It’s Oscar nominations day! Let us share in the joy of headlines that aren’t full of sadness, despair and such and celebrate what was actually a pretty good year for film. In my status as Radio New Zealand Official Academy Awards Correspondent (TM) here’s my take on the nominees and a look at a few New Zealand-linked possible winners:
He fought Dracula. He was a dashing international spy. He invented a time machine. He wrestled mummies, battled Martians, dropped a choke-hold on a werewolf, and inexplicably became a 19th century cowboy. And he did it all while wearing a shiny silver wrestling luchador mask that he never, ever took off in his films.
I’m talking of course about one of the world’s most famous action movie stars of the ‘60s and ‘70s – El Santo, “the Saint,” aka Mexican wrestler Rodolfo Guzman Huerta, who parlayed his career into the ring into starring in a flurry of more than 50 movies between 1958 and 1982. While he is a cult attraction in the US, he was the king of the hugely popular lucha libre genre in Mexico, the MCU of its day.
Santo did it all – the titles of some of his flicks are like little tastes of what to expect: Santo vs The Evil Brain. Santo vs Blue Demon In Atlantis. Santo In The Revenge of the Vampire Women. Santo In The Wax Museum. Santo Vs Frankenstein’s Daughter. Santo And Blue Demon Vs Dracula and The Wolf Man. (Take that, modern-day multiverses!)
Santo In the Treasure of Dracula is a fine example of the lunacy of Santo’s world. Clad in a flashy suit and his omnipresent mask, crimefighter Santo has somehow invented a time machine (Austin Powers fans will quickly note its design) and to test it out sends his girlfriend back in time, where she ends up meeting Dracula and falling under his power. It all ends up with a wrestling match battle against Dracula and his minions in the modern day to save Santo’s girlfriend.
I’ve only seen six or seven of the more than 50 Santo movies so far, but they’re addictive goofy fun. You can see how the Santo factory became such a strange low-fi phenomenon in Mexico. Santo fits anywhere, whether it’s fighting drug lords or beating up vampires or just fighting all the monsters.
A key element in every Santo film is that other than a stray remark or two, nobody really blinks an eye about this stocky bruiser in a wrestling mask walking about fighting evil. It’s part of the Santo charm to see his silver mask blend in with spies or cowboys or government officials, simply part of the furniture like Batman. In Santo Vs The Riders of Terror, for instance, he simply shows up in an old-fashioned Western, unquestioned, helping the townspeople against a gang of bandits and lepers (!).
They’re not exactly great movies, but they’re fast moving pulp, and kind of exotically charming to someone who grew up on a steady diet of American action movie junk food. Some of the many movies filtered over to America, and have been coming out in several nice littleboutique blu-ray editions recently, while dozens more flicks can only be found by hunting the internet.
And of course, like how a Rocky Balboa movie has to include a few ring matches, Santo movies will almost always find a way to include a professional wrestling match or two, in addition to Santo himself putting the smackdown on whoever his latest foe of the day is.
Santo himself is a calm zen centre at the heart of these films. Rather than camping it up, Huerta was relentlessly calm and focused as his saintly alter-ego, which adds to his mysterious allure.
Despite Draculas and Frankensteins and mummies running amok, Santo simply is and always will be himself. He rarely shows anger or any signs of a real inner life outside his battles.
In many ways, the Santo films feel like they were made by a talented 10-year-old boy deciding what would be the coolest movies ever made and executing his ideas.
And you know, that’s sometimes all you want out of cinema, isn’t it?
There are movie stars, and there are character actors, but in my mind the best are those who combine the two, and few actors have carved out as inimitable a career as Nicolas Cage, who turns 60 years old today.
Cage’s star has risen and fallen and risen again over the years, but in my mind, even in the worst movies he’s starred in – and there’s a LOT of movies, over 100 – he’s almost always watchable, and more often than not, he elevates the material.
He’s been a meme, an indie film superstar, an action hero, an Academy Award winner and nominee, a comic genius and a steady presence in an awful lot of disposable ‘video on demand’ drek with one-word titles like “Arsenal”.
In my younger, svelte days he’s the only movie star I’ve been vaguely told I resembled (it’s probably just the Nik/Nic names). I watched Vampire’s Kiss and Raising Arizona on VHS tapes and wanted to know who this guy was. I cheered when he brought his oddball sensibility to ‘90s actioners like Face/Off and The Rock. And I still will hit the cinema for most of his major movies, from his recent excellent loosely themed apocalyptic series of films to catching the trippy Dream Scenario just a few weeks back.
