Review: TALES OF HALLOWEEN (2015)

TALES OF HALLOWEEN is the most fun I've had at the movies this year, which is partly owing to my love of all things All Hallow's Eve (except the movie, ALL HALLOW'S EVE), but also to the simple fact that it's an uproariously enjoyable horror anthology. Like TRICK 'R TREAT, TALES OF HALLOWEEN serves as a sort of Halloween special for adults, evoking those wonderful nights of yore when you'd be transported to magical towns where skeletons drive cabs and werewolves style hair, or to those run-of-the-mill Midwestern towns where, quite simply, Halloween still means something, and kids defy their parents and the forces of evil to ensure that it's celebrated. It seems that in our haste to grow up, we sometimes forget what's so amazing about Halloween, a night full of strange mysteries and ancient traditions, when you can be whoever or whatever you want to be, including a drunk in a revealing cat costume, because despite pumpkin-thumping purists' tut-tutting, partying has always been a part of our modern Halloween. However, we ought to remember that Halloween affords us the opportunity to be something far more incredible than drunk; we can be kids. We can eat candy until we're sick, wear weird getups without worrying what people think, and stay up all night watching scary movies. TALES OF HALLOWEEN understands all of this, its segments capturing Halloween from every angle. Moreover, that each segment represents the style and vision of a different director effectively allows the film to capture one of the most essential aspects of Halloween: individual expression.

There are ten segments in all, each taking place in the same town on the same Halloween night, as indicated by the presence of reoccurring characters from one segment to the next. A WARRIORS-esque, omniscient radio DJ, played by Adrienne Barbeau (one of countless horror icons who make a cameo appearance over the course of the film), also serves to tie everything together. Some segments are better than others, which is to be expected from any horror anthology, but all of them are, at the very least, entertaining, delivering laughs, chills, or both. The film is a beautiful love letter to Halloween, drawing from its many traditions and showing a reverence for them in its depictions of what horrible fates befall transgressors, again, similar to TRICK 'R TREAT. Whereas TRICK 'R TREAT is first and foremost a horror film, though, TALES OF HALLOWEEN often sacrifices tension and mood for the sake of comedy, or else uses them to mislead us before ultimately finding humor in transgressing horror traditions. So, for example, in Mike "BIG ASS SPIDER!" Mendez's segment, "Friday the 31st," a mask-wearing, machete-wielding maniac—and obvious homage to FRIDAY THE 13TH's Jason Voorhees—pursues a "final girl," i.e. the virginal heroine of a horror movie who manages to outlast everyone else. Things take a sudden, and frankly fucking weird turn, though, when after spearing his prey, the killer is confronted by a claymated alien. It's hilarious to see this hulking monster scratch his head and mumble shit basically translating to "WTF," as this tiny, Henry Selick reject repeatedly chirps, "trick or treat!" Things get even more hilarious when, after being denied candy, the alien streams into the dead girl's mouth to possess her corpse and engage the killer in a ridiculously over-the-top machete fight.

"Bad Seed," from Neil Marshall, writer-director of modern horror classics, DOG SOLDIERS and THE DESCENT, turns in an equally absurd segment about a genetically modified pumpkin going around town biting people's heads off. Equal parts ATTACK OF THE KILLER TOMATOES and LETHAL WEAPON, "Bad Seed" is full of laugh-out-loud stuff, most notably a composite artist's sketch of the unusual suspect, which, when revealed, was hysterically received at the screening I attended. Darren Lynn Bousman's, "The Night Billy Raised Hell," also ranks among the films funnier segments, following the titular child, Billy, as he and the devil roam around town pulling pranks, which quickly devolve into carjackings and convenience store robberies. There are some really great scenes in this one, like when Billy's cruising down the highway while the devil's in the back, eating a bucket of chicken and listening to rap music, or when a flaming pumpkin—seemingly a Halloween take on the flaming bag of dog poo, and thus presumably filled with shit—is actually revealed to contain a fucking bear trap. [UPDATE] Clint Sears, screenwriter of "The Night Billy Raised Hell," has just informed me that, "the bear trap is, in fact, loaded with a bag of poo," elevating this already fantastic segment to a whole new level of artistry.

