Saturn 3

Killing It Softly

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Stanley Donen's 1980 sci-fi flick Saturn 3 is a film to represent a rare, strangely delicate position a movie can end up at. Based on a story by John Barry, the installment exhibits an efficiently realized, exceptionally cold techno mood and its corresponding atmosphere, filled with nicely drawn characters that are ready to render their respective services unto the existentialist techno-drama that is about to entertain the viewer.

Saturn 3 starts off via a quite memorable sequence in which you witness a pilot boarding a spaceship in a definitely illegal manner, teaming up with some suspicious-secretive cargo unit he carries. The man shortly arrives at the Saturn 3 station, an artificial installment - sorry for the tautology - established to monitor possibilities of food production on the planet. The station is maintained and operated by two corporate employees, portrayed by Texan Beauty Farrah Fawcett and Kirk Douglas. The visitor - Harvey Keitel - arrives to offer the fifth and sixth extra hand for the small party, as their progress is considered unsatisfactory by the employers. This particular pair of extra hand needs serious work before it can be used though, as those hands belong to the first prototype of the Demigod android series, operated by pure brain tissue. Of which you can find a massive load of, if to open up the cargo unit the visitor brought to the station.



A healthy amount of narrative time is focused on the construction process of Hector, the android. Keitel and this mere, icy sci-fi mood he is surrounded in, both do a quite solid job of rendering prolonged sequences depicting the construction process of the robot from the parts, yet the period in question also is heavily characterized by cleverly created conflicts between the two male protagonists.

Keitel - the character's name hardly is mentioned, he is called: "Captain", but his name is "Benson" - probably had plans of leaving the station after the construction process, but the site falls under the influence of a Sun eclipse, dampening all radio communication around the complex. As result, Benson has no other choice than to stick around for a while and send his report when the eclipse is over. Controversy here, which shall be elaborated on later.

The Captain's character is of focal importance. Benson operates by totally improbable social registers. It seems as if all of his statements and actions depend on what is useful, efficient and fruity under the given circumstance, also he seems to be one to lack any insights or conceptions of what might be insulting, or even hurtful to hear for someone. Benson informs the woman on numerous occasions that he finds her very attractive, how nice of a body she possesses and how keen he would be to - use it. The Captain's character offers you a clever glimpse unto a future-mankind that operates solely on practical registers, emphasized further by the Captain's astonishment when he understands that the girl maintains an intimate relationship with her supervisor, Adam.

Benson considers Adam - Kirk Douglas - to be: obsolete. As soon as Hector is up and running, the Captain states that no further assistance will be required from one particular person. Either Adam or Alex will end up as redundant human resource. Now which one he might be referring to? Benson builds the robot up, and chooses to give instructions for it via direct input. This means brain to brain information transfer.

The sad facts are these, though: as the beginning of the film hints at, Benson does not exactly have a flawless reputation, thus little time is left prior to Hector's breakdown. Outburst? The android gets "compromised", arriving to the subtly suggested conclusion that the best solution would be to utilize all personnel as slaves, while taking the position of primal coordinator.



Among others, the peak moments of the film are the ones in which Benson and Adam collide in a multi-layered conflict to tread upon a subject MATTER which is quite hurtful for Kirk's character: aging. Aging is bad news, in fact, baddest of all bad news in a future that considers all aspects via practical registers. A superb, tiny scene is of primal importance in the film. The short sequence in which Adam stumbles upon a conversation taking place between Alex and Benson, while the supervisor checks the base via the surveillance cameras. Benson is in the process of approaching Alex on evidently intimate registers, stating how baffled he is by the girl's attraction to Adam, as he is old and he is incapable, he is even ...

Douglas chooses instead to mute the transmission's sound channel. It is too hurtful to hear. A very nice narrative moment of the movie.



Surely, explosion of the conflict is unavoidable. Benson steps over the line and does that by evident intention, too. A point does arrive Adam lacks the instruments to escape from, thus violence is the only solution he finds, if to keep his face. This moment consorts nicely with Hector's rampant emergence to claim position of primal director of future events. Some highly forgettable chase-around sequence do occur, in which Alex and Adam are trying to find means to leave the station. Question remains if they do succeed or must face a much different conclusion than they were hoping for.

As stated, one of the best aspects of Saturn 3 is Harvey Keitel's character. Yet, the character is not without concerns, from a narrative point of view. Benson might be: mad. In this case, all is OK. But Benson seems quite stable mentally, yet his decisions surely must face permanent consequences in a future so rigorous as hinted at. What is the agenda of the character? The station he left surely will take note of his absence, not to mention the mess - sic! - he left after himself. By going to the Saturn 3 station, he took a position simply not meant to be taken by him via sober considerations. It may be so that the station he left has no direct connection with the uppermost levels of the decision makers, yet these questions should have been answered, or at least, hinted at. Saturn 3 does not address Benson's future plans, does not hint at the original agenda of this central character, the agenda that made him do what he did.

An even more significant concern is the breakdown of Hector, which is presented in a relatively abrupt manner, though the film fortunately finds some memorable solutions to offer shivering insights at what really is going on during the neuro-level communication taking place between Benson and Hector.

- Spoiler starts. -

"I am NOT malfunctioning. YOU are."

- Spoiler ends. -

It seems safe to say that one minute Hector has no problem whatsoever, then the android goes mad in the consecutive one. This is an aspect that compromises the film a bit, as the breakdown process of the robot is essential to the whole movie, yet it is not thoroughly addressed, - though elegantly hinted at - leaving the viewer with scarce information to build a solid theory upon.



All in all, Saturn 3 possesses many elements to left definite retina stigmas on your eyes, and thus, in your memory. The scene in which Alex tears the hair of Adam to force him to regain his sobriety, the little-nifty "cyberplug" at the back of the head, the bug taken from the eye, Hector in some slimy mechanical fluid - hell, even Kirk's butt is is revealed, Ladies! - clever, icy moments the film constructs and presents with surprisingly efficient, cold elegance.

The compromised value system the robot is forced to face with due to Benson's reality, is evidently, and shamefully under-presented though, and one must think that this is the main reason Saturn 3 solidified as an acceptable sci-fi VHS gem. There is little if any doubt that Saturn 3 is a movie that kills itself softly via an unsatisfactory middle point, from which on the film spends a significant amount of time with escaping from the questions it posed earlier. Fails to address reasons, mechanics, causes as far as how, what, and why exactly went wrong. Saturn 3 easily could have been a true classic if to account these aspects as thoroughly as it does with the aging-obsoleteness components of the narrative.

If you did not see Saturn 3 yet, definitely give it a chance. It has a cold sci-fi charm which is unique to it, also, the acting is solid and easy to appreciate. If you did see it, then the effort must weigh in as a forgotten, true sci-fi gem worth loving and defending, otherwise you would not have bothered reading a review of it 28 years after its release, correct?



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The Green Mile

Gods Is Me Bestest Buddy

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The Green Mile is the Stephen King story that seems to be a work of bitterly spilled blood and tears from the author's part, a creative process steadily, even masterfully concealed to be fluent and easy, yet I tend to hold to my personal suspicion that King struggled with this one: BIG time.

The work refreshingly refuses to place the negotiation to the territories of King's usual fields of operations of proper pizza pasta creation and horror, instead it delivers nicely sketched microcommunity drama revealed in a steadily presented, weighty routine-atmosphere. Be not misled though: The Green Mile seems to be more of a tribute, a variation for and on the intended mood, a strong setting King finds decent functions and some OK horror attractions in, yet the mere vibes to operate this one on the character level plays pretty much on fairy tale registers. This is not bad, not bad at all. Just don't take The Green Mile to be the highly serious drama it might seem to aspire to be, as this is nothing more or nothing else than a masterfully created fairy tale wearing drama disguise - and this is why it works.