To celebrate ol’ Saint Nic’s 60th, here’s my pick for 25 of my favourite Nic Flicks in chronological order:
1. Valley Girl, 1983 – All eyeballs and nose, an 18-year-old Cage kicks off his career subverting ‘80s teen comedies in this sweet goofy treat.
2. Raising Arizona, 1987 – I don’t think I’ve ever watched a Cage movie as many times as this Coen brothers masterpiece. “You ate sand?” “We ate sand.”
3. Vampire’s Kiss, 1988 – In which Cage, as a man who thinks he’s a vampire, decides that you can never go too far over the top.
4. Wild At Heart, 1990 – David Lynch meets Elvis meets Wizard of Oz meets Cage. Neon noir carnage.
5. It Could Happen To You, 1994 – Gentle romantic comedy is something Cage is actually pretty good at, and he’s got great charisma with Bridget Fonda.
6. Kiss of Death, 1995 – In a bulked-out, goateed supporting role, a terrifying villainous Cage steals the show.
7. Leaving Las Vegas, 1995 – Unlike most Cage movies, there’s no humour in this one, but his Oscar-winning performance is a heartbreaker.
8. The Rock, 1996 – The reign of Cage, unorthodox action star, begins, and his three-picture run of Rock, Con and Face defines some of the beautiful excess that a great action movie can be. It isn’t easy to upstage Sean Connery, either.
9. Con Air, 1997 – Insert Nicolas Cage hair blowing in breeze gif.
10. Face/Off, 1997 – It is a ridiculous movie, but it’s also John Woo’s Hollywood peak and so damned much fun.
11. Snake Eyes, 1998 – Brian De Palma meets Cage, and this one is worth it for the bravura showmanship of the one-take opening scene alone.
12. Bringing Out The Dead, 1999 – Martin Scorsese meets Cage in their only collaboration to date. Underrated and tense.
13. Adaptation, 2002 – Oscar-nominated again for playing twins in a topsy-turvy meta delight.
14. Matchstick Men, 2003 – A black comedy con-man yarn with surprising heart.
15. National Treasure, 2004 – Another try at blockbuster success, amiably corny Indiana Jones/Da Vinci Code style fun.
16. Lord Of War, 2005 – This tale of a Ukrainian arms dealer has only gotten more relevant with age.
17. Ghost Rider, 2007 – It isn’t a GOOD movie by any means but watching Cage overact his heart out turning into a superhero with a burning skull head is my idea of cinema.
18 Bad Lieutenant: Port Of Call New Orleans, 2009 – Cage unleashed as one of the most corrupt cops ever seen on screen.
19. Drive Angry, 2011 – Nicolas Cage returns from Hell to save his granddaughter in this insanely goofy potboiler.
20. Joe, 2013 – Evocative Southern Gothic based on a novel by the late great Mississippi writer Larry Brown.
21. Mandy, 2018 – Heavy-metal ultraviolent psychedelic revenge, and the beginning of a welcome new experimentalism in Cage’s picks.
22. Color Out Of Space, 2019 – The cosmic horror of Lovecraft’s short story finds a welcome interpreter in Cage.
23. Pig, 2021 – Just when you think all Cage does is go to 11, he delivers a wonderfully restrained and existential movie about a lonely man who loses his pet pig.
24. The Unbearable Weight of Massive Talent, 2022 – Cage embraces the memes. Chaos ensues.
25. Dream Scenario, 2023 – In a movie that really should earn him another Oscar nomination, Cage channels Freddy Krueger, kind of.
Celebrate the tidings of the season by picking your favourite Nicolas Cage joint and giving it a spin. What’s your top Cage Day pick? Comment if you’re keen below.
It’s a new year, a fresh start, a hope this year is maybe a bit less suck than the last one! I’ve complained enough about the year that was, so instead let me dive back to look at ten musical, cinematic or literary experiences that rocked my world in ’23:
Go back to those Gold Soundz: I didn’t check out a lot of live music last year, but what I did was superb, led by the old guard showing they can still blast with the best of them. Indie icons Pavement put on a superb reunion show that left me humming the chorus to “Gold Soundz” for weeks, while I finally saw punk/post-punk legends The Damned for the first time on the back of their excellent Darkadelic album, and they melted my face. And my ears. I don’t quite know if my hearing has ever been the same.
