, all depends on (ass-tons of) money. At the time of writing, THE VISIT has made around $25.6 million its first weekend, just shy of THE SIXTH SENSE's $26.6 million opening weekend gross, which is fantastic, considering that THE VISIT was made for a mere $5 million that Shyamalan allegedly kicked in himself. THE SIXTH SENSE, comparatively, cost $40 million to make. Only time will tell how THE VISIT will fare commercially, but artistically, the film succeeds, and for horror fans pining for the days of old when a new Shyamalan film was a big deal, that's reason to celebrate.