Inviting you to the death row of a prison revealed by the late '30s, Frank Darabont's 1999 adaptation runs for a stable 184 (hic!) minutes of program time, yet manages to stay an intact, easily approachable outputfoam all the while. The setup gravitates around Paul Edgecomb and John Coffeey, - Coffeey likes da drink only spelled diff'rntly - key roles offered by Tom Hanks for the first character and the humongous Michael Clarke Duncan for the second. THAT man has some composure and some powerful voice.

Paul Edgecomb is well beyond the age of 100 when The Green Mile starts off, a calm old man breaking down suddenly in the social home he is an inhabitant of when the superb, ancient schanzen Cheek to Cheek is broadcasted by the highly sinister (?) resident TV set. But minutes are passing by prior he starts to account past events of his life for a lady friend, thus the narrative lines up hastily, transporting you to the time period in question, days Edgecomb was a young and brisk individual by.

The death row is a not particularly cheerful more-than-metaphysical entity characterized by convicts whom are waiting to be executed in way of: electric chair. You sit OK? You never throw the switch on a man prior to putting a watery sponge on the head. Edgecomb and his coworkers do greet a special addition to the ultimate rankings of the death row one day: John Coffey is a huge black dude, senselessly strong and enigmatically peaceful, even acts more as a little child than a grown man - the crime he has committed is still gruesome. Improbably so. You are left to form your firm suspicion that Coffey was convicted and sent to the chair because all surface facts pointed to him as committer, yet it seems highly improbable that he did the crime factually.



The focal elements of the buildup are to unravel partly via Coffey's miraculous ability to: help. To heal. To cure by the uncompromised belief in the ability that he is able to do so. The other aspect to get and keep things moving is a sketchy, yet effective character drama Stephen King came up with, a tense-enough relation fabric between the guards to keep you interested. Percy Wetmore is the arrogant liability to compromise the sobriety of the death row guard palette. Backed up via his social background Percy is virtually free to do whatever he pleases to, exhibiting absolutely unnecessary evilness towards the prisoners and considerable pugnaciousness towards his coworkers.

The Green Mile develops via these two parallel negotiation foams, leading and serving both by quite steadily realized peek moments to cleverly interconnect these individual narrative fabrics in the climax portion. King relies on comic book - not a blame factor - conflict creation methods to motivate his characters, losing face under unacceptable circumstances is primal driving factor to boost up the Percy-storyline, while Coffey's buildup reaches a not particularly imaginative turning point which after serious and staggering conclusions are cautiously formed and ruthlessly delivered in the end.



As hinted at, King heavily relies on textbook kindergarten character drama to functionalize Percy, shame is created and senselessly provoked via channels to offer no narrative space you might find yourself surprised by. Revenge is evidently imminent yet fortunately gets served on multiple occasions, though you have a pretty good chance to predict the "peek" elements of punishment correctly and flawlessly, mainly due to the strong emphasis placed on every single narrative components that might be used as motivational factors to form a rampant urge in Percy to claim his salivated vengeance. King shows you the components he will cook of, and cooks exactly the meal you anticipated.

Your author therefore overshoots the goal with a double barrel shotgun, yet this act is probably an intentional one - soaks you into the sense that revenge fills the atmosphere as a blatantly bad vibe to compromise the air, even more: by the time vengeance is administered via the method you anticipated it you suddenly grow strangely curious of what, if any ways King utilizes to diverge from a conclusion that would be quite easy to present and probably very gratifying to watch unfold.

As a massive, evenly placed and well rhytmised tale concerning erratic levels of twisted pseudo values, excessive frustration and superintact inner beauty that is beyond the capacity to be harmed and compromised, The Green Mile is a safe story to soak comfortably into, a tale to retain it's charming simplicity which it is mainly operating on.



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EliteXC Strikeforce Shamrock vs Le review

The Frank Shamrock Oscar?



Introduction

Mixed martial arts clearly became a significant form of both mass entertainment and - as Bruce Lee put it - an expression of the human body, the latter being, no doubt, the original field of operation of these ancient traditions, now living and breathing through competitive events around the world. Though many may consider men who enter the proving grounds little more than hired human pitbulls to rip each other apart for hard cash and radical amusement, I tend to utterly reject this rudimentary view, concluding that professional level mma is the combat of highly disciplined human spirits, opposing each other for the duration of the bout, probably ending up as unified in the process as we could conceive, simply through their magnificent shared experience of being in a cage where the damage one suffers is the wit one failed to exhibit. That is how, in my opinion, the mma fighter fights against herself/himself.

Japanese people compete to gain an insight of their own current abilities through the collision process of their skills with that of other's. To me, the ultimately glorious moments of mixed martial arts are not of those of KOs and submissions. They are of those of hugging the formal rival at the end of the bout, circulating the most honest, uncompromised, pure respect each fighter deserves simply by stating themselves on the proving grounds, regardless of the results. The ensuing peace between fighters after a good collision is such a palpable, legit sensation that it never got old so far - and won't ever will.

This here is a review of the EliteXC event EliteXC Strikeforce Shamrock vs Le, time to punch that Read more button, baby!

Introductory thoughts about the more significant lineups

It is always very talkative when an organization chooses NOT TO come up with various caption titles for an event, noting instead the combatants to deliver the peek attraction. Amazingly: Shamrock vs Le is such an occasion. Frank Shamrock is among the primal pioneers to popularize mma, - I totally like his brother Ken Shamrock too, regardless how that charismatic veteran gets his ass kicked around these days - this is always respectable, even if someone was not exactly at the top of the game during the early days, yet had what it took to find it out. But! Frank Shamrock WAS massively successful all the time, dominating and crunching opposition back in the days when and where there were no weight classes or notable restrictions as far as deconstruction goes.

The first occasion I seen Frank Shamrock perform in was his second match against legendary Bas Rutten, taking place in 1995 via a Pancrase event. The superfluid, massive musculature and excessively mean ring charisma Shamrock possessed by the day was a primal factor to devote my attention to mma. Shamrock took quite a thorough break from pro level mma competition in the early 2000's, stating physical risks were way too immense compared to the cash that was at stake. Fortunately though, he made a comeback for EliteXC Strikeforce in the organization's debut event, silencing all doubters whom stated that he might be not the fighter anymore that he once used to be.

Believe me: he STILL is. Even better: he is meaner and mentally stronger than ever. An "evil" fighter, in the "good" sense of the word. I know this is a paradox, but it feels appropriate in Frank Shamrock's case, who should definitely take the nickname: "Lion." Disposing quickly of his first Strikeforce opponent Cesar Gracie, Shamrock claimed the Middleweight Champion Belt, then got disqualified out of his next bout against Renzo Gracie due to a knee to a grounded opponent, which is a no no in pretty much all mma contests. Are you familiar with Phil "The New York Badass" Baroni? A veteran of the sport, who seen quite much in quite a few organizations, including nights arranged by the UFC. Shamrock outclasses him with his mean, excessively sober gameplay, choking The New York Badass out in the second round. KUDOS to Baroni, as he never tapped out: instead, he passed out.

While it is quite enjoyable to see Frank Shamrock taking opposition apart mentally via his excessively rude but undoubtedly entertaining ring behavior, what you truly want to witness is a match to answer massive questions and offer the highest stakes as far as Shamrock's current capabilities are going - yet you need a fierce competitor, no doubt, one to ask the proper questions from the Legend so he is forced to deliver answers via sheer skills, legitimizing a claimed cage superiority.

Your questioner for the night is Cung Le, a Vietnamese native who left his war thorn home with his mother by the age of 3, now pursuing the American Dream, even better: being superclose to it, as there is but one man standing between him and the realization of the Dream itself. One must choose one's biggest words carefully to ensure they will be not overused and lose proper meaning, yet you should not and even CAN NOT escape the need of admission that

Cung Le is: absolutely amazing.

