Iceman, written by John Drimmer and Chip Proser, directed by Fred Schepisi, hit theaters in the spring of 1984. It’s a quiet, contemplative sci-fi drama about a perfectly preserved prehistoric human discovered in the arctic and it made a little over $7M at the box office, garnering modest praise before fading from memory. Even now, its pages on Wikipedia and Rotten Tomatoes are curiously barren.

Trapped in a block of ice, the 40,000-year-old specimen is miraculously resuscitated as the film opens—a science-fiction setup that’s almost purely logistical. For that reason I’m not really interested in dwelling on the genre question. The film is technically science-fiction, and it’s often the case that the best examples of that genre defy conventions. But the reality is that the sci-fi aspect here serves as a springboard for a story about the past, and so it’s the past I’d rather focus on.

Less than a decade after the film’s release, the remains of what’s come to be known as “Ötzi”—Europe’s oldest natural mummy—were discovered by a hiker in the Alps (a stretch of them, in particular, located on the historically-contested border between Italy and Austria). Mummy being the operative word. The specimen in this case was not frozen, unchanged, but his body, his clothing, and the possessions he carried at the time of his death were all nevertheless remarkably preserved. His death was first assumed to be the result of exposure until his injuries and toolkit were examined, basically presenting a picture of a violent life that met an equally violent end. But like the genre question earlier, I’m not really interested in how he ended up there.

Iceman, a German-Italian-Austrian co-production, written and directed by Felix Randau and released in 2017, offers a decidedly cinematic interpretation of that man’s life, whoever he was, and the tragic course of events that led him to die there in the snow.

People wonder why there are so many movies and shows to come out in recent years set in the 1980s, and I think, aside from pure, shameless nostalgia, a major reason for that particular trend is that the 80s roughly marks the tail-end of a kind of romantic, pre-internet sense of loneliness that’s especially useful to storytelling. Stories about missed connections and great distances took on a graver, more poetic dimension than is even possible in a contemporary setting.

My 10-year high school reunion came and went a few years back, and, as far as I know, almost nobody showed up. Maybe a couple dozen people out of a graduating class of over seven hundred. If asked to explain it, I’d feel pretty confident in saying it’s largely a function of social media having simply obliterated any sense of mystery concerning the people you used to know. They’re almost always accessible to you now. What’s the point of a reunion in the face of that? It’s a little demoralizing to consider, but our lives have become less dramatically compelling in a lot of ways because the kind of loneliness that we experience is, more often than not, simpler to solve in practical terms and decidedly vista-free.

A sea voyage is more fraught than an international flight. Miles of distance between family and friends and years between points of contact is inherently more dramatic than a missed call. And a phone ringing in an empty house without caller ID to make sure you know it happened has greater stakes than a log of missed calls and follow-up messages, the device receiving them with you at all times. I’m not making a judgment about it one way or the other. I yearn for the dreamy solitude of my 90s childhood and am simultaneously grateful for easier access to the shit I consume. It is what it is.

In Iceman (1984), John Lone gives a powerful, committed performance as “Charlie” (an approximation of his stated name, Char-oo), a man separated from the people he knew and loved by tens of thousands of years. The plot machinations driving the film forward concern Timothy Hutton’s anthropologist’s attempts to shield Charlie from inhumane experimentation (some version of euthanasia and dissection, possibly something worse), his conviction that the world’s loneliest man deserves dignity and autonomy. The film raises its share of ethical questions concerning the “civilized” world’s intrusion into the cultures outside of it, the morality of constantly seeking to extend the human lifespan, religious liberty. Aside from a brief discussion of the (bullshit, non-) issue of overpopulation, all of this stuff remains relevant. The rest of the cast, including Lindsay Crouse, David Straitharn and Danny Glover, are all good, the arctic base coming across as thoroughly lived-in and authentic. But it’s Lone’s performance that makes it work, and his relationship with Hutton.

In 2017’s Iceman, the central character known to us as “Ötzi” (“Kelab,” Wikipedia tells me, in the film) is the chieftain of a small clan who, after returning home to find his people slaughtered, the mysterious religious artifact at the heart of their community stolen, sets out for revenge. His journey, imperiled and violent and full of scenes of basic survival, calls to mind something like The Revenant, and meets the challenge with smooth, assured camerawork and stunning locations. Early in the film we see the painful birth of a clan member and the immediate natural death of its mother, a set of somber funerary rites in a nearby cave. I can’t claim to be anything more than a layman on the subject, but all of this comes across as thoroughly researched and highly plausible. All it can ever be is speculation, after all. But at the very least, in terms of costume and hair and makeup, Kelab is a near-picture-perfect realization of what’s knowable about the real person, and Jürgen Vogel in an almost wordless performance conveys a wide range of emotion at every turn: the burden of responsibility, fatherly pride, dogged, single-minded vengeance, self-doubt.

There’s technical stuff in both cases worth mentioning: the characters in the 2017 film speak sparse dialogue in a dead language and it all goes by untranslated. Text in the beginning explains this choice, correctly indicating that it’s not at all necessary to understand the story. Each film has gorgeous visuals: ice and snow and winter skies, atmospheric forests. The moments of action in the later film are incredibly well-executed and shaky cam-free, brutal hand-to-hand engagements with crude implements playing out with real flourish and longer range encounters with arrows flying back and forth filled with genuine tension, the results in each instance being genuinely surprising and inventive.

These are both simple stories, emotionally heightened, slow-burning. And while not technically a part of this proposed double feature, I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Herzog’s Cave of Forgotten Dreams, his 2010 documentary about the unbelievably beautiful Paleolithic paintings discovered in the Chauvet Cave in France in 1994 that scratches the very same itch. Throw that in between viewings and let yourself soak in the exquisite loneliness.

Here’s two really cheesy horror flicks that may brighten your Halloween movie-watching this season:

Bloody Pit of Horror (1965)

The offspring of heavy metal and MST3K re-runs, Incognito Cinema Warriors XP is one of the best things to find its way into my DVD player in ages. I got in contact with Rikk Wolf, one of the creators and the show’s primary actor and did an interview for the Pitch back in March.

As prep for the interview, Rikk sent me a couple of episodes. One of them was the absolutely atrociously hilarious Bloody Pit of Horror. It’s an Italian movie from 1965, and features a series of Rube Goldberg-like killing devices, and Mickey Hargitay leaping around like an oiled-up, body-building Zorro with a thirst for blood.

The film is rife with killing and blood that looks suspiciously like red paint. Not a single death is believable, nor does any of them take place with anything less than absurd amounts of set-up. The giant poisonous spider is worth a look in and of itself, as it manages to make Saw’s Jigsaw killer look to be the height of restraint.

The ladies in the film are scantily-clad, but if you’re watching this with a view to stroke material, you’ll be sadly disappointed. Despite the implied chance of curvacious nudie cuties prancing around a castle, you’d be better off ogling the ladies in the Sears catalog.

Bloody Pit of Horror is one of those terrible films that still manages to be enjoyable, even sans-riffage, which makes the ICWXP crew’s jibes and cutting quips all the funnier. For a movie to get riffed properly, it has to be somewhat watchable. A real groaner is so boring, you’re apt to find something else that’s legitimately entertaining.

What better way to take a break from the rampant seriousness of most horror flicks than to watch a horror flick by way of Mystery Science Theater 3000? Thanks to TV’s Frank, Dr. Clayton Forester, Mike Nelson, and the robots on the Satellite of Love, I got to relax and watch The Creeping Terror, rather than something dark and oppressive.

“Why, it’s not creeping. This terror is fairly clipping along.”

Really, it’s MST3K. The movie is terrible, not scary, and the whole reason for watching this is for Mike and the robots’ commentary, although in this case, the narration itself manages to do just as much as the gags in terms of humor. That narration makes The Creeping Terror less like Day of the Triffids, and more like a Centron educational film.

“You wanna get back to the script?”

A giant alien creature that looks like something like a reject from Gwar’s stage show runs rampant in a small community. Seriously, the “creeping terror” looks like a bunch of gents under a large shag rug. Narration and terrible effects make the the screams that the sheriff makes inside the spacecarft really disturbing for such a low-budget film. It’s like watching Garth Marengi’s Darkplace: cheesy, cheesy, crappy, HOLY FUCK SCARY, crummy, lousy, etc.

Same goes with the serious amount of ass-shaking during the dancehall sequence, and the abundant numbers of young ladies shown necking, be it on Lover’s Lane, a picnic, or in a living room. I can’t figure out if the Creeping Terror is a crappy horror film, or crappy teensploitation flick. Probably both.

One of the better Mike episodes of MST3K, too, although the interstitial isn’t nearly as good as the commentary during the movie. Worth picking up, especially as you get The Skydivers in the four-pack of flicks in which this film comes.

PC Treasures, Inc. makes a series of double-feature DVDs of public-domain films. In honor of the Halloween Horror Marathon, we’ll be looking at the PC Treasures DVD called “Tales of the Undead,” which features Atom Age Vampire and Revolt of the Zombies.

Atom Age Vampire (1963)

Atom Age Vampire is a classic. Directed by Anton Giulio Majano and starring Alberto Lupo, it comes to DVD poorly-dubbed and fullscreen, although the audio and picture are fairly decent.

Wowie. Lots of sharp notes on the soundtrack. It seems like every sentence is punctuated with “DUNH!!!” It certainly succeeds where the dialogue fails. Case in point: “It seemed like you were performing some sort of sacred ritual.” That line? It’s in response to the doctor putting something in a cabinet. Yes, the “DUNH!!!” certainly says more.

The dubbed dialogue might be overly emotive, but it’s perfectly paced with the histrionics present on the actors’ faces. There’s so much scenery getting gnawed upon, it’s amazing there’s any sort of set left.

There are more holes in the plot than a colander, but chockablock with cheesy goodness nonetheless. How the fuck does a car accident cause “a cancer – like leprosy”? There’s so much wrong with that statement, I’d go mad trying to justify it rationally. Italian horror always seems like it was made under the influence of some really stellar drugs.

Oh, and of course there’s a mute, ugly manservant. I believe that’s de rigeur for any horror movie prior to 1969. He has to be hideous, he can’t speak, and at some point, he’ll either be the focus of the investigation, the scientist’s wrath, or both.

