Nosedive Brings Molotov's FAT MEN to NYC

Nosedive Productions Brings Molotov Theatre Group to New York
for Fat Men in Skirts Run in January

“Surprisingly Sweet Show about Rape and Cannibalism”
Is the First Traveling Show from Washington DC’s
Notorious Grand Guignol Horror Theatre Company

Washington, DC (December 8, 2011) — Nosedive Productions, New York City’s “Theatre for Sick Little Monkeys,” will host DC-based Molotov Theatre Group, America’s second-oldest Grand Guignol theatre of horror, for a three-show run of Molotov’s critically acclaimed Fat Men in Skirts, January 5, 6 and 7, 2012.

Molotov’s Fat Men in Skirts will be performed at 8 PM each day, at the UNDER St. Marks Theatre, 94 Saint Marks Place, in New York’s East Village. Tickets are $15, and can be purchased in advance online here.

Advance purchase for this extremely limited run is strongly recommended, although tickets may also be purchased at the door on a space-available basis.

The run time of Molotov’s Fat Men in Skirts is approximately 95 minutes with no intermission. Please pee before entering.

Nosedive Productions Co-Founding Co-Artistic Director James Comtois said, "The folks at Molotov make exactly the type of theatre that excites us here at Nosedive Central: sweet, funny and horrifying all at once. So we're thrilled to be bringing their delightfully effed up play up to New York from DC."

“We’re grateful to the kindred spirits at Nosedive Productions for helping us put this show on its feet in New York,” said Molotov Artistic Director Kevin Finkelstein. “UNDER St. Marks is the perfect venue for us – shadowy, quirky and right in the middle of all the action. That’s the perfect recipe for Molotov’s special brand of nonsense.”

Written by Nicky Silver, Fat Men in Skirts was Molotov Theatre Group’s fifth Capital Fringe Festival production, and the first ever Capital Fringe show to be “Helen Hayes Awards Recommended.” The Helen Hayes Awards are Washington DC’s most prestigious theatre community honors – what the heck is Molotov doing getting this kind of recognition?

Critics reviewing the Capital Fringe production of Fat Men in Skirts heaped awkward praise on Molotov’s staging of the bizarre dark comedy:

"...a wonderful piece of theater art that inspires laughter, tears and three hot showers after viewing..." Maryland Theatre Guide (5 star review)

“…Surprisingly sweet for a play about rape and cannibalism…”: The Washington Post

“…Just the right tone for a Fringe play — it’s edgy, raw and a little nonsensical…”: DCist.com

“…I enjoyed [it] as much as one can enjoy a play that involves mental illness, rape, murder, and incest…”: dctheatrescene.com

“…Rethink your own revulsion when it comes to eating dead babies”: Washington City Paper

Fat Men in Skirts features DC area actors Katie Culligan, Dave Gamble, K. Clare Johnson and Matthew Marcus. The play follows the Phyllis Hogan and her son, Bishop, stranded on a desert island in an increasingly “interesting” relationship. Rescued five years later, they discover the family’s philandering patriarch involved with a young porn star. Chaos, insanity, violence, cannibalism, and sidesplitting hilarity ensue.

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR THE EMOTIONALLY OR PSYCHOLOGICALLY IMPRESSIONABLE OR FOR PEOPLE WITH CARDIAC OR NERVOUS CONDITIONS.

STRONGLY RECOMMENDED FOR COUNTER-CULTURAL, UNDERGROUND AND CULT FANS WITH PROPERLY WORKING HEART AND CENTRAL NERVOUS SYSTEMS.

FOR THE SAFETY OF THE ACTORS AND THE SEATED AUDIENCE, PEOPLE LEAVING THE THEATRE WHILE THE SHOW IS IN PROGRESS WILL NOT BE READMITTED.

About Molotov Theatre Group

Founded in 2007, Molotov Theatre Group is dedicated to preserving and exploring the aesthetic of the Grand Guignol, or French Theater of Horror. The company will strive to accomplish this in two ways:

• Through its ongoing project, “Grand Guignol DC,” to produce English translations of original Grand Guignol scripts to preserve and draw attention to this important, and essentially forgotten genre; and

• To apply ideals from the Grand Guignol to contemporary and classic works.

Molotov Theater Group will pursue these goals following the Grand Guignol model of employing a resident company of artists and working towards building a true rotating repertoire of plays. To our knowledge, no other company in the world is working to maintain this genre in such a traditional way. For more information, visit Molotov Theatre Group's site. Molotov Theatre Group is a not-for-profit professional theatre under section 501(c)(3) of the Internal Revenue Code — really!

Jimmy's Summer Movie Roundup

I know some people are lamenting the impending passage from summer to fall (technically, we've still got a few days before it's officially autumn, but the weather tells another story), mostly because the days of going to the beach and/or Splish-Splash are at an end.

I, of course, see summer in a very different way than most folks.

See, while some people see the lazy, hazy days of summer as days on the beach and in the sun, I see them as a means to spend as much time as possible in dark, windowless, air conditioned rooms, filling my face and covering my front with greasy and fattening food-like products.

In other words, for me, summer is all about the summer movies.

Not that I'm only about shitty mindless blockbusters (although I am about those as well, even though I regrettably* missed Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen). I'm about going to the movies in the summertime, cramming artificially buttered popcorn in my face, and about going to as many of these fucking things as possible.

So, in the spirit of Mr. Freeman's movie roundups, I bring you, in chronological order, are the movies I saw in theatres this summer and my brief assessment of them.

Bear in mind these aren't really reviews. Since I had a pretty long list of movies I wanted to see, I made a point to go see movies that had more than a fighting chance of me enjoying them, so yes, the majority of these are of the "thumb's up" variety, albeit for different reasons.