Tonight, a blind woman and a monster came to town: I’ve been getting fewer ongoing monthly comic series these days, but one that’s on my must list is Ryan North’s brainy, witty take on Marvel Comics’ Fantastic Four, which is inventive science-bro action combined with the family heart that is key to the FF. It’s just darned fun, good comics that (so far) don’t have to be part of some sprawling pointless multi-comic company crossover to feel epic. It’s the best the Fantastic Four has been in ages.
A long long time ago, when I was a little chick: I wrote a whole story recently asking local book lovers for their favourite New Zealand books they read and it reminded me of what an excellent year it was for NZ fiction, led by Eleanor Catton’s wickedly fun satire Birnam Wood and a two-fer by Catherine Chidgey – The Axeman’s Carnival, an amazing novel about a bird who becomes a social media celebrity, and the nearly as good teenage angst thriller Pet. Go team NZ!
You don’t know the first thing about piracy, do you?: There was a lot of great TV in ’23 – Reservation Dogs, that banger final Succession run, Poker Face, and I’m only just now discovering how fantastic The Bear is – but the one that sticks with me the most is Taika Waititi’s unexpected gay pirate comedy Our Flag Means Death, which in its NZ-filmed second season truly transformed into a delightfully sweet romance mixed with swashbuckling pirate fun. A gem.
And in an instant, I know I’ve made a terrible mistake: Daniel Clowes has been blowing my mind since long ago when I first stumbled on an issue of Eightball. His comics are less prolific than they once were but they’re worth the wait, with this year’s graphic novel Monica (art at top of post) quite possibly his masterpiece. A sweeping story of one woman’s exploration of her own mysterious past, it’s a technically dazzling (those colours!), assured and layered work that you’ll keep churning over in your head for days afterwards. It’s not a speed-read like many modern comics, but an experience that might just leave you feeling like the world is a slightly different place when you’re done.
All my life I’m looking for the magic: Yeah, I know, physical media is dying, bla bla blah, but while I’m definitely a bit more choosy about what I buy in the age of internet abundance, I can’t pass up a good mix, and UK record label Cherry Red constantly is putting out fantastic CD box sets of eclectic punk rock from 1977-1982, power pop from the UK and US and ’80 synthpop that spans my mid-1970s to late-80s sweet spot. Sure, you can find a Spotify playlist, but I enjoy the curated, elegant physicality of these great boxes and the buried treasure they contain. Each set is hours and hours of gems waiting to be rediscovered and if I close my eyes I can almost pretend it’s coming from a cassette mix tape as I drive my old Volkswagen Rabbit around town.
That monster … will never forgive us: This was the year comic-book movies stumbled and became just as cliched as the Will Smith and Tom Cruise action movies they replaced. But look across the seas to Japan and some of the year’s best blockbusters came from there, with kaiju instead of capes in the terrifically oddball Shin Ultraman and the bizarre Shin Kamen Rider and best of all, the monumental reimagining of the biggest beast of all with Godzilla: Minus One. There were decent superhero moments this year, but not one of them compared to the kinetic thrill of watching Ultraman or Godzilla stomp on buildings with fresh energy.
Dear Allen, thanks for your letters. I was glad to hear from you: William S. Burroughs was not a decent man. A drug addict, the accidental murderer of his first wife, homosexual in a repressed era, his twisted, tormented writings are decidedly not for everyone. And yet, and yet. This year I found myself once again reading Burroughs’ books like The Soft Machine and turning to his nonfiction writings, particularly his collected letters, because the nonfiction shows so well what went into his far-out fiction. The Letters of William S. Burroughs 1945-1959 fascinated me because it revealed the real person behind the sneering, sinister king of debauchery Burroughs became. It’s extraordinary to read how human and lonely Burroughs is in these letters, wrestling with unrequited love, addiction and ‘normal’ society, and his determination to find new shadowlands behind the world we live in. A stoic mask soon settled over his public face, but here we learn how he got there.
To be honest, when I found out the patriarchy wasn’t just about horses, I lost interest: “Barbenheimer” might have been a marketing technique gone viral, but it was a heck of a lot of fun and rewarding to see two very good movies leading the summer box office and showing up the latest dusty, unnecessary franchise-extender Indiana Jones sequels and the like. Barbie was a huge hit, but it was also just subversive enough to charm all but the most cynical, while Oppenheimer was Christopher Nolan’s best movie yet led by a dazzling Cillian Murphy and sequences on the iMAX screen downtown that melted my face nearly as much as a Damned concert.