Other segments are genuinely hair-raising, like Axelle Carolyn's, "Grim Grinning Ghost," which builds to a single, perfectly executed jump scare; the sound of a hundred people simultaneously shitting themselves heralding the arrival of a tremendous new talent. The segment also features everyone's favorite paranormal investigator—OK, 2nd favorite after Bill Murray—Lin Shaye, from the INSIDIOUS series. Stuart Gordon's in there, too, for all of you with a keen eye for cameos (I'll admit that I had to look that one up). Dave Parker's, "Sweet Tooth," is also pretty unsettling, and plays like those early 2000s horror flicks centered around storied humanoid creatures, like JEEPERS CREEPERS, DARKNESS FALLS, and BOOGEYMAN. As in many of those movies, though, the legend proves to be creepier than the creature itself, and Sweet Tooth's reveal will likely feel a little anticlimactic for seasoned horror vets.

One of my favorite segments is "The Weak and the Wicked," from Paul Solet, director of the criminally underrated GRACE. It may have the least to do with Halloween, but Solet nails the look and feel of a Sergio Leone western by employing the director's trademarked techniques, like alternating between extreme close-ups of steely gazes and long shots of a group of thugs staring down a lone hero. This, coupled with an interesting supernatural element, make for a really cool short that I'd actually like to see expanded into something more. Plus, it'll satisfy those of you yearning for another good horror western, because let's face it, GALLOWWALKERS was pretty terrible (here's hoping BONE TOMAHAWK is better).

The four remaining segments are all good, if slightly less so than the ones that I already mentioned. Adam Gierasch's, "Trick," reminded me a lot of ILS, the French horror movie about the murderous kids, because of, well, all the murderous kids. There's a surprising twist at the end that serves as a haphazard explanation for why a bunch of ten-year-olds are stabbing people to death, but it's sort of dumb, and the segment might have been better off if, like ILS, the kids' motivations were left unclear, and we just had to chalk it up to violent video games or something. Ryan Schifrin's, "The Ransom of Rusty Rex," is interesting, and features a great and, sadly, final performance from Ben Woolf, who played the dancing ghost kid in INSIDIOUS—you know, the one who made you piss yourself and hate that fucking "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" song. This time Woolf plays a weird demon that two bumbling criminals abduct, mistakenly believing it to be the son of a rich guy, played by rich guy, and director of ANIMAL HOUSE, BLUES BROTHERS, and AN AMERICAN WEREWOLF IN LONDON, John Landis. "Ding Dong" comes to us from Lucky McKee, who directed one of my all-time favorite horror movies, THE WOODS. Like THE WOODS, "Ding Dong" is a sort of dark, modern fairy tale, using the story of Hansel and Gretel to deliver a heavy-handed message about spousal abuse. It's a bit of a mess, but I applaud McKee for trying to do something different. There are some creepy visuals in the segment, too, like when the husband looks at his wife and sees an outward manifestation of the ugliness inside her.

Finally, there's John Skipp and Andrew Kasch's, "This Means War," which is basically a Halloween version of DECK THE HALLS, that crappy Christmas movie where Matthew Broderick and Danny DeVito take turns slipping on ice and accidentally setting their Christmas trees on fire. I enjoyed this one because it reminded me of my Dad, who's constantly trying to improve upon his already kid-repelling Halloween display. It's timely, too; I was just reading about a guy in the States who had these fucked up decorations on his front lawn, but was pressured into taking them down by angry parents whose kids thought they were real. I'm all for Halloween decorating, and usually I'd say the more disturbing, the better, but this guy lived right near the local elementary school and had a realistic-looking fake child's corpse impaled on pike... Anyway, in the segment, a guy with a pretty tame, but classic, William Castle-esque display (spooky tree cutouts, tombstones, cobwebs, skeletons) takes pride in the fact that for the last twenty years, his house has been the best-decorated on his street. Unfortunately for him, his neighbor decides to do his own display, favoring the Rob Zombie approach (girls, gore, lurid lighting, metal music). It's a good satirical representation of the old school vs. new school debate among Halloween-lovers, and among horror fans, who seem to be divided into two camps: those who prefer subtle, mood-intensive horror that makes your skin crawl, and those who prefer loud, blood-soaked gore fests that make your stomach turn. The segment sends a clear message that horror fans' squabbling is stupid, and that there's room for both styles—the best horror movies often wedding the two. 