For those expecting a vampire picture, get ready to be let down. What you’ve got with Atom Age Vampire more akin to a modern-day update of Jekyll and Hyde, albeit if Jekyll turned himself into Hyde in order to make a stripper love him. Honestly, when you phrase it like that, you’ve got something remarkably similar to the BBC’s recent Jekyll series. Far less salacious, though – and more’s the pity. This flick could’ve used a little peeling to liven up the strangulation murders.

Revolt of the Zombies (1936)

I, too, wonder “which one of us is sane” after watching Revolt of the Zombies. The acting is either wooden or overly emotive. Either way, it’s mind-bogglingly amateurish in a way that even a community theater group wouldn’t tolerate.

Although, when the opening five minutes is essentially nothing but expository dialogue, and much that comes after is men sitting at tables, or in chairs, or in bed – lots of not moving – there’s nothing much with which to work.

Directed and produced by Victor and Edward Halperin, and starring Dean Jagger and Dorothy Stone, it was conceived as a loose sequel to Victor Halperin‘s 1932 film White Zombie, which starred Bela Lugosi.

The whole thing involves an awful lot of sound stages with matte backdrops, and not a lot of zombie action at all. There’s a squad of zombie soldiers entering a first-world-war trench early on, and it’s creepy as hell: silent, stone-faced soldiers facing down a hail of gunfire and rain of shells to descend into the trench and attack with bayonets at the ready.

What you’re left watching is a crossed lovers story that’s light on the zombies, but highly revolting for the better part of its first half. On a positive note, it’s pretty much terrible for the second half, as well. The “zombies” that eventually appear are just the rest of the cast, which the spurned fiance has hypnotized with a smokey powder. Whoopty-freakin’-do.

To be fair, the movie (which is awfully boring), had to go up against the combined forces of quilt, heating pad, and rainy, overcast weather, making me want to sleep through the end of Revolt of the Zombies, although I did not.

I dozed, but I caught the gist of it:  that dozing through the end did not cause the end to make any less sense than the rest of the film.

You can stream the whole thing below (if you must):

Halloween Horror Marathon originally appears at Nick’s excellent blog Rock Star Journalist.

Seeing Double celebrates the only thing better than watching one movie—watching two movies. On the lookout for a more perfect cinematic union, two reviewers watch and discuss a double feature chosen either for things they have in common or things they don’t. The films may be old or new, obscure or well known, celebrated or reviled. The only rules are that we justify the pairing up front, and that both titles are readily viewable at home, as determined by their availability to rent or stream through the most popular home video websites. Two Movies. Two Critics. Seeing Double.

As a regular contributor to Scene Stealers, I’m very pleased to be joined by my old friend James Long for the first Seeing Double in this new format. I pride myself on the extent of my film knowledge, but James has been putting me to shame for over a decade now, and there is no one I would rather talk movies with.

THE LINEUP

George Hickman: Today we are watching the Chan-wook Park vampire film “Thirst” and a film you suggested. What can you tell us about “Trouble Every Day” (TED)?

James Long: Primarily that it’s from the French director Claire Denis, whose work I admire quite a bit. This is one of the few films of hers I haven’t seen.

George: Of the ones you have, which would you most recommend?

James: Two suggestions: “Beau Travail” and “I Can’t Sleep.” Fans of Herman Melville might be interested to know that “Beau Travail” is an adaptation of “Billy Budd.”

George: Herman Melville has fans?

James: No comment.

George: I’m sure their conventions are awesome. You know someone is going to lose a leg.

James: It happens.

George: So aside from the fact that you wanted an excuse to watch it, why is it a good fit for “Thirst?”

James: Both have been described as “modern-day vampire tales” and they appear to focus on how this condition links two characters together. Though reviewers of TED are in disagreement over whether or not the characters are vampires. Netflix describes them as cannibals.

George: Are vampires or zombies cannibals?

James: In a way, I guess they are.

George: Well, vampires only want blood. They don’t really eat flesh.

James: True, and zombies are dead, but eat the living. Both don’t generally consume their own kind.

George: They either can’t or don’t, depending on which movie you’re watching. In “Daybreakers” vampires that feed on other vampires became very animal-like–much less human and much more monstrous.

James: Interesting, I haven’t seen that. When did it come out?

George: Earlier this year. It reminds me a lot of Carpenter’s best films. It’s an above average horror/action movie that tries to tackle the question of what a vampire society would look like and how it would function. It’s worth watching for its ideas alone.

James: So what made you suggest “Thirst?”

George: Well, like TED, it’s a film I haven’t gotten around to yet by a filmmaker I really admire. I’m also intrigued by the fact that it has a horror film’s premise but as far as I know never tries to be horror.

James: I think that description applies to TED as well.

George: They also both have subtitles and start with the letter T.

James: I think you watched too much Sesame Street as a kid.

George: So I wanted to kick off with TED, unless you have any objections.

James: OK, see you back here after TED, after which you might bar me from future collaborations.

George: Do your worst.

James: Better watch it, or you might be in for trouble every day. See, I’m adept at bad jokes as well.

George: That’s ok, I’ve developed a thirst for them.

James: Ouch.

TROUBLE EVERY DAY (2001)

George: So… um…

James: Not your ordinary movie.

George: Nothing like putting on a movie that’s ridiculously quiet for most of its running time, with sparse and mostly inconsequential dialogue and then it gets to a particular scene and everyone else in your house feels the need to walk in the room and say “WHAT are you watching?”

James: And there are two scenes like that. Both very jarring.

George: The movie seemed to be very disinterested in a conventional narrative.

James: I agree, and think that’s rather typical of Denis’s style. There’s little emphasis on plot.

George: For a bit there it seemed like there would be more plot to speak of.

James: Yeah, we do get that exposition about Dr. Shane Brown’s (Vincent Gallo) past interactions with Dr. Léo (Alex Descas) and his wife Coré (Béatrice Dalle), which seemed almost like a genre convention and suggested a plot that never really materialized. To me, those scenes made another jarring juxtaposition with the overall mode of quiet contemplation that you mentioned earlier.

George: So what do we know? Shane and Coré both have the same disease. Which basically makes them want to devour parts of their lovers during sex.

James: And this poses a problem for Shane, who has just married.

George: I would say they’re definitely cannibals and not vampires, though Coré being locked up during the daytime threw me off for a minute.

James: I agree “cannibal” is the more accurate term, though I’m not exactly sure what they are. The movie gives you very little actual information, which I kind of like about it.

George: If vampires are based on real people, this is probably what the non-exaggerated version would be. How does this compare to Denis’ other films?

James: I think the mood is very similar; she’s great at creating a sense of atmosphere in which the characters seem to drift through their environments. I find it a very interior, reflective approach. Though the “horror” elements are something I haven’t seen her use before.

George: I think it had more in common with horror films than I originally suspected. In particular, it follows a few characters in a very voyeuristic way, which in horror suggests a killer is watching them and suggests something bad will happen.

James: And of course, something does.

George: So did Vincent Gallo’s acting strike you as particularly… not good?

James: Yeah, he was very flat. Then again, I really can’t stand him as an actor.

George: He always comes off as a cold, unfeeling, colossal douchebag.

James: Yes, yes he does.

George: But this time he came off as one who also wasn’t even trying to act.

James: The scene where he was talking to the doctor in the lab had some of the worst line readings I’ve seen in a while. Tricia Vessey who played his wife, June, struck me as very natural, though.

George: Oh, she was great. Speaking of her, with that shot of her eyes… What do you think she’s thinking or seeing there?

James: Not sure. It’s another evocative moment that impacts us as viewers even though we can’t exactly verbalize what’s going on or what it means.

George: It seemed like Shane was hoping Léo did in fact have a cure, and once those hopes were dashed he gave into his urges. He really doesn’t want to hurt his wife and has been holding back during sex to try and protect her. Likewise, Léo wants Coré but restrains himself because he doesn’t trust her.

James: I agree, in which case the ending seems especially ominous. There’s very little resolution.

George: So any other films that you think would play well with this?

James: Denis’s earlier “I Can’t Sleep” mentioned above takes a similar approach to depicting a pair of serial killers. There’s also the original “Cat People,” directed by Jacques Tourneur, though I guess Schrader’s unfortunate remake could also apply. The movie reminded me a bit of Cronenberg at times, so maybe “Rabid,” “The Brood,” or “Crash.”

George: Of those I’ve only seen Schrader’s “Cat People” which I think would in fact play well enough with this, your disdain for it notwithstanding.

James: I definitely prefer Tourneur’s version. Leos Carax, a contemporary of Denis, has a similar interest in evocative character pieces with abstract plots, so “The Lovers on the Bridge” and in particular “Bad Blood” would work well.

George: So moving onto “Thirst,” the only thing I know about it aside from its director is that it’s about a Priest who is also a vampire. That and like TED it has some disturbing sexual content.

James: I also know relatively little about it. I expect a lot more plot in this one, though.

George: I agree, though Park does have affinity for abstract scenes as well.

James: Have you seen his “I’m a Cyborg, But That’s OK?” I haven’t.

George: I’ve seen the first half. It reminds me a bit of Jeunet. It’s pretty whimsical.

James: I think you were the one who first recommended “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance” to me, six or seven years ago.

George: I was. It was actually the first Korean film I ever saw. Since then I’ve seen all of the features he directed from “JSA” on. I’ve also seen most of the short films he made this decade. His short in “Three Extremes” was good.

James: “Three Extremes” has been in my Netflix queue for years so I’ll rely on your knowledge for that one.

George: So which Park films have you seen?

James: Just his “Vengeance” trilogy. “Oldboy” is easily my favorite of those, though its plot has always struck me as a bit too convoluted.

George: I like “Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance” the best, though “Oldboy” is the most re-watchable. “Lady Vengeance” is a bit underrated too because most people think its just pretty good and it’s at least very good.

James: I think “Oldboy” is the only one I’ve seen more than once.

George: So are you ready to watch your first non-Vengeance Park film?

James: Sounds good.

THIRST (2009)

George: Immediate reaction?

James: I liked it a lot, and I thought it worked well with TED.

George: It was interesting. I think TED was better to play first because once “Thirst” started I was like “Alright, some actual conversations! YES!”

James: As predicted, there was a lot more plot and a more direct storyline in this one.

George: Since when do vampires donate blood? They only make withdrawals at blood blanks, never deposits.

