Conan the Barbarian: Blood-soaked allegory for Hollywood culture?

Conan, oh Conan, how misrepresented you are in the eye of the common man. Rather than the canny savage king with a cruel streak, you're often instantly associated with Ah-nuld's dopey and somewhat fuddly-cuddly performance. Though not a terrible movie by any stretch, a more apt title would have been something like "Ah-nuld: The Journey to the Land of California".

We open with Conan as a child, being told by his father that the only thing he can rely on in the entire world is steel. The next day Conan's entire village is massacred by the forces of a wizard with a snake-fetish who then sells the boy into slavery. While slaving about, he grows physically until one day he gos from child star with no future to Arnold-goddamn-Schwarzenegger. Arnie then proceeds to work as a gladiator, getting some education on the way. When his master lets him go (For reasons even the narrator finds vague) he proceeds to romp about the country-side, befriending some Asian dude with a bow and a reckless blonde. Oh and banging a demon-wench...who can see into the future!
A little ways later, Conan discovers that the wizard who slew everyone he held dear has turned his snake-fetish into a religion and is not only converting hordes of people, but sacrificing them to giant snakes. This does not sit well with our barbarian hero, and he sets out to avenge himself at long last.

Conan's childhood. Bad times all around.

"Conan the Barbarian" fits into the same category of film that all those early Indiana Jones movies are deeply entrenched within. It's a perfectly serviceable slice of Hollywood action-adventure that unfortunately, doesn't have much going for it on any level other than the surface. I think once you're past a certain age (Or have seen hundreds upon hundreds of sodding movies) films like Conan just don't rightly entertain as much as it obviously purports to.

The film does have things going for it. The opening sequence, the aforementioned massacre, is quite the spectacle. Almost operatic in how over the top it is. James Earl Jones is also fantastic (If ill-costumed) as Conan's nemesis, and Max Von Sydow has a great cameo. They're also some nice shots peppered throughout the film.
Unfortunately, apart from those two actors, the rest of the cast is pretty flat. Either playing straight up caricatures (Mako) or about as personable as bricks of butter (Ah-nuld and co.), the film really struggles to make you care about these characters. The writing isn't terrible per se, but one gets the impression that the best parts were likely ripped straight from Bob Howard's works and the rest were pieced together in between. I myself have yet to read anything he wrote...criminal I know...but that was my honest impression.
Mako also narrates about 90% of the goddamn movie in a fashion that is so grating on the nerves it detracts from the narrative flow. Especially since in the scenes where he does narrate, the imagery were shown is pretty much telling us exactly what he's blathering on about.

Remember kids. This fellow was GOVERNOR.

Now, there was something that hit me as being supremely strange about Conan this time through. Prior to this I'd only seen it in bits and pieces over the years, barring my initial viewing at the age of nine. Back when I was blind to sub-text or the hallowed art of finding sub-text where none was really intended.
Conan struck me as being less about Conan and more about Hollywood and possibly the entrance of Schwarzenegger upon American movie-making soil. About halfway through the film, our heroes are given a quest. A king offers them riches beyond their wildest dreams in return for tracking down his daughter who's run off to join Jones' snake cult. When Conan finally crashes the party, it turns out that these cultists spend their days seemingly oblivious to the real world or engaging in really sketch orgies.

Sound familiar at all? I couldn't help thinking of the typical story trope (Often found in tales of lurid crime) where a bright young gal runs off to Hollywood to become a star, only to be exploited or get involved with exotic drugs and scary parties that involve wild animals for fornicatin' with. The father hires a private detective and implores that he and his cohorts track her down. Although, it could simply be that I was so bored with the film that I remaking it into something marginally more interesting in my head. However, combined with the Californian brand of sleaziness the film seems to purvey and the fact that Olive Stone co-wrote the screenplay, I wouldn't be surprised if it really was attempting to represent the darker annals of Hollywood culture as a swords and sorcery epic.

Oh, and to John Milius, the director. Pro-tip dude, don't use normal household dogs to represent feral beasts and barbarian attack dogs. Rottweilers in a time after the fall of Atlantis? Real immersion breaker dude.
 If you're a ten year-old boy and you haven't seen this, you'll adore it. Otherwise, you might want to be drunk while watching. It would definitely enhance your viewing experience in this case.

In fact, you might be better off watching this rather than the actual movie:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OBGOQ7SsJrw

Personally, I find it better.

Thees ees my band. We are called "THE DESTROYUHS"!

Vampires: John Carpenter for the meat & potatoes audience.

