SEX AFTER KIDS - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Fine Cast Wasted in Lame Bourgeois Feature Length TV Sitcom

Sex After Kids (2013) *½
Dir. Jeremy Lalonde
Starring: Gordon Pinsent, Zoie Palmer, Paul Amos, Mary Krohnert, Kate Hewlett, Jay Brazeau, Mimi Kuzyk, Katie Boland, Kris Holden-Ried, Amanda Brugel, Peter Keleghan, Shannon Beckner, Ennis Esmer

Review By Greg Klymkiw

I've said it before, I'll say it again: "Who wants to go to the movies to watch TV?" Sadly, there have been any number of lame comedies released during the new millennium - both indie and studio - that are little more than feature-length TV sitcoms and sadder yet, some of them actually do decent numbers at the box-office. This Canadian feature film is probably not the worst, nor especially egregious example of this - Lord knows some of the more disgraceful efforts in this genre of inconsequence have come from entities that should know better.

Some of the all-time worst seem to star the revolting Sarah Jessica Parker - films like Failure to Launch, Did You Hear About the Morgans and, of course, both loathsome Sex and the City movies have rubbed our noses in the dog doo-doo that is the woefully galumphing creature of the equine persuasion who, thankfully, is nowhere to be seen in Sex After Kids, but oddly, about the best that can be said for this trifle of a movie is that one could imagine a bigger budget version of it starring that toothy, horrendous version of Old Paint on two legs.

There is a clearly attractive and talented cast of terrific Canadian actors in this ensemble piece and while it is mildly pleasing to see some of them do their best with the sitcom dialogue to the point where one could imagine some of it being funny, the fact remains that none of it ever is.

The series of stories here all deal with the problems bourgeois couples face in the sack after they have kids. Tying it all together is the almost-funny presence of the wonderful Gordon Pinsent as a sex therapist. I say, "almost" funny only because the idea of the stalwart Canuck having to talk about various sex acts is a lot more amusing than the execution. It's not Pinsent's fault that the funniest thing for me is imagining him use sex terms adorned in his RCMP outfit from "Forest Rangers", but the writing here is generally sub-par - even by the standards of - ahem - CBC-TV comedy. Pinsent gives it the old CBC-try, but I'd frankly rather watch him in The Rowdyman for the umpteenth glorious time.

Basically, what we get here is a clutch of couples post-birth, struggling through the dilemmas of keeping the old-boink-flames going. We have a lesbian couple, various straight couples, single moms, Lothario-types, oldsters with the empty nest syndrome, etc. and we watch them go through the ropes and tropes of their flawed sex lives as the picture grinds away in its by-the-numbers fashion that reminds one of a feature length pilot for a Canadian version of "Love American Style".

And gosh golly gee, they all learn to spice things up and/or get the passion and lovin' back in their inconsequential lives.

That the world pictured is so offensively bourgeois is bad enough, but that we have to see so many good actors wasted is borderline sickening. Given that the movie was made for a crowd-funded pittance makes me feel like I'm kicking a cripple by dumping on it, but the bottom line is that the movie was made, it's out there in the world and it's really not very good.

That said, I reiterate my aforementioned point that the movie is so inconsequential that it might stand a decent enough chance to have the remake rights sold to a studio and then we can get an even more empty version not unlike one of those awful Working Title sitcoms with the likes of Hugh Grant traipsing through the silliness for female audiences comprised of steno-girls, mall workers and their suffering dates. Then they too can get all warm and cuddly, get some boinking in, get married, have their loathsome children and then have the same sex-after-kids problems afflicting the characters of this TV movie.

"Sex After Kids" is inexplicably playing in theatrical venues via Indie-Can Entertainment. Look forward to it on pay-per-view if you miss it on the big screen and maybe, just maybe, we'll see a long-running series on CBC and maybe even a Working Title version with Liam Neeson in the Gordon Pinsent role. I can imagine it now - "You folks better get boinking or I'm going to find you and I'm going to kill you."

I AM DIVINE - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Lovely biographical portrait of actor and John Waters' muse

I Am DIVINE! (2013) ****
Dir. Jeffrey Schwarz
Starring: Divine (Harris Glenn Milstead), John Waters, Rikki Lake, Tab Hunter, Mink Stole

Review By Greg Klymkiw

THE FILTHIEST PERSON ALIVE!

Most people associate Divine, the 300-pound drag performer with the films of John Waters and in particular, the notorious scene at the end of Pink Flamingos wherein a cute little doggie takes a fresh poop on the sidewalk and the porcine hero proves to the world that his character is indeed the filthiest person alive by scooping up the turd and eating it with lip-smacking relish. Needless to say, there was far more to Divine, or rather, Harris Glenn Milstead than grossing out the world and this lovely feature length biographical documentary by Jeffrey Schwarz (Vito) delivers a portrait of a committed actor and generous human being. Using new interviews, archival footage and a myriad of film clips, Schwarz takes us from Divine's childhood, through to adolescence and then throughout his entire career. To learn he was bullied as a child is no surprise and though he appears to have had a loving girlfriend in his late teens, he was a fun, funny and complex gay man with a definite penchant for performance. His friendship and association with John Waters was formed very early on and clearly the men inspired each other. Waters did indeed create the Divine persona, but Divine took it several steps further and became one of the most beloved figures in underground cinema.

