chiller blog

Posted Jun 1, 09 02:48 PM

Reheated

Reviews weren't kind to Roman Polanski's The Ninth Gate (2000), a tale about a book detective (Johnny Depp) tracking down texts detailing engravings possibly created by the Devil himself. Can you imagine the agent covering such a deal? Sure, pal. You try explaining to your client what's commissionable.

But, I digress. Depp once said in an interview circa the release of another intriguing near-miss, Secret Window (2004), that he'd rather - paraphrasing here - attempt something new and not succeed rather than play it safe and do the same old, same old. I certainly respect that approach to filmmaking. The once-niche actor, having sown his creative seeds throughout so many genres, now commands the embrace of all those specialty audiences into one big mainstream box office hug after another.

Back to "attempt something new and not succeed..."

I remember being on the fence about The Ninth Gate. I still am. Depp, reliably, creates another layered turn. His sleuth may lack a moral compass, but certainly not bloodhound instinct. Frank Langella and Lena Olin are especially strong in supporting roles. The thriller is well photographed in bookish hues, particularly that opening title sequence: A slow, CGI progression through a sinister series of doorways (all to the bass rhythms of Wojciech Kilar's gotta-have-that-on-my-iPod score). But Polanski has a nasty habit of casting his wife, model Emmanuelle Seigner. She's as glass-eyed awful here (as a vague guardian angel, of sorts) as she was in Frantic. And then the film descends into an often marshmallow third act, complete with a chase scene interrupted by one of those trucks that not only cuts off the hero's pursuing vehicle, but features an unseen driver who extends his middle finger. Terrible. And at 132 minutes, viewers deserve an ending better than a fade to white.

So...why am I still watching in when it airs on re-runs? I could wax rhetorical on John Carpenter's The Thing (1982), The Stepford Wives (1975), David Cronenberg's Scanners (1980) and Videodrome (1982), and Halloween II (1981). I still go back and forth on Brian DePalma's Body Double (1984) and, yes, Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds (1963) --- look, nothing happens in the first hour!!! And Tippi Hedren has no justifiable reason to go upstairs in the final fifteen minutes other than to force a climax in which Rod Taylor has to rescue her from a lot of special effects.

But I've given multiple second looks to all of the above titles - many are in my DVD collection. I own all of their soundtracks. The same is true for many titles I liked even less - such as the very rough-around-the-edges first Friday the 13th (1980). Its influence cannot be denied...and Harry Manfredini's iconic orchestrations are, quite simply, a genre landmark.

I'm wondering, though, why am I still wondering? The arrows missed the target, but perhaps not by that much. That's to be admired. Rather than dismiss an entire title, I savor style, scenes, moments, production standards, effects, dialogue, performances. Forever the optimist.

By now, everyone knows that Kevin Bacon was one of the first victims of Mrs. Voorhees. Horror fans know what happens (thanks to make up artist Dick Smith) when you make a Scanner really, really angry. But the trouble is when they're not angry; the film plods through generic science gabbing, inane dialogue, and stale sets. Rob Bottin's effects wizardry was ahead of its time on The Thing remake... but that script needed a few more passes to maintain airtight logic. If the crew is going to work so hard on creating the illusion, shouldn't the above-the-line writers get it right in development? The Stepford Wives had Ira Levin's source material, but where was the style? Halloween II manages to often channel the suspense of Halloween, but the gore tone (in an attempt to keep up with the slasher Joneses) is ultimately the sequel's undoing. OK, I'll give it to you: some of those offings are mighty clever...

Speaking of clever, Brian DePalma's opening jewelry theft sequence in Femme Fatale (2002) is a masterwork of camera fluidity, shot selection, and seamless editing. But it's the only thing remarkable in a movie pieced together by cliches, paper clips, scotch tape, and staples.

And you'd bet I'd sit through the entire film again just to see that sequence.