The meat goes into the oven: This one’s a bit self-indulgent, but I had a very good year stretching my feature writing muscles this year in my paying gigs, between several book reviews for the NZ Listener magazine and writing for Radio New Zealand about stuff I love like barbecue restaurants,fans of weird movies, used book fairs, film festivals and more. Turn your passions into words, folks, and let’s all have a fine 2024!
In an age where most social media has turned into a bilestorm of nastiness, I find it’s generally a fun space to spend a bit of time, with lots of thoughtful film reviews – and lots of incredibly goofy, snotty one-liner reviews as well. It’s a mix of snark and sense.
I’ve been using Letterboxd for a while but this year for the first time I thought I’d challenge myself by also doing ratings for the movies I logged – you have the option of ranking movies from five stars to no stars. I hadn’t done it before because there’s an easy tendency to let thinking about the ratings overwhelm the film experience itself – you spend too much time obsessing over what you might rate something. There’s an awful lot of Letterboxd cultists out there who seem to spend an awful lot of time obsessing over their “rating curve” for movies or asking everyone on Reddit to rank their rankings, and it can all get a bit performative.
Eh. I don’t care that my movie curve “leans” toward higher ratings. I mean, life is short and you should generally watch stuff you like or reckon you might like, right? Still, I have tried to be restrained when it comes to awarding five stars. It’s been an interesting experiment this year because it makes you truly think, how has this movie landed with me? What’s the difference between the film as a film and my experience of it? Why do we rate things the way we do, anyway?
For instance, objectively, it’s insane to rate Tommy Wiseau’s legendarily awful sex thriller/comedy/drama The Room as five stars, isn’t it? But, I saw it at a packed 20th anniversary showing with the whole family featuring co-star Greg Sestero (who wrote The Disaster Artist book about the making of The Room), there were skits, making-of-stories, plastic spoons flying, and honestly, it was one of the most fun times I had at the theatre this year. The right experience can make a bad movie seem good, I reckon.
In the end, a star is just a designation that might well change based on my mood or the atmosphere or the configuration of the stars in the sky itself. There’s a LOT of movies that I gave 4 1/2 stars to that might on a different day or second viewing rise up, so in the end you have to take any movie ratings with a grain of salt.
The majority of my “five star” ratings for 2023 were movies that I had, of course, seen before, because honestly, I think you tend to truly love a film more upon repeat exposure. But not always – there was some excellent new to me stuff this year that dazzled from the first few frames.
I logged a rather solid total of 228 movies seen in 2023 (trust me, I’m apparently a total amateur compared to some Boxd-heads). In the end, I gave 24 films five stars.
The ones I saw for the first time:
The Misfits (1961) – As noted here, this final film from Marilyn Monroe and Clark Gable blew me away.
Shock Corridor (1963) – So this is where David Lynch and Martin Scorsese were born. Pulp melodrama at a mental hospital that is absurd from a plot standpoint but hypnotic in style and execution.
Thief (1981) – James Caan, Michael Mann, neon-lit neo-noir, thieves and cons – inject it right into my veins!
The Hit (1984) – The Limey is one of my all-time favourite crime flicks and this underrated gem starring Terence Stamp and a wonderful John Hurt is like the prequel I never knew I needed. Look, I like movies about hitmen starring great actors, OK?
Asteroid City (2023) – Wes Anderson goes full Wes Anderson and either you get it or you don’t.
Poor Things (2023) – Filthy, funny, fantastic femme fatale Frankenstein.
Oppenheimer (2023) – I mean, duh.
Repeat viewing offenders – Beloved film friends I watched again this year that were confirmed in my mind as film classics, from Claude Rains spooking everyone with his invisible powers to Ben Kingsley spooking everyone with his cockney gangster accent:
The Invisible Man (1933); Singin’ In The Rain (1952); All That Heaven Allows (1955); 12 Angry Men (1957); Blow-Up (1966); The French Connection (1971); Fist of Fury (1972); Stardust Memories (1980); The Thing (1982); Videodrome (1983); Sexy Beast (2001); The Room (2003); Rise of the Planet of the Apes (2011); John Wick (2014); The Sparks Brothers (2021)
What is it? …So, what makes a bad movie? Is it ineptitude, or arrogance, or both? Marvel’s Fantastic Four comics have now been adapted disappointingly into movies four times – a very, very low-budget never-officially-released 1994 Roger Corman schlock-fest, two mildly successful family-friendly 2000s movies by Tim Story, and an outright bomb in the dark, dreary 2015 Josh Trank film. It shouldn’t be this hard to adapt one of the great superhero comics to cinema, but somehow, it keeps missing the mark.