On the whole, TALES OF HALLOWEEN does just that, its segments falling all along the spectrum. The film is sure to garner a cult following and become a Halloween classic alongside TRICK 'R TREAT, and rightfully so. While it may lack TRICK 'R TREAT's cohesiveness, consistency and flow, TALES OF HALLOWEEN is a film bursting with creativity, and a comfortable assurance that the future of horror is in good hands; that so many genre icons appear in the film, many of whom have all but retired, seems to be their way of blessing this new wave of horror directors. It also pays Halloween the reverence it deserves, while still lovingly lampooning some of its sillier aspects. Most importantly, though, it's fun. If I wasn't laughing because I'd just involuntarily let slip a "HOLY FUCK," I was laughing because most of segments feature pointedly witty dialogue and/or laughably absurd scenarios, like a loose cannon cop (one fuck-up away from being busted down to Vice so fast that it'll make her head spin!) pursuing a murderous jack-o'-lantern. The film received a pretty limited release, but like a house that gives out full-size candy bars, a theatre screening TALES OF HALLOWEEN is worth seeking out this October.

Review: THE GREEN INFERNO (2013)

Put the kids to bed and hide grandma's glasses. Eli Roth is back in the director's chair and the results are just as fucked up as you'd expect. I have to admit, I'm not the biggest Roth fan, not because I think he's a bad director or anything, but because he's just too good at what he does, namely gross people out. I love horror. In fact, after martial arts, it's probably my favorite genre, but there's something about this torture porn stuff, a horror sub-genre which many credit Roth with inventing, that doesn't sit well with me. Of course it isn't meant to sit well with anyone. The point is to push the limits of what a filmmaker can show on screen, testing audiences' tolerance, but I just don't get that sick thrill from it, like the kind you get when the main villain gets fucked up at the end of an action movie. In MARKED FOR DEATH, when Seagal breaks that Jamaican drug dealer in half over his knee, then throws him down an elevator shaft where he gets impaled on a pole, you can't help but laugh at the absurd extremity of it all. Maybe it's because the drug dealer had it coming, whereas in torture porn movies, most of the people getting fucked up are really only guilty of being douches, a crime apparently punishable by (excruciating) death.

So, I was overjoyed to discover that this month is a veritable Rothathon (not to be confused with the Jewish New Year, Rosh Hashanah), with two new Roth films (the 2nd being KNOCK KNOCK) screening in select theatres for small audiences of die-hards and poor, unsuspecting couples looking for a little Halloween fun. Granted, there's some fun to be had. Roth seems in tune with today's youth (THE GREEN INFERNO's end credits even include people's twitter handles), or at least the popular perception thereof, and his script paints a humorously exaggerated picture of over-privileged twentysomethings' melancholy, disinterest, and general awfulness, "Activism is so fucking gay." Similarly, on the whole, the film can be interpreted as a tongue-in-cheek statement about "voluntourism" and "slacktivism." However, to really enjoy THE GREEN INFERNO, you need to be into watching people get messed up. Like, really messed up.