Star Trek. Kind of the ultimate summer blockbuster that actually delivers on what it promises to offer, wasn't it? I saw this one twice, with it still holding up as super fun the second time round. The simultaneous reboot/prequel to the venerable (and until now, stillborn) franchise rocked, plain and simple.

Terminator: Salvation. The crew that I went to go see this with enjoyed it while it was on. I mean, giant robots chased humans and blew things up in the process, so it delivered on that end. But a couple hours later, after Abe Goldfarb and I wandered around Manhattan and landed on a park bench in Tompkins Square Park, it dawned on us that we had forgotten we had seen it. That's right. That shit evaporated from our minds about 120-130 minutes after viewing it, if not sooner. So if you invite me over and suggest we watch T4, I'll most likely go, "Great! Sure!" A warning, though: if you do this, and you feel the same way about the movie as me, we could end up finishing the movie, then wind up talking, then see the case on the coffee table, then suggest we pop it in, having forgotten we had seen it. We could be trapped in your apartment for weeks on end, watching T4 on an endless loop like with James Incandenza's addictive experimental film. (Updated postscript: I had originally listed the subtitle as Rise of the Machines, but my friend Matt Wexler pointed out that that was the title of the third Terminator film. I'm Seriously Not Kidding when I say that shit evaporates from your brain.)

The Girlfriend Experience. As I recall, this is a movie I admired more than I actively enjoyed. It has an interesting premise (following a call girl, played by real life porn star Sasha Grey, who specializes in offering her clients girlfriendy privileges, such as makout sessions on the couch, going to the movies and talking about the movie over dinner afterwards, and sleeping over), but director Steven Soderbergh's fracturing of the story's timeline didn't work for me the way it did for his movie, The Limey.

Up. God damn, I love me some Pixar movies. And that opening prologue? Masterful filmmaking. Who woulda thunk that a children's movie could convey so much story and pathos in such a short period of time (and without and dialogue) when so many so-called serious adult films can't come even close? People who've been watching these Pixar movies, that's who thunk it.

Drag Me To Hell. Sam Raimi makes us almost forgive and forget about Spider-Man 3 with his ostensible Evil Dead 4. Exactly what I look for in deliberately trashy schlock filmmaking.

The Hangover. Yeah, it was funny. I laughed. Didn't find it nearly as funny as my sister or Nosedive vet Marc Landers, who had apparently wet themselves (I'm hoping figuratively, though we're dealing with Nosedive, so you never know) when they saw it the week before me. I guess I liked Old School, also directed by Todd Phillips, more.

Moon. Okay, here we get into less blockbuster fare (The Girlfriend Experience is considered a typical big budget blockbuster, right?) and more into 2001-style introspective thought-provoking science fiction. More or less a one-man show with Sam Rockwell acting opposite Sam Rockwell (with a HAL-like computer voiced by Kevin Spacey, who only registers "emotion" through comical emoticons), I didn't find this to be a Great Movie (in Title Case), but a really, really good movie that delivered on what I was expecting.

Bruno. It made me laugh. It's pretty damn shocking. Does it succeed as satire? Not really. Although I think Borat is a better movie, I still wonder if this had been released first I would prefer Bruno to Borat (I also wonder this because I saw Borat not really knowing what was staged and what was "real" until weeks later; with Bruno, I watched every scene wondering how staged it was). On one hand, you've got that naked fight scene. On the other, a dancing penis with a screaming urethra. Hmmm...may be too close to call.

Tokyo Gore Police. My first foreign horror film entry, although not exactly horror, neither is my second one. But one features zombies and the other features vampires so the description will just have to do for now. I had seen this before on DVD, but a bunch of us went to a late night screening of this at the IFC Center as part of the Asian Film Fest. I was worried I wasn't going to be able to make it through to the end, since I was ready to crash out, but once the heroine's enemy attacks her with a bunch of severed hands with their middle fingers extended, I found my second wind. Not so much a movie-going experience as a surreal and zany sleep-deprived night of silliness (since the event featured several short films as well as seeing the film's director show up in front of the crowd and get darts thrown at his ass. I'm not kidding).

Funny People. The third film directed by Judd Apatow (and by my count, the five thousandth one he's either produced and/or written). An overlong mess, but featuring flashes of utter brilliance. It's clearly his most personal film, and there is some wonderful insight to the isolating mechanisms inherent to fame and fortune. I'd be curious to see a 90 minute version of this.

In A Lonely Place. My Film Forum revival entry. I actually ran into the delightful Crystal Skillman and her husband at a showing of this less-discussed Humphrey Bogart film (helmed by Rebel Without a Cause director Nicholas Ray). It was hyped as film noir and, by technical definition, it is: yes, there is a murder, although it's tangential to the story, but it's a "noir" in that it's about ordinary people displaying acts of extraordinary evil. But really, it's about a doomed relationship that you want to work despite all odds and logic. It was fun watching this on the big screen, and weird to be stuffing my face with sugar-covered popcorn (instead of artificial butter grease).

Thirst. My second foreign horror film entry. A vampire film by Chan-wook Park, director of Oldboy. Like I was going to miss this! There's some stunning imagery in this (such as the scene when a couple embraces while hallucinating their recent murder victim sandwiched between them), and although it's a bit slow going and not particularly scary, it is a haunting and meditative take on the vampire mythology.