The Fantastic Four are a family – Reed Richards and his (eventually) wife Sue Storm, fiery Johnny Storm and tragic Ben Grimm, the Thing. They’re adventurers and explorers and Stan Lee, Jack Kirby, John Byrne, Jonathan Hickman, Mark Waid and others have written countless great comics starring them.
Yet Fantastic Four 2015is a joyless slog, in love with its own seriousness in a story that should be about wonder and adventure, more Indiana Jones than X-Men. The movie spends far too much of its runtime setting up young genius Reed Richards (an uncertain Miles Teller) and childhood pal Ben Grimm (woefully miscast Jamie Bell) getting involved in a secret cosmic teleportation experiment with scientist Sue Storm (Kate Mara, serious and dull), her daredevil brother Johnny Storm (Michael B. Jordan, showing little of the charisma he brought to Creed and Black Panther) and Victor Von Doom as a spoiled, egotistical scientist (forgettably generic Toby Kebbell). The experiment changes them all, giving them strange powers in a movie that seems determined to play that as Cronebergian body horror, they end up fighting Victor Von Doom who’s gone evil for… reasons, and then it’s the end.
Like far too many superhero movies it’s all about setting up for imaginary sequels, and Trank plays it all stonefaced straight. Tim Story’s 2005 and 2007 Fantastic Four movies were kinda clumsy and cheap, but one thing they got right was the essential light touch a FF story needs, the banter and the camaraderie. Not a single character in Fantastic Four 2015 is really that likeable.
A fifth Fantastic Four movie, finally meant to be part of the Marvel Cinematic Universe proper, is set to arrive in 2025. Will it break the curse?
Why I never saw it. Look, as a wee young boy superhero movies were few and far between, and I gamely saw flops like Howard The Duck and Superman IV: The Quest for Peace in theatres. But in the last 20 years we’ve been deluged with comic content and when a movie bombs as hard as FF15 did, you know, you tend to skip it until you get bored enough one night. Bad movies have their own twisted charm, and I figured it was time to see if this was as bad as everyone said it was. (Should I do Morbius next, or can my heart take it?)
Does it measure up to its rep? An anemic 9% positive reviews on Rotten Tomatoes. A 1.3 star rating out of 5 on Letterboxd. A (rather too generous) 4.3/10 on IMDB. Yep, I’d say it measures up to those. It is indeed as bad as everyone said it was.
What depresses most about Fantastic Four 2015, besides the utter miscasting of pretty much everybody involved and its relentless dour tone, is how so many wrong choices by Trank show he fails to get what has made the Fantastic Four work for 60 years. The first misstep was relying on the 2000s “reboot” comic Ultimate Fantastic Four as your source material. It’s one of those peak “edgy” decompressed reimagining of beloved characters with then-hip lingo that ages like cheese left out in the sun, and far inferior to the energetic original Lee & Kirby Marvel Comics.
What makes a bad movie is the sense the filmmakers don’t care about their story or their characters. Trank has the team as brooding teenagers, manipulated by the sinister government and missing the spirit of plucky individualism that drove Lee and Kirby’s original comics. Make Ben Grimm’s mutated Thing, famous for his gritty wit and gruff everyman charm in the comics, into a sullen government assassin? Also make the Thing disturbingly naked instead of wearing his trademark blue trunks? Check. Have Sue Storm be an adopted orphan from Kosovo for no particular reason? Check! And once again mangle the character of Doctor Doom, one of comics’ most revered villains, turning him into a whiny loser mutated by cosmic energy and quite possibly the most visually ugly interpretation of a comics villain on film outside of Zach Snyder’s Justice League? Double check! (Doom has now fallen short in FOUR movies, which has to be some kind of record in a world where people playing the Joker have won two Oscars.)
Worth seeing? We live in an age where third-tier comic book characters like Groot, Blue Beetle, She-Hulk and Agatha Harkness are all well-known. Yet, somehow, film still hasn’t quite cracked the secret of how to adapt one of the greatest comics of all time to film. It’s no wonder it took me eight years to get around to this one. By far the worst of four cinematic attempts at the quartet, Josh Trank’s Fantastic Four is exactly as misguided and depressing as the reviews back in 2015 made it sound. If you’re a fan of the comic, like I am, Fantastic Four 2015 feels like an intentional insult. At least we’ll always have the comics, eh? Flame on!