However, what I, and probably many viewers don't know is just how popular and in demand Divine was on the New York stages of off-off-off-VERY-off Broadway. He acted in numerous shows, always in drag and also fashioned a brilliant career as a standup performer. Divine's success in New York led to worldwide tours and he was, in fact, the toast of show business - receiving backstage visits from the likes of Mick Jagger, Jack Nicholson - you name it - a who's who of entertainment royalty.

Of course, every year or so was a new John Waters film and as Waters himself sought to grow as a filmmaker, so did Divine as an actor. Waters cannily crafted ever-shifting roles for Divine and by the time Polyester came around, Waters had Divine playing the frustrated suburban housewife relatively straight - a model 50s style woman who is seduced by none other than former teen heartthrob Tab Hunter. Divine expressed some disappointment at being relegated to a supporting role in Hairspray, but his performance here was so pitch perfect and the film itself a mainstream success that Divine (and Waters) finally reached the widest possible audience of either of their careers.

Schwarz spends a fair bit of time on Divine's starring role in Paul Bartel's Lust in the Dust where he and Lainie Kazan vied for the hearts of stalwart cowboy heroes and we begin to learn even more interesting things about Divine. Though gay, he never considered himself a full-on drag queen and certainly did not relate at all in his private life to adhering to the lifestyle of either a transvestite or transgendered individual. Divine was ALL-MAN and that's how he was happy to keep it.

TROUBLE IN MIND

In fact, his desire to act in "straight" roles AS a man, became increasingly intense and after years of toil in the underground, Alan Rudolph eventually cast him opposite Kris Kristofferson in Trouble in Mind.

Schwarz doesn't neglect Divine's private life, either. We learn of his sad estrangement from his parents, his drug taking (though mostly marijuana) and his endless fight with obesity - so much so that, in spite of endless attempts at dieting, he kept falling off the wagon and gaining the weight back exponentially.

And finally, we're taken to Divine's key point - where all his dreams of being taken seriously as an actor came to fruition and he was cast in a straight comic role on television's hit series "Married With Children".

This is clearly a warm portrait and rightly so. We get a great sense of Divine as both a great artist and as a generous, loving human being. In the end, his obesity and severe obstructive sleep apnea contributed to a massive heart attack that cut his life far too short and while there is much to admire in this documentary in terms of sheer entertainment value and good humour, it is also a tremendously moving experience.

By the end, I defy anyone seeing this terrific picture to have anything resembling a dry eye.

"I Am Divine" is in limited theatrical release across North America and in Canada can next be seen at the Winnipeg Film Group Cinematheque Sat Feb 8, 2014 at 9:00 PM, Thu Feb 13, 2014 at 9:00 PM, Fri Feb 14, 2014 at 9:00 PM, Sat Feb 15, 2014 at 9:00 PM and Thu Feb 20, 2014 at 9:00 PM. For further information, please visit the WFG website HERE.

THE DISAPPEARED - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Rub-a-dub-dub, Six Men in a Tub - Canuck Newfies Survive at Sea

The Disappeared (2013) **1/2
Dir. Shandi Mitchell
Starring: Brian Downey, Gary Levert, Neil Matheson, Billy Campbell, Shawn Doyle, Ryan Doucette

Review By Greg Klymkiw

The usual low budget Canadian film these days is a thriller in a cabin in the woods with psychological terror in place of supernatural horror requiring major special makeup and visual effects. Most of these pictures end up being deathly dull, so I'm somewhat grateful to writer-director Shandi Mitchell for delivering a low budget Canuck picture that veers away from the usual and provides a simple tale of survival in the middle of nowhere.

Six Newfie fishermen wake up on two small boats tethered together after their trawler has apparently gone down the night before. They're floating about the North Atlantic with limited food and water plus harbouring the imprecise knowledge that land is probably a few hundred miles away. They have faith in their stalwart captain, but all of them realize they're in a sticky wicket. A few of the men harbour conflicts and resentments - one of them is a religious nut, his son is at odds with him, another man has contempt for the God-fearing sailor, and yet another is badly hurt and suffering from an infection that requires immediate treatment and/or amputation - whichever can come first to ensure survival.

Rationing becomes the order of the day and given the dynamics of the characters this causes more than a few added tensions. Finally, there is an overwhelming sense of despair and desperation that take over and the film makes bold and valiant attempts to both generate drama outside of the usual box of such survival tales as well as create a natural and realist atmosphere. The result, however, is that the picture has far more than its fair share of longueurs - some of which seems absolutely necessary, but ultimately require stronger elements to allow the audience an opportunity to coast along in a more contemplative manner - one which is more active in terms of the process of engaging in the storytelling rather than being perched just outside of it.