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Okay. I've read all the books, and until seeing this latest movie in the franchise, had only seen one other film from the series (the third one). Kinda whatever on this one, but it filled my completely non-film-related criteria: while in Chicago, I spent a day wandering all over downtown. After about four hours of walking in the hot sun, I was ready to be cool and sitting. My hotel was several miles away. I just wanted an air conditioned room with a comfortable chair where I could relax and recharge for a couple of hours. I finally found a movie theatre. Harry Potter was the one movie that was about to play when I got there. It filled the criteria. The movie itself? Feh. Did it satisfy what I was looking for in a movie at that time (AC, comfy chair)? Absolutely.

Inglorious Basterds. I've already written about this twice now. You know what I think about this. It's the only other movie I saw twice in the theatre this summer. I loved it. I'm a QT fan. This is not news.

District 9. Lives up to the hype. Oddly enough, even though I haven't seen Transformers 2 (although I've seen the first one am familiar with Michael Bay's smooth, clean directorial style; you know, with long, stationary shots where the audience is clear to the chracters' spatial relation to one another?), I wondered why Transformers 2 got so much box office love when the climactic scene from District 9 is a.) in a similar vein, and b.) clearly 1,000 times better? Can we expect to see Christopher the "prawn" return to earth for District 10 in three years' time? I think so. I'll be there.

The Hurt Locker. This too, was really, really good. I just saw this one. I'm hoping to write about Kathryn Bigelow's propaganda-free war film/suspense film about a team of bomb diffusers in the Iraq War in greater detail at a later date, but for now I'll just say oh yeah. Really well made. Really tense. Great characters and characterizations. And also (at the risk of sounding redundant) great acting.

So there you have it. Yes, I missed a ton of summer movies besides Transformers (many people warned me to stay away from Wolverine and I had no interest in seeing G.I. Joe). But hey. 16 movies (really 18, since I saw Star Trek and Inglourious Basterds twice) in the theatre over a period of about 14 weeks. This also isn't including the 26 or so plays and the who the living fuck knows how many DVDs I saw during this period. I'd call that a well-wasted summer!

Spending most of his free time in darkened rooms,

James "Bottom Feeder" Comtois

*Not really. Having seen the suckfest that was the first Transformers on opening day, I'm pretty damn glad I missed this one.

Drag Me To Hell

I actually wrote this review of Sam Raimi's movie, Drag Me To Hell for my friend & co-worker when the movie came out, but I figured (after getting permission) I'd repost it here.

* * *

Finally, a horror film that deals with the subprime mortgage market and foreclosure crisis. Sort of. Okay, not really.

After spending the bulk of the decade being entrenched in the Spider-Man series, director Sam Raimi has decided to go back to his Evil Dead cult filmmaking roots with Drag Me To Hell, a delightfully trashy comedy-horror that serves as a de facto Evil Dead 4, albeit with a larger budget and (sadly) no Bruce Campbell.

Right out of the gate, Mr. Raimi uses the old Universal logo from the '80s, showing us his desire to go back in time when he was a maker of schlock cinema rather than the man behind a multi-million dollar franchise.

After a prologue that takes place in the 1960s where a medium (played by Flor de Maria Chahua) tries—and fails—to save a young cursed boy, Drag Me To Hell cuts to the present day where Christine Brown (Alison Lohman), a young mortgage loan officer, is vying for a promotion. According to her boss, Jim Jacks (the wonderful character actor David Paymer), the assistant manager position is either going to her or her sycophantic co-worker, Stu (Reggie Lee). She’s lobbying for the promotion for two reasons: one, to rid herself of her working class pig farming roots, and two, to impress her boyfriend, Clay’s (Justin "I'm a Mac" Long) affluent and snooty mother.

One day, an old gypsy woman, Mrs. Ganush (a thoroughly creepy Lorna Raver) comes into the office and asks Christine if she can have an extension on her home loan to prevent being foreclosed on. Mr. Jacks leaves it in her hands, suggesting that she needs to demonstrate that she can make tough decisions and hard calls.

To prove that she’s got what it takes for the promotion, Christine denies Mrs. Ganush an extension on her loan. The old woman gets down on her knees and begs her, but no dice. Later in the bank’s parking lot, Christine and Mrs. Ganush engage in a not-so-diplomatic (read: cartoonishly violent) confrontation, which ends with Mrs. Ganush putting an ancient curse on the poor ambitious young Christine.

Before long, Christine starts experiencing the effects of the curse, ranging from having the windows of her house shatter to seeing a silhouette of a man with goat horns stalking her to being flat-out physically pummeled by an imaginary spirit. These torments increase as the days continue, and a fortune teller (Dileep Rao) eventually warns her that, before long, the curse will end with her being dragged down to...wait, what’s the name of this movie again?

Mr. Raimi, working from a script he wrote with his brother Ivan, delivers as many shock and gross-out moments as he can get away with for a PG-13 rating. I suspect Mr. Raimi understands the MPAA system so well he knows exactly what he can get away with to avoid an R rating, and pushes it as far as he can (it really is a shock that this movie isn’t R, to be honest). There’s absolutely no subtlety here: clearly, the goal for Drag Me To Hell is to make the audience members jump out of their seats and scream, then laugh at their own discomfort, then scream again.

You may be wondering if this movie is for you. Well, there’s an easy way to figure that out. Do you like well-made B-movies? Did you find Evil Dead 2: Dead By Dawn fun and funny? Do you find the idea of a demonically possessed goat taunting someone amusing? Will seeing someone’s eyeball pop out of her skull and into someone else’s mouth make you laugh? If you answered "yes" to these questions (as I did), then absolutely, Drag Me To Hell is for you. If you answered, with horrified disgust, "Absolutely not!" well, then, there's always Pixar's Up, another delightful movie (for completely different reasons) playing in theatres.