Every actor has a face that fits certain roles better than others.
Kenneth Branagh is lots of things – an acclaimed Shakespearean whose film Henry V helped seal my lifelong love for the bard, a director of Marvel movies and action franchises, an Oscar-winning writer, an actor who slots nicely into big-budget productions from Oppenheimer to Harry Potter films to give them a touch of class.
But my favourite Branagh as an actor (or Sir Kenneth, if you like) is when he’s solving a mystery or two. He’s an actor who feels born to mull over and solve crimes, to be the bloke at the end of the picture who tells the cast of characters who done it and why.
He’s played two pretty iconic detectives – Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot in three movies, and the late Henning Mankell’s Scandi-noir police investigator Kurt Wallander in a series of excellent English-language TV adaptations.
Heck, at the very start of his career 30+ years ago a baby-faced Branagh also served up a fine Hitchcockian noir homage with the twisty Dead Again, where he plays a detective who’s not quite what he seems.
I enjoy watching him in all of them, for even when the material itself is a bit tatty, Branagh remains a cool, elegant centre, whether he’s the magnificently mustached Belgian Poirot or the tense, stressed Swede Wallander. Sir Kenneth excels at showing the mind at work solving whatever cases life throws at him.
Branagh’s Agatha Christie adaptations of Murder On The Orient Express, Death on the Nile and A Haunting In Venice became a bit of an unlikely low-key franchise the past few years. The star-studded let’s-solve-a-murder thrillers throw back to similar movies of the 1970s. They are more popcorn diversions than timeless classics, really, but I have fun watching every one of them. (Death On The Nile, hampered by very obvious pandemic shooting restrictions and a miscast Gal Gadot proving she really can only play Wonder Woman, is the weakest, while moody quasi-horror movie Haunting In Venice, which quietly slipped into release earlier this year, is quite solid.) Poirot is a classic character that Branagh brings a nice bit of haunted depth to, traumatised by his World War I experiences but animated by a firm sense of justice.
The Wallander series introduced me to Mankell’s compulsively readable, dour novels, and the Swedish TV productions of them too. Set in an endlessly windswept, grim small-town Sweden, they’re dark but addictive like the best crime fiction. Branagh’s performance as the jittery Wallander, who never quite seems to get enough sleep, always holds my attention as he works his way to a haggard justice for crime’s victims. There’s a mood of exhaustion that hangs over Wallander which could be depressing, but somehow, it works for me, anchored by Branagh.
However, for a man who’s tackled many British icons from Shakespeare on down, there’s one role I’d still love to see Sir Kenneth step into – give us a Sherlock Holmes, with, say, Alfred Molina as an excellent choice for his Watson. It doesn’t need to be some meta reinvention like Benedict Cumberbatch’s fine series.
Plonk us in Victorian England, give us a mystery or two to solve, and watch Sir Kenneth’s face go to work. As a filmmaking triple-threat, surely Sir Kenneth could write, direct and star in a Sherlock Holmes movie to add to his detective’s kit.
Life is full of mysteries, after all, and we still need great detectives to solve it.
It turns out Toho’s newGodzilla Minus One is an astonishingly good movie, let alone a Godzilla movie, the latest in a series of endless reinventions of the king of monsters since his debut in 1954. Set just after World War II, it tackles the weighty subjects of Japan’s post-war trauma and rebuilding and mashes it together with some of the most stunningly visceral kaiju rampages ever filmed.
It’s the rare Godzilla movie where the human characters are fully realised. It’s the story of a disgraced kamikaze pilot attempting to recover from his war experience, with Godzilla cleverly interlaced as both potent metaphor and big-ass destructive force constantly upending one man’s little life. Godzilla is terrifying in this movie, in a way he’s only occasionally been in the last 70 years. It’s instantly rocketed into my top 3 Godzilla movies of all time.
But it’s also a very serious Godzilla movie – which is totally cool. The thing is, Godzilla has turned out to be very flexible for such a big fellow, so the very same day my son and I were floored by G-1 in the theatre, we also saw the trailer for next year’s American “Monsterverse” instalment Godzilla X Kong: The New Empire, which swerves 180 degrees back towards the silly side of Godzilla again. Godzilla and King Kong are set for a good ol’ fashioned monster team-up adventure, and I can’t wait.