The film follows Justine, a college freshman, played by newcomer and Roth-wedder, Lorenza Izzo (who also stars in KNOCK KNOCK). During a lecture, Justine sees images of female genital mutilation in Africa and decides to join a student activism group to try to make a difference in the world. Before long, she's blindly following the group's charismatic leader, Alejandro, played by Ariel Levy (another member of Roth's circle, having starred alongside him in AFTERSHOCK, which Roth also co-wrote), to Peru to save a stretch of rainforest and a lost tribe living therein from being destroyed to allow a company access to lucrative natural resources. We get a LIZZIE MCGUIRE MOVIE-esque montage of the kids zipping around in motorcycle rickshaws and taking in the local sights, but it's pretty much downhill from there. The group is able to delay the destruction by chaining themselves to the company's bulldozers and using their phones to live-stream what unfolds, thus keeping the hired security from just shooting them, because it would be witnessed by what Alejandro claims are millions of viewers. Unfortunately, on the flight back to the city, the group's plane crashes and the shit immediately hits the fan. You're always on edge when you're watching a Roth movie, because you know that at any moment, a character can suffer a revolting injury, and that it won't necessarily be the flashy decapitation or goring sort, which are often heralded by, say, an ominous shot of a spinning propeller, RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK style. So, for example, when the plane's engine blows out and everyone gets tossed around, one guy drives the tip of his beer bottle into his teeth/gums area. It's one of those movie injuries that you really feel, like when someone gets hit in the crotch, because chances are it's happened to you.

The plane crash takes out a surprising number of kids; at first I thought Roth would have kept more around to sustain his sick carnival of horrors. A few fall out the back of the plane after a tall tree tears it open in midair, others die on impact, including the pilot, who has the top half of his head ripped off by a branch, well, mostly ripped off—it's still dangling by a piece of skin—, and then there's one kid who absentmindedly walks into the still-spinning propeller. Tallying up the numbers now, though, 8 make it out alright to face the really fucked up shit that's still to come, compared to CABIN FEVER's initial 5 kids and HOSTEL's 2 (3 if you count Kana), which allows for a more diverse bunch of kills that should please fans of Roth's work.

Shortly after the crash, that lost tribe that the kids were trying to protect shows up, and this is when Roth runs into a bit of trouble. It seems a lot of people are upset over how the tribespeople are depicted, i.e. as headhunters and cannibals, despite the fact that it's a fictional tribe. Of course there are real uncontacted peoples out there, but saying that THE GREEN INFERNO is irreparably damaging to them is like saying that HOSTEL was irreparably damaging to Europeans. I suppose the fact that we don't know all that much about the former group complicates things, though, whereas we know that not all European businessmen spend their leisure time chopping up American tourists and sowing them back together. There are impressionable people who watch movies, and it's certainly possible that they might get the wrong idea of uncontacted peoples at a time when rainforests are disappearing at an alarming rate, and those who had once lived there in complete isolation are suddenly being exposed. To suggest that Roth has some agenda other than delivering trashy, throwback horror, though, or that his film will somehow play into someone else's corporate agenda, justifying the shitty treatment of uncontacted peoples on the basis that they're just a bunch of crazy cannibals—an actual concern that I've seen expressed on several activism sites—, seems pretty ridiculous to me.

Roth said himself that THE GREEN INFERNO's only targets are "slacktivists," those people on your Facebook news feed who change their profile picture to whatever a fake CeeLo Green page tells them to in order to "support" some cause. Sure, many of these people are genuinely caring, albeit misguided individuals, but others are just looking to posture. If you're wondering about Roth's motivations, just read his script, rife with lines like, "The only thing those posers [student activists] care about is looking like they care. It’s just a mere demonstration to appease their fucking white Jewish suburban guilt." Moreover, the tribespeople, despite being headhunters and cannibals, are far from the worst people in this film. That award definitely goes to Alejandro, and while I don't want to give too much away, let's just say that I'm more likely side with the dude eating another dude than the one who starts jacking off seconds after seeing his friend's throat get slit open. It's worth noting, too, that THE GREEN INFERNO is a spiritual successor to exploitation movies like CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST (even drawing its name from CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST's film-within-a-film), which Roth often cites among his work's primary influences. As strange as it may sound, THE GREEN INFERNO is a passion project. Its timing, however poor, is reflective of Roth's successes in Hollywood, which now afford him the freedom to make whatever the fuck he wants to, and not the current sociopolitical state of affairs in places like Peru. In short, I don't think the guy's trying to do anything but make a dumb homage to a bunch of dumb movies because he likes them, and he probably doesn't deserve all the flak that he's been getting.