A relatively fresh addition to the world of mma, he built a reputation as a fighter representing the San Shou Kickboxing style he is Champion of, and even scored a 3-0 record in K1 prior to his transition to mma. Watching Cung Le's five mma fights he has by the day he is to face Shamrock is similar to watching a decent Kung-Fu film, no joke. He takes apart the opposition with very unorthodox and extremely precise kicks, furious attacks coming out of nowhere with ridiculous speed. Add a very sober readyness to dodge from harm's way in a very fast fashion, and you have an idea of the primal building blocks Le's game organizes itself from. Critics say Cung Le never faced top level mma competiton before and give little if any chance to him against such a complete, whole fighter as Frank "The Lion" Shamrock.

Funny thing is: Shamrock claims he will stand there and bang it out with Cung Le as this is what the fans want to see - regardless of the advantage Frank could probably claim on the ground as a submission specialist, he promises a toe to toe collision, and that is a promise which is quite sweet to hear and anticipate to fulfill.

Joey Villasenor vs Ryan Jensen

A veteran mma fighter with intense ups and unfortunate downs, Villasenor already claimed occasions to collide with uppermost forces in various organizations, losing though when stakes were crucial to solidify himself as a fighter everyone must count with. His latest significant appearance was a loss against Ninja Rua for the EliteXC Middleweight Championship, now he arrives to establish himself as top contender once again, facing his second redemption-collision after a successful first one against Riki Fukuda.

Fresh opposition is offered by Ryan Jensen, a talented mma individual arriving on a trail of bad karma (?) composed of three losses. It is evident that Jensen is in dire need to score an impressive victory, as he commits the mistake of getting evidently emotional in the first round, a period characterized by an acceptable ground sequence of nice defense action from Jensen's part, yet he gets rocked shorty after they decide to wage war in the standing position again. This is the part where Jensen loses his sobriety, delivering intense yet only mildly effective opposition to Villasenor, who starts with a nice left double jab just to introduce a right hand afterwards that knocks Jensen out in the: bouncy-bouncy fashion. First bounce is: for the glove, second bounce is: for the floor. Nice, intense show to start the night up. Villasenor looked quite good and quite mature, and Jensen was quite memorable too with his mildly frustrated ring behavior, in my opinion. Not exactly professional, but has the entertainment value to it. Villasenor is getting better and better, as for Jensen - he absolutely must score a win if to remain in the sport, let us hope he will have the chance to prove himself again, as the kid definitely has the talent and the passion.

Mike Kyle vs Wayne Cole

Mike Kyle is not exactly the primal representative of what the spirit of mma and the essence of mercy is all about. This heavyweight man comes off a disqualification he earned himself by blasting the nose of a grounded opponent via a headkick unleashed from an absolutely illegal position, following up with consecutive strikes to the head of the unconscious rival. Two referees had to stop this rampaging heavyweight idiot. While I am not entirely happy to see EliteXC offering chance to him to compete in it's rankings, I do inform you with considerable delight that veteran All American Wrestling competitor Wayne Cole submits Kyle via armbar at 0:45 in the first round. Hope to NOT TO see Mike "KHILL!" Kyle ever again as his intolerable, senseless cage behavior is the maximum harm the sport itself can suffer, yet very much hope to see Wayne Cole soon who outclasses opposition by sheer skill and sobriety.

Gilbert Melendez vs Gabe Lemley

Gilbert Melendez is your current Strikeforce Lightweight Champion, and with weighty reasons he is. Coming to a match as an underdog is always has some charms to it, as you do not have to put significant effort into inventing some badass lines to deliver in prefight interviews, instead you can simply state how much you could win if you do and virtually should lose nothing if you fail to emerge victorious. Gabe Lemley is a friendly, fervent individual with an acceptable mma record, the impressive five wins triumph streak he is on even earned him the chance to collide with Melendez. Complete domination by the Champion, boiling down mainly to the air-to-ground deconstruction of Lemley. The challenger deserves all respect to withstand a furious assault foam lasting through almost ten minutes, yet eventually the referee is forced to interfere and put a stop to the contest. Impressive display of skill and passion by the Champion Melendez, now it is the most proper time to seek out and introduce massive forces he shall emerge against.

Drew Fickett vs Jae Suk Lim

As a submission specialist ready to catch his rivals by the most improbable occasions, Fickett is also a showman who projects an entirely different, yet highly entertaining image of himself compared to what I suspect him to be like naturally. This is just an impression of course. His top notch fighting skills are straight and existent things we should never doubt though, as he forces a tap out of former Korean Special Forces Soldier Jae Suk Lim prior to the first round could come to a conclusion.

Frank Shamrock vs Cung Le

Mma history came to San Jose and chose to unravel in front of your very eyes. Nice, yes? Frank Shamrock stays true to his word: he bangs with Cung Le. And yes, he is even a potent rival to the Dragon, a rival to seem tenacious and mentally strong enough to solidify a cautious start-off impression that he indeed might emerge triumphant playing the Dragon's own game. This is all nice and cool, as playing Cung Le's game and not catching the floor in the next minute is an accomplishment already, no exaggerations here. What you truly like Frank Shamrock for is what the Legend gets slowly yet surely threatened by as the match progresses, though.

Shamrock enjoys fighting the opponent by whatever way his rival is best at, let that be the form of stand up or the ground game. Shamrock is a significant showman and I think his readyness and willingness to wage war via the way his opponent is masterful at builds his significance even more. Some consider it as an egomania trait of him - as he would necessarily consider himself a better fighter than his opponent in every aspect, but let me tell you: this is NOT the case in my opinion. Considering yourself BETTER and exhibiting, delivering the WILLINGNESS to combat in whatever way the opponent prefers are two entirely different things. Frank points his fingers at the core of the matter anyway in the mentioned prefight interview, stating that at the end of the day, fans do want to see how a stand up bout between Cung Le and Frank Shamrock turns out.

Epic battle. I dare say the Nerd variant, even: this is some

Epic Shit, Dude!

Cung Le throws his improbable kicks with the lethal precision and speed they are famous of, while Shamrock exhibits rampant proving ground presence and delivers the stable impression - oxymoron there? - that this man simply CAN NOT eat a kick in powerful enough to send him to sleep or even into a slight desperation. Shamrock is the cocky, haughty Lion in this fight, you can see he taunts the Dragon as Le delivers his dangerous attacks, yet the extremely integral composure Cung possesses both as a warrior and as a human being offers no receptors whatsoever to take this bout to the emotional territory.

Mutual respect dominates the air as a thick layer of ozone, a very cautious yet paradoxically very eventful fight you witness in which Cung steadily claims the first two rounds via attacks that connect on the Lion, remaining without answers of convincing qualities. The third round delivers definite peek moments from the Dragon, a huge right hand, a spinning backfist and a leg sweep to send Shamrock to the ground are of highlight qualities here. By the 4th minute of the third round Frank manages to catch Le and immediately smells blood - yet Cung is able to evade the raining attacks and even counter strikes convincingly with two massive head kicks to wrap the round up at the fence.

Thing is: Frank is unable to answer the bell for the forth round, thus Cung Le claims the Strikeforce Middleweight Champion Belt for himself. Shamrock is reported to suffer an arm break due to the massive kicks Le delivered, and this is the point where I will probably be superclose to make Shamrock fans mad at me. Just for the record though: I am a Frank Shamrock fan myself. But let us see:

The Lion eats in two quite maaaaassive kicks to the head prior the third round could reach the conclusion, notice how Frank uses the supposedly injured arm to deliver an attack directly before the final kick lands on his head - also using that supposedly injured arm to execute a failed block attempt. The moment the bell rings and the two contestants are eyeballing it out is a truly epic vibe. They turn away, and

Frank effectively collapses on the ground due to exhaustion, no doubt.

Never forget he just ate in two brutal kicks , the fact he could walk up to the position to take a rest at is amazing on it's own merit. This man has exceptional punishment resistance. But my personal theory is this: I think Frank KNEW he would be not able to regain composure in that 1 minute flat warriors get between rounds. And:

Giving up is not something you allow yourself if you are an mma Legend.