Never taking any wooden, or real, nickels,

James "Makeshift Gravedigger" Comtois

Netflix and Really, Really Bad Movies

I've found that the big perk, and drawback, to Netflix's "Play Instantly" feature is that I spend most of my time getting caught up watching the worst pieces of dreck committed to celluloid. I mean, let's face it, how else would I be able to watch I Know Who Killed Me? I no longer have cable, and there's no way I'm renting it, even on a dare, but if it's right fucking there, how can I pass it up?

The ability to watch movies instantly on my laptop caters to my inability to look away from horrible car wrecks. It's one thing to make the effort to rent Fear Dot Com (or even put it in your queue), it's another thing altogether to just click on the link and go, "Holy...Balls, you can't un-make this movie!" Now, the curiosity I've had for movies that received infamously toxic reputations, that have up until now been sated by a mixture of laziness and common sense to not actively seek them out, is being given nearly free reign (I write "nearly" because Netflix mercilessly doesn't have its entire catalogue available to watch instantly).

I know, I know, I should be wasting my valuable free time surfing the Internet for porn and fetish sites, but I suppose watching I Still Know What You Did Last Summer is my porn.

In my defense, this is the perfect outlet for watching these God-awful movies. There are amazing classics available on Netflix, but seeing Double Indemnity or On the Waterfront on my laptop monitor (with so-so picture quality at best) seems like a poor choice to see these films for the first time. (No, I haven't seen these movies before. Yes, they're in my proper Netflix queue.)

I don't need to see the 2008 remake of Prom Night in high-definition on a big screen.

True, I don't need to see this piece of crap at all, but again, since it's right fucking there, I don't think I can resist.

I also have the vague hope that I'll stumble upon some wrongly maligned gem (or at least something in the, so-bad-it's-something-I-need-to-own-and-periodically-make-sweet-sweet-moviewatching-love-to-good). Usually, that isn't the case. Sadly, I Know Who Killed Me is neither in the, Freddy Got Fingered vein (Tom Green's nearly universally reviled directorial debut that is, in my estimation, a brilliantly nightmarish surreal art-horror film masquerading as a comedy), nor does it quite have the unintentional charm of M. Night's ridiculous The Happening, Rowdy Herrington's homoerotic masterpiece for self-loathing closeted gay homophobes, Road House, or Neil LaBute's batshit insane remake of The Wicker Man.

Still, I'm glad I had the opportunity to see the wretched Lindsay Lohan vehicle. And I'll no doubt continue to plumb the depths of Netflix's shitty, shitty "Play Instantly" offerings.

Unable to un-watch Cheerleader Autopsy,

James "Craptastic" Comtois

Antidepressent Festival...Happening

We here at Nosedive Central are waiting to find out the specific dates that Infectious Opportunity will be playing at the Brick's Antidepressant Festival while I continue to write Anton Craven's Ghastly Scheme (zoinks!) in the hopes that I can send the folks in the Gods of Fire a draft that's at least 75% completed (with the remaining 25% of the story mapped out so they can see where I'm going with this silliness). It's my first musical, so we'll see how this goes (although, Seth did say they were looking for someone who had no experience — or interest, really — in writing musical theatre).

And on an unrelated note, I was finally able to see the magnificent batshit retardation that is M. Night Shyamalan's The Happening last night (featuring, oddly enough, Nosedive vet Don Castro as the dead cop you see on the back of the DVD and in all the trailers). There were a number of times where I needed assurances from my sister that I was indeed seeing what I thought I was seeing. ("Are...are they really running from the wind?" "Is...Marky Mark talking to a plastic plant?" "Am I hallucinating this crazy old woman they're staying with?") It's truly amazing: if you haven't seen it, it feels like it's made by someone who's a.) never made a movie, b.) never seen a movie, and c.) never spoken to another human being in 20 years. For a group of people facing what could be a series of terrorist attacks happening...

(Seriously, folks, don't make a drinking game out of every time someone in the movie says, "Happening." You'll need to be checked into the hospital for alcohol poisoning before the end of the second reel.)

...everyone seems pretty placid. It's as if Shyamalan kept going, "Less...less!" to the actors after every take, until their line readings were no more than half-hearted mumbled whispers, then went, "Perfect! Print that shit!"

What's also amazing is that even his typically good filming abilities are absent here. Even his shittier movies are at least shot well (although the big reveal of the aliens in Signs is a huge letdown, that shot where Mel Gibson drags the television into the living room and you see the alien in the reflection of the TV screen is pretty kick-ass). Not this. There isn't a single moment of suspense or tension (in a movie billed as a thriller!).

What the hell is going on with Shyamalan? I mean, this guy used to make good movies (I'll even go on the record as owning, and being a big fan of, Unbreakable). Has he just teetered off into the brink of madness, never to return? It's looking like the thoroughly toxic receptions from public and critics alike towards The Village and The Lady in the Water have only strengthened his resolve. Is he even aware that he's gone from revered A-list director to walking punch line?

Anyway, if you're in the mood for having a huge laugh at one of the most surreal wastes of time and money committed to celluloid in modern film history, you could do well to check out The Happening.

Running from the wind,

James "Plant Whisperer" Comtois

Zombies on YouTube

You know what I'm psyched to see in less than two hours?

THIS:

Oh. Yes.

Super deep,

James "Intemellect" Comtois

No Time For Love, Dr. Jones...

Oh...God...YES!

Not caring about Valentine's Day,

James "Short Round" Comtois

"Vagina Dentata" Gets Remounted in Vegas

It looks like in October through November, this company will stage this play of mine in Vegas. Hot dog!

