This blog is almost three years old, and although I don’t care to celebrate blog birthdays any more than I do my own, I will note that I uploaded the first post for (what was then) Coosa Creek Mambo on  January 1, 2007.  It was before I wrote with any regularity — the next post was February 25 — and before I moved the blog to the WordPress platform from the dark side (i.e., Blogspot).

The reason I mention it at all is because that first post — which I’ve ported over to the Creek’s present incarnation — featured Wim Wender’s 1987 Wings of Desire, comparing it to City of Angels, its calculated, heretical remake.  Looking back on the post, it is kind of embarrassing in it’s naiveté, but I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt: after all, it was my first one.

Recently, I bought the new Criterion version on Blu-ray; it was the first time I’ve double-dipped on account of the new format, and I didn’t know if it would be worth it.  I have to say that my expectations were more than fulfilled: Wings looks spectacular, being the simultaneous beneficiary of one of Criterion’s digital restorations and the extra pixel power of the high-def format.  In addition, the transfer was supervised by Wenders himself, and in this case that’s a good thing: it is undoubtedly closer to his vision than ever, and as we’ve come to expect from Criterion, it looks as good as it ever will.

Its German title, Der Himmel über Berlin, translates as The Sky Over Berlin, and though it may be more descriptive than its American counterpart, it sounds like a documentary, or a manual on German air traffic control.  It certainly doesn’t describe Wenders’ original intent: he started out wanting to make a film about Berlin, a paean, a tone-poem to the place he grew up and where, no matter where he hangs his hat, he still calls home.

If that sounds corny, the film which results is anything but.  Wings of Desire is the movie that started my blogging, and the one that has pulled me back from the precipice of finishing it off.  It’s a highly personal film for me, and not because it’s about angels.  In fact, it’s really not about them . . . it’s about people, a people, actually, in a particular time and place.  It is hard for me to imagine a film more rooted in its geographic, social and temporal location: if it were filmed anywhere other than Berlin, at a time any other than three years before the fall of its infamous wall, it would not be the picture it is, nor would it have the power it wields.

Continue reading Wings of Desire: Three Years After

In the recent past, I have gotten into the habit of seeing newly released films and then “reviewing” them, which of course is what a lot of bloggers do, and many of them do it better than me.  But that also means that I see crappy movies, which has a deadening effect upon my desire to see movies, and write about them.   It’s the vicious circle of movie-critic life.  And nobody in their right minds sets out to be one of those.

Oh, who am I kidding?  I’d love to make a living going to see movies, even though I know I’d end up whining about having to see all the bad ones like the pros do.  But fat chance of that, when the print media is shedding critics like dogs shed fleas, and there are legions of bloggers better than me jockying for internet slots.  Most of which, I suspect, are actually filled by a guy named Murray, working out of a trailer park just this side of Topeka.  Come on:  how do you really know there’s a David Hudson?  Has you ever seen him and Murray in the same room together?

But I digress:  as a public service to all those starry-eyed dreamers out there, I’m giving away all the movie-reviewing secrets that have made me an internet icon.  How can he do this, you ask?  How can he possibly give away all his fabulous secrets?  Is he drunk?  Is h\e craaaazy? That’s for me to know and you to, hopefully, never find out.

First off, it’s a little-known fact that every newspaper critic has read the same book.  If that were not true, why would all their reviews read the same?  In point of fact, there’s a formula for commercial reviews, and I’m here to tell you what it is.  Gratis.  Free of charge.  Out of the goodness of my heart.   It goes something like this:

1. INTRODUCTORY PARAGRAPH, which contains what’s known in the journalism biz as the “hook.”  Here, you catch the reader’s attention by introducing the film in some way, maybe telling a little about the filmmaker, or relating its subject to something in “real life,” (as if you have any idea what that is).  The point is, you get the reader hooked, then move on to the meat of the review, which begins with a
2. PLOT SYNOPSIS, a short exposition of the storyline, which should stop just short of revealing a **SPOILER**. To reveal a **SPOILER** is a Very Bad Thing, which will result in your junior critic decoder ring being ripped from the bloody stump of your little finger, or whichever appendage you happen to be wearing it on at the time. It’s also a good way to avoid any deep, serious  discussion about a film, because how can you do that if you don’t mention the ending? Bonus Lesson: the point of a movie review is not to say intelligent things about a film but to sell movies, newspapers and — if you are a blogger — whatever you can put on your site to make money.  (Which, as you know, isn’t much.  Who me?  Bitter?)  After you’ve convinced them that you actually saw the movie, it’s time to move on to
3. WHAT YOU LIKED OR DISLIKED ABOUT THE FILM. This has the effect of (a) illustrating that you know  what you’re talking about (it helps if you throw terms like ADR and “dolly grip” around), and second, supporting your conclusion as to whether your faithful readers will want to see it.  Advanced Tip: write about things you both like and dislike! This will build reader confidence and help simulate impartiality.   Super-duper, Mega-Advanced Tip (Available for a Limited Time Only): Include a “favorite scene,” preferably with a tracking shot, to bolster your points.  This, in fact, goes a long way toward making it look like you actually have points.
4. WRAP IT ALL UP.  This is the money section, the place where it all comes together.  It’s the place where you give your measured, critical opinion, based upon years of study and thought, all boiled down to a rating of one to five popcorn balls.  This is where the rubber meets the road, and it’s so critical that  many of your readers will skip right to this part, allowing you to ignore all of the above and if you want to, write about canaries flying out of your butt.  Heh, heh.