Thus, my personal theory: Frank Shamrock got so exhausted and so massively affected by that two powerful kicks that he was unable to continue and decided to offer a faked broken arm for an excuse. I know this is superharsh to hypothize, yet I absolutely fail to see how the kick in questions could break the arm - that kick connects on the HEAD, as Frank is late with the block. He then shakes his arm as would start to give you to "oh! me arm!" act already, yet the very next moment delivers you almost the exact same sequence, Cung Le unleashes a very similar kick to wrap the round up, and Frank uses the supposedly injured arm to block, even to connect with a jab.

Now this is a "huh?", isn't it? I would think you feel immediately if your arm gets broken, at least, you would definitely conclude that it is not necessarily safe to attempt to block yet another furious kick let alone attack with a battered limb. Mind you that the "second final kick" NEVER touched the arm, though I am not sure if the FIRST did at the first place.

Anyway - of course I am not in the position to deliver the One Truth about the matter, yet I felt I must voice this strange controversy I felt concerning the end process of this truly epic bout. I might be completely mistaken of course, in this case I can't help but hope that Shamrock does not read this review ever, if I am right: I hope even MORE that he does not read it.

Regardless if Shamrock delivered an acting sequence for you OR did that not, one thing remains crystal clear: he put up one helluva' fight with Cung Le, a fight I find the Best 2008 had to offer to this very moment. Strikeforce EliteXC Shamrock vs Le: a True Classic between True Legends.

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The Beyond

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One of the finer installments in Lucio Fulci's works as for the good old controversy surrounding it firmly and intact, The Beyond is the cheesy '80s horror that is either quite easy to appreciate for the relentless, "You Seriously Think I Give A Dime With Two Lost Holes In It?" exploitation attitude it exhibits, or you simply take this flick for the massively sorrowful testament other enjoyers consider it to be: a Black Hole beacon where Fulci's movie language permanently compromises by, an unfortunate development fueled throughout a suspected urge of the director to satisfy the era's hunger for gore gravitated brainsplatter suffering. We are in 1980, one year after Zombie - Flesh Eaters on the chronological filmography, mind you I - though I still think we won't ever see a crappier Fulci or Zombie movie than the one we just mentioned.

The interesting thing is this: The Beyond might rely on but a massively limited tool set for storytelling considerations, yet I would not agree with the view that the piece delivers significantly less and/or noticeably weaker in this regard as similar outputs of the era do. In fact, some cautious parallels could or even should be drawn between this particular movie and The City of the Living Dead, also between The House by the Cemetery. These three installments have a loose yet noticeable interconnection between them, giving you some Hellgate-Fixation from Fulci's part that is similar to Dario Argento's Suspiria cycle with the sinister witches all around. Both buildups are weighting in as trilogies in the long run, though La Terza Madre to conclude the Suspiria saga certainly reformed my reality tunnel via the most improbable ways I dared, even better or worse: feared to anticipate.

Strangely 'nuff, the onion is even to oppose the statements of the Fulci Thing himself, who voiced his views about how he had no intention whatsoever to deliver plot - he wanted to deliver gorefest excellence, rampant, blatant. He managed to come up with an acceptable/accidental story buildup in the process nevertheless, do NOT listen to what he is saying in the related interviews. Yet bear witness to The Beyond, as this one has a definite charm to it, and boosts an end sequence that multiplies the effectiveness of the movie by a number of 666, at least.



- Dude, you ARE weary! Bring ya anything?
- Naaah, nah! I'm GOOD, thanks!

Assumptions are nice and easy: we have our causal protagonists personified by an average beauty of the '80s and a rather mediocre Clint Eastwood imitator. The girl inherited The Seven Gates Hotel, - marketing is a DEFINITE factor by the era - yet customers of the establishment have a tendency to not to check out after they started to spend their first night in their rented shelters. Probably will shock you considerably when I am to inform you that the establishment is silent-ancient beholder and relentless keeper-concealer of terrible, gruesome happenings and the most frightening secrets, Fulci even gives you a nice method to cautiously voice these warnings unto present day reality. A contemporary timeflow characterized by the rather fruity presence of the new owner and two highly traumatized, similarly ancient employees. You can't get rid of them: they came as extra, and extras are hardly options you can choose among or live without.

The best aspect of communicating highly sinister supernatural workings that are about to claim manifestation is delivered by a strong supportive character pair. A blind young lady and his guard dog is often to haunt the proprietor, delivering the classical warning messages about grave dangers that are imminent and must be avoided at all cost. By this time we already had the chance to witness oldschool prophorror committed against unsuspecting crash test dummies via acid and trademark Fulci violence, - that equals: you get a superclose zoom on every single wound the assaulted suffers - thus the warnings have both legit content and an inventive voicer to them, as well. The scene where the young blind lady firmly stands at the middle of the highway to voice her supercrucial messages is quite memorable, and it looks like this:



Fulci at least lives up to his statement when chooses not to elaborate way too much with and on further plot elements once some dead bodies were successfully produced. The Beyond massively utilizes dead bodies as fuel cells to sell out the program time, pair particularly inventive creative death sequences to the aforementioned trait and you have a pretty firm general idea of what this statement has to entertain you with. You could easily approach The Beyond as some hilarious horror video clip, - I mean like The Beyond would be the horror video clip, not you, but you are free to converge in case you see fit - in which a very easy plot reigns firmly, yet possesses no particular importance or aim to it than to interconnect the horrific attractions Fulci cooked up and you signed on for to taste.

Acting let alone dialogs are therefore so massively redundant and virtually irrelevant that you remain absolutely good to go with the basic assumption intact in your mind, fortunately though: Fulci does not subject you to all too many of the talkative air molestation either, instead he offers some subtle, yet rather elegant connotations to confidentially hint at Lovecraftian horror creation, and chooses to manifest peek moments via massively casual/methodical - I know, oxymoron, I will explain - visual terror. The Lovecraftian aspect is quite easy to spot and appreciate, thankfully for it's decent realization. A little, a minor thing, really, represented via the cellar system of the hotel, in which Many'O Walls do conceal Many'O Dark Secrets. And thus: many of walls will be foolishly assaulted and forced to give out secrets better off if never revealed.

Fulci's terror in The Beyond is casual, as he shows za groozzzomm ztuff as it would be as natural as grinding chocolate flakes to your massive ice cream balls - and it IS methodical, as he is immensely interested in every single microtrauma the affected skin tissue or organs do suffer.

Fulci's camera is STUCK to trauma.



This particular aspect is the most relevant The Beyond has to offer, not particularly for the enjoyment (?) it delivers, rather because it's trait of showing deconstruction in an absolutely shameless, cozy, senselessly detailed manner. It is truly at the verge of ending up hilarious - you could even say that it DOES step over the border. So if it does - what then? You truly couldn't possibly think that Fulci gives that mentioned dime of ours with the two lost holes in it, yes?

One easily gets under the impression that Fulci makes a fool out of his horror-craving viewer, literally overfeeding him with the much-longed-for input, depicted and served via unprecedented detail, also on a rather thorough timescale. In The Beyond's trademark death sequences you will spend several minutes watching exquisitely sweet, oldschool prop terror punishment, also, rather inventive ways to die we are talking about here. Unprecedented it was until the day it has been created, and I can not recall seeing anything similar, either. Visual terror itself gets exploited here while it's intaker inevitably gets affected via one way or another. Your options are clear: appreciate it's senseless visual stoicism - "bravery?" - and offer the thumbs up for Fulci, or be outraged by the sick atrocities - fact of the matter: either way, Fulci have won already.



- OK. Now EVERY Napoleons - two steps FORWARD, please!