It is admirable that the picture tries to avoid diving into more obvious, exploitative elements that might have goosed things along if, in fact, the intent was to add a layer of the suspense or thriller genres to the proceedings, but as this is clearly not the intent (a la, say Hitchcock's Lifeboat), the movie does lack more substantive philosophical elements that might have plunged it more successfully into a contemplative mode that would have been integral to the dynamics of moving the story ever-forward. Alas, this never quite holds successfully and instead of allowing the film to inspire rumination that's directly relative to the action at hand, an audience is potentially at the disadvantage of moving their thoughts to everything but that which, is on-screen.

Luckily, the film looks great and there's a successful sense of using wide, open space to generate an atmosphere of claustrophobia - certainly not an easy thing to achieve and one that places the film a lot closer to the more mysterious qualities inherent in the early works of Peter Weir (Picnic at Hanging Rock) and Nicolas Roeg (Walkabout). The problem, though, is that Mitchell's film attempts to do this, but ultimately falls short since the narrative does not go out of its way to add a layer of mystery to do it. One can see and even admire, somewhat, the attempt, but at the same time, one also yearns for the film to move more strongly in this direction.

That said, a part of me used some of the picture's longueurs to start imagining the potential of Deliverance-styled Pitcairn Island-ish inbred rednecks floating by to mete out some sodomy or Battleship-styled aliens or even some tribe of stereotypical voodoo worshipping aboriginal savages from Greenland with bones through their nostrils not unlike the natives depicted in Peter Jackson's Skull Island portions of his insane King Kong remake. But hey, that's just me. I won't speak for the thoughts cascading through the minds of others during the aforementioned longueurs.

Another bit of weirdness that can be seen as either a blessing or a curse, is that it's nigh-impossible to completely nail down a proper period for this film. Granted, there's an admirable quality inherent in the tale's attempts to be universal, but it's also one of the more flawed elements that occasionally take us out of the story. When one is making a film with such a deliberate pace, that's the last thing one needs.

The performances are all fine and given that the screenplay doles out elements of character and backstory in subtle ways, the actors all do an excellent job at conveying who they are in relation to the events of their predicament. As such, mystery, danger and malevolence take a somewhat surprising and rather huge backseat to the story's beats. Finally, no matter that the film's intent, or aim, is "true", it yields an experience that just isn't as harrowing as it needs to be. Though the film feels worthy, it does so in a way the betrays its rather earnest Canadian approach. Too much is hinted at, but sometimes, one just needs to call a spade a spade in order to generate a film that creates a more solid forward thrust.

"The Disappeared" is in limited theatrical release across Canada and it's next playmate is at the Winnipeg Film Group Cinematheque on Fri Feb 7, 2014 at 9:00 PM, Sat Feb 8, 2014 at 7:00 PM, Sun Feb 9, 2014 at 7:00 PM and Wed Feb 12, 2014 at 7:00 PM. For further information, please visit the WFG website HERE.

BAD MILO - DVD Review By Greg Klymkiw - One of 2013's 10 Best Horror Films Now Available on DVD from VSC

Buy this DVD to
AVOID CONSTIPATION!

BAD MILO is one of the funniest, creepiest, goriest comedy horror films of 2013 and it's now available on an extras-packed DVD via VSC (Video Services Corp) in Canada, and now, thanks to a great new multi-picture, multi-platform deal with Magnolia Pictures and its superb specialty arm Magnet Releasing, Canadian fans of this first-rate product will be treated to a myriad of delightful bonbons du cinema. Featuring a genial and, for the most part, info-packed commentary track with writer, director and stars plus a series of genuinely entertaining outtakes, extended scenes, deleted material and, for those so inclined, "making of" featurettes and interviews, this is a genuine must-own DVD - not only for some terrific added value goodies, but best of all, the movie itself. Read on, dear reader. I do believe you'll find plenty of reasons in the prose to follow as to why connoisseurs of delightfully detestable bad taste (in ALL the right ways) will be, uh, crapping themselves with joy, joy, joy!!! BAD MILO is one supremely satisfying cinematic bowel movement.

Bad Milo (2013) ***1/2
Dir. Jacob Vaughan
Starring: Ken Marino, Gillian Jacobs, Peter Stormare, Patrick Warburton, Stephen Root, Mary Kay Place, Kumail Nanjiani, Jonathan Daniel Brown

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Are you fond of scatological humour? Do you find farts, faecal matter and good old fashioned anal action of interest? Do you seek solace in globs of blood and excrement splashing across the screen? Well, hang onto your ass-hats. Bad Milo is the most preposterously priceless gross-out laugh-riot I've seen this year. Furthermore, what is simply inarguable is that this exhilarating, almost rapturous comedy is replete with juicy slabs of exquisitely marbled prime-cut horror, featuring the most odious, stench-ridden, bloodthirsty, flesh-slurping and downright disgusting monster in recent cinema history. That the big-eyed, razor-toothed rectal-cavity-dwelling title creature is also E.T.-Mogwai-cute, is the veritable pièce de résistance of this putridly satisfying vat of raw, untreated sewage. Bad Milo is a glorious non-stop barrage of celluloid wet farts aimed directly at your olfactory senses and leading straight to your funny bone.