Spreading the nastiness,

James "I Meant With The Writing" Comtois

The Blood Brothers Present: PULP

From Nosedive Productions…

The Blood Brothers Present: PULP

Listening To Reason by James Comtois
Directed by Matt Johnston

Dead Things Kill Nicely by Qui Nguyen
Directed by Pete Boisvert & Patrick Shearer

Best Served Cold by Mac Rogers
Directed by Pete Boisvert & Patrick Shearer

Featuring Gyda Arber, Michael Criscuolo, Anna Kull, Marc Landers, Jessi Gotta and Brian Silliman

The 78th Street Theatre Lab
October 11-13, 18-20, 25-27, Thursday through Saturday, 8 p.m.

“For sheer playful fun, make this gory confection your Halloween treat."
Time Out New York

“Sheer, merry sadism, sexual savagery, and witty humor."
The Off-Off-Broadway Review

A deranged psycho killer, deaf to pleas for mercy, tries one last-ditch effort to dodge the cops through the reluctant help of one terrified hostage. Molly, a young teen looking for a quick snog in the woods, now has to cover a zombie hicky. And Brianne has to keep Marybeth from pulling the trigger for just eight more minutes, but learns that, when talking for one’s life, time has a way of slowing down.

This is The Blood Brothers Present: PULP, Nosedive Productions’ follow-up to last year’s Blood Brothers Present: An Evening of Grand Guignol Horror. James Comtois (The Adventures of Nervous-Boy), Qui Nguyen (Men of Steel, Living Dead in Denmark) and Mac Rogers (Universal Robots, Hail Satan), New York indie theatre scene’s hottest — and let’s face it, sickest — playwrights write three original works inspired by the pulp horror comics and short stories of the 1940s and ‘50s.

In addition to these one-acts, the evening will also present original vignettes directed by Pete Boisvert, Rebecca Comtois, Patrick Shearer and Stephanie Williams.

The Blood Brothers Present: PULP features graphic violence and strong sexual situations and is recommended for adults only.

Since its formation in 1999 by director Pete Boisvert and playwright James Comtois, Nosedive Productions has enjoyed pushing the proverbial envelope with its plays. One of the company’s original plays, The Adventures of Nervous-Boy (A Penny Dreadful), was hailed by Martin Denton as “one of the best directed and best produced indie theatre shows” in 2006 and was published in the New York Theatre Experience’s Plays and Playwrights 2007 anthology. Its latest play, Suburban Peepshow, has recently been published by Original Works Publishing. The company is Mr. Boisvert, Mr. Comtois, Rebecca Comtois (Technical Director), Patrick Shearer (Artistic Associate) and Stephanie Williams (Company Manager).

The Blood Brothers Present will be performed at the 78th Street Theatre Lab (236 West 78th St. at Broadway) October 11-13, 18-20, 25-27 (Thursday through Saturday). All shows are at 8 p.m. and tickets are $18. Subway: 1 to 79th Street; A to 81st Street; or 1 2 or 3 to 72nd Street. For tickets call 212-352-3101 or visit www.theatermania.com.

• • •

Rob Zombie's Halloween

Oddly enough, I didn't hate Rob Zombie's Halloween. In fact, I'll go so far as to say I actually liked it (albeit with some reservations). It's definitely Zombie's best feature film to-date, although I admit that's not saying much.

I approached Zombie's first two movies, House of 1,000 Corpses and The Devil's Rejects, with an intense desire to like and champion them. But unfortunately, I couldn't (and can't). With Corpses and Rejects, Zombie knows how to make a good-looking horror film, but doesn't know the first thing about tension or suspense (crucial ingredients to any horror film worth its weight in intestines). Not only did I not think for a second that the kids in Corpses were going to survive, I didn't care if they did, so I spent the bulk of that film checking my watch and the run-time on the DVD case, thinking, "Okay, got 40 minutes left before this crew of murderers kills these brats."

And I know, I know, we're somehow supposed to be worried for the family of killers in Rejects when William Forsythe's rogue cop crosses the line and begins to torture them to death, but I wasn't sold for a minute. I just thought, "Hell. If there's any group of fictitious characters I feel no sympathy for whatsoever, it's this group of mean-spirited assholes."

So, I approached his remake of Halloween, a movie of which I didn't believe required a remake, with some trepidation. On one hand, not only is Zombie 0.1 for 2.1 with me (I liked his "Werewolf Women of the SS" trailer for Grindhouse, hence the .1), he's remaking a touchstone of horror films.

On the other, perhaps if he worked on someone else's already established material, he could bypass the problem found in his previous films (the inability to write a genuinely tense and suspenseful story).

Now, does he bypass the aforementioned problem? Well...yes and no.

Also, does it even compare to the 1978 original? Of course not. Not even close. But I knew that going in.

Zombie's Halloween is really two movies (the way Stanley Kubrick's Full Metal Jacket is ostensibly two separate and distinct movies): the first half is a case study (or rather, Case Study) of a psychopath. We watch Michael Myers's (played as a kid by Daeg Faerch) sad and abusive childhood, his being bullied at school, and his predilection for killing and cutting up little furry animals (then later members of his own family). We then see him institutionalized and interviewed by Dr. Sam Loomis (Malcom McDowell), where his psychiatrist first has hope, then slowly gives up on young Myers.

The second half is pretty much a faithful remake of John Carpenter's original film (which even reprises chunks of dialogue verbatim): three young high school girls getting ready to either baby-sit or get laid on Halloween night, only to be hunted down by Myers 17 or so years later (now played by Tyler Mane), who's now a mute hulking giant in a distorted William Shatner mask.

The case study portion is actually quite captivating and powerful, easily the best section of the movie and an admirable take for something that's ultimately a slasher film. Faerch is perfectly cast as the young serial killer, with his pudgy face hidden behind long blonde hair looking both innocent and teeming with rage.