James: Terrible, just terrible

George: I forget how funny Park’s films can be, and it’s always a pleasant surprise

James: He has a rather wicked sense of humor. I laughed out loud a few times. When he used the armoire as a coffin… Brilliant.

George: I liked the fact that the priest Sang-hyeon (Kang-ho Song) had to go and make his little accidental cult lose faith in him before facing his ultimate fate.

James: I agree, but I found how he chose to do it a little disturbing.

George: I also loved the back and forth between the priest and Tae-ju (Ok-bin Kim), particularly at the end.

James: I think their relationship was generally compelling.

George: Park has been very forthright about the inspiration for this film being the novel Therese Raquin.

James: That’s a Zola novel I haven’t read.

George: I had never even heard of it, but based on the Wikipedia entry, the events I found odd in “Thirst” make more sense when viewed as an update to that book.

James: That’s a good point.

George: So it’s in the same vein as modernizing Shakespeare or monsterizing Jane Austen.

James: It occurred to me early on that they were both trapped in a social environment they found constraining–his position as a priest, her unhappy marriage in an abusive family–and that’s very in keeping with literary naturalism. Do you think by the end that’s what the house has become?

George: Its all confinement. Her life in general. Her marriage. His life as a Catholic priest. His disease. Vampirism.

James: They both embrace the life of a vampire as a form of release, yet in the end they discover it’s just as confining.

George: I also liked that earlier in the film his solution to sexual arousal was to beat himself with a yard stick.

James: That reminded me of Gallo’s character in TED in the sense of trying to control his sexual urges.

George: I think both of them try to find reasonable and moral ways to live with their affliction before eventually losing hope. So what does it say that in both cases the woman is way more prone to fully embracing it?

James: Her giddy-like embrace of being a vampire troubled me a bit, almost as if they were portraying her as more savage than her male counterpart.

George: She lied to the priest about the abuse, right?

James: It’s implied she lied about some of it, but the filmmakers still render her home life as very stifling and her husband (Ha-kyun Shin) and mother-in-law (Hae-sook Kim) as rather controlling.

George: She’s never really been free. A bit like Estella and Miss Havisham from “Great Expectations.”

James: True, I think that’s why they put such emphasis on the scene where he leaps around with her in his arms. It’s a form of release and enjoyment she’s been denied. What’d you think of the depiction of her husband? I found his later appearances pretty funny.

George: Yes, particularly the sex scene.

James: Or when his mother smells his fart. What image was more unexpected: the fart smelling in “Thirst” or the cum shot in TED?

George: I’d say the fart smelling. It wins by a nose. This film had a lot of unexpected moments.

James: It also introduced a few unexpected methods for consuming blood.

George: In general I love scenes where people explore newly discovered powers, and “Thirst” had a few fun ones.

James: True, I think the movie does a good job of exploring each character’s integration into the life of a vampire.

George: How would you say this stacks up to Park’s other films?

James: To an extent, this story feels a bit less contrived or overly constructed, as opposed to say “Oldboy.” I thought the plot flowed pretty well.

George: Well both “Oldboy” and “Thirst” are based on other sources, so the contrivances are ones he probably was attracted to that he didn’t create himself.

James: Good point.

George: So what did you think about the fact that both films had a medical explanation for their respective diseases with hinted origins in Africa?

James: I think it’s just there as background info, not really explored much.

George: I guess since HIV first originated in Africa it’s the go-to country for unexplained diseases?

James: Yeah, it’s kind of become a film cliche by now. As lots of people have pointed out, vampire stories make logical AIDS allegories.

George: What other films would you possibly pair with “Thirst” now that you’ve seen it?

James: It reminded me of “Near Dark” with its comparable interest in exploring the integration into vampire life.

George: I think “Daybreakers” would play better with “Near Dark,” though. I think “Lady Vengeance” probably would play the best with it as far as Park’s films go. I also think the undead horror comedy “The Revenant” would also play well if it ever gets distribution.

James: Romero’s “Martin” could work too.

George: But “Martin” and “Vampire’s Kiss” are dying to be their own double feature.

James: People who have a higher tolerance for Jesus Franco than I do could pair one of his lesbian vampire movies with “Thirst.”

George: I think there’s always something interesting going on in Franco’s films, even if they’re easy to sleep though.

THE VERDICT

George: So ultimate verdict on the double feature?

James: I think they worked well. Similar scenarios, but different techniques–one more abstract and expressionistic, the other plot-driven with fantasy elements.

George: TED felt like a good warm-up for “Thirst.” Not sure the reverse would have worked as well. I liked how conventional “Thirst” felt after TED, even though it’s far from being conventional otherwise.

James: Its narrative is definitely more conventional, though it does allow itself to diverge from what we might expect the story to do.

George: I think if I had watched TED by itself I would have been a little disappointed, but seeing it as half of this pair helped me appreciate it in ways I wouldn’t have otherwise. I also thought it was interesting that “Thirst” had scenes in English that were flatly delivered too.

James: You’ve got a good point about its form working well in juxtaposition to “Thirst.” I thought the actors in “Thirst” conveyed that the characters weren’t comfortable speaking English, as opposed to Gallo’s monotone line readings.

George: He sure can pull off that psycho look, though.

James: Yeah, he’s kind of creepy.

George: He’s 31 flavors of creepy. So of the alternative pairings we’ve mentioned for both, I do think that the one we ended up with is probably the best or most interesting overall. Not to pat our backs too hard.

James: Yeah, it’s not your expected double feature, that’s for sure.

George: And I like those, especially when they work as well as this one did.

Trouble Every Day is available on DVD.
Thirst is available on Blu-Ray, DVD, and Netflix Instant Streaming.

Seeing Double is the Scene-Stealers series that celebrates the only thing better than watching one movie—watching two movies. We look for a more perfect cinematic union as we view and discuss a pair of movies chosen either for things they have in common or things they don’t. The films may be old or new, obscure or well known, celebrated or reviled. The only rules are that we must justify the pairing up front, and all titles have to be readily viewable at home, as determined by their availability to rent or stream through the most popular home video websites.

There’s so much to be said about the two films I’ve chosen for Seeing Double—1991’s “Fried Green Tomatoes” and 1995’s “Boys on the Side”—that I had trouble figuring out where to start. I wanted to do more than point out what was obvious: the similar themes, lesbian undertones, and Mary-Louise Parker dying in both. Because, having seen these films back-to-back numerous times, I know there’s more. But Seeing Double is so much rooted in the experience of simply watching the films—feeling the films—that rendering it is quite a task. I’ll do my best, but what’s better than my best is the suggestion to rent these movies and watch them back-to-back yourself. Where this article fails in capturing what both of these movies are, your own viewing experience will make up for.

Boys on the Side

I’ll start off by saying that this isn’t an easy movie to find. I had to search through hell and high water to find a copy, and even then it was through Netflix. It’s the kind of movie you’d expect, by now, to be in the discount bin at your local CVS or Walgreens, but it wasn’t. So, I’ll save you the trouble and tell you it’s available for instant play on Netflix, which has fast become my religion.

Another disclaimer about this film, and this one has to deal with more than just availability, is that it’s not a feel-good movie, even when it tries to be. What’s billed as a film about a cross-country trip with three women (Parker, Whoopi Goldberg, and Drew Barrymore), each falling apart in their own way, “Boys on the Side” is so much more than that. For me, this movie is about wanting and struggling. It’s about friendship, unity, and illness. It’s about how sad people seem to link up, for better or worse, to wade through the muddled madness.

It’s easy to pass this off as a chick flick, or to say it’s “Thelma and Louise and Another Friend,” but if you give the film a chance, you’ll be surprised at how much more there is to it. Yes, the film is female-heavy, despite an appearance from a young Matthew McConaughey, but that doesn’t mean all merit goes out the window. Each of the three women have a background that warrant films of their own, and “Boys on the Side” only benefits from having all three collide head-on because of the beauty in the overlap. The film does a fantastic job of portraying the ways in which friendship, not laughter, is the best medicine of all.

And yes, there’s the obvious stuff. Female-driven movie. Clear lesbian tones, surrounding Robin (Parker) and Jane (Goldberg). And quite sadly, Mary-Louise Parker doesn’t make it in the end in this one. (Sidenote: Why is she always dying?) But I think you’ll pick up on what I’ve mentioned and more—the stuff that can’t be verbalized—in watching the film yourself. You’ll find yourself becoming attached (in my case, severely) to these women, and invest yourself emotionally in their pasts, presents, and futures. And if you’re anything like me, during the final moments of the film, as Jane sings to Robin an a capella rendition of “You Got It”, you’ll be crying your eyes out. The film has all of these actresses at their best (even Drew Barrymore, who I find terribly annoying in real life), it’s a touching story, and has one of the most satisfying emotional narratives you’re bound to find.

Fried Green Tomatoes

On the contrary to “Boys On The Side”, “Fried Green Tomatoes” won’t be too difficult to find, though it’s worth mentioning that this too is on instant play on Netflix (I’m telling you, my new God). Made in 1991, “Fried Green Tomatoes” is based on the 1987 novel by Fannie Flagg, a pretty hasty adaptation. And for good reason, too: the two tales that “Fried Green Tomatoes” tell beg to be told on the screen.

Kathy Bates is Evelyn Couch (one of my favorite names in movies, ever), a more or less copacetic housewife, until she meets Ninny Threadgoode (Jessica Tandy) at her mother-in-law’s nursing home. Through Tandy we get the story within the story: one that begins sixty years prior. Evelyn becomes invested, perhaps even obsessed, with Ms. Threadgoode’s stories, and it’s for the audience’s benefit. We get to know more about the other half of the film because the protagonist wants to know too, which I think is a hell of a cool device.

Ms. Threadgoode details the rise and fall of The Whistle Stop Cafe; of its patrons and owners, Idgie
(Mary Stuart Masterson) and Ruth (Mary-Louise Parker). As Ms. Threadgoode starts her storytelling, the camera follows her back into the South during the 1920s. She details a narrative between Idgie and Ruth that doesn’t differ much from the narrative in “Boys On The Side”. It’s about bonding, it’s about struggle, and it’s about the power of  perseverance and friendship (and, if you pay close enough attention, real love).