At the outset of this crazed cult-classic-in-the-making, screenwriters Benjamin Hayes and Jacob Vaughan plunge us immediately into a terrifying P.O.V. of an angry, growling creature as it chases Ken (Ken Marino), nipping at his heels just before our hero bolts into relative safety and warns his babe-o-licious wife Sarah (Gillian Jacobs) to hide and lock herself in the basement - no matter what happens. As the creature on the other side of the closed door is about to batter its way through, we're zapped back in time as the title cards announce: "123 hours earlier."

A florid aural bleat leads us to a radiologist squirting globs of gelatin on Ken's abdomen to perform an ultrasound. He and Sarah are visiting with a specialist to determine the cause of recent stomach troubles and to see if they're in any way related to Ken's potency issues. The doctor examines the sonogram and asks Ken if he's been under any pressure. Well, aside from the pressure building up in his colon, Ken is rising up the ranks of an accounting corporation under the direct supervision of Phil (Patrick Warburton), a sleazy, loyalty-demanding taskmaster who holds all manner of juicy carrots under the young man's nose to inspire the performance of any number of dubious duties in return for eventual advancement opportunities.

The specialist determines that Ken has a polyp deep inside his poop chute which, he claims, is probably the result of poor stress management. He asks Ken how much time he spends in the bathroom on a daily basis to expunge his faecal matter. Ken responds, “I’m in the bathroom a lot, but it’s not extreme.” The look on Sarah's face says otherwise, so Ken comes clean (so to speak) and admits he averages 90 minutes on the crapper over the course of a day. The specialist utters quite the understatement: "This is hugely concerning."

No matter. The good doctor recommends an Endoscopic polypectomy, an especially horrific experience (to which I can personally attest after a few trips to the appropriately named Rudd Clinic in Toronto) wherein a huge pole is inserted into the anus and a snake-like camera wends its way through the colon until the polyp is spotted and a steel lasso takes hold of the distasteful growth and, in the rather over-zealous specialist's description, "pops it like a plum off a tree."

Ken's job until the procedure is to rest and stay stress-free. This proves easier said than done: things are heating up at work whilst Ken's bowel-movement-and-fertility-obsessed Mom (the legendary Emmy-Award winning Mary Kay Place who portrayed Loretta Haggers on Mary Hartman, Mary Hartman) drives him completely nuts. Pressures mount so considerably that Ken's nightly trysts with the matrimonial toilet bowl are so fraught with grunts, groans, screams and noisy expulsions of gas that his beautiful wife goes to bed alone, unsatisfied, but at least able to sleep through the cacophonous bowel movement exertions thanks to the wads of foam plugs she jams deep into her ears.

In desperation, Ken agrees to meet with the unconventional New Age therapist Highsmith (Peter Stormare, unforgettable as Steve Buscemi's laconic, psychopathic partner in crime in the Coen Brothers' Fargo). What's discovered here is Ken's worst nightmare. Actually, it would be anyone's worst nightmare. A rare, ages-old demon has manifested itself directly from Ken's stress and is prime to murder anyone causing undue pressure to our hero. When Ken releases the demon, it's like he's taking a really painful crap, but once it's out, great relief follows.

It doesn't take long for the carnage to begin - punctuated every so often with ultra-extreme rectal activity. Though Ken's poop monster is slowly eradicating everyone causing him stress, the last thing our hero wants is for people to die - especially those who are closest to him.

The laughs come fast and furious, the gore is geyser-like and eventually the film builds to a climax that is as hilarious as it is downright suspenseful. Yet, for all its gross-out qualities, you might be shocked to discover that the writing is as clever as it is disgustingly on (and in) the nose - yes, at its core, the movie is both a love story and a father-son story - with poo, bum and fart gags, of course.

Though co-writer Jacob Vaughn's direction might lack the glorious panache of a Sam Raimi or Brian De Palma, he handles both the comedy and suspense with assurance, impeccable craft and exuberance. Someone also had the good taste to secure and encourage the brilliant music by Ted Masur, who delivers a score that's reminiscent of the work of Pino Donaggio, Angelo Badalamenti and John Carpenter all mashed into a glorious casserole of homage, satire and straight-up scary music styling.

Last, but not least, the design and execution of Milo himself is a thing of unparalleled low-budget beauty and ingenuity. He's a great monster. And yes, he kind of looks like a blob of poo - only with eyes, ears, mouth, teeth and various appendages allowing him to claw, scratch, tear and run like the wind. Like poo, when Milo dives into the comfort of Ken's anus, he's gently reminded, "Be safe in there. Don’t rip anything." When we were first told during the 1978 release of Richard Donner's Superman, "You will believe a man can fly," Bad Milo proclaims: "You will believe that a flesh-eating demon can live comfortably in a man's asshole."

Most importantly, if you ever wanted to see a movie in which the legendary Peter Stormare utters the line: "Maybe your anus is just like a vagina," then I can undoubtedly assure you that Bad Milo is a motion picture that has your name written all over it.