In the long run there are some nice surprises offered via the creative death scenes depicted, the fate of the blind young lady is particularly inventive - at least would be, if Dario Argento would have had NOT deliver a very similar narrative punchline in his trademark effort Suspiria, years prior to Fulci's installment. But he did, and Fulci evidently copied him. Yet this act is so massively crystal clear this time around that it seems rather OK to account this moment as a tribute to Argento from Fulci's part, I think even he would agree with that.



- You should at least take a goddamn BATH!
- I Just DID!

Having no significant qualities as a legit effort as far as storytelling considerations, The Beyond would inevitably weight in as a stable routine horror for an era that had a high curiosity factor for stuff dead and having no clue. As we were hinting at it, Fulci's touch to imbue meritorious traits unto a mediocre narrative buildup resides in the ability and willingness to present the negotiation as a merely casual matter to interconnect the memorable scenes, those that are massively determined to offer death via rather surprising ways and depict related horror via a refined degree of passive, yet, paradoxically: hyperactive attention.

With it's extremely stoic, curious stance towards deconstruction not just shown but thoroughly exhibited and served, The Beyond remains an interesting station not just in Fulci's career, but represents a rare motion picture category in which the dialectic inspection process of trauma administered creates and offers a massively sterilized channel for the free, ultimate, pure interpretation of horror.



- ... and here me do keeps me Weird Tales collections!

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The Symphonic Jean Michel Jarre

Won't Stop No At Marshmallow Planets

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Tadlow Music, 2006



It is not for sure, but not entirely uncertain either that recent team-ups of popular music with a classical environment left Ancient Synthwizard Jean Michel Jarre quite: motivated. I figure, he figured:

"I CAN'T call myself an up-to-date Music Creator and possess NO record with a Symphonic Orchestra under my Ancient Synthwizard Butt! Nons ways, NONS WAYS at ALL!"

So Tadlow Music delivers. Tadlow Music delivers you The Symphonic Jean Michel Jarre, and, fortunately enough, this double disc release brings a rather stable selection of the strongest elements Jarre had to offer to this day.

I would be curious to see what - if any - weaponry Jarre fans would choose to punish me with if I were to tell: Jean Michel usually relies on supersimple compositional methods, and comes up with output that is risk free to offer and similarly safe to appreciate, yet his recent efforts do not necessarily possess the creative power that fuel such classic composition of this author as Magnetic Fields 1. You couldn't watch a science TV show and miss out Magnetic Fields 1 for many many years. It is interesting to observe that even the song in question is clear and simple in it's structure, yet entertains you with such rampant power and elegant beauty to itself that it can go for eight minutes without you being bored for a moment. Very powerful vibe. Ah, did I mention that Magnetic Field 1 is included on The Symphonic Jean Michel Jarre? In a symphonic arrangement, as well. Definite peek moment.

This is all cool. No doubt. Yet Jarre sometimes exhibits a tendency of judging the musical significance of his own ideas incorrectly. He seems to fall in love easily with his invocations, which is probably acceptable. What is not particularly OK in my opinion is that he usually satisfies with the naked, raw idea and chooses NOT to entertain the musical thought further on. Thus there are risks that you will have the Iron Maiden Experience. The Iron Maiden Experience is this: you have some casual wind-blows-me-hair guitar riff and a galloping bass and rhythm section in the background. The wind-blows-me-hair guitar riff then collides with various powerchords to fill in your 4/4 and you are good to go. I am aware that Iron Maiden has some quite significant songs, but I am pretty sure they can deliver two blatantly boring pieces for each classic they wrote. The method and related experience I was outlined is clear manifestation of musical bullcrap, you see.

"We have to sell out 4*4/4 there, guys."

"Can you play like - some stuff in the foreground?"

"Like: "Pariramm-paaaa-pappppiraraaaa!" ??"

"Ye, OK. You do that and I'll go like: "TAN-dada-TAN-dada." Ye?"

"Ye. This for four by four times?"

"Ye. They'll fall for it. They always do."

"Ye."

"Ye."

A similar approach, say that I herein, unravels in the music of Ancient Synthwizard Jean Michel Jarre from time to time. When it does not, then he is very good. Alas, he should publish music that came by just THOSE moments, in my opinion. Remember his latest studio release? That one was particularly lacking any inventiveness and sounded more as a collection of thrown away ideas. My impression truly was that Jarre sold even his failed attempts to come up with new compositions. I am so sorry I forgot the name of the record as now it is quite hard to identify in the massive release palette he has even in a quite brief period. This is yet another strange aspect. If I see things correctly, Jarre releases a record virtually every next Sunday - sure, I am exaggerating a bit, but not THAT much, mind you I. To elaborate my prior implication about Jarre having definite uncreative periods, I can recall his 2004 album Aero though. Man. That sucked. That sucked badly. All in all, in my experience and opinion Jarre usually weights in as highly acceptable via seven songs out of ten, as far as the remaining three go: two will be brilliant and one will be silly, or vice versa.

Now having our almost stupendously lengthy introduction section ruthlessly concluded, let us start earing out what the Jarre Thing exactly has to deliver if surrounded by an orchestra, instruments and synthetizers all pointing at you.

Disc 1:

The opening track Chronologie 1 is the perfect opening statement to start up an installment with electro-orchestrated aspirations. I mean it is the perfect opening track if and when "electro-orchestratism" - sorry 'bout that - is of focal importance. Chronologie 1 delivers you a nice, thick string fabric to lay down on and supports this simple yet elegant buildup with some massively effected digital cellos to offer nice, casual solos - summoning a sci-fi buildup that is quite pleasant to relate to. Enjoy that 3:00 minutes flat you have without the senseless human choir kicking in. Surely, it is not their fault, they even do a wonderful job as far as the actual job goes, but the nice sci-fi buildup is dead gone as Jean Michel Jarre points his mighty fingers to the First Pink Marshmallow Planet you will encounter. An elegant, brief, cautious sci-fi statement is chased away and unravels unto silly, overwhelming choirfest characterized by a supersmiple musical idea. All is not too bad though: at the climax some thick throated opera singer claims her presence and renders a nice little monologue to the magnificent stars to surround Jarre's Pink Marhsmallow Planets, even better: the ending portion makes elegant fun of basic compositional methods utilized in classical music. Jarre borrows emotional building blocks from Offenbach's Kan Kan, and places sci-fi psychedelics atop of them - the resultant sensation is cunning and stable, also a nice and effective way to wrap this one up. At the end up of the day, you can't help but notice that Jarre eventually arrived at quite interesting places with his seemingly redundant choirs to pose as the focal negotiation of this piece, yet I still tend to think that the very beginning of Chronologie 1 is strong and autonome enough so it could be work way better and way more functional as a stand alone statement than the intro section it gets semi-clumsily utilized as here.

Amazingly, the follow-up statement is entitled Chronologie 2. I notice Jarre has some exquisite fixation towards certain pathos-filled words, I am not entirely sure, but I recall as I would have seen stuff like Oxygen 13, even. Hm. Chronologie 2 is such blatant, shameless and hilarious of an effect craver that you suddenly fail to show a blaming factor of all this and decide to keenly follow up the pathos filled melody offered as focal theme instead. This is a funny piece: it is hard to decide whether Jarre takes you for a complete imbecile, anticipating you to live through Chronologie 2 as a serious "symphony??" or does he indeed make quite serious fun of the basic concept of symphonies? Hmm, I am not entirely sure of the correct answer, and this is why Chronologie 2 is kind of: kind to me.

What about yet another Chronologie statement, this time by the title Chronologie 3? I must admit this is a very intricate placement from the Jarre Thing, as this third piece to conclude the Chronologie trilogy speaks in fluent, flawless classical registers. A gloomy, cunning composition, exhibiting a nice, reoccurring focal period in which pathos grows so massive and strong that the buildup collapses under itself, finding a logical and elegant way to reoccur again. Why this placement is so original? I think it is because the prior installment left you wondering if you were taken for a fool or were just entertained. During Chronologie 3 though, your impression that you picked up the correct Jarre record to date solidifies steadily.