And just as they work for the audience, the tales that Ms. Threadgoode spin inspire Evelyn Couch to finally speak up. Inspired by the bravery of Idgie and Ruth, Evelyn demands a better marriage, hell, a better life. Not unlike the three leads in “Boys On The Side,” Evelyn learns from others that validation only matters if it’s coming from you. And you’re the only one who can give it, once you finally realize that that’s the case, anyway.

And, again, the obvious stuff. It’s female-driven, a lesbian’s wet dream, and Mary-Louise Parker dies again. And the tendency might be to label this as a chick flick as well, but in the same way that “Boys On The Side” had more to offer, so does “Fried Green Tomatoes”. It’s a bit long, and I’ll admit that much, but the final scene of the film is one of the most poignant I’ve come across in cinematic history.

Worth A Double Feature?

Absolutely. Watch them with people with you love. Bring Kleenex, trust me. And Mary-Louise Parker is so damn good!

Seeing Double is the Scene-Stealers series that celebrates the only thing better than watching one movie—watching two movies. Each week we look for a more perfect cinematic union as we view and discuss a pair of movies chosen either for things they have in common or things they don’t. The films may be old or new, obscure or well known, celebrated or reviled. The only rules are that we must justify the pairing up front, and all titles have to be readily viewable at home, as determined by their availability to rent or stream through the most popular home video websites.

If you begin to read my posts here on Scene-Stealers—and I hope you will—you’ll notice that I have a penchant for the romantic comedy. Now, I am aware that the romcom has a pretty bad rap as of late, and perhaps that’s justified by the overwhelming number of romcom releases that are up-and-down terrible. The genre has been polluted by big-budget studios that know their audience, because no matter how awful the film, most romcoms can pull in some big money from first dates and persistent girlfriends.

More than that, the romcom is simple to develop. You get two good-looking leads, the witty best friend (often played by character actresses like the lovely Judy Greer), an NBC tie-in, and you’re all set for a Summer release. For these reasons and many more, stellar romantic comedies have been hard to come by as of late. The characters are too contrived, the structure rings too familiar, and the writing seems forced. Once upon a time, the romcom offered audiences stories about uniquely flawed people struggling to reconcile themselves against another. Sadly, the modern romcom seems to do little more than earn revenue and advertise.

For my first Seeing Double post, I vow to provide even a bit of merit to my guilty pleasure genre of the romcom by viewing two of my favorites: 2001’s “Bridget Jones’s Diary,” and 2006’s “Ira and Abby.” These two films both evidence all that a romantic comedy can achieve while also operating outside of the clichés that the modern romcom seems to attach to.

Bridget Jones’s Diary

To say that Bridget Jones is sad would be an understatement. As Darcy (Colin Firth) so brilliantly says, Jones is a “verbally incontinent spinster who smokes like a chimney, drinks like a fish, and dresses like her mother.” Renee Zellweger—in a role that earned her an Oscar nod—presents us with one of the most pathetic characters in romcom history. Jones is thirty-two, perpetually single, and chain smokes in her apartment while belting along to “All By Myself.” These are qualities that few find redeeming, but from where I’m sitting it’s what I love about the film. Because the thing is—you don’t necessarily want for Jones’s happiness; she doesn’t really prove herself worthy of love and she’s kind of a miserable bitch. Yet, if you watch “Bridget Jones” with an open mind, you’ll find yourself feeling all of this out-of-nowhere sympathy.

Because, as much as you hate to admit it, you are Bridget Jones. We all are. There are times when we check our voicemail compulsively, get snarky in late-night diary entries, and choose vodka over therapy. All of this is to say that there’s something very familiar about Bridget Jones, whether or not you choose to accept that. Which brings me to one of the many reasons I love romcoms: they present us with falling-apart people in very honest and easy ways.

The arch of the film is simple: Jones is torn between two lovers, Hugh Darcy (Firth) and Daniel Cleaver (Hugh Grant). Darcy is a family friend who instantly attracts Jones, right up until he reams her a new one by highlighting her many flaws in the quote above. Daniel runs the publishing firm that Jones works for, and initiates the relationship with sexual harassment via instant messaging. Neither are winners, but to be fair, Jones is no prize either. Once she feels recognized by Grant’s character, Jones somehow removes thoughts of Darcy from her manic-depressive brain.
Cleaver is promising at first. He’s beguiling, he’s attractive, and he takes Jones on a weekend vacation to the countryside. But what Cleaver sees as a sexual rendezvous, Jones recognizes as the beginning of love. “This can’t just be shagging,” Jones reasons, “mini break for holiday means true love.” The pot comes to a boil when Jones walks in on Cleaver and another woman in his flat.

Jones, as you might expect, falls to pieces with no one there to pick them up—until Jones decides to pick them up for herself. She gets a new diary and begins owning up to all of her flaws. More than that, she refuses to apologize for them. Yes, she’s a chain-smoker. Yes, she is prone to being a lunatic. And fate awards Jones her due by placing the wounded Darcy conveniently back in her life. The audience is left with a portrait of Jones having earned the happiness she’s found, and Darcy forgiving her her flaws.

Now, I must tell you something: I’ve never seen the sequel. I don’t want to. I like how this movie ends. In the same way I don’t want to know what happened to the kids of Bayside High in “Saved By The Bell: The College Years”, I like leaving Bridget where she stands: deeply flawed, yet somehow happy.

Ira & Abby

Ira & Abby,” a straight-to-DVD release both written by and starring the magnificient Jennifer Westfeldt, doesn’t waste time. By minute ten, Ira (Chris Messina), a manic-depressive PhD candidate, has already met Abby, an earthy underachiever who gives tours at a downtown fitness center. Upon waking up and “feeling fat”, Ira decides to join the gym that employs Abby.

During the tour, we learn everything we need to about both Ira and Abby. Abby is ridiculously friendly, and is often approached for advice by octogenarians on treadmills. She’s kind, soft-spoken, and has a smile as big as all get-out. Ira is passive-agressive, afraid of commitment, and a bunch of other terms he’ll be able to diagnose himself with if and when he finishes his dissertation. It’s clear to the viewer that Abby has a bit of a thing for Ira, despite the neurosis. The tour of the one-level gym somehow turns into hours, and Ira seems happy for the first time in years. Noticing this, Abby pops the question that the film revolves around. “Let’s get married. What’s going so great in your life?”

The beauty of this film is that it questions the conventions not only of the romantic comedy, but of life and love. After she pops the question, Abby notes that half of all marriages end in divorces, which is to say that, either way, the odds are even up for them. Granted, she is a bit removed from reality, but there’s something beautiful about being so incredibly naive and hopeful as a single thirtysomething in Manhattan that I find refreshing. She doesn’t take the concept too seriously; she just has a feeling.

At first, Ira is resistant. The son of two analysts and perpetually in therapy, Ira has seemingly trained himself to avoid spontaneity. It’s this East meets West collision: a neurotic Ira and an aloof Abby. But it’s what Abby says after the proposal—”What’s going so great in your life?”—that resonates with Ira. So he says yes. They have sex, get a natural high, and Ira runs around like a chicken with its head cut off.

The night before their wedding, the two establish rules. Most important for Abby is that they have sex every night, no matter how bad the circumstances. Ira agrees. The film cuts to the day of the wedding, and we meet both sets of parents. Ira’s, as you’d expect, are whitebread Rockefellers who don’t approve of much; Abby’s are commercial jingle-writers who are forever stuck in the 70s. The wedding goes off without a hitch and Ira & Abby seem destined for happy ever after.

On the subway later that night, there is a hold-up by a gun-toting passenger. Instead of keeping quiet and following orders, Abby goes up to the kid and asks how much he needs. She then proceeds to go seat to seat gathering a fund. It’s a comical scene for us, but not quite for Ira. In situations like this, Ira believes he is “married to someone who is married to everyone.” This is difficult for Ira, who clearly needs a great deal of attention to feel validated. Another reason I love this romcom: for once, it’s the dude that’s flawed. And not in that Vince Vaughn kind of way.

The film tracks the couple’s back-and-forths in therapy, and eventually their decision to get an anullment. Then, after realizing they couldn’t be apart, they get married again. After Abby invites her two ex-husbands to the wedding, both of which also seem to have stemmed from spontaneity, Ira develops erectile dysfunction and the therapy begins again. Finally, the couple decide to get divorced, realizing that the titles have been the problem all along. Pretty simple, and maybe a bit too progressive, but I respect this couple so much more than most for understanding what works and what doesn’t.

Worth A Double Feature?

Absolutely. If you enjoy well-developed characters, uniquely flawed, sometimes crazy, but most of all recognizably human, you can’t go wrong in viewing these two back-to-back.

Seeing Double is the Scene-Stealers series that celebrates the only thing better than watching one movie—watching two movies.

Each week we look for a more perfect cinematic union as we view and discuss a pair of movies chosen either for things they have in common or things they don’t. The films may be old or new, obscure or well known, celebrated or reviled. The only rules are that we must justify the pairing up front, and all titles have to be readily viewable at home, as determined by their availability to rent or stream through the most popular home video websites.

Held in May of each year, the Cannes Film Festival is probably the most prestigious of all. Each year, 20 films officially compete for what is arguably the most coveted award in all of cinema, the Palme d’Or. For the remainder of the month, Seeing Double will be dedicated completely to double features of films that either won or tied for this top prize.

First up is “Taxi Driver” and “Paris, Texas,” a paring that was actually suggested by Roger Ebert in a roundabout way in his Great Movies articles of the former and the later. In both, he directly compares each to the classic Western “The Searchers”. Beyond that, and the fact that both films have protagonists named Travis, I’m not really sure what they have in common or how they’ll play together. I’m eager to find out.

THE FILMS

Taxi Driver (1976)
Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro) is a lonely man. A young Vietnam veteran on the fringes of society, he struggles to “become a person, like other people.” Unable to sleep, he takes a job “hacking,” as he drives his cab late at night through some of the seedier parts of New York City’s boroughs.

Facing rejection, he finds himself dangerously drawn towards violence as a means to make a name for himself. Will his obsession with a political candidate lead to destruction, or will his nascent friendship with a pubescent prostitute provide a path for redemption?