LAW ABIDING CITIZEN - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Lame Vigilante Hijinx pale in comparison to the best

Law Abiding Citizen (2009) *1/2
dir. F. Gary Gray
Starring: Gerard Butler,
Jamie Foxx, Colm Meaney

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Great vigilante movies are driven by a hero or anti-hero that we connect with on a personal level and where ultimately, there are few, if no shades of grey in the quest for retribution. They are also driven by a directorial style that is not only efficient, but endowed with a clear obsessive voice.

Michael Winner’s classic 1974 thriller Death Wish is the first mainstream picture in a decidedly urban setting to make vigilantism entertaining and acceptable as an alternative to supposed law and order. Charles Bronson starred as Paul Kersey, a Manhattan architect whose perfect life is shattered when a pack of thugs home invade his wife and daughter, rape and beat them to a pulp, send the wife to her grave and the daughter to a catatonic state. Frustrated by the seeming indifference of the police and the general lack of law and order, Kersey embarks on a one-man vendetta against crime – roaming the mean streets at night and inviting random acts of violence against him to provide ample opportunities to turn the tables and blow the filth away. The chief investigator of these vigilante slayings is a detective played by the sympathetic, jowly and always-engaging Vincent Gardenia. Between bouts of exquisite vigilante violence and an entertaining cat-and-mouse game between Bronson and Gardenia, Death Wish had “hit” written all over it, playing as it did to packed houses of cheering blood-lusting action enthusiasts in addition to crossing over and appealing to movie-goers of all stripes..

Winner himself seemed to hit his stride as a director with Death Wish – displaying virtuosity and a penchant for nastiness that was seldom matched either by his own work or others (save for Don Siegel and Sam Peckinpah who decidedly went further and with even more style in their own ground-breaking pictures). That said, Winner was no slouch in the style department. With Death Wish, his style was dark, clinical and even now, it’s a film that packs a considerable wallop. Aided by Wendell (Anatomy of a Murder) Mayes’s terrific single-minded screenplay, the picture wisely dispensed with the shades of grey in the original source material of Brian Garfield’s novel. The thematic retribution staple of so many westerns and historical pieces was now placed in a contemporary context and was, for quite some time, accepted by audiences with very open arms.

With a great tradition of vigilante pictures since the ground breaking Death Wish (including the delightful surprise hit Taken), Law Abiding Citizen had a lot of potential to join this delicious coterie of moral reprehensibility as mass entertainment. Kurt Wimmer’s ambitious screenplay sets the wheels in motion for vigilantism directed at ALL the perpetrators of crime – the criminals, the lawyers AND the entire justice system. Seeing the filth get their come-uppance is always pleasurable, but to have the vigilante act upon the system itself, not unlike a home-grown terrorist, could have taken the genre into a whole new realm.

The buff macho hero at the centre of Law Abiding Citizen is seeming everyman Clyde Shelton (Gerard Butler) who is home-invaded, forced to watch as his wife and child are raped and murdered, then left for dead – bound, gagged and bleeding on his living room floor. As if this wasn’t indignity enough, Clyde watches helplessly as the ambitious Philadelphia prosecutor Nick Rice (Jamie Foxx) negotiates a plea-bargain and sends the accomplice to a death sentence while the foul perpetrator of the violence is handed a slap on the wrists. Needless to say, revenge is extracted on both the accomplice and the true person behind the heinous crime in a manner that puts most torture porn to shame. That’s just an appetizer, though. Where the real fun begins is when our hero plays cat and mouse with the system that let him down and he begins murdering lawyers, judges and politicians – in the City of Brotherly Love, no less.

Sadly, the picture is a letdown on two prime counts. Firstly, and most notably, the direction provided by F. Gary Gray is so utterly lacklustre that this potentially stirring narrative plods forward – not with an obsessive quality, but with the dull, single-mindedness of a bull elephant rampaging about a fine china shop. Gray is a director who at his best is barely competent (The Italian Job remake) and at his worst, completely bereft of talent (Be Cool, the miserable sequel to Get Shorty). Secondly, Kurt Wimmer’s potentially solid screenplay veers into confused, schizophrenic territory where the anti-hero becomes a sort of protagonist to the prosecutor, who is portrayed, not as the antagonist, but as the eventual hero. Unfortunately, the prosecutor is clearly a bonehead. He ignores his duties as a family man for his job, he allows ambition to guide his actions and he becomes obsessed with nailing the vigilante to save his own ass – personally and professionally. In many ways, this is a similar problem that drags down Scorsese’s (at least well crafted) remake of Cape Fear where the simple good versus evil story is marred with the wrongheaded attempt to shade the tale with grey – what made J. Lee Thompson’s original so powerful was the pure adherence to black and white (lawyer – good, psychopath – bad, unlike Scorsese’s: lawyer – morally ambiguous, psychopath – bad, but almost justified in exacting terror upon the lawyer).