Disclaimer: Despite the title, I don't necessarily disdain schlocky entertainment. Hell, as I think I've mentioned already (Maybe not?) I think "Con-Air" is a masterpiece of sorts and I really enjoyed the hell outta "The Expendables". However, "Vampires" is thoroughly mediocre. It managed to re-awaken a very particular hunger within me. A hunger for something actually GOOD...preferably pre-1960's.

James Woods stars as Jack Crow, the trash-talking leader of a gang of vampire-slaying biker-dudes who work for the Vatican. After a successful vampire-massacre they manage to run afoul of a vampire "master" who's more than a little peeved that his home was wrecked by a bunch of faux Hell's Angels. He returns the favor leaving only Jack and his buddy Montoya (Played by one of the "other" Baldwins) alive and hungry for vengeance. Vampire-ized hooker in tow (Coz she's got a psychic connection to the master, ya dig?) they set out on their Southern-fried quest to kick vampire ass.

They really REALLY wanna kill some goons.

This movie is trashy. It feels less a John Carpenter film and more like something Robert Rodriguez would cook up. Sure the typical Carpenter "Working class schlub faces down the forces of evil and MAYBE triumphs!" ethos is going on, but it lacks the usual incisive commentary or creepy atmosphere  the best Carpenter films sport. It also seemingly attempts to give a grittier take on the tired concept of the vampire, but only really succeeds in feeling even more rote. Of course, it was made in the Nineties, but even with that in mind it STILL feels like something that had been done to death by then.

Of positive note though, the camera-work is really nice. They're some great shots and the editing's fairly solid. In the acting department, James Woods is fun if solely because every one of his sentences is pretty much "Fuck that" or "Motherfuck this" or even better "Fucking fucking motherfucking fuck fuckity FUCK YOU VAMPIRE!" Daniel Baldwin pretty much does the same, but isn't quite as good at being a dick as Woods is. On the bad side of the cast, positioned atop the throne for things awry with this film is Thomas Ian Griffith as Valek, the aforementioned master vampire. Though his character being unbearably cornball was no doubt aided by the make-up and whoever instructed the actors playing vampires on how to act "Vampire-ish".

It also doesn't help the film that it's uber-powerful villain looks like a taller and less meat-faced Tommy Wiseau. Sheryl Lee of "Twin Peaks" fame stars as well as the vampire prostitute, but she spends about 90% of the film being punched, called a bitch, and staring at the camera super intense-like when receiving psychic visions from Wisea-urm, Valek.

Oh hi Mark.

All in all, "Vampires" is entertaining but almost not worth the hour and forty-eight minutes it takes to run. If you're looking for a silly action/horror fix with some chuckle-worthy gore and vaguely laughable performances, then you may be satisfied. Otherwise, stick with Carpenter's earlier works. If you're a vampire movie aficionado and want something modern, well, you could do worse. Much much worse....

Like THIS much worse....

Le Cercle Rouge: A heist film par excellence.

BOLD STATEMENT WARNING! TURN BACK BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE....!
Ahem..."Le Cercle Rouge" is the heist movie to end all heist movies. A steely-cold tale rife with a certain subtle melancholia accentuated by an infatuation with predestination and fatalism. It's a movie populated by noble men with unspoken codes of honor and wounded pasts, and it's goddamn beautiful.

The film opens with a Buddhist epigraph (Concocted by the director) concerning predestination, and how when men meet, they will inevitably meet within "The Red Circle". We are then presented with two seemingly unrelated threads. Corey (Played by the devilishly cool Delon) is an imprisoned con given a deal by a crooked prison guard. He'll let him out a year early if he participates in the robbery of a jeweler he's got insider info on. Corey agrees and is unleashed upon the world.

Our other thread concerns a criminal named Vogel and his current keeper Inspector Mattei. Vogel's being transported to an unspecified destination where he'll likely be found guilty of whatever crime he committed. He manages to make a daring escape and strikes out through the French countryside, leaving Mattei with virtually nothing to go on. Despite this, Mattei seems nonplussed, as though he's fairly certain he'll have a run in with his prey at a later time.
And thus, the wheels of fate begin to turn. The more the viewer watches, the more inescapable the ultimate fate of the characters involved becomes.

 Presented in a palette of washed out colors, "Le Cercle Rouge" looks cool, temperature wise and in terms of it's style. Blue, grey, white, and black dominate every locale, the way the characters dress and the interiors of all the buildings we are presented with. One could argue that the set decorator was possibly afflicted with melancholia, if it didn't seem so deliberate.