He even has the t-shirt, you guys.

So, the fictional tribe that the kids encounter is cannibalistic, which, again, is not at all indicative of the practices of actual uncontacted peoples. There's a little bit of uncertainty as to whether or not they're friendly, but like a one word text response, an arrow through Alejandro's girlfriend's neck indicates that no, they are not. The kids are brought back to the tribe's village, where all but one is shoved into a pigpen. For some reason the one guy thinks he's getting a massage or something when they lie him down on a big stone altar. He's thanking them and shit as the tribal elders approach with an ax and what looks to be a pointy ice cream scoop. I have this thing about eye-related stuff; I can't even take an eye drop without breaking down. So, I nearly fainted when one of the elders sticks the pointy ice cream scoop (insert joke about eye scream scoop) right into the poor dude's sockets and starts twisting it around. Then, when that doesn't work, she just sticks her fingers in there, without washing her hands—rude—, like its a fucked up Three Stooges bit. Once buddy's eyeballs are rolling around in the dirt, the elder cuts off his tongue and puts it in her mouth like a Listerine Pocketpak strip, while another elder hacks off each of the guy's limbs in turn until he's fucking Bob Oblong—remember THE OBLONGS? The whole thing looks really fucking real, Roth & Co. having certainly honed their skills over the years. I could barely watch, but my friend and Throat Rip Reviews' resident Roth expert/raving fangirl was grinning rapturously, because she's one of the people who actually gets a kick out of this shit, and you enjoying this movie basically hinges on you being one, too. I'll spare you anymore gory details (ha), but several more kids meet similarly disturbing ends.

Interestingly, though, when I was at a second hand DVD store, I got to talking to the guy working, who said he hated THE GREEN INFERNO because he's, "seen worse shit [gorier stuff] on THE WALKING DEAD." I don't know about that. There's a death scene in THE GREEN INFERNO that's definitely reminiscent of that famous death scene in the original DAY OF THE DEAD (where the guy gets absolutely torn to pieces by a horde of zombies), that's since been recycled in literally every zombie movie and TV show, TWD included, but there's just something about the fact that they're normal people in THE GREEN INFERNO, as opposed to mindless monsters, that makes the death seem worse. The effects are definitely on par with anything in TWD (or GAME OF THRONES, for you people who think you've seen some shit just because you watched "The Mountain and the Viper"), but I'd argue that in THE GREEN INFERNO, there's an added layer of repugnance in the context.

The performances are all pretty lackluster, with a couple of exceptions, most notably Sky Ferreira's. Her character, Kaycee, is wonderfully sardonic, like Daria brought to life, and Kaycee's attempts to dissuade Justine from joining the student activism group constitute some of the most memorable parts of the film. This is largely owing to Roth's writing, but Ferreira definitely deserves credit for delivering acerbic quips like, "So I go to this party and Scott is like, 'You should totally rush.' I’m like, 'That’s retarded. That’s for kids who are stupid enough to go to Dartmouth,'" so convincingly.

When I Googled "Sky Ferreira," this still from THE TRUST came up. I thought it was funny.

The actors and actresses playing the cannibalistic tribespeople are also great. Apparently they're actually members of an isolated Amazonian tribe. Roth alleges that he showed them CANNIBAL HOLOCAUST (probably CABIN FEVER, too—"This is the biggest movie in America!") to give them something to base their performances on, because again, they're not actually crazy cannibals.