One wonders if Wimmer’s Law Abiding Citizen screenplay was unceremoniously and bone-headedly over-tweaked-and-tinkered-with to provide new-fangled moral ambiguity to what should have been a simple, but effective white-hat-black-hat action thriller. Most importantly, one also wonders if it might have been a more successful outing if Wimmer had directed himself. As a director, Wimmer's Milla Jovovich ass-kicker Ultraviolet displayed just the sort of panache and obsessive qualities that could have made “Law Abiding Citizen” a genuinely entertaining and effective vigilante picture. It was, alas, not to be. Instead, we’re saddled with a confused, dull and by-the-numbers action thriller that lacks a necessary nastiness and clear directorial voice. We still get to see lawyers, judges and politicians blown away along with criminal scum and while this is not without considerable entertainment value, it all could have risen above the mere IDEA of such delightful proceedings and instead delivered the real goods.

"Law Abiding Citizen" is available on DVD/Blu-Ray from Alliance/E-One.

SPELLBOUND - Review By Greg Klymkiw - The Zaniest Collaboration Twixt Alfred Hitchcock, David O. Selznick and, for good measure, Ace Screenwriter Ben Hecht, Genius Production Designer William Cameron Menzies, Floridly Overwrought Composer Miklos Rozsa and the biggest WTF in movie history, Salvador Dali.

Spellbound (1945) *****
dir. Alfred Hitchcock
Starring: Ingrid Bergman, Gregory Peck,
Leo G. Carroll, Rhonda Fleming, Michael Chekhov

Review By Greg Klymkiw

Of the four official collaborations between producer David O. Selznick and director Alfred Hitchcock, I've always considered The Paradine Case the worst, Notorious the most romantic, Rebecca the best and Spellbound the most utterly insane. The latter description of the latter film is entirely appropriate since it's a murder mystery set in an asylum wherein psychoanalysis is utilized to discover deep meaning in a recurring dream (designed, no less, by surrealist Salvador Dali) in order to find out exactly whodunit.

If this isn't insane, then I don't know what is.

Spellbound also has the distinction of being wildly, deliciously melodramatic, almost crazily romantic and when it needs to be, thanks to the genius of the Master himself, nail-bitingly suspenseful.

Selznick was responsible for bringing Hitchcock to America and signing him to a longterm talent contract. For much of their association, Hitchcock was lent out to other studios, which suited him just fine as he was able to do his own thing without having to tolerate (what Hitchcock perceived to be) the constant interference of the famous auteur producer of Gone With The Wind. Of the four aforementioned collaborations, Notorious was eventually sold outright to RKO in the midst of production while the other three proved to be one of the most dynamic producer-director battlefields in movie history.

Hitchcock and Selznick detested each other. Hitch thought of Selznick as a meddling vulgarian whilst Selznick viewed the portly Brit as a mad genius who needed his sure and steady hand (or psychoanalysis, if you will).

The Chilly Ice Goddess Must Melt.

To this day, Rebecca, a virtually flawless film that more than ably sets the stage for Hitchcock's extremely mature latter work (notably Rear Window and Vertigo) is casually (and sadly) dismissed by the Master of Suspense in the famous interviews with Francois Truffaut as not really being "a Hitchcock film", but rather, "a David O. Selznick film". In many ways, it seems to me that Spellbound might well have been the most ideal collaboration between the two men. Selznick wanted desperately to make a film that extolled the virtues of psychoanalysis (which he felt had been an enormous help to himself - though there appears to be no proof he ever really "got better" as Selznick's maniacal megalomania followed him to the grave). Hitchcock wanted to make a great suspense film and was certainly drawn to the notion of psychoanalysis being used to unravel a mystery.

Add to this mix, the magnificent talent of Hollywood's best screenwriter Ben Hecht (The Twentieth Century, Nothing Sacred, Gunga Din, The Front Page, Scarface and among many others, Wuthering Heights) and Salvador Dali to design the dream sequences and you've got a picture that guaranteed success. (And yes, it was a multi-Oscar-nominee/winner, though not for Hitch, and a huge hit at the box office.)

Hitchcock, purportedly refused to have anything to do with Dali's dream sequences (other than adhering to their imagery as scripted for purposes of the plot) and they were ultimately directed by the ace production designer/director William Cameron Menzies (Gone With The Wind, Things to Come). The hearty cinematic stew that is Spellbound also features a most flavourful ingredient, a great over-the-top score by the legendary Miklos Rozsa - replete with plenty o' theremin usage. Gotta love the theremin!

NYMPHOMANIAC - Hubba Hubba!

What this ultimately yielded was a wonky, intense, romantic and thoroughly engaging murder mystery wherein the director of an asylum in Vermont, Dr. Murchison (Leo G. Carroll), is being forced into an early retirement to make way for a younger, more vibrant head head-shrinker Dr. Anthony Edwardes (the handsome, sexy, stalwart Gregory Peck). The asylum's ace psychoanalyst, Dr. Constance Peterson (the mouth-wateringly gorgeous Ingrid Bergman) is so committed to her work, that most of her colleagues view her as an impenetrable Ice Goddess.

This chilly demeanour, however, stands her in good stead in the results department and she's probably the only person who can adequately handle the asylum's most over-the-top nymphomaniac (Rhonda - "hubba hubba" - Fleming).

But even ice is susceptible to eventually melting and soon, Constance gets definitely hot and bothered and drippingly wet as she succumbs to the rugged, manly charms of Dr. Edwardes. Even more tempting is that on the surface, this stiff rod of manhood is the sort of gentle pansy-boy Constance needs.