Follow these easy rules and you, too, can be a superstar movie critic, reaping fame, stardom, and incredible wealth.  And if you believe that, I’ve got a Woody Allen movie to sell you.

Along with a story about canaries flying out of my butt.

Next Up: The ins and outs of Google Image Search!  Find meaningless,  overused images for every occasion!  (batteries not included)

(not my hands)

I have, upon occasion, the preacher’s version of the underwear dream.  You know, where you find yourself suddenly out in public, doing something Really Important, in front of a lot of Really Important people, and suddenly discover you’re in your underwear?  Well, the preacher’s version is that you’re in the pulpit and you find you don’t have your sermon.  Of course, it’s an anxiety dream, but it also indicates how paranoid I can get about not getting my weekly 2000-word essay done in time.

I can write those weekly harangues to a long-suffering congregation, but why have I been totally unable to publish a word on this blog for the past two weeks?   Even though I still, basically, love the movies?  The easy answer would be “writer’s block,” and I could say that, but that’s a cop-out.  I am, after all, able to write those sermons.

But maybe that’s because there’s an incentive:  it’s called eating, and I like to do it, so I tend to get them done.  But what’s the incentive for blogging?  The thrill of writing?  Not for me . . . see the weekly harangue.  Is it the ego?  There is an element of that involved, to be sure: it certainly helps feed whatever needs feeding within me to know others are interested in what you have to say.  And who won’t mind a lousy sentence like the last one.

And another thing:  my interaction with other bloggers has taught me a lot about movies.  As I’ve often said, I came to the full bloom of cinephilia late in life.    I don’t have the decades of dedication that the best bloggers have, the layers of knowledge — accreted by years of viewing good movies, and thinking about good movies — that they bring to the table.  So, unlike some folks who do indeed know it all (or at least think they do), I am actively learning by my interactions with other blogs.

Now, here’s the rub:  to interact with other bloggers, and to get others to read your stuff, one of the keys is to blog regularly, the more times a week the better.  So for me, blogging became, like, an obligation.  And when I didn’t blog on any particular day, I’d actually feel guilty. And I have plenty of other things to feel guilty about, thank you very much.

So, as might have become apparent from the — oh, I don’t know — lack of writing, for a while now, I’ve been toying with the idea of abandoning Coosa Creek Cinema.  But a funny thing happened to me on the way to shutting it down: I saw a movie.   A very good movie, and though it was not the first time I’d seen  it (more like the third, or fourth), it seems to have rekindled some sort of desire to write about film again.  And I will write about that film tomorrow.

Or the next day.  Because I’m going to try not to be quite so obsessive about the thing, to not get worried about why nobody’s commented on a particular post, or why I got snubbed in somebody else’s comment section.  And, oh yes: I’m going to go back to watching good movies, and writing about them, and not watching trash and then writing about it just to be posting something.

Unless I feel like it, that is   We’ll see.

There are some films you just need to see if you are to call yourself a cinephile.   Films like Citizen Kane. Seven Samurai.  The 400 Blows. Movies so iconic that you almost feel guilty if you haven’t seen them.  We all have our lists of must-sees, and for some time, near the top of mine has been Alain Resnais’  Last Year at Marienbad (L’année dernière à Marienbad).  Mysterious and enigmatic, it is the poster child for the Snooty Art Film, a film that I suspect a lot of people talk about but few have actually seen.  Right up my alley, it would seem.

So when Criterion came out with a beautiful new Blu-ray edition (it’s available in DVD too), I put it on the Netflix queue and let ‘er rip.  It opens in a hotel, with a disembodied male voice, accompanying a gliding visual tour of an (apparently) empty grand hotel.  But the voice, although it describes some of what we see, is not really narrating the tour .  Instead, it is rambling, tonelessly and repetitively, about remembrances of a past visit, and as we come to realize, perhaps a past encounter.

The voice fades in and out of our hearing, as if we are not always within range, and over it all is portentous organ music, which — like the voice — stays with us throughout much of the film.   We eventually discover that the voice belongs to X (Giorgio Albertazzi), and slowly, piecemeal, we are introduced to the other main characters: A (Delphine Seyrig) and M (Sacha Pitoëff) who is her husband,  or lover, or something.   Nobody in this film has a proper name, they’re just identified in the credits as X, M, and A.  It’s that kind of film.