Paris, Texas (1984)
After wandering through the desert, a man (Harry Dean Stanton) collapses on the floor of a bar. A doctor calls a number in his wallet. The man is named Travis, and the phone number belongs to his brother, Walt (Dean Stockwell). Four years earlier, Travis and his young wife both disappeared under mysterious circumstances. Walt had all but given up hope he’d ever see his brother again, and he is eager to get answers.

Unfortunately, Travis literally isn’t talking. As Walt tries to ease Travis back into his old life, they journey from Texas to California. But how will Travis’ young son react to the presence of man who has been gone for half his life? And is there any hope of finding his mother and reuniting as a family, or are the mistakes of the past too great to overcome?

THE EXPERIENCE

Upon first viewing it thirteen years ago, I was surprised at just how approachable “Taxi Driver” is. My impression of it was always that of a dark and harrowing journey into madness and violence. While there are elements of that, the movie has a sense of humor and energy that makes it easier to watch and even easier to return to. Watching it now for the fourth time, I was pleasantly reminded of this fact.

There’s a bit of a loose, improvisational feel to some of the scenes as the character show an unguarded and awkward side to themselves which lends to the realism.

The film also feels very cleanly segmented, as if divided into chapters 12 to 15 minutes in length: Travis takes a job, Travis falls in love, Travis’s heart is broken, Travis starts to lose it, Travis buys some guns, etc.

The first and the second halves are most clearly defined by Travis’ words said towards the beginning of the film, “I don’t believe one should devote his life to morbid self attention. I believe that someone should become a person, like other people.” In the first half he tries to become a person. In the second, he devotes his life to morbid self attention.

Bickle is one of cinema’s great anti-heroes for good reason. As horrible as some of his actions are, the film does a great job at showing how he arrived there in a way that makes the seemingly inexplicable much more relatable.

As far as the link to “The Searchers,” goes, I do see it. Travis “rescues” a girl that doesn’t want to be rescued. He can be just as irascible and emotionally stunted as Wayne’s character, and he too is holding a candle for a love that didn’t work.

I guess the comparison works mostly because there really aren’t any movies that feel quite like, “Taxi Driver,” so this comparison is better than most. Bickle really is like an old-fashioned loner anti-hero, a character much more common in Westerns. In a lot of ways he feels ripped from a more traditional time, and now he has nothing but his thoughts and his righteous indignation to keep him company.

Whereas “Taxi Driver” fittingly can be all over the place emotionally and tonally, “Paris, Texas” is much more consistent as it slowly unravels the story of a man who felt the need to walk away from everything that made him human. In fact, it’s rather brilliant in the way that the less it tells you, the more you want to know.

Considering it’s a film that consists almost entirely of dialogue, making the lead character mute for the first 40 minutes or so was a pretty ingenious move. Once he does start talking, every word inspires rapt attention. And just past the half-way point when Dean Stockwell’s character yells out “I’m sick of this fucking mystery. Just tell me what happened,” it’s probably funniest moment in the film because it perfectly expresses the audiences’ feelings.

And while we do get answers to nearly all its mysteries, it answers them on its own terms, in a manner that helps ensure the film’s lasting impact. Coming after “Taxi Driver,” I think I was extending that film’s sense of dread and violence to some of the scenes in “Paris, Texas.” But the specter of emotional violence and devastation is very real, and in a way, more disturbing.

I think the modern Western comparisons are a little more obvious here ,in part because the setting invites them. As two characters set off to find a woman who has been separated from them and who apparently does not want to be found, a parallel to “The Searchers” is apparent.

WORTH A DOUBLE FEATURE?

I think it’s interesting that both films feature often silent protagonists who seems to have difficulty relating to other people, even family. Both seem to talk the most when allowed to speak or write for stretches where they are mostly uninterrupted. Both also either display or have a history of jealousy and rage.

I also find it striking that both substitute the sex industry as the modern equivalent of being kidnapped by Comanches. It’s also interesting that while “Taxi Driver” plays like a great novel, “Paris, Texas” shows its roots by being much more play-like.

As a double feature, I was really pleased how the nihilism of the second half of “Taxi Driver” actually set up the more contemplative first hour of “Paris, Texas.” It also helped fill in the blanks as the Travis of “Paris, Texas” tries to explain how he could be so scared by the darkness that he was capable of, that he no longer felt fit to go on living his life.

Regardless of their status as Palme d’Or winners or the comparisons to “The Searchers,” the films play well together mostly because of the way the explore the depth of the loneliness of two characters adrift from society, though in very stylistically distinct ways.

As always, I can’t watch any double feature without thinking of alternate pairings. Here are a few potential alternatives for each.

For Taxi Driver:

After Hours (1985) – Martin Scorsese‘s dark comedy makes an interesting flipside to “Taxi Driver” as he re-examines the seedy underbelly of New York City almost ten years later.

Light Sleeper (1992) – “Light Sleeper” is the third of four in a series that screenwriter and director Paul Schrader calls his “night worker” series. “Taxi Driver” is the first. “Night Sleeper” actually has quite a few echos of “Taxi Driver” in it, and unfortunately is often overlooked.

Night Movies (1975) – There aren’t a whole lot of parallels between Travis Bickle and this film’s detective Harry Moseby (Gene Hackman), but both protagonists seem to have a loneliness at their core as they wade through human depravity.

For Paris, Texas

Don’t Come Knocking (2005) – The re-teaming of Sam Shephard and Wim Wenders was savaged by critics, mostly because it couldn’t touch the greatness of “Paris, Texas.” This film is still worth exploring though, particularly as a bookend.

Rolling Thunder (1977) – In some ways this film is like the center of a Venn Diagram between “Taxi Driver,” “Paris, Texas,” and “Death Wish.” The shell of a man, trying to reconnect with his humanity and family as well as the Texas setting makes for an interesting thematic link, while the violent revenge provides a stark contrast. Interestingly enough, this was also co-written by “Taxi Driver’s” Paul Schrader.

Repo Man (1984) – Harry Dean Stanton is probably the best part of this Western and Noir-inlfuenced, punk-tinged cult classic from writer/director Alex Cox, a man so enamored with “The Searchers,” he recently made “Searchers 2.0.”

The Wizard (1989) – Oddly enough, the film that I was most reminded of by “Paris, Texas” was actually the 100 minute Nintendo commercial known as “The Wizard.” Both are road movies, both involve families torn apart, both feature otherwise intelligent characters that have mentally checked out and stopped talking, and both feature the famous dinosaur statues in Cabazon, CA also featured in “Pee Wee’s Big Adventure.”

Seeing Double is the Scene-Stealers series that celebrates the only thing better than watching one movie—watching two movies.

Each week we look for a more perfect cinematic union as we view and discuss a pair of movies chosen either for things they have in common or things they don’t. The films may be old or new, obscure or well known, celebrated or reviled. The only rules are that we must justify the pairing up front, and all titles have to be readily viewable at home, as determined by their availability to rent or stream through the most popular home video websites.

In September of 1990, I received the novel “Matilda” for my eleventh birthday. Upon reading it, I declared that Roald Dahl was my favorite author. Between it and four others I had read, I knew Dahl’s books were unique. They were funny, scary, grotesque, and exciting in a way that never made me feel like I was being talked down to. It was a rare and welcome change from most of the children’s literature that was foisted upon me. But two months later I found out that Dahl had died, and I was heartbroken.

Aside from the newly released “The Witches,” there was one other Roald Dahl adaptation that I knew of and loved and had seen multiple times by that point, 1971’s “Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory.” It was easily one of my most beloved movies, despite the fact that the infamous boat scene inspired a recurring nightmare. It was also the first time I remember feeling that a movie was definitively better than the book it was based on. Apparently this was an opinion Dahl didn’t share, as the experience reportedly soured him on working in the film industry.

After Dahl’s death, a sizable portion of his work has been adapted and re-adapted, but my hands-down favorite is 2009’s “Fantastic Mr. Fox.” Like “Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory” before it, it’s an intelligent, witty, scary, and thrilling adaptation that captures the spirit of Roald Dahl’s work, and is not afraid to expand on or deviate from its source. Both also have multi-generational appeal despite their children’s movie classifications. Together they should make a great, family friendly, Dahl-centric double feature.

WILLY WONKA & THE CHOCOLATE FACTORY (1971)

After a rather delicious-looking title sequence, “Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory” opens with a musical number sung by a man who is either the world’s friendliest candy store owner or its worst businessman. Why else would he give handfuls of product away to the children that crowd his shop? I guess it helps keep their sugar-addled brains from wandering too far as he sings and dances around. As his song ends, looking in through the shop’s window is Charlie Bucket, a bright-eyed young man who could rival Little Oprhan Annie in the category of “most pluck in the face of extreme poverty” at the Fictional Character Olympics.

On his way home from his paper route, Charlie stops by the gates of the foreboding factory of Willy Wonka. As Charlie peers in, a man pushing a cart full of knives intones ominously “Nobody ever comes in, and nobody ever comes out.” Its the first instance of the movie veering into pants-wetting territory, as Charlie runs home to the shack housing his mother and four grandparents.

For a movie called “Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory,” it’s interesting that neither of the two make a proper appearance until the midpoint, a trick Steven Spielberg also employed four years later with “Jaws.” Regardless, this first half is inspired, and a great example of how the movie added or changed elements to make for a better cinematic experience. In the book, the events leading up to Charlie finding the ticket take place largely in his house through expository conversations with his grandparents, as they learn of the contest and its winners via newspaper articles.

The movie adds scenes of Charlie at school with the world’s most hilariously British teacher, along with two musical numbers, some television news interstitials, and a few great satirical moments including the invention of a computer which refuses to divulge the location of Wonka’s golden tickets because “that would be cheating,” as well as a wife who desperately wants her kidnapped husband’s safe return but is torn when the detective informs her the ransom is her case of Wonka bars. “How long will they give me to think it over?” It’s pretty remarkable how adult all of these scenes feel, and how they help temper the more fantastical elements.

Also created for the film is the character of Slugworth, a sinister looking man who appears to all of the ticket finders and whispers in their ears. Once our hero Charlie finds the last ticket, Slugworth stops him in a alley to make him an offer he can’t refuse.

Slugworth’s presence there raises an interesting question, and one I never really thought about before. How did he know where the tickets were going to be found? The revelation of his true identity provides at least a partial explanation. But did his employer somehow know who was going to win? Were the children hand-picked? Did Slugworth plant the money for Charlie to find after bribing the shop owner to hand the boy a particular candy bar even if Charlie didn’t specifically ask for it?