Oops. Now me sees Gloria, Lonely Boy is to follow up. I have no clue what this "Lonely Boy" business is, yet the song itself is blatantly peaceful and beautiful. A lady is singing about this particular Gloria character of whom identity I have not the dimmest idea, but I do hope she/he feels better after hearing this. The song pretty much feels like an attempt to calm someone down deeply hurt. Very strong, lazy - in a good sense - composition and a very nice, integral performance from all participants. A supermassive, memorable peek moment.

Equinoxe 4 is the piece I can so passionately scratch my face off listening to. A cautious, nice opening vibe to start up the piece, blown the hell away by a 2nd theme that flattens everything out that comes contact with it. Blah! This time the opening vibe is way more powerful than the senseless focal melody eagerly and ruthlessly voiced by brass instruments, but who cares, truly. The focal melody is Jarre's selfish personal fixation this time around, an idea he refuses to admit not being strong enough to worth showing around for several minutes. Equinoxe 4 has definite aspirations to exhibit meritorious emotional elements invoked by Magnetic Fields 1. By the calm starting vibe and the sinister mid section - yes, even the structure is similar to Magnetic Fields 1 - it has some degree of success, yet the focal, big-ass brass theme flattens the elegant buildup out hopelessly. This is not too bad, not too bad - but not too good, not too good, either.

Fishing Junks at Sunset is an oriental stroll around. It's cute. And, above all: it's truly cute. Did I mention how cute Fishing Junks at Sunset was? It is, trust me.

Souvenir De Chine is the gloomiest and one of the strongest moments of the double release. A superthick string section and a nice rhythm pattern are the focal elements here. Amazingly, the Jarre Thing yet again exhibits modest musical sanity here: he recognizes the massive layer of stringed instruments as strong as it is indeed, and spares them the upper solo registers, the register that would surely compromise this buildup, mind you. Souvenir De Chine is basically a rhythm section, yet such a melodic rhythm section it is that it does not need any solos to - I dare say this - filth it. An exquisite piece.

Magnetic Fields 5- The Last Rumba is some Rumba. It IS a cool Rumba, too!

Industrial Revolution - Overture is an easily approachable piece to represent and manifest Jarre's compositional skillset when the author is free to rely on a supportive orchestra and synths. It is a stable piece with a constant pulsation to it, offered for you by hammers to emphasize the modal atmosphere the title suggests. It is beyond questions that every instrument gets a role here, and gets a functional one. Apart from that: nothing more to unravel or to remain here.

Industrial Revolution - Part 1 is a quite subtle, cheerful piece. Massively, yet - should we say? - haughtily classical, with a cunning tendency to interchange between the delightful and the determined registers. This piece is organically connected to the follow-up statement, Industrial Revolution - Part 2. The resultant mood here maintains it's accessibility while opening up to a massively cinematic scale. A quite significant fabric of two connected statements to show off Jarre's evident capabilities to write music once he is serious about that.

Disc 2:

While I basically find Eldorado a pretty good song to provoke massive flows of saliva out through the corners of your mouth, I must admit that it has it's supersilly charms to it, and I tend to think that Jarre himself had not much more intention with it than to clearly include and reveal those. I dare to say that the song has elements and moments quite similar to the compositional methods utilized by guitar god Steve Vai on HIS symphonic statement.

I fail to pick up on Oxygene 13's originality which might be existent yet it is extremely well hidden. Some melancholic stuff it is, I suppose - but seems to have no intention to going anywhere, and, throughout this recognition you wish for it's end to arrive via that senselessly fast yet oh so! relieving manner.

Fortunately, the symphonic rendition of Magnetic Fields 1 has ended up as a quite firm and solid statement. The supportive synthetizers are now substituted by stringed instruments and focal solo synths are rendered via thick, clear brass instruments. A trademark effort in Jarre's career, Magnetic Fields 1 still has that paradoxical, fresh (!) retro sci-fi feel to it, while the fact that makes a quite special piece of this musical statement is that it has nothing more to it than this ever-present, fresh retro sci-fi feel. Then again: what more could you ask for? The fact that it offers nothing more or different than retro sci-fi feel is what we are so grateful for and signing on for here.

Emmigrant is yet another faceless, overwhelming stare-to-nothingness via senselessly overblown tones of Symphonic Orchestra Overkill. Immensely tiresome to relate or listen to, I figure Jarre tried to summon an atmosphere similar to Richard Strauss's improbably powerful Thus Spoke Zarathustra. My opinion would be that either you go for that particular majestic-space-sensation via senseless power as Strauss did, or you better off staying: SILENT.
You with me here, Jean Michel? SI-LENT. All in all, Emmigrant is one of Jarre's numerous failed attempts to create majestic space music, but it still remains a nice depiction of the Pinkest Marshmallow Planets you ever witnessed, nevertheless.

"This: Stinks! This Also: Sucks!" - Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Richard Strauss nodded. Jean Michel Jarre Hid Away. And Their Words And Gestures Made Perfect Sense, Indeed.

Oxygene 4 is both cute and persistent enough to successfully convince you about the meritoriousness of it's musical assumptions, also a funny testament of how easily Jarre ends up being overly fascinated by his own ideas. Oxygene 4 introduces a nice little chord harmony and feeds it to you till the end of spacetime or a highly illegal blackout process. The brass instruments make a nice modal interchange this time around, emphasizing the harmonies from time to time. Cute, simple, easily approachable and filled full by a casual, funny mood: Oxygene 4 is: actually good.

Rendez-Vous 2 kicks off powerfully, just to arrive to a strange spot characterized by some crazy-ass synthetic choir to rape out further pathos (??) out of a buildup that is filled with it already. Apart from this particular moment, Rendez-Vous 2 relies heavily on a nice, narrative musical language. Cinematic touch becomes evident. At the midsection though, the entire song pours down to an entirely different dimension. A superthick, dark synthetizer gravitates this tense period as paradoxical guiding light in a secret tunnel, where other instruments including choirs are just supportive elements and serve the welcomed purpose of musical secrecy rather pleasantly. Later the cinematic buildup introduced earlier comes back, and, amazingly enough: Jarre spares you the highly redundant synthetic choir section this time around, wrapping the statement up with some seriously intense opera chick instead.

Rendez-Vous 4 is quite weightless and silly in my opinion, but these qualities are the appeals at the same time. Definitely not an unpleasant piece, yet it's significance is superscarce at best. This is the proper music for some bubblegum commercial, or for some Space Travel Agency, organizing Trips With No Return to the Pinkest! Biggest! Marshmallow! Planets! Your ticket-checker is the Jarre Thing!

Acropolis offers a rather peaceful, elegant fabric with a tint of secrecy in it, and, fortunately enough, Jarre refuses to summon massively molested sci-fi pathos to compromise a stable structure. That particular sequence where two neighboring notes are colliding to form the chord harmony on is the focal attraction here, the moment you wait for, the moment the song gravitates to as a focal statement. A rather nice buildup at the end of the day, though I would be probably left even more happy with choirs absent.

The concluding piece Computer Weekend is some huge huge + sign on The! Pinkest! Sky! You! Ever! Witnessed! To! Surround! Your! Favorite! Pinkestest! Marshmallow! Planet! Featuring the all-time superclassic harmony progression to fuel such popular statements as La Bamba or Wild Thing, Computer Weekend is a big Yes! for life and stuff related, also a strange, but no doubt, somewhat humorous way it is to conclude a double disc release fueled mainly by mild secrecy, gloom and pathos.

At the end it seems safe to say that a rather eventful, integral series of statements you hear and witness with thy magnificent ears. Jean Michel Jarre once again proved to be a significant factor in the musical game, erasing the memory of a period in which he had considerable problem to produce evident quality. With The Symphonic Jean Michel Jarre you can't possibyl go entirely wrong, though your best option is to spot your own personal favorites for time to time and listen to them as stand-alone selections surrounded by neighboring musics of different origins.