Continue reading Movies That Are Good For You: Last Year at Marienbad

It’s TOERIFC time, again. This time up, Billy Wilder’s Kiss Me, Stupid over at Tom Sutpen’s place, Ilusions Travel By Streetcar.  The rules are simple: if you’ve seen the flick recently, or remember it enough to comment, join us in a discussion on Tom’s blog.  I’ll be heading over their shortly.

So it’s midnight and  I’m sitting here, working on a piece about Last Year at Marienbad (no … really!) and getting nowhere, and so I’m flipping through the satellite box, looking for something to distract me, when I’m attracted by the name “John Carpenter” flashing by on the edge of my attention.  So I do the DirecTV version of a screeching halt, and see that it’s something called “John Carpenter Presents Vampires: Los Muertos,” and alarm bells go immediately off, ’cause that’s the way 33rd-rate movies try to get a little street cred, some big-name selling his name to push the product, but I thought what the hell, it’s gotta be better than trying to describe the opening scene of Marienbad, right?

I press the button on the remote, and soon I’m watching Jon Bon Jovi running around Mexico, knocking off vampires, logging into some kind of vampire-hunter chat room to record his kills and get his account credited — with, I presume, money — when he gets a call from his controller.  It’s the Vatican, for St. Pete’s sake, and they want to buy up his contract, so they send him to a monastery where there’s a slayer — I think that’s what they call him, maybe it’s “killer” — who gives him his marching orders, I’m not paying enough attention to know, I’m still trying to describe Delphine Seyrig’s hair, but I’ve nevertheless noticed one thing:  there sure are a lot of vampires in Mexico.  It can’t be good for tourism.

Fortunately, there seems to be a lot of slayers around as well, there’s two of them at the monastery, and after they’re all wiped out by vampires– all but the young, good-looking second slayer, of course, who was out buying sacramental wine or something — he joins up with Bon Jovi and Natalie Wood’s daughter, who plays a young girl who’s been bitten, but is taking some kind of pills to keep it at bay.  And so, along with a heavily made-up Diego Luna, they form kind of a vampire-hunting A-Team, only they’re not all that good at it, because they keep getting outwitted by this one gorgeous vampire who is much prettier even than Jon Bon Jovi.

It’a all directed by one Tommy Lee Wallace, and IMDB says that it’s a sequel to John Carpenter’s Vampires, which I thought was pretty good, but that one had (a) production values and (b) James Woods and I don’t care how mamy face lifts Jon Bon Jovi’s had, he can’t hold a candle to Jimmy Woods.

As far as I can see, John Carpenter Presents Vampires: Los Muertos has almost nothing going for it, except that very hot head vampire, played by somebody named Arly Jover, who I was truly sad to see killed.  And now the movie’s over, the rock star and the movie-diva’s daughter are driving off into the sunset, and I’m going to bed.  Goodnight.

I’m still around, really. I just have two grant proposals due in the next day or so (who would have thought I’d be writing grants in my present gig?) and all my waking minutes are taken up by that. But I will, indeed, return with more posts later this week.

In the meantime, check out Greg’s great post from yesterday on Peter Cushing, the finest actor to ever grace a Hammer Horror film, and Bill’s equally fine offering on the horror fiction of one Joe Hill, who descends from horror royalty (you’ll have to read the post to find out how).  Also, check out Kimberly Lindberg’s photo spread on Barbara Steele, the queen of screams.  The first photo sort of, well, let’s just say it made my heart go pitty-pat.

Oh, yeah, I almost forgot: Richard Harlan Smith has a list of blogs specializing in horror this month (thanks to Kimberly for the pointer!).  It has listed both Bill AND Greg.  Congrats, guys!

Although it’s clearly un-American, I hear there are people out there who just don’t like zombie movies. I know, I know: it’s hard to believe.  But it’s true: they  don’t like the over-the-top gore, the chain-sawed legs, or the split abdomens, spilling guts.  And then, of course, the money shot — a zombie crouched over a dead victim, looks into the camera while gnawing on a bone.

That shot comes about fifteen minutes into Zombieland, as Columbus (Jesse Eisenberg) and Tallahassee (Woody Harrelson) are cruising down an abandoned interstate, dodging corpses and stalled cars in their SUV.  They are heading for parts unknown, though Columbus wants to go to his hometown, to see if his parents are (a) still alive and (b) have not been zombie-fied.

Continue reading Zombieland

Fellow movie blogger (and Olson) Kevin J. is planning an Italian horror blogathon October 19 through the end of the month. I am ashamed to admit I’ve only seen Dario Argento’s Suspiria, but I am looking forward to seeing at least one more and writing about it for the blogathon.  I’m also excited about actually learning something a from Kevin and others who know a lot more about the subject than I do.  After all, it is October!