Before young Michael brutally murders his mother's horrific boyfriend (Forsythe), older sister Judith (Hanna R. Hall), and her boyfriend in an extraordinary expansion of the opening scene from the original, he has a penchant for wearing masks, much to the dismay of his family. When at the institution, he spends most of his time in his cell making new masks (he finds himself ugly, and wants to hide his face all the time). I was impressed at the shot of his cell that, after being incarcerated for 17 years, is filled wall-to-wall with an array of paper mache masks.

The scenes where Dr. Loomis tries to reach young Michael Myers show surprising depth and realism. Dr. Loomis asks a pretty cheery and polite little kid what he remembers about murdering the bulk of his family. Michael offers him a shy and somewhat precocious shrug, and then asks when he can see his family. The psychiatrist then asks Michael to explain how, if he has no memory of killing most of his family. Again, the kid just mumbles an evasive, "Dunno."

As is the case with Corpses and Rejects, the movie looks great. Phil Parmet's camerawork is utterly captivating. Zombie always knows how to make his movies look good (he's such an obvious fanboy of '70s style exploitation flicks he always takes such time and care into making his movies look like they come from that that era and school of guerrilla filmmaking). The use of ultra-saturated color and ultra-dark shadow offers the viewer some genuine eye candy (if you're into really repulsive blood-soaked grindhouse films like me).

The problem with Haloween, however, is that it wants to have his cake and eat it, too (which is honestly the same problem all of Zombie's movies have thus far). The audience is expected to sympathize and identify with Myers and to be utterly repelled, horrified and disgusted by him. The case study portion and unstoppable monster section don't fit together because the former makes Myers a somewhat three-dimensional (albeit disturbing and unpleasant) character while the latter makes him merely a personality-free catalyst for plot events.

The second half of the film is a surprisingly faithful remake of the original, although what made Carpenter's film so brilliant was its simplicity: he, along with producer and co-writer Debra Hill, took all the clichés of the Unstoppable Monster film and Haunted House movie and stripped them to their bare essentials (Nick Castle, who played the adult Myers in the original, was simply credited as "The Shape"). Because we spend the first hour following Myers's upbringing and institutionalization in Zombie's remake, we're not left in the dark the way Laurie is as to who-or what-this thing chasing her is (which makes Jamie Lee Curtis's portrayal of terror in the '78 version much more relatable than Scout Taylor-Compton's in the '07 version).

As of this writing, Zombie's remake of Halloween has a 21% on Rotten Tomatoes, which I think is highly unfair. No, it's not the original. So what? It had no hope and no intention of being so (Zombie clearly knows better). Although I have some problems with it, I think it does highlight some of the best attributes of the original and offers a chance for Zombie to show off his gifts for filmmaking.

Wondering why Austin Powers is killing these people,

James "Nope, I Don't Find That Joke Old" Comtois

Siskel and Ebert Discuss John Carpenter's Halloween

Siskel and Ebert discussing how Halloween separates itself as a cut above the rest of typical misogynistic slasher trash.

Still wasting a lot of time at work,

James "Making Out With YouTube" Comtois

Quote du Jour

"There has been a degree of controversy surrounding the violence in Hostel Part II, with critics in some corners arguing that it amounts to 'torture porn.' While I'll be the first to admit that Hostel Part II isn't a good film, it's a horror movie, so criticizing it for amping up the levels of gore and violence seems pointless. Since Jason started hacking up people while wearing his hockey mask, the genre has been all about blood and guts and inventive eviscerations. Hostel Part II isn't any more shocking than dozens of its predecessors, so it's surprising that it has been singled out. Maybe that's because movie-goers have become so used to neutered PG-13 ghost stories that something with an edge possesses the capability to shock."

[Emphasis mine.]

-James Berardinelli in his (negative) review of Hostel Part II

Watching only Merchant Ivory films,

James "Cecil" Comtois

Writer/Director: "Vagina Dentata"

With Michael Criscuolo helming and moderating an ongoing dialogue about the role of the director, I figured I'd give you folks a quick, inside look at "Vagina Dentata," the vignette that I wrote and Pete directed for last year's The Blood Brothers Present Grand Guignol series. Below is the pantomime script I sent in to Pete. Underneath my script is the video of the performance (which I have posted before).

I'm specifically pointing this one out for perusal for two reasons. The first is (obviously) it's short and we have a decent video of it, so you can actually see what Pete and the cast did. The second is this is the only show I've written for Nosedive Productions where I had no involvement whatsoever with the casting or rehearsal processes. I wrote it, handed it in to Pete, then saw the show for the first time on opening night.

I hope you have fun seeing what I brought to the table, what Pete brought, how and where the script and the production differ and how and where they converge.

(It features Cat Johnson and Desmond Dutcher and was filmed by Ben VandenBoom.)

Getting Up Close And Personal,

James "Inside Baseball" Comtois

* * *

"Vagina Dentata"

A woman's studio apartment. A MAN and WOMAN enter. If the Man is wearing a tie, it's now untied and open. The Woman shows the place off, indicating, "This is the place." The Man looks impressed.

The Woman walks over to the dresser and removes her jewelry. The Man approaches her, and tries to kiss her. She dodges him, walking to the other end of the room. He smiles, far from annoyed. He had a hunch she'd be playing hard to get, but since she's invited him to the apartment, the jig is damn near up, so he's patient.

She indicates toward the bar. The Man nods. She makes them both drinks. She hands him his, he takes it. They chime their glasses together. They sit on the sofa-bed.

