An F'dup Introduction

“How do these movies get made?"

Here’s the thing:

I love movies.  All kinds of movies. 

Casablanca is one of my favorite films.  Babe makes me go a big rubbery one (the pig movie, not the John Goodman one).  I could debate into the wee hours why I believe that The Conversation is better than either of the more celebrated The Godfather movies that it was made betwixt.

However, in addition to romances, classics, and family films, I also happen to love horror and exploitation movies. 

Gasp!

I know, I know...   Whenever I happen to mention one of my more offbeat likes, people wrinkle their noses and ask, “Why would you watch THAT?” 

The fact that I like all of those other kinds of films seems to make them even more disappointed, as if I should know better.

Having amassed a sizable DVD and Blu-ray collection over the past 15 years, I’ve discovered a rather unexpected personal tic.  Although I consider Stanley Kubrick a genius, I find myself re-visiting Bob Clark’s Black Christmas more often than any of my Kubrick discs.

This is not a comment on Clockwork Orange or Full Metal Jacket, and I’m certainly not going to argue that Bob Clark is somehow a better filmmaker than Kubrick (well, not unless I’ve had a few beers and you’ve pissed me off by dismissing Deathdream as trash). 

For some reason, I seem to hold imperfect movies a little more dear than the perfect ones.

The fact that these movies where NOT made as grand artistic gestures, yet still managed to hit upon something that transcended the genre, makes them more interesting.

So, here’s my attempt to explain why these films are important TO ME and perhaps in doing so, why you might find them interesting, as well. 

These aren’t reviews – there are a great many other sites for that, many of which I read myself – just thoughts that struck me about a particular film.

Here’s the second thing: 

Everyone who has studied film criticism knows that movies are contextual.

In a good film, every piece is a microcosm of the entire movie.  It is no coincidence that Night of the Living Dead opens with a brother and sister discussing traditional burial rituals, as they drive to a cemetery, to place flowers on the grave of their long-deceased father.

It sets the mood, establishes a relationship between characters, and subconsciously gets us thinking about our own relationship with the dead.  

All so that the filmmakers can turn the world on its head and force us to realize that they really are coming to get you, Barbara!

Movie watching is contextual, as well. 

What we carry into a movie – how much we liked the trailer, our thoughts on the poster, the reviews we’ve read, what’s on our mind that day, the situation of the screening itself – all play a role in how we react to a film.

Tim Lucas wrote an incredible thought-experiment about a movie that he DIDN’T see when it first came out.  In his review of the mondo film, Sweden, Heaven and Hell, he not only captures his thoughts on the film, upon finally watching a gray market DVD-R many years later, but he also imagines what he MIGHT have felt had he gone to see the film when it first opened at a drive-in near his home those many years before. 

Much like Black Christmas, I can’t stop thinking about Tim’s piece.

So, in addition to discussing each film, I’m going to explain a little about the circumstances of how I came to see each in the first place.

Here’s the final thing: 

A very wise genre filmmaker once advised that for a horror film to be successful, the audience must first fear the director.  Ultimately, this is why I love watching all of these disreputable films. 

They break the rules.

Typically, you go into movies like these not trusting anyone.  The trailer lied to you by cramming every single action moment from the flick – and sometimes other flicks! – into ninety explosive seconds.  The poster featured some hot chick or amazing monster that likely isn’t even in the film.  The director and cast probably had no idea how to make a movie.  And yet… and yet…

Occasionally, the filmmakers, intentionally or not, stumble upon something that so shatters your expectations that it becomes profound.

One last story about one of my favorite movie-going experiences. 

After paying to see some utterly uninteresting film one Friday night, a friend and I decided to sneak over to see another film, as payback.  We ended up seeing a midnight show of Stuart Little. 

Kids flick.  Late show… Not surprisingly, we were the only ones in the theater.

As with every movie, I walked in hoping to like Stuart Little.  The book is whimsical.  Michael J. Fox is funny.  The mix of animation and live action looked good…

Whatever…none of it worked for me on that night.

About 45 minutes into the screening, some gangbangers crashed the same theater.  They were pretty rowdy, but I couldn’t exactly complain; I wasn’t supposed to be there either!

Anyway, their dates must have wanted to see the flick, and they eventually settled down.  So, there we were.  Six people who didn't belong there, quietly watching a mediocre kids film, at 1 in the morning.

As the film nears the end of Act II, the evil cat, Snowbell, tries to reclaim his place as the most beloved pet in the Little household.  He waits for the Littles to leave, then pulls Stuart aside.   Lying through his teeth, Snowbell explains that everyone would be better off if Stuart just left.  As a final stab in the back, he tells Stuart:  “They never really loved you.”  Stuart is crushed. 

We all sat in silence for a few seconds, letting this betrayal sink in.  Then, one of the gangbangers blurted out:  “That is FUCKED UP!”

And that’s the moment when a so-so movie became a most memorable screening.

Don’t you wish more movies made you want to shout that?

Footnotes:

1. The quote at the top of the post is from Robert Harmon, director of The Hitcher, in reference to an article that appeared in the "L.A. Times" at the time of that film’s release. More about that article to come.