Deep down, he is sensitive and most importantly, he is… wait for it - in pain.

Yes, pain!

He needs a good woman for more than amorous attention, he needs her to PSYCHOANALYZE him. When it becomes plain he's not all he's cracked up to be and might, in fact, be a murderer and impostor, it's up to the head-over-heels healer of heads to solve the mystery lodged in Dr. Edwardes's mind.

This is all, of course handled with Hitchcock's trademark semi-expressionistic aplomb and untouchable knack for rendering suspense of the highest order. There isn't a single performance in the film that isn't spot-on (Leo G. Carroll is suitably and alternately sympathetic and malevolent, whilst Peck acquits himself admirably as the troubled leading man), but it's Ingrid Bergman who really carries the picture. Her transformation from Ice Queen to a sex-drenched psychiatrist with a delightful blend of matronly and whorish qualities is phenomenal. She's mother, lover and doctor - all rolled into one magnificent package. And she's never looked more beautiful. Selznick knew this better than anyone and Hitchcock himself knew all too well how to compose and light for beauty.

In one of Selznick's delightful memos from when he first brought Ingrid Bergman to America he wrote:

"...the difference between a great photographic beauty and an ordinary girl with Miss Bergman lies in proper photography of her – and that this in turn depends not simply on avoiding the bad side of her face; keeping her head down as much as possible; giving her the proper hairdress, giving her the proper mouth make-up, avoiding long shots, so as not to make her look too big, and, even more importantly, but for the same reason, avoiding low cameras on her...but most important of all, on shading her face and invariably going for effect lightings on her."

Damn!

They don't make movies like this anymore! And, sadly, they don't make producers like Selznick anymore.

Some things, however, never change. How Ingrid Bergman was nominated the same year for an Oscar for her luminous, but limp-in-comparison performance in The Bells of St. Mary's over Spellbound is yet another mystery of the Oscars we all must put up with.

Not to put too fine a point on it - but, I must - Spellbound is, indeed, spellbinding and it's easily one of the great pictures by both Masters - Selznick and Hitchcock.

"Spellbound" is now available on Blu-Ray via 20th Century Fox/MGM. The copious extras are a mixed bag. A commentary with film historians Thomas Schatz and Charles Ramirez Berg is a real disappointment compared to the great Marian Keane commentary on the Criterion DVD. These guys are all over the place with spotty info and critical analysis bordering on the, shall we be charitable and say, rudimentary. There are a series of docs including one on the film's place as the first to deal with psychoanalysis, a backgrounder on the Salvador Dali sequences, a cool interview with Hitchcock conducted by Peter Bogdanovich and a really delightful doc on Rhonda Fleming. There's a Lux Radio play version of the movie with Joseph Cotten and Alida Valli and a trailer. The movie looks wonderful on Blu-ray, but I have to admit to preferring the care taken with the Criterion DVD transfer which ultimately has a better grain structure and seems closer to 35mm without all the over-crisp qualities that high definition adds/detracts when it comes to older films. I, of course, continue to be in the minority in this belief. That said, I am very happy with the few Hitchcock Blu-Rays that have been released to Blu-Ray. The transfers are impeccable and genuinely maintain the "film" look without too much digital interference (of the aesthetic kind).

9 - Review By Greg Klymkiw - Lovely Animated Science Fiction Feature a great buy on Blu-Ray

9 (2009) ***½
dir. Shane Acker
Starring the voices of: Elijah Wood, Christopher Plummer, John C. Reilly, Martin Landau, Jennifer Connelly, Crispin Glover

Review By Greg Klymkiw

9 is blessed with a simple narrative that, not unlike the little engine that could, drives the picture forward with the force of a powerful springboard – yielding big ideas and exquisitely generating emotional responses as viscerally thrilling as they are profoundly moving. Based on his acclaimed award-winning and Oscar-nominated short, director Shane Acker attracted the likes of such visionaries as Tim Burton and Timur Bekmambetov to assist with the production of his feature debut. Blending the dark magical qualities of the former and the razzle-dazzle rollercoaster ride action of the latter, Acker goes the distance and then some with this astoundingly gorgeous animated sci-fi adventure. He also brings his own unique visual style to the fore and creates a movie that careens through a futuristic, yet retro look that is altogether unique. On a story-level, Acker builds to a suspenseful climax and a conclusion that is almost as awe-inspiring in its sense of spirituality as the final moments of Spielberg’s Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

It’s a ride that keeps you glued to the screen and desperately wanting, by the end, to not leave the cinema. He keeps you wanting more and this is a considerable virtue, indeed. However, rather than leaving unanswered narrative questions, you are left with much that is cerebral and, dare I say, philosophical.