On the sofa-bed, they make eyes at one another, the Woman laughs self-consciously. The Man tries again to go for The Kiss. She dodges, and goes over to the stereo. She indicates to the music. The Man nods. She puts in a CD, and the music changes (if there was music playing before, which I'm assuming there would be, now's the time when it changes). She looks happy and polite, yet agitated.

The Man looks somewhat confused, yet sees no reason to be impatient or agitated. Yet. He stands up towards her, and she immediately hugs him tightly (so he can't kiss her). He hugs her back, smelling her hair.

She pulls away and runs over to the other side of the room, pantomiming talking about something. True, she brought him up to her apartment, but does everything have to go so quickly? Whatever happened to just talking?

The Man pantomimes being interested in hearing what she has to say. He walks slowly toward her, nursing the drink she made for him. He finally approaches her, and kisses her on the cheek. She smiles, but continues talking. As she talks, he kisses her face. She lets him, but her expression shows that she's trying to ignore it. As he kisses her face, he finally goes for the lips. She dodges and let him kiss her cheek. She tries to move away.

He grabs her by the arm, perhaps a bit too roughly, and pulls her close to him. His face hardens a bit, as if to say, "Let's stop fooling around, lady. Why am I up here?" This shouldn't be mean, but now his patience is wearing a bit thin. The Woman looks...not scared, but...a bit startled. They lock eyes. He strokes her hair, his face softens. She smiles. They kiss.

She puts her drink down, he puts down his. They kiss again.

Their kissing becomes more passionate. They paw at each other and after a while move over to the sofa-bed. They first sit on it, kissing and pawing, then lie down on it, him on top of her, as they continue to kiss and grope one another. She puts a sheet over the two of them. They continue to kiss, then the Woman dunks the Man's head down under the covers and in between her legs. He goes down on her (we're guessing, since we can't explicitly see him). The Woman throws her head back, closes her eyes and pantomimes moaning.

Then, a small spot of blood appears on the sheet where his head is. That small spot grows slowly but steadily. The Man's body, which has been moving rhythmically, is now jerking more spastically. The sheets soak up blood.

A lot of blood.

The Man's body thrashes under the covers, as if he's having a seizure. Blood pours through the sheets and onto the floor.

Throughout all of this, the Woman still pantomimes moaning.

After the Man's body seizes, it stops and goes limp. The Woman opens her eyes and catches her breath. She sits up and lifts the covers.

In between her legs, is the bloody stump of the Man's neck, where his head should be. He's been decapitated.

The Woman doesn't look too concerned. She had a hunch this would happen.

BLACKOUT

© 2006 James Comtois

Addendum

In regards to my previous post, I have to admit that was quite surprised and mildly embarrassed at how much Kira Cochrane's Guardian article (combined with Mike White's op-ed) set me off. Usually I can just read something like that and let it slide, so at first I wasn't 100% why I just couldn't let it go after I had read it. So, my previous post was one of those entries that I simultaneously felt very relieved and very self-conscious that I wrote/posted what I did. Still, I'd like to offer some explanations.

I think it was mainly citing Grindhouse as being endemic of some sort of cultural malaise as well as the line: "In most of these films, both men and women end up being sliced, gored, dismembered, decapitated. In that sense they offer audiences equal-opportunity gore. But it's the violence against women that's most troubling," (emphasis mine) that made me think there was some real intellectual dishonesty going on. Does this mean that having women being victims in horror films At All is unacceptable?

I think it's the Zero Tolerance attitude that annoys me. In other words, are white, heterosexual men the only acceptable victims in these kinds of films? (I'm not against men being cut up in these types of films, but was that what Ms. Cochrane is getting at?)

Also, when the article asked: "Watching Grindhouse, I felt fundamentally depressed: who would seek out this experience as entertainment?" I was mildly offended, because it implied that people who enjoyed the movie are somehow morally/psychologically unhinged/inferior. I'm sorry, Ms. Cochrane (and Mr. White), but who the hell died and left you in charge of what I should and shouldn't enjoy in my entertainment? Watching a film as an adult, I can make qualitative judgments, discern reality from fantasy and good from bad, thank you very much.

Now, having said all of that, I will say I'm very much in agreement that the marketing campaigns for many of these movies are very ugly, cynical and mean-spirited. I haven't seen The Hills Have Eyes 2, Turistas and Captivity, so I can't comment on their content, but I will agree that the marketing campaigns focus on misogynistic imagery.

With most of the modern horror films I've seen (The Texas Chainsaw Massacre remake, the Saw movies, House of 1,000 Corpses, The Devil's Rejects, Wolf Creek), I don't see much misogyny as I do suckiness. (To me, the problem with the shitty remake of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre isn't that it's misogynistic, it's that it's made, as Roger Ebert wrote, "by and for those with no attention spans.") The makers of most of these films are under the false impression that nasty imagery is a suitable replacement for tension and suspense.

Actually, the Lil' Sistois talks about this much better than I could.

I'll be writing about some other stuff later this week on different subjects (mostly related to theatre). So, thanks for bearing with me on this, folks.

A total crank,

James "Grampa McCrudden" Comtois

More on Horror and Violence

As I had previously threatened, I'm going to blather on a bit about ulraviolent horror films because for some reason, Mike White's piece and another piece in the Guardian has set me off in a weird way. Also, I wanted to add to some points I had only briefly touched upon in the "Mike White..." entry. Bear with me.

Why do I like horror movies? I don't know; I just do. They're fun. They exorcise demons. As Stephen King pointed out in his brilliant Danse Macabre, watching horrible things happen to people on celluloid reaffirms your humanity. There's no politically correct sermonizing going on. You go in knowing there's no "message," which can be a bit of a relief/release every now and again.