In the end, you probably already know whether or not this one's for you. For people who aren't into watching other people get messed up, there are some breathtaking shots of the Amazon rainforest by cinematographer Antonio Quercia, fantastic makeup work—the tribe's red and black body paints look really cool—, and, again, Roth's sharp sense of humor. The guy knows how to inject pointedly witty commentary into his outwardly dumb horror movies, but he also doesn't shy away from frat boy jokes, which land pretty well, like when the token stoner character sticks a bag of marijuana in a dead girl's gaping neck wound, so that when the cannibals cook her, they'll get high (AF, BRO!) from the smoke, allowing him and the other remaining kids to escape unnoticed. This is followed by another funny, stupid bit where, OH SHIT, the cannibals have the munchies, man! For the most part, though, your time at THE GREEN INFERNO will be spent watching truly disgusting stuff, and unless that's your cup of tea, which then turns out to be a cup of your missing friend, you might want to catch something else.

Review: The Parisian Cinemagoing Experience

Sorry for not posting any reviews the last couple of weeks. I had hoped to do some writing while I was away but it turns out Paris is fucking incredible, and I couldn't justify sitting in my apartment in front of my computer while there was so much cool stuff to do. I'm not just talking about seeing the Eiffel Tower or strolling through the Louvre, though. For me, what really distinguishes Paris from the other places I've visited is the city's unabashed love of films. You can't throw a croissant without hitting a cinema, and more often than not it's one with a rich history and diverse program, the likes of which you'd be hard-pressed to find here in Canada. Of course we have places like the Mayfair Theatre, but havens like the Mayfair, theatres that don't just screen the latest Marvel movie in whatever face-melting format that's been cooked up to try to justify adding another $5 to the ticket price, are certainly few and far between.

For the most part, the cinemas in Paris exist for the love of films, not money, with independent movie houses with more control over their programs far outnumbering the big chains limited to the latest blockbusters. On any given day you can see a Korean revenge flick from masters like Bong Joon-ho and Park Chan-wook, then catch a silent film accompanied by live piano, before ending things with a classic American movie, screening as a part of an extensive retrospective look at directors like Martin Scorsese and Sam Peckinpah. It's amazing what you can find playing around town, but what's even more amazing is how the simple act of going to the movies is always viable to become an unforgettable experience for film lovers. For example, during my visit, a screening of the cult Korean monster movie, THE HOST (which you should watch if you haven't already), was preceded by a lecture from French film critic, Stéphane du Mesnildot, entitled, "Bong Joon-ho: Mothers, Monsters and Killers." Even when there isn't something scheduled, after a film screening, you can always participate in lively, Kronenbourg-fueled discussions in the café-bars attached to nearly every cinema. You feel like you're in THE DREAMERS, only without the incestuous sex—at least in my experience.

The actual movie-watching part of going to the movies is better in Paris, too. Sure the historic cinemas might not have D-BOX, or UltraAVX, or SUPERMEGALOUDBRIGHT tech, but they have an undeniable charm. Cinema Studio 28, for example, features light fixtures designed by famous French novelist, playwright, filmmaker, and former patron, Jean Cocteau. But if that doesn't float your boat, you'll still find a cutting edge Sony 4K projector in the booth.

Cinéma Étoile Pagode was also wonderful, transporting you from the busy streets of Paris to a serene Japanese garden where you can enjoy a cup of tea or tentacle porn before the film begins (note: BYOTP).