Set in a post-apocalyptic world that resembles our own (but early 20th century retro), a strange little rag doll with the number 9 stitched on his back (Elijah Wood), comes to life in a ramshackle room with the long-dead body of an old man, his inventor (Alan Oppenheimer). He eventually discovers others like himself, tucked away in a bombed-out cathedral while huge metal machine monsters roam the lifeless planet seeking to destroy the rag dolls. Led by the patriarchal #1 (Christopher Plummer), the dolls are convinced they must hide to survive, but #9 is convinced that the key to their continued existence is to fight back, and most importantly, try to discover the reason why the monsters are hell-bent on wiping them out. #9 leads the battle charge with the help of #5 (John C. Reilly), a mechanical whiz, #2 (Martin Landau), an old scientist, #6 (Crispin Glover), a feverishly crazed artist, #7 (Jennifer Connelly) a “gorgeous” ninja-styled ass-kicker (a “ninjette”?) and the hulking more-brawn-than-brains #8 (Fred Tatasciore). As it turns out, it’s not just the existence of the rag dolls that’s in peril, but the potential to bring real life back to the planet.

One of the extraordinary aspects of 9 is Acker’s use of the all-star cast of voices. This is not the usual assembly of names to inject boxoffice appeal into an animated film. Each and every actor used (save for one sore thumb) is endowed with the sort of voice one needs to give life to animated characters. Christopher Plummer is not surprisingly, in excellent form as the authoritarian figure that demands adherence to his belief that survival can only mean keeping the lowest profile possible. This said, however, would paint a portrait of a character far too one-dimensional for an actor as great as Plummer to be wasted on and there is another aspect of #1 that we get subtle glimpses of so that his eventual transformation comes as one of those surprises we should have seen coming right from the very beginning. All the other actors acquit themselves superbly, but the one low-point is Jennifer Connelly’s weak voice work that borders on cliché. But no matter, Wood is a great, finely textured hero, Reilly a warm and fun presence and Glover, especially and predictably brilliant as a tortured artist.

Acker has a real gift for blending images that are stunning in their detail – in fact, almost awe-inspiring – and yet, that are as dark and bleak as all get out. The shattered ruins of a civilization that once was – lying dead under greenish clouds of some vaguely nuclear haze are powerful indeed. Similar to the strange feelings evoked by John Boorman in Hope and Glory, his live-action autobiographical portrait of England during World War II where, to a child, there was something oddly fun about the Blitz in a boys’ adventure manner – Acker manages to make this dead world a kind of cool playground. To the dolls, it’s as dangerous as it is fascinating. And this is exactly one of the things that stays with you after you see 9. Acker allows you to fill the shoes of his title character and much of what you experience is from his perspective. Even George A. Romero’s Dawn of the Dead had this going for it – especially in the main setting within the mall where the survivors create their own Heaven on an Earth that has become a living Hell. For the dolls in 9, it’s especially evocative since they’ve never really known anything else and certainly for the title character, he is very much a child born into a world that is dizzyingly intoxicating.

The depiction of life before the apocalypse is seen mostly in strange flashbacks or film footage and yellowed newspaper clippings where Acker creates a Hitler-like global dictator referred to only as The Chancellor (Tom Kane), a foul despot who uses the scientist/inventor (whose corpse we see at the beginning of the film) to create a world of deadly machines that have a life and mind of their own. The scientist, duped into thinking his life’s work will be used for the good of mankind, suffers the slings and arrows of his own genius as he sees the machines used to destroy The Chancellor’s enemies and eventually, mankind itself.

This, of course, is where Acker parcels out the spiritual element of the picture. Though the cathedral is initially seen as a place of sanctuary, it soon becomes, like all symbols of organized religion, a place that represents authoritarian rule and not unlike the totalitarian evil that has destroyed the world. But what’s very interesting and extremely moving is how Acker depicts the notion of how many scientists – especially astrophysicists – have embraced the notion of a higher power. This is not God as some patriarchal old dude with a furry white beard, but something far more mind-boggling. It is the notion that science IS spiritual – that the very idea and essence of soul is so fully rooted in Creation itself. This is what eventually carries the picture to a conclusion that is tremendously moving.

9 has a perfect running time. At 78 minutes it moves in mysterious ways. Though short in length, it’s a picture that has as many moments of breathing room as it does moments of utterly breathtaking, break-neck action. Contemporary audiences are so out of step with just how short many features were during the Golden Age of Cinema that it’s conceivable that some people might be taken aback by just how short it is. This, I feel, is their loss – getting one’s money’s worth at the movies has less to do with how much running time can be applied to a picture, but just how satisfying the ride actually is.

And make no mistake, 9 is a ride that is very much worth taking.

Like Close Encounters of the Third Kind, Acker infuses his film with a Judeo-Christian ethic and finally, it is a sacrifice – the ultimate sacrifice, in fact – which opens the doors to a sense of rebirth. And in a world as dead and bleak as the one Acker fashions, mankind’s redemption is only attainable through rebirth.

For much of the film’s running time, Acker presents us with a perfect example of what’s often referred to as “A Terrible Beauty”, but ultimately, what he delivers is pure, unadulterated beauty. It’s not something we get enough of in movies today. Most importantly, it’s not something we get enough of in life. 9 admirably fills a void on both counts.

"9" looks absolutely gorgeous on Blu-Ray and it's well worth owning. It's available in a number of terrific bargain-priced editions via Alliance/E-One.