The characters themselves are just as cool. Delon plays Corey like a more charming (Maybe more human) version of Jeff from "Le Samourai". Sure he's a crook and he won't hesitate to plug someone if they threaten his freedom, but he seems a gentleman robber of sorts, as though he's part of a dying breed. Mattei is wonderfully played by Andre Bourvil, who's somehow the sweetest policeman to ever be put on film (Watch for his brief stop at home, where he panders to his three cats). Though he's essentially the antagonist, you'd be hard-pressed to find a more sympathetic antagonist in any form of fiction. Yves Montand is strong as an alcoholic ex-cop who joins Delon's gang. It's also thanks to his ailment that the audience is treated to a rather vivid nightmare sequence that gives me further grounds for not trusting my closet.

Oh, and they're process shots. WIN!

Throughout the course of the movie, the viewer learns more and more about the men warring against one another. Little snippets of their pasts are muttered here and there and if one pays attention, the objects and photographs within their respective abodes hint at loves lost and past lives long gone. It becomes evident near the end that all these men are connected by the proverbial red circle. Whether it's the thing that binds them or the thing they're trapped within, I'm unsure, but it certainly separates them from "normal" humanity.

Thus what we witness seems to play out on a mythic scale, despite it's somewhat low-key nature. All the characters involved within the story haven't been heading towards the red circle, they've been within it's boundaries all along. The ending of the movie is naught but the ultimate conclusion of this fact. If you're living in a film by Jean-Pierre Melville, your destiny is inescapable, so buck up buddy.

White Hunter Black Heart: Days of yore resonate evermore.

Oh Hollywood. Once you produced films of such caliber that every other country's film-makers aspired to emulate you. Even countries that were aligned against the U. S. of A. attempted to usurp Hollywood in terms of film-making prowess. Nowadays, Hollywood is the last place anyone looks to for anything genuinely good. I bring this up, not because "White Hunter Black Heart" paints Hollywood as utterly banal and bereft of humanity, though it pokes fun at it. I bring it up because it's most certainly the plight (Perhaps not the central plight) of John Wilson, the film's protagonist.
Or maybe I'm full of shit and he was simply too much of a rebel to conform to something like the studio system. He being John Huston, who if he's anything like Eastwood portrays him to be, was a real rabble-rousing wild man.

"White Hunter Black Heart" takes place in the late forties or early fifties (It's never specified when the events in it take place, but considering that "The African Queen" was released in '52, I don't think I'm far off). Jeff Fahey stars as the starry-eyed Pete Verrill, struggling writer and close comrade of famous trouble-making director John Wilson (Eastwood). Wilson's set to shoot a film in Africa and he wants Pete to touch up the script for him and come with to the mysterious dark continent. Once there, it seems that Wilson orchestrated the whole shoot so he can go on Safari in hopes of bagging himself an elephant. This of course, leads to friction between he, his friends and his producers.

Clint! LOOK BEHIND YOU!

This is one meaty movie. Whether it's dealing in movie-making politics, racism, or simply the ever-changing modern-world, a feeling of history permeates the whole film. You get a sense that the characters in it are perched on the precipice of a huge shift in the ways things are going to be done world-wide. Whether they're ready for it (The producer of the film) or seem able to adapt (Verrill) or are straight up going to be left in the dust (Many of the British in Africa) is not something the audience is shown, but is definitely foreshadowed.
Wilson himself is a timeless sort of man, a man who is always out of his time. He refuses to conform to any form of compromise to the extent of burning bridges and wreaking emotional havoc on those around him. He's also absurdly charming and full of laughs, but a loner nonetheless. The rogue artist, pushing the boundaries not only of his art but of the people about him. His maddening quest to kill an elephant is not something driven by spite for any wild animal, but by a spite for a society that would allow such a thing. If he can do it, then he will, regardless of the sacrifice involved. Or so it seems throughout most of the film.

This film, though a fictionalization feels very close to John Huston. In terms of story-telling and the way it's shot, it manages to evoke the feel of his films. Eastwood is fabulous in his portrayal of the man, giving what has to be my favorite of his performances. The film is a tad ponderous at times, though it never meanders. It also undergoes some interesting shifts in polarity where even the most annoying or reprehensible of characters seem sympathetic in the end when faced with the somewhat destructive presence of Wilson.

Verrill himself acts as a foil for Wilson. Whereas to begin with he seems like a stick in the mud, as the film progresses his rationale gains more and more credibility. The central argument throughout the film really boils down to a brief quibble the two have early on about the ending of the script, and by the end Verrill's point is made manifest by the harsh reality of our world. Sometimes, dwelling on the supposedly inherent darkness of man will leave you with naught but despair. And what good despair when one wishes to produce art?

And so, the shoot commences.