As you're probably aware, the people around you can greatly impact on how much you enjoy watching a movie at the theatre, and if you're not aware of that fact, you're probably the sort of person I'm about to go off on, so pay attention. There's nothing more annoying than the person beside you at the theatre, or anywhere within view, for that matter, constantly checking their phone. Honestly, what the fuck are you doing? Why did you pay $15 to ignore a movie and piss people off? What is so urgent that it can't wait a couple of hours? Sure, there are some valid reasons for leaving your phone on and checking it now and then. Maybe you work on-call or your wife might go into labor or you're Liam Neeson and your daughter just went on vacation. Those are fair excuses, but to the fucker Snapchatting the first raptor scene at that screening of JURASSIC WORLD—you know who you are—, fuck you. You're sitting in the very front row (because you're stupid and you show up twenty minutes late for a 2nd-weekend screening of a movie that had the biggest opening weekend IN THE HISTORY OF MOVIES), and you're holding your phone at full arm's length over your head in plain view of literally everybody there, most of whom probably watch movies because they enjoy watching movies (and not because they enjoy sending 10-second clips of dinosaurs to their friends) and are probably distracted by the light floating around Chris Pratt's crotch. We don't need our attention drawn there; we're fully aware of Chris Pratt's crotch's magnificence, thank you very much. It's just fucking distracting. Part of the magic of watching a movie is losing yourself in it and being transported to another world, a goddamn Jurassic world. When you're on your phone, you're likely breaking people's immersion, and that sucks. I heard that some theatre chain in China wants to try to boost attendance by allowing people to use their phones, because youths are becoming increasingly terrible—also, get off my lawn—and this seems to correlate with declining ticket sales. Not only that, though, this chain wants to give them the ability to have their texts appear ON THE FUCKING SCREEN. What madness is this? You'd turn DALLAS BUYERS CLUB or something into a fucking VH1 pop-up video? Why on McConaughey's green earth would anyone want to see "imho this movie sux," or "ily bae <3 <3 <3," or, McConaughey forbid, "Netflix and chill?" *shudders* during a movie screening? Look, there are worse people than "Tommy Texter." "Suzie Seatkicker" sucks, too, and there are "Ronnie Racists," "Mikey Murderers," and "Donald Trumps" out in the world, but can't we at least try to make the theatre a better place? No? Well, we'll always have Paris...

The cinemagoers that I encountered in Paris were the most respectful bunch of people that I've ever had the pleasure of watching a movie with. Not once did I see someone pull out their phone, and 95% of every audience that I was a part of stayed until the end credits had finished rolling. Maybe that seems trivial, but a lot of people put a lot of hard work into making movies, be they the stunt performers, caterers, drivers, or the guy who greases Steven Seagal's ponytail, and waiting an extra few minutes so that they get a bit of recognition, even if there isn't some over-hyped post-credits scene that people read way too much into, says a lot about you as a cinemagoer. Now, as far as "Sally Soundtracks," i.e. people who talk during movies, go, I heard a few, but I'm of the belief that an excited and hurried whisper is cool. Going to the movies is amazing, and it's only natural to want to express that. I'd be lying if I said that I wasn't guilty of shooting a whispered and gleeful "fuck yeah" at my buddy every time Arnold first appears on screen. Sentiments like that are shared by everyone in the theatre, though. We're experiencing something fantastic together, whereas when you're dicking around on your phone, you're somewhere else. So, for example, when I saw PAT GARRETT AND BILLY THE KID at the Cinémathèque française, I overheard some women lose their shit when they saw Harry Dean Stanton. I got it. Moreover, I loved it. You never see people celebrate a guy like HDS, an accomplished actor with an impressive filmography, to be sure (the guy's in fucking COOL HAND LUKE, THE GODFATHER: PART II, ALIEN, ESCAPE FROM NEW YORK, RED DAWN and FIRE DOWN BELOW), but one who usually plays fifth or sixth fiddle to bigger names. Hearing someone involuntarily shriek and blurt out "Oh mon Dieu! C'est Harry Dean Stanton!" put a smile on my face, and is the sort of thing I love about going to theatre and watching a movie with other people.

So, friends, if you're in Paris, wouldn't you rather take in an interesting movie at a charming cinema with lovely people, than throw 'bows with a Chinese tour group to try to get a fleeting glance at the Mona Lisa? Because honestly, when I was there, AMY was the most beautiful portrait of a woman that I saw (if anyone involved with the marketing and distribution of AMY is reading this, please feel free to use that blurb on the DVD cover).