Charlie is the only ticket holder without an obvious flaw. Augustus Gloop is a glutton, Veruca Salt is a greedy, spoiled brat, Violet Beauregarde is a motor-mouth who chews gum and talks incessantly, and Mike Teevee is addicted to television and acts like the world should entertain him. In Wonka’s factory, each exits after failing to overcome these faults, in situations seemingly designed to bait them specifically. But is Charlie also tested?

His flaw is that he’s poor, and in the still very class-conscience England during the years the book was written, it would still be enough to make people distrustful of him. This makes the film’s addition of Slugworth more ingenious. He offers Charlie an impossibly large sum of money, enough to ensure his family’s well being for a long time, if Charlie will just turn over one small piece of candy. Charlie is torn between his selflessness and his honesty.

There cannot be enough good things said about the entire cast, but two people especially stand out. The first is the incomparable Jack Albertson, whose Grandpa Joe is beyond perfect. He’s funny, warm, and filled with as much wonder as any of the children. He’s also mischievous but protective, and precisely the partner Charlie needs on the strange journey. “Yes, strange Charlie. But it’s fun!” He’s also a great singer, and his “I’ve Got a Golden Ticket” is so triumphant it makes me want to dance around the room every time.

The other casting masterstroke is Gene Wilder as Willy Wonka. He gives a career-best performance as the eccentric, candy-making genius. No matter how bizarre things get, Wilder keeps the film grounded with an infectious charm and a knowing smile. He’s always scheming and always dreaming and he actually sells you on the idea that he could be responsible for all the factory’s many wonders.

Wilder is a big improvement over the book’s creepier, slightly malevolent Wonka, and the most successful part of a film that succeeds on all levels. While Dahl is the sole credited screenwriter, it was actually re-written by David Selznik, who apparently was responsible for most of the deviations from the novel. Ultimately, regardless of who is responsible, “Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory” is among the best family films of all time.

FANTASTIC MR. FOX (2009)

Upon my second viewing of “Fantastic Mr. Fox,” I can safely say that it too belongs on that list. Wes Anderson surprised a lot of people with this movie. Not only was this his first non-R rated film, but it was also his first adaptation, and his first feature-length foray into stop-motion animation.

At only 24 pages, Roald Dahl’s original book would have been much shorter if it was filmed solely as written. But Anderson found it to be the perfect template to tell a story he enjoyed in a medium that interested him. He has always been a visually oriented director, meticulously planning elements of each shot and subtly and not-so-subtly employing humor through props, costumes, and set decoration. As a film that is put together one frame at a time, the stop-motion world of “Fantastic Mr. Fox” makes for an ideal playground.

There’s a rambunctious energy to this film that is downright joyous, like a child playing with his favorite toy. It’s hard not to fall in love with each little detail. The film is beautiful and colorful and does not quite resemble any other movie. Its slightly jerky animation has an amateurish quality that somehow makes it more endearing. The recent short film version of “Peter and the Wolf” probably comes closest in look and feel. But letting the seams show gives the filmmakers license to be even more playful than they would otherwise, like in long shots where it’s clear that the standard models with fur have been replaced by exaggerated, Gumby-esque clay figures.

The movie opens with a prologue added by Anderson, featuring Mr. Fox and his wife caught in a trap, with the revelation of her pregnancy and a plea for him to stop stealing birds for a living. Considering that it’s the type of candid dialog most children’s films shy away from, this relationship-based drama is one of the films’ greatest strengths.

Another addition is their “different,” cape-wearing son Ash, as well as the way the animal’s society hilariously mirrors ours with their lawyers and real estate agents and newspapermen and miniaturized electronic devices. But the plot itself is transplanted straight from the book: Mr. Fox is a fearless, clever, and cunning creature who finds the tables turned when he is hunted by three local farmers who have been immortalized by an eerie children’s rhyme whose refrain punctuate the film’s darkest and most exciting moments.

Boggis, Bunce, and Bean
One fat,
One short,
One lean,

These horrible crooks
So different in looks
Were none the less equally mean.

Like all of Anderson’s films, “Fantastic Mr. Fox” uses carefully selected pop music to great effect. This includes three songs by the Beach Boys, two by Burl Ives, one by the Rolling Stones, and “The Ballad of Davey Crockett,” among others. While not otherwise a musical, there is also a hysterical song performed by a banjo picking character named Petey who sings a song with a chorus of nonsensical words. Upon hearing it, the humorless Bean chastises him. “That’s just weak songwriting. You wrote a bad song, Petey.”

Similar to the scene with the wife receiving the ransom demand in “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory,” it is exactly the type of detail that illustrates the fun the filmmakers are able to have while playing in Dahl’s sandbox.

Another interesting element is sound design. Unlike most movies about talking animals, the actors never sound like they were recorded individually inside a studio. There’s a feeling of an ensemble reacting to each other, and it sounds like it was recorded on location. This odd bit of realism helps sell the world in a subtle way, despite its cellophane water and cotton smoke.

While its scariest moments don’t quite rival those of “Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory,” “Fantastic Mr. Fox” is commendable for the dark places it is willing to go, including the three farmers whose guns and bombs pose a very real danger to Fox, his family, and his friends. Particularly haunting is the scene in which Bean destroys his trailer in a fit of unbridled rage as Boggis and Bunce look on helplessly. Also “pitch perfect” is the knife-wielding rat Fox does battle with, who in death finds a way to redeem himself. “Redemption, sure. But in the end he’s just another dead rat in a garbage pail behind a Chinese restaurant.”

I can’t say it enough. I really, really, really love this movie.

WORTH A DOUBLE FEATURE?

Both films are inventive and charming and colorful and hilarious. “Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory,” sets a high bar, but “Fantastic Mr. Fox” clears it. While they have their roots in the words of the same man, both are all the more successful because of what they added or changed along the way. Viewed solely as two family friendly films, the double feature works because of the intelligence behind both and the similarity of the approaches regardless of the medium employed to bring it life. As a double feature intended solely to honor Dahl’s imagination and the people who were inspired by it, the two films play together even better.

As always, I can’t watch any double feature without thinking of alternate pairings. Here are a few potential alternatives for each:

For “Willy Wonka & the Chocolate Factory”:

“Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” (1968) – The OTHER fantastical children’s musical revolving around a candy maker/inventor and based on a novel by a British author. “Chitty Chitty Bang Bang” has a similar wit, feel, and tone thanks in part to Roald Dahl, who co-wrote the screenplay three years before adapting his own novel for the screen.

“The Adventure of Sherlock Holmes’ Smarter Brother” (1975) – It’s hard to watch “Willy Wonka” without falling in love with Gene Wilder, which helps ensure the best frame of mind to watch this highly uneven but still charming and likable spoof that Wilder wrote, directed, and starred in.

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory (2005) – Retaining the original novel’s title, song lyrics, nut-sorting squirrels, and creepier Wonka, there’s a lesson here about how making an adaptation more faithful does not necessarily make it better. Their approaches are different enough that watching them back to back makes for a fascinating double feature, especially considering that Dahl himself disowned the first film.

For “Fantastic Mr. Fox”:

“James and the Giant Peach” (1996) – The OTHER stop-motion Roald Dahl adaptation, this one directed by Henry Selick, who left the co-directing job on “Fantastic Mr. Fox” to helm “Coraline” instead. Quite good in its own right, its only potential downside is that it is probably the most toothless of all the Roald Dahl adaptations.

“Where the Wild Things Are” (2009) – Much like “Fantastic Mr. Fox” and released within weeks of it, Spike Jonze’s beautiful and heartbreaking film is just as successful at retaining the voice and spirit of the original children’s book without abandoning the style and energy that made him a darling of independent cinema.

“The Royal Tenenbaums” (2001) – In some ways, Anderson’s “Fantastic Mr. Fox” plays like a lighthearted re-visitation of many of the issues and themes broached in his familial magnum opus: from a deceitful, thrill-seeking father concerned about his mortality and legacy, to children living in the shadows of their relatives and each other and dealing with the jealousy and turmoil that results.

Seeing Double is the new Scene-Stealers series that celebrates the only thing better than watching one movie—watching two movies.

Each week we look for a more perfect cinematic union as we view and discuss a pair of movies chosen either for things they have in common or things they don’t. The films may be old or new, obscure or well known, celebrated or reviled. The only rules are that we must justify the pairing up front, and all titles have to be readily viewable at home, as determined by their availability to rent or stream through the most popular home video websites.

When “No Country for Old Men” hit in 2007, I fell in love instantly, “Glass Key” ending and all. It even made leaving the theater, only to find my car had been towed, that much easier to take. A few months later I was exploring some of the Steve McQueen movies I never got around to and was struck by just how much 1972’s “The Getaway” reminded me of “No Country for Old Men.”

They’re both set in mostly the same region of Texas, with one shot towards the beginning of the Seventies, and the other set about eight years later. Aside from a certain amount of similar local color, semi analogous characters and plot developments crop up in each. Both feature a tall, dark, and relentless killer with a history of murdering his colleagues. Both feature a bag full of money that falls into the hands of a bystander. Both also have scenes at a general store with oddly specific purchases, exploding cars used as diversions, and a shootout at an El Paso Motel. Both were also seen as departures for the stylistically distinct filmmakers behind them, though for different reasons.

As an interesting contrast, they were both adapted from books, but the young Walter Hill‘s screenplay for “The Getaway” was significantly less faithful to Jim Thompson‘s pulp novel than Joel and Ethan Coen‘s screenplay for “No Country For Old Men,” which plays more like a condensed version of Cormac McCarthy‘s critically acclaimed prose. Pairing two movies I already know I love should make for a good time regardless, but I have the feeling that how they converge and diverge will also make these two a great double feature.

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN (2007)

This is probably my fifth time watching “No Country for Old Men,” and it keeps getting better for me. It opens beautifully, with some dusty scenery showing the Texas prarie at sunset… or sunrise… I’m not really sure. Seeing the wide open spaces, it’s hard not to envision cattle drives or cowboys or John Wayne movies. It’s strange how land seemingly untouched by progress still suggests so much history.