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Cloverfield 3 - The Reckoning

Fear Constructed - > Served - > Consumed

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City, Monster, Terror, Popcorn. Fear Constructed - > Served - > Consumed. Sure, I admit I was going for a media hack attempt when chose the title of this Cloverfield review. After all, it might be interesting to read about the third Cloverfield installment when there is just one episode out and a second one hangs in preproduction state. It seems we have to wait for a while indeed, as the very next scheduled monster of the series is due to arrive in 2009 via J.J. Abrahm's enigmatically titled Untitled J. J. Abrahm's Cloverfield Sequel.

SERIES? Now what could give me THAT particular idea? No one ever said that Cloverfield will be a series - so today seems proper of a time to form and voice this curious suspicion. I think it WILL be a series, even better/worse: will be a highly successful one. From a profit point of view, nevertheless. As far as the cultural impact carried and delivered by Cloverfield goes though, I am pretty sure it already told all about itself that was worth telling via the narrative decisions it currently and steadily (SIC!) relies on.

I truly don't like accounting films via naming their inspirators, yet now those are so important and evident that I decided to form an exception to solidify a rule. Mix The Blair Witch Project and the Godzilla myths, add a bunch of everyday average normal guys armed with some everyday average normal camera, then sit back and behold Cloverfield revealing itself as highly calculable of an output as a person with prior knowledge about the inspirators would anticipate it to end up as. I found this installment not a tad better or a tad worse than I expected it to be - though there were no surprises for the onion, let us soak into the mathematically constructed excitement via Godzilla's now-absolutely humorless canvas debut.



OMIGOOOOD! OMIGOOOOD!

Cloverfield is a quite cunning, legit recipe actually as far as commercial coherence goes, yet even this promising consortium of the Godzilla genre with fakeumentary appeals - hick! - is compromised massively by the sickness all similar movies have exhibited to this day. If you have a fictional monster to tear a city apart and a camera just to backup epic memories, then fun is imminent - yet I have a mild suspicion that the creators of Cloverfield had absolutely no clue about how to fill in 69 minutes with the Monster Mayhem and keep you interested all the while.

A harsh statement? Of course. Now let's inspect why these fakeumentary installments - except for the Prime Fakeumentray Originator The Blair Witch Project - suck like: baaaad.

The focal element a handycam narrative usually relies on is: instability. Instability and constant panic, as the constant panic is the primal element to summon and solidify instability - < - notice the nice noise here - itself, no? Notice also how these panic-based fakeumentaries tend to massively rely on modal chaos and uncertainty to claim - I would say: crave, rather - meritorious appeals. Almost nothing beyond panic was presented in narrative fakeumentaries, yet makers of Cloverfield probably thought that panic was shown already, indeed - but not quite enough of it, and not for long enough, either.

The effort possesses quite a limited tool set in my opinion, in which you can find narrative components to rely either on:

1. Panic

2. Terror

3. Both

Surely all this sounds as a narrative buildup with potential, but trust me: once panic is endless, then panic is pointless. Confirmation: what reason do I have to maintain my panic when I am steadily having it since HOURS? A panic you have since hours is not a panic, and a panic shown for loooong long doses of 10-minute blocks just to be occasionally interrupted by blatantly bland word trades gets surprisingly boring. This is why it seems so easy to catch panic-related fakeumentary efforts red handed, Cloverfield is a precious archetype for this symptom. Panic, Panic, Panic. Omigod, Omigod, Omigod.

The attraction itself tries to convince you of it's own blatant power via this here concept I shall elaborate on cheerfully: the handycam tells you that you are PRESENT, INVOLVED and AFFECTED - yet intensity usually teams up with a not quite appealing clumsiness factor, a phenomena which you might even consider as an intentional, a necessary design decision. In some other reality though, these clumsinesses are the negative aspects of fakeumentaries: constant panic shown in a constantly instable manner quickly boils down to deliver a generally average excitement level at best, then, from that point on: you slowly yet surely will start to lose interest, trust me. The most significant problem with Cloverfield is that it does not add anything at all to itself when not involving you in the chaos and rampant fear it focally attempts to reveal and capture. Let me tell you this: I am more afraid of the protagonists than of the monsters.

By the casual peace periods you see these bunch of everyday average normal guys taking their oh! so trivial breaths, mind you, now these are highly traumatized everyday average normal guys. Their words represent as much significance or legit narrative input as - sorry 'bout that - a fart in the elevator. Narrative sections The Blair Witch Project fills in by quality fear and exquisite tension gets shamefully wasted or not even touched upon by Cloverfield. This is a Bah!, even a BAH!



OMIGOOOOD! OMIGOOOOD!

Remember the horrible Spanish fakeumentray [REC], a gruesome, blaming index finger to molest the mighty nose of the zombie genre - in my opinion, you simply fail to maintain stable interest towards those shouting people. In this here movie Cloverfield - the general output seems and feels very similar. For the majority of the program time you see frightened masses of people having no idea what is going on, also, your view is necessarily constrained to THEIR point of view. All this consorts with a nice tone of narrative rawness in the earlier sections, yet the creators probably considered the method so powerful on it's own merits that they make no noticeable effort to offer even a vague versatility of some kind which would reign beyond panic.

Narrative constraints are becoming slight or more profound hindrances while these constraints were supposed to be the focal attractions here. Surely, these aspects do not necessarily form a problem group - especially not if you have more stuff to show than constant panic. Make no mistake though: Cloverfield shows nothing but constant panic. There is a quite sorrowful aspect of this depicted phenomena, unfortunately. It becomes very hard, and frankly, extremely tiresome to relate to after a while. And "after a while" usually equals half an hour flat, at best.

Flashy, blurry images for half a minute that you can't make a crap out of, then:

They go like: "OMIGOD!"

You go like: "OMIGOD!"

Flashy, blurry images for 2 minutes that you can't make a crap out of, then:

They go like: "OMIGOD!"

You go like: "Yeah! OMIGOD!"

Flashy, blurry images for 5 minutes that you can't make a crap out of, then:

They go like: "Vhoooooonnnooo! OMIGOD!"

You go like: "Yeah."

Flashy, blurry images for 2 minutes that you can't make a crap out of, then:

They go like: "Aaaaaaah! Vhaaaaaa! OMIGOD!"

You go like: "...zZzZz...zZzZz....zZzZz..."

Cloverfield indeed relies on massively blurred and uncertain images to present the peek moments, the intersecting sequences are governed by the quite tiresome acting delivery of the little party you forced to be a participant of. The movie starts out with a similarly tiresome, somewhat supertasteless and colorless birthday party, a scene you are to watch for 20 minutes of All Eternity, prior to the monster's

Highly Welcomed Arrival

All this should converge our attention to the mere fact that even the creators of the movie considered their ideas to sell out totally and completely in 50 minutes flat. You will get 'nuff of handycam terror and monster(s!) from that 50 minutes, have no doubt about that. Cloverfield has some nice scares and scenes in it, a couple of moments to stand out from the fluctuant, chaotic fabric to massively characterize the final output. As of today, we surely should not anticipate anything different or anything more from the upcoming Cloverfield installments than monsters to traumatize a whole city, yet fortunately the first episode delivers so much of these attraction that developments are immensely needed and hopefully will be delivered via the follow-up(s).

In the meantime, point a camera to a Foul Sky and sing a One Note Song of Fear.



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The Mist

Is There Anybody - Out There?

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Stephen King's short story The Mist was first published in 1980, now having a slightly edited version from 1985 and a recent novel form specifically tailored to accompany this here motion picture adaptation by director Frank Darabont. According to King, he came up with this story inspired by real life events when dense fog settled on the city he and his family was living in, following an intense storm that rampaged over the region the night before. By the time he and his son were waiting in line to pay for the groceries in the local supermarket, he could see how nice of a show monsters could put up if to surround the building and be concealed by the thick fog, stopping everyone from leaving the site. Question arises: whom are to pose as a more significant danger? Monsters outside? Or maybe there is a pretty-much-monster standing beside you, wearing though the face of a human, ready to judge you and pass that -

proper sentence?