Yes, the trailer is kind of wacky, but I loved 2021’s Godzilla Vs Kong for its same combination of bombastic old-school kaiju action with modern special effects, too. Look, any movie with a giant gorilla and reptile having a punching match on the deck of an aircraft carrier can’t be all bad.
That’s what’s great about Godzilla. He can be a horrifying embodiment of nuclear fears as in his very first movie, he can be a quasi-superhero, he can be a big galoot who wrestles other giant critters, he can be a hero or a villain or an implacable alien force of nature. In recent years, the American series of Godzilla films have gone for the popcorn craziness, while the Japanese ones have tried for a little more depth such as 2016’s fascinating Shin Godzilla which was a dense satire of the country’s bureaucracy mixed with a shapeshifting take on the titular creature.
I watched Godzilla Minus One in the afternoon and then in the evening for a whiplash-inducing change of pace I watched 2004’s Godzilla: Final Wars again, which was made to mark the 50th anniversary of the big guy and a temporary “last” movie in a franchise that never truly ends.
It is an insane overstuffed piece of cinema that juggles alien invasions, mutants, martial arts, rap-metal, terrible early 2000s CGI and cameos from pretty much every kaiju from the vintage Showa era on up. It’s like someone decided to mix a 1970s Godzilla movie with a Matrix ripoff and it’s technically sometimes awful but also amazingly entertaining in its go-for-broke fashion.
Final Wars is in tone and execution about as far away from the layered, emotional Minus One as you can get, but somehow Godzilla works in both of them. That’s the beauty of Godzilla. After 70 years, he’s still got plenty of new tricks up his scaly sleeve.
It’s the grand conclusion of Keeping It Short Week, 250 words per post no matter what!
Melodrama is fundamentally uncool. When you think of the word, you think of overwrought tears, exaggerated gesture, implausible goings-on and a story that attempts to throttle your feelings.
Yet sometimes, we all want to get swept away a bit. Sometimes we just want to feel. And when I crave a bit of melodrama, I’ll skip your soap operas and Jane Austen and go right for the straight stuff – the Sirk.
Douglas Sirk is here to wring your emotions out like a wet dishcloth. His handful of shimmering colour movies are glittering gems of 1950s restraint, heartbreak and bombast. If you can overlook their more dated aspects, you’ll find some smart, subtle criticisms of privilege, power and wealth that don’t seem all that out of place in 2023.
Watching gems like All That Heaven Allows or Written On The Wind is like viewing a lush painting coming to life. His frequent star and muse Rock Hudson, a closeted gay man, brings a lot of hefty subtext to his presence in Sirkland. It’s impossible to say how this much colours our impression of him in these movies, but in them he combines the chiseled handsomeness of a Cary Grant with a slightly fragile, insecure veneer. In Sirkland, his characters are all taut with suppressed emotion, and through their fumblings, we learn a little something about our own.
Oh, and Sirk apparently liked to call his movies “dramas of swollen emotion”, which is way better than melodramas.
Thanks for reading along this “short” week of posts, I hope we’ve all had life changing lessons as a result. Normal long-winded posting will resume next week!
I took years to actually see horror movie anthology Creepshow when it came out in 1982. I first saw the graphic novel adaptation by the late great Bernie Wrightson in a shop, but as a wee pre-teen I was too scared to buy it, so I’d end up flipping through the pages every time I went to that store, scared stiff.
Creepshow is a great little mix of gore and cheese, filtered through the sensibility of ‘50s horror comics like EC’s Tales From The Crypt. Throw together a few segments, toss in a cackling host to link them together, and off you go. The beauty of an anthology format is, if you don’t like the current bit, wait a few minutes for the next.
Horror seems to lend itself to an anthology format more than any genre, really. Much of my favourite horror is short and (not so) sweet – those EC comics, TV series like Black Mirror and The Twilight Zone, Stephen King’s deliciously nasty short stories.
My favourite Universal Horror movies from the 1930s-1940s rarely hit more than an hour’s length, a lesson to those who think you always need three hours-plus to tell a story. Bride of Frankenstein is a mere 75 minutes long!
Horror can be longer format, of course, such as many of King’s hefty doorstop books like It. But for me, the best horror hits you hard and quick, leaving you gasping for breath before you even quite clock that it’s over.
Nik Dirga 