Then, the wistful voice of Sheriff Ed Tom Bell starts telling the story of the young killer he caught and sent to Death Row in Huntsville. He is most troubled by the fact that the young man seemed so cold about what he did, that there wasn’t any passion to it. “He said he knew he was going to hell. Be there in about 15 minutes.” But what the sheriff says next actually colors the experience of the rest of the movie, explains his actions, and helps account for some of the more unconventional turns that the film takes.

The crime you see now it’s hard to even take its measure. It’s not that I’m afraid of it. You have to be willing to die to do this job. But I don’t want to push my chips forward and go out to meet something I don’t understand. A man would have to put his soul at hazard. He’d have to say OK. I’ll be part of this world.

And with that, we meet Anton Chigurh. A tall, imposing, emotionless man dressed mostly in black, with a pageboy haircut . Chigurh is THE something that Bell doesn’t understand, doesn’t want to understand, or just can’t understand. The first time I saw the movie, Bell struck me as the most minor of its three leads. But upon examination, even scenes without his physical presence still feel shaped by his voice and his perspective.

“No Country for Old Men” as a movie doesn’t feature a lot of dialog, but it does feature the most in scenes where there are bystanders who survived their encounters. There’s the gas station attendant whose call on a coin toss with Chigurh ends up saving his life, and the officer on the other end of the phone call the deputy was making up until the moment Chigurh strangled him to death. Then there’s the motel clerk Llewelyn Moss confounded by renting two separate rooms based on the floor plan, and the man he bought a tent from, “the one with the most poles.” In addition, the very riveting action scenes all have a bit of a “just the facts” quality to them, as if the action of the characters was recreated by the forensic evidence.

I think there’s a good shot that everything we see plays out not necessarily exactly as it happened, but how Sheriff Bell thinks it happened based on who and what is left or reports from other police, etc. The story opens with him reflecting on what he’s seen and ends with him in retirement, reflecting on dreams of his father. A lot of people were disappointed with the last fourth of the movie, particularly with the exit of Moss from the story, the lack of a confrontation that it seems the story is building to, and the seemingly abrupt way in which the film itself just sort of… retires.

But I love it, particularly in the contentious way in which it dispatches Moss. It’s real. People die every day, but almost no one dies in front of you. One day that uncle you like but never really see any more is alive and the next you get a phone call telling you he’s gone. And suddenly you feel regret for every phone call you didn’t make, and every story you’ll never hear or be a part of. For Sheriff Bell, one minute Moss is alive and on the run and holding his own, and the next he’s lying on the floor of a motel in a pool of blood. As viewers, we can’t help but feel regret for all the stories Moss could have been a part of that we’ll never get to see. We feel cheated because that’s what death does. It cheats the dead of more living, and cheats the living of the company and the stories of the dead.

I think it’s also important to note that Moss operates best on instinct. Whereas thinking only gets him into trouble, instinct gets him out. His stay in the Mexican hospital gave him the chance to think that he sorely didn’t need. It’s thinking which has him tell his wife Carla Jean what hotel he’d meet her at in El Paso, and it’s the thought that he could stop what’s coming that ultimately sends Chigurh to Carla Jean’s door. As far as the question of whether or not Chigurh kills her, I love the fact that it’s a question at all. The book clearly spells out her fate. The film simply suggests it by having Chigurh check his shoes afterwards, something we saw him do at least once after a murder.

If any other filmmakers had adapted the book, there’s a good chance that the ending would have changed. But aside from some pruning and a slight re-ordering of events, the Coen Brothers’ film is faithful in a way few adaptations are. It’s also their most faithful adaptation ever, as “O Brother Where Art Thou,” “The Lady Killers,” and “Miller’s Crossing” all vaguely resembled their supposed sources at best. It’s apparent that what they loved about the novel is exactly what the people who were disappointed by it didn’t: its subversion of expectations. Its like the events of a Peckinpah movie, recounted by an older man who found himself mostly investigating its aftermath. We get exactly as much of the world as Sheriff Bell was willing to let himself be a part of, before he was no longer willing to put his soul at hazard. “Well, it’s certainly true that it’s a story.”

THE GETAWAY (1972)

In a lot of ways, “The Getaway” is the movie that some people felt “No Country for Old Men” promised but refused to deliver. Much like the Coen Brother’s underrated “Intolerable Cruelty,” “The Getaway” is often viewed as a lesser Peckinpah film, a commercial vehicle made to help bolster his directing career. But he didn’t just show up for a paycheck. His voice is definitely felt throughout, and there’s quite a bit that feels unique to him.

“The Getaway” opens with a shot of deer at a pasture, only to reveal they are actually directly outside a penitentiary in Huntsville. It then segues into a sequence that is probably the best short film ever made about the the prison experience. Technically scoreless but with oppressive mechanical noise overpowering the mix, Steve McQueen’s Doc McCoy shuffles back and forth solemnly, trapped. The noise gets quieter as a parole board decides his fate, but when his parole is rejected, the volume of the noise rises as he’s returned to being a cog in the prison’s machinery.

McCoy’s first words in the film are delivered to his wife Carol, from behind the prison glass. “Get to Benyon. Tell him I’m for sale. His price. Do it now.”

As we see her visit Benyon in a barely buttoned blouse and with the distinct lack of a bra, it’s clear that it won’t just be her husband paying that price. Benyon’s office is occupied by men of ill repute that are all a type of ugly that Hollywood has never been good at capturing. Much like the Coen Brothers, Peckinpah would cast locals and people whose faces were as expressive as their words, giving a certain depth to characters with only seconds of screen time.

Back at the prison we see that Benyon came through, and McCoy is being released. As the prison door opens and he steps out a free man, the mechanical noise finally stops. It’s over. But then the guard says “You’ll be back, Doc,” and the stakes are made very clear. No matter what, he’s not going back.

Of course it’s not a heist movie without a heist, and the next morning Doc goes to meet Benyon and to find out the nature of his debt. There’s a small town bank that needs robbing. Doc is running the job, but Benyon is running the show, and he insists that Doc take on two people he’s never worked with before.

One of them is named Rudy, a man with the bad habit of being the only one who makes it out of his jobs alive. Like Chigurh, He has dark hair and a physically imposing build. It’s clear immediately that he pushes people’s buttons solely for his own amusement. The only thing creepier than his expressionless glare is his smile.

But Doc works through his reservations and simply focuses on the job. They plan it in meticulous detail over the course of a very condensed week. Both the recon and the actual heist itself are classic Peckinpah. This is probably the grittiest and bloodiest PG rated movie I’ve ever seen. Predictably, the heist goes wrong, but in somewhat unpredictable ways. Rudy kills the other bagman then tries to first sabotage, then ambush Doc and Carol. Doc reads the situation correctly and shoots Rudy first, but Rudy survives thanks to the bullet proof vest he claimed he didn’t need.

From there the movies shifts to a series of thrilling chases, double crosses, and yes, getaways as Doc and Carol struggle to make their way to Mexico. In the meantime, a wounded Rudy makes his way to El Paso thanks to the coerced aid of a cuckolded veterinarian, and his wife for whom life was a little too boring before this bloody, dangerous man showed up waiving a gun in their faces, demanding they treat his wounds. Rudy’s interest in the vacuous blond is motivated mostly by desire to emasculate her husband, and the dynamic of these scenes is darkly comic and one of the movie’s best and most unique elements.

Equally inspired is a sequence in a train station where a small time con artist charms a locker key out of Carol’s hands. Doc gives chase and follows him onto a train, but loses his trail. Once we see the pure joy expressed by the man as he discovers the contents of the bag, for a moment we’re on his side and we want him to get away with the money, much like with Moss in “No Country for Old Men.” But also like Moss, fate has crueler things in store.

In addition to Rudy hunting them, Benyon’s men are also planning an ambush. The three parties eventually converge as “The Getaway” culminates in a thrilling shootout at an El Paso motel.

Aside from Peckinpah’s trademark ultra violence, both performances by McQueen and Ali MacGraw as Carol are excellent, showing range while never fully abandoning the personas they each became famous for. Their relationship feels authentic, and their humanity and vulnerability is on full display as they struggle to reconcile their love with their betrayals. Interestingly enough, this is probably the biggest spiritual change from the novel, as the characters were sociopaths who killed indiscriminately. The book’s ending was also vastly different. While they both feature the couple escaping to Mexico, the novel follows them from there to El Rey, and a surrealistic descent into madness.

WORTH A DOUBLE FEATURE?

I’m not sure why the critical reputation of “The Getaway” isn’t better. I really struggle to envision a circumstance where it could be dismissed as an empty thrill-ride. Considering that “The Godfather” was released just a few months before it in 1972, this film may have been considered slight by comparison. But that’s a comparison that hurts just about any film. There are elements here that are just as artful as “No Country for Old Men,” which had no shortage of awards or critical acclaim. Regardless, both films are excellent and play remarkably well together. There’s something about comparing a film set in a particular time and place to another film that was actually made during that time and in that place. But the best best part of putting them together is you get to have your cake and eat it too. You get the contemplative, artistic approach of “No Country for Old Men,” with the more immediately gratifying pacing and instantly satisfying conclusion of “The Getaway.”

As always, I can’t watch any double feature without thinking of alternate pairings. Here are a few potential alternatives for each:

For “No Country For Old Men”

Blood Simple (1985) – The Coen Brother’s debut film is a classic neo-noir that shares some elements, including its Texas setting, with this “No Country For Old Men.”

The Three Burials of Melquiades Estrada (2005) – This film also stars and was directed by Tommy Lee Jones and has a similar feel to Cormac McCarthy’s work in general.

All The Pretty Horses (2000) – There’s a lot of great things in the first Cormac McCarthy film adaptation, and it mostly makes up for its miscast leads’ lack of chemistry.

For “The Getaway”

Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia (1974) – The surrealistic desperation in Mexico that marks the end of the “The Getaway” in novel form has been called unfilmable, but Peckinpah’s cinematic fever dream captures the spirit of that ending perfectly.

The Killing (1956) The screenplay for Stanley Kubrick’s excellent but underseen caper film was co-written by Jim Thompson, three years before writing the original novel “The Getaway” was adapted from.

The Getaway (1994) – I have a thing for playing remakes, particularly reviled ones, after the originals. The trailer for this remake is so 90’s it hurts. Who knows though, maybe the director of “Cocktail” pulled off a halfway decent film.