Smooth, legit questions and components to construct strong horror of sterilized entertainment value on. This welcomed collaboration of Darabont and King brings you the classic lockdown situation, spicing up a stable base assumption with cunning microcommunity drama and a solidly presented monster threat. Funny thing is: you could certainly interpret these elements via a certain layout THEN turn it around, as the monsters outside are probably having their own microcommunity drama too, while the spiritual dead ends and profane ignorance people are forced through and pushed to in the supermarket by the monster inside are certainly as grim as the monsters outside. Even grimmer, baby. Even grimmer.

Supermarkets are classic places to stuck in since Dawn of the Dead, an elementary zombie statement from 1978 that many consider a ruthless social commentary, regardless of how director George A. Romero voiced that he did not have such aspirations, though has nothing against if and when someone interprets his work on this register. Indeed, it is comfy to inspect these stuck-in-mall statements through a lens of surficial consumerism. There are different ways to do this, let me offer a certain angle to look at that.

When a zombie/monster militia forces people to establish a safe (?) haven in a supermarket, then suddenly all participants- zombies and humans - are zombies. How come? Surely, the undeads are undeads already, but the humans to stuck inside are effective prisoners both of the supermarket and of the goods it houses. Their stable, immense dependency on the products to maintain a survival factor poses an elegant implication about the essential similarity between human and zombie. Both factions are to survive. For the zombie, the human is the product - the leftover? - to devour, while consuming flesh is the primal agenda. On the other hand, human is similarly constrained to consume the products inside to maintain her/his functionality, thus the inescapable conclusion of being hopelessly dependent and attached to consumption unravels as sour unity between human and zombie. Funny, yes?

Welcomely enough though, King draws this parallel utilizing monsters, while the elements to form a nice extra confrontation on are of humane origins, thus conflicts are imminent to rise even between human characters, let alone the evident treat the creatures outside represent. The monsters have no other function or interest than exhibiting constant terror, and they do that via ruthless, much welcomed efficiency. These creatures are not slow, are not constrained to consume humans, they neither are of this Earth. A multiform of vivid, alien existence, having absolutely no relation to human as the mere concept of relation is probably insignificant/nonexistent to them. They are a breed similar to the Zerg species from the Starcraft video game, and their most frightful aspect a human can encounter with is the fact how blatantly different and lethal they are compared to our specie. Human might be the more sophisticated on the intellectual basis. What this benefit is capable to give him? It gives him the ability to recognize the profane threat the monster represents.

It gives him the ability to fear.



- Can't see a damn THING!
- Oh, they have that in the Rental section.

Darabont summons this atmosphere steadily, creating a vibe in the air where people in the mall must realize that the threats ancient fears were whispering about just claimed factual reality to them. Fortunately enough, King recognizes that the only way to develop the story further on is by accounting how different human personalities are reacting to Fear Unleashed, and surely, he had the cunningness to offer you a monster right beside you, a monster even more dangerous than the breed of species outside.

Meet Mrs. Carmody, masterfully personified by Marcia Gay Harden. Possessor of a radically stable belief system composed of the firmest and darkest convictions about

The Vengeful God,

this woman recognizes humans as - well, it would be not correct to compare humans to micro existences like bacteria, as Mrs. Carmody would certainly state that bacterias are better than humans as they did not commit such blatant sins against the Almighty as us, obscene infidels. For Mrs. Carmody, there are two types of human: the one who have sinned, and the one who have sinned on numerous occasions. She passes judgment on all she encounters like you pass greetings when meeting friends, while the name of the true problem here is that her convictions are rampant enough to utilize consensus fear to form sorrowfully fluent channels that her senseless, dangerous broadcast can travel contagiously on. It is amazing indeed, how existentially - in the physical/spiritual sense - traumatized people are willing to accept an evidently false interpretation of something they can not comprehend IF and WHEN this circumstance to threat them has all chances to eradicate them. The false conviction of having some understanding, some proper relation about/to the nature of the monsters is needed to maintain the sanity that otherwise would be certainly lost. Thus man has no further interest about keeping an autonomy that just have failed and left him clueless, not even if his conviction is evidently false. A conviction he needs, a conviction to comfortably relate to, it's quality is no longer of primal importance. Not when the entities man must sew his convictions for are so alien, so lethal and so mighty.

From that point, Mrs. Carmody's Kingdom is free to claim by the Judgmental Mistress. Nothing, absolutely nothing is way too expensive if someone claims to be aware of the solution, just make the fear stop, just make it nonexistent.



The Mist is a monster movie indeed, though there are no monsters in it, just one: Mrs.Carmody. The species outside are probably having their confused roam-around in the mist, probably possessing no recollection of how they ended up here, though King will account on that in a brief, yet satisfactory fashion. The species are components to firstly outline, then to essentially substantialize fear among the mall people, the fear Mrs. Carmody is able to forge her crown of, and that, she does to the point where other protagonists are lethally endangered by her massively deranged way of thinking, a supernegative vibe to claim and greet allies among the spiritually weak. We shall even say: spiritually semi-blind.

Notice: all this could be a very cool theater play, even without the monsters shown. One could invent her/his own, no? Fear not, or do just that though, as in The Mist, Darabont does show you the monsters, and I must say the creative team did quite nice of a job on them. The species are exhibiting intellect and rampant aggressivity, also you will have the chance to witness a whole series of variants on them. Small, medium, large, extra large, You Gotta Be Kidding Me-sizes are all included and nicely accounted on via visual and narrative registers. I particularly liked the first occasion we are to witness a representative of the breed via a probably quite big monster with tentacles. I found this creature to be very well researched and well presented with it's multifunctional limbs, an asset it could reach distant, even tiny places with and attack anything at those places via the vicious fangs it possesses all through the tentacles. The brief sketch where the monster proudly shows off his tentacle fangs is a definite OMG! for me. A vivid, intelligent, rampant, organically legit creature you witness. What more could we anticipate from a decent monster flick? Oh yes, we could anticipate more of vivid, intelligent, rampant, organically legit creatures, I think. The fact that The Mist comes up with such creatures - because it does, you will have nice surprises - is a rather fortunate circumstance to encounter, also a design language of seriousness that I'd like to remain to fuel further monster movies.



SOME hitch-hikers ARE persistent!

The Mist delivers a stable actor palette with but occasional glimpses at sorrowful verges of overacting primarily on Thomas Jane's part who gives you the focal character to narrate the story. I particularly disliked the constantly reoccurring scenes to depict Thomas Jane hugging his little boy, assuring him how much he loves him and how OK everything will be and bluhbluhbluhbluh. Laurie Holden gives you a stable supportive role as female sidekick, while Toby Jones as Ollie, an employee at the mall offers a very authentic, likeable rendition of your everyday, friendly, "normal-little-guy". Jim Grondin is of special note, as well. The hardened, proud overall worker is among the starters to fall in for and support Mrs.Carmody's judgmentmania, giving you a nicely outlined inner breakdown taking place in this fluently working archetype character.



- Hisssssssssssss! HISSSSSSSSSSS! HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
- Yegoddaaaaaatrite, missssstressssss.

The Mist has a different ending to it than the written original. While many consider it a "wrong" conclusion, I must say I liked it very much, and felt that way through the unbearable emotional state the protagonist ends up in. This is a highly effective twist to wrap this story up with. That very final scene-buildup with the small party of protagonists driving into the mist AND the final conclusion they arrive at do embed a massively strong final touch into the narrative structure in my opinion. A much more significant final touch than the one you would end up with via a mist to vanish. The mist DOES vanish in the end, by the way. What you see to remain right beside you is not necessarily a scenery to please you immensely though.



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