Seeing Double is the new Scene-Stealers series that celebrates the only thing better than watching one movie—watching two movies.

Each week we look for a more perfect cinematic union as we view and discuss a pair of movies chosen either for things they have in common or things they don’t. The films may be old or new, obscure or well known, celebrated or reviled. The only rules are that we must justify the pairing up front, and all titles have to be readily viewable at home, as determined by their availability to rent or stream through the most popular home video websites.

I first fell in love with the concept of double features as a child, on nights when bed times were uninforced and friends and I would stay up as late as possible. While our parents slept, we ruled the remote control. While videogames and television shows were great during the daytime, we found those nights were practically made for exploring just what treasures those R ratings were actually restricting. But whether awesome or lame, no matter what we watched first, it only led us to search that much harder for something to either complement or amend the overall viewing experience.

In honor of those lost late nights, I decided to pick two lesser known 80’s horror films I had never gotten around to. I chose 1986‘s “April Fool’s Day” first, as it seemed appropriate for obvious reasons. For the second film, I chose 1981‘s “Happy Birthday to Me.” Going into it, I knew that both were filmed in Canada, feature infamous twist endings, and are a part of the somewhat reviled calendar-based subset of the slasher genre, a trend responsible for the most formulaic films in a particularly formula-dependent genre.

APRIL FOOL’S DAY (1986)

“April Fool’s Day” arrived at a time when the Calendar well was starting to run dry. “Silent Night, Deadly Night” had taken yet another stab at Christmas, and Jason was being resurrected for the sixth “Friday the 13th,” after being killed off, then supplanted by an ambulance driver. But there weren’t many untapped holidays or events left for upstart franchises to exploit. Unless you’re a Native American, what could possibly be scary about “Columbus Day?” Did “Point Break” begin its life as a script called “President’s Day” about murderous presidential mask wearing bank robbers? Well, it should have.

Given the slimness of the pickings, April Fool’s Day was definitely a reasonable choice. From the opening scene showing an interview of a woman pretending to be Irish, it’s clear that nothing in this movie should be taken at face value alone. To further hammer this point home, we are also treated to a flashback where a young girl at a birthday party is given a jack-in-the-box that was obviously purchased at a failed toy store H.R. Giger tried to open.

Back in the present, fairly attractive college students are waiting for a ferry to take them to the private island mansion of their heiress friend. Among them are three blonde women, two chowderheads played by Biff from “Back to the Future” and a guy who isn’t Biff from “Back to the Future,” an aspiring yuppie with a Tennessee drawl, a smart-ass who dresses like he’s still perfecting his Ferris Bueller Halloween costume, and a mullet-sporting young man who looks uncannily like Kevin Bacon and Kevin Dillon had a really buff lovechild.

Yes, there’s an attempt made at backstory for these characters, but should we care about it? No. The formula kicks in fast enough. A prank goes wrong, people mysteriously go missing, and then corpses start showing up in the water. Yet for some reason the remaining friends don’t seem to take the threat too seriously, as if they can’t shake the feeling that it might be one big joke, since this is exactly the type of joke normal college students play on each other, I guess. Besides, who has got time to be afraid of being murdered when there’s a Cold War going on and a Cola War going on and either one could be responsible for a huge bomb? Just look at New Coke and all the people that suffered by its hands.

Despite some faults, this is a pretty good film. Its greatest strengths are its brisk pacing and its wonderfully unhinged lead performance from “Valley Girl” Deborah Foreman. The movie also a has very loose “friends hanging out” feel to it that fits well. It can be pretty charming and amusing, though the actors aren’t quite as funny as they appear to think they are. There are also some ambitious dramatic moments that really work. A scene in which a character apologizes for unintentionally offending someone carries some emotional weight and feels authentic in a way mostly alien to this genre. Its single biggest weakness is that the two least interesting characters are the final two survivors, so it’s a bit of a struggle to care at that point.

As far as the not-so-shocking twist ending goes, it works. It really is the only logical conclusion and it’s clear that this was the story the filmmakers set out to tell. Apparently though, it angered people who were sold on the horror aspect this film fails to deliver with its lack of scares and bloodless, off-screen kills. But those poor sports are missing the bigger picture. This film’s cinematic triumph is that it promised one thing only to reveal it was something else all along. It’s not just the characters who were tricked, but the audience as well. And isn’t that the greatest April Fool’s Day gift of all?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME (1981)

Where “April Fool’s Day” willingly fails in the horror department, “Happy Birthday to Me” excels. From frame one, its clear that this a beautifully shot film featuring some great actors (including Pa Kent himself, Glenn Ford). But it’s also brutal and unrelenting when it wants to be. As most conventional horror movies do, this one opens with an attractive young woman being murdered, strangely enough after speaking to a woman with an Irish accent. But her murder isn’t tidy. In a painfully realistic scene, she fights frantically for her life as she’s strangled from behind by an unseen attacker. The camera lingers for what feels like an eternity, refusing to cut. She barely manages to escape, only to find the attack has turned her screams to whispers as shock overwhelms her survival instincts. The heartbreak in her eyes briefly turns to hope as she sees a familiar face, but it’s dashed once she realizes they are her attacker.

From the opening we segue to a boisterous bar ironically named The Silent Woman, where the now-slain silent woman had planned to meet her friends. The bar is occupied by the world’s most unoriginal drunks engaging in a rousing refrain of “99 bottles of beer,” much to the chagrin of “The Top 10,” the 10, or now nine, most elite seniors at a prestigious private school. Yes, they’re all rich and a bit snobbish, but they still have room for a creepy kid they jokingly call “the midnight taxidermist.” He and a girl named Virginia arrive separately and are both late. Since the victim was killed by someone she recognized, these two are the first suspects.

Or at least, that’s what you’re supposed to think. This movie plays with perception like it was an overeager puppy. For example, the first death scene is shot, edited, and even scored very differently than a scene a few minutes later where the French exchange student sneaks into Virginia’s closet to watch her undress. But since some slashers would have their second murder by this point, and because this scene adopts the killer’s point of view shot of “Peeping Tom,” “Black Christmas,” etc. we become convinced we’re looking through the eyes of a killer. It’s the type of misdirection this film revels in.

Once it occurred to me just how the filmmakers were toying with the audience, it just made me laugh. It really feels like there’s a guiding hand of a person with a wicked sense of humor behind this—a person who loves film and uses an encyclopedic knowledge to both pay homage and toy with viewer expectation. It’s similar in certain respects to the way that Quentin Tarantino, Joe Dante, and John Waters operate, while not otherwise resembling any of their approaches. I’m assuming that person is the director, J. Lee Thompson, the long-term industry veteran most famous for directing the “Guns of Navarone” and the original “Cape Fear.”

It’s also really fascinating how much this film resembles the Italian Giallo films, with its extended murder sequences perpetrated by a mysterious masked killer with black gloves, and a whodunit plot that constantly shifts suspicion. I’d be curious to find out if the work of Bava, Argento, or Fulci were influences on “Happy Birthday to Me.”

Some of this film’s other strengths are its inventive and memorable death scenes, its overall Bob Clark like atmosphere, its winking inclusion of flashbacks marked by Douglas Sirk levels of melodrama, and its nod to technological fear and body horror pictures as we learn that our ingenue Virginia was once a braindead vegetable pulled from the brink by scientific advancement.

As far as weaknesses, its overall run time and its ever-shifting tone might not work for some. Also, some viewers may feel fatigued by the “suspect everyone” machinations, especially when the film is simultaneously building the case that the meddlesome hand of science has turned Virgina homicidal. But I think the entire series of misdirection is itself indicative of a larger, more audacious slight of hand, one that most people overlook by the time the absolutely brilliant and insane last few scenes arrive. The final twist may seem illogical at first, but upon reflection the possibility was suggested all along through camerawork, through editing, through sound design, through score. What the movie shows isn’t nearly as important as how it shows it.

WORTH A DOUBLE FEATURE?

Overall, this was a very successful double feature for me. The films played together well and had more in common than originally expected. Also, watching them together helped me look more deeply at both of them. Like a magician revealing how a trick is performed, “April Fool’s Day” inspires you to look at the tropes of the slasher genre and how they pull the audience’s strings. This put me in the frame of mind to realize and appreciate the tricks “Happy Birthday to Me” was pulling. “Happy Birthday to Me” is easily one of the best movies of the era for me, and while “April Fool’s Day” doesn’t quite stand up to it, it is definitely a worthy effort.

As always, I can’t watch any double feature without thinking of alternate pairings. Here are a few potential alternatives for each:

For “April Fool’s Day”:

“When a Stranger Calls” (1979) – Fred Walton directed both films, and “April Fool’s Day” was his return to a genre that first got him noticed. The fact that he refused to let genre expectations drive either film is commendable, and they’d probably play well together.

“Murder by Death” (1976) – This parody of country-home dinner-and-a-murder books and movies has a similar structure and twist, though it’s much more comedic, which could provide a nice contrast.

“April Fool’s Day” (2008) – I’m convinced this direct-to-DVD exists only as an elaborate joke. On the slim chance it is real, it might be fun watching it directly after its presumably higher quality source material.

For “Happy Birthday to Me”:

“Black Christmas” (1974) – Bob Clark’s underrated masterpiece and slasher template shares a similar mood, production values, and high-caliber performances, including a “Superman” cast member in a young Margot Kidder.

“Demon Seed” (1977) – The star-studded horror movie deals with a few similar fear-of-technology-based horror elements and has some scenes that rival “Happy Birthday to Me” in pure WTF-ery.

“The American Astronaut” (2001) – This under-seen musical comedy sci-fi western doesn’t appear to have much of anything in common with “Happy Birthday to Me” on the surface, but both are slow-burn movies and there’s a particularly memorable element I don’t want to spoil that would make an excellent punchline to the setup provided by “Happy Birthday to Me.”

Special Note:
The previously released DVD of “Happy Birthday to Me” featured a horrible disco-tinged score in place of the wonderful orchestral original. It has the predictable side effect of making the film more cheesy and undermining its most effective scenes.

Thankfully, Anchor Bay re-released the DVD with the original score intact. Whatever you do, do not rent or buy the copy with incredibly crappy and unrelated cover art to the right. If you want to see just how much a score can affect a film, compare the first video with the original score intact to the second without it.