Or, as Peter Travers of Rolling Stone wrote in his review of Grindhouse, because, "[t]here is not a minute in this three-hour-plus tribute to all that's unholy in cinema that is good for you."

"Charlie Willis" made an excellent point in my comments section two posts back:

"I'm a little amazed that, over the years, there hasn't been a backlash of artists talking in detail about catharsis. That we use fantasy and imagination to deal with darker impulses in a healthy way. We show it so that people can experience that WITHOUT having to act upon it. It's when there's a deeper malfunction in a person's ability to differentiate between fantasy and reality, or simply have no reference with regards to what's right and wrong, that things start going haywire."

Back in 2000, comic-book author Gerard Jones wrote an excellent article in Mother Jones arguing that bloody videogames, gun-glorifying gangsta rap and other forms of "creative violence" give kids a healthy outlet to control their rage. You can read it here. Having grown up on comic books, horror films, King novels and the TV series V (rated at the time as the most violent television series ever), I know exactly what he's talking about.

Seriously. Read it. Go on, I'll wait.

You back?

Good.

Horror films are geared towards kids. They always have been. (What, you thought all the people going to see The Creature From the Black Lagoon and The Wolf Man were middle-aged couples?) I don't think this is good or bad, right or wrong. I got into horror movies when I was a kid. The first official horror movie I saw in the theatre was Gremlins (which I think is an excellent example of making good horror for young people). I was seven years old. Sure, I was scared. But I also had an absolute blast. My mother, it seemed, was much more scared than I was (and I don't think it was because she was worried for me; she could tell I was loving it).

Since then, I ended up seeing a number of horror films at a young age and then got into Stephen King's work, starting with It, at age 12.

I was hooked. Still am, really.

(Side note: when I was very young I was plagued with nightmares on an almost nightly basis. I did notice that when I started watching horror movies and reading horror novels, I stopped getting nightmares. I don't know the exact causality but I figured it was something worth pointing out.)

Now, I don't want anyone reading this thinking I'm advocating taking children to see R-rated horror films (Roger Ebert wrote an essay on seeing Night of the Living Dead, which was released one month before the MPAA came out with its ratings system, and seeing several children in the audience). I'm not even advocating that people who don't like horror movies should "chill out" and have fun with them. That's not what's bothering me about the "are movies too violent" debate.

Here's what bothers me about the self-righteous whining over horror movies/violent films: as a fan, I'm not trying to advocate non-fans into watching them, but non-fans don't extend the same courtesy. I'm not trying to convert anybody. Honest. I absolutely loved Grindhouse, for example. If a movie like Grindhouse isn't your thing, it isn't your thing. I promise, I'm not trying to convince you otherwise. That's fine.

So why do people who don't like these kinds of movies insist that those who do shouldn't, either?

Okay, fuck it. There's another reason why it irritates me on some fundamental level: because arguing against violent horror films is such a safe and easy argument. Complaining about violence and sexism and rolling your eyes theatrically will win you huge brownie points in the politically correct public sphere.

I'm reminded of an old joke Chris Rock made in his stand-up routine, responding to white people who complained vociferously about rap music with: "It's not for you!"

Seriously, do we have to have every aspect of our popular culture and entertainment be given a Politically Correct Seal Of Approval? Really?

Wanting more violence,

James "Vicarious Sociopath" Comtois

From The Vault: Schlock

I'm working on a new entry on violent horror films as an addendum to "Mike White, Violence in the Media and Personal Responsibility," but I may not finish it before the end of the day. Hell, I may just scrap it. Who knows?

In the meantime, I invite everyone to read (or reread) my entry entitled "Schlock," which was posted on October 31, 2005.

Loving trash,

James "Oscar" Comtois

Mike White, Violence in the Media and Personal Responsibility

Isaac Butler pointed out an interesting op-ed piece by screenwriter/actor Mike White (who wrote and acted in the films Chuck & Buck, Orange County, The Good Girl and School of Rock) about considering violent films in the wake of the Virginia Tech shootings. I'm actually in agreement with Mac that it's a terrible piece, mainly because it's simultaneously self-righteous and evasive (full disclosure: I am a fan of Mr. White's work), simply arguing "We Have A Problem" without coming even close to addressing what the problem is or what steps should be taken to fix it.

Now, I don't want to seem flippant about this "violence in the media" debate, as much as it annoys me (since it is so much in the Far Too Little, Far Too Late Department). I have pretty strong thoughts and feelings about the subject, being both a writer and as a fan of movies/television shows/books that feature violence (sometimes very graphic violence - I am a dyed-in-the-wool fan of horror films and Stephen King novels). I've also been very reluctant to comment on the Virginia Tech shootings, since even I find having a playwright from New York (read: some schmuck) offer his two cents to this tragedy to be in poor taste. Still, it's something that is going to be discussed no matter what and it is something worth discussing.

(I'm also not much of a, "Blame The Culture" kind of guy. I'm much more of a, "Blame The Mass Murderer" person.)

Should artists be responsible for their work? Absolutely. But just writing that doesn't really mean anything, so I'll use my own work and myself as examples.

My play The Adventures of Nervous-Boy features an act of horrific violence in its climax. Pete and I tried to make it as clear as possible that this act of violence is not a good thing (in other words, the character making the violent actions has Made A Bad Choice). I very much hope - and we tried to make this as clear as possible - that I am not condoning this behavior.

However!

What if (say) someone in the city was recently arrested for murdering a streetwalker and, upon being cuffed and put into the police car, yelled out to passersby or reporters, "I AM NERVOUS-BOY!" (and later admitted in a statement that he was referencing my play and that the outburst wasn't some sort of unnerving coincidence), how would I feel about this? Would I feel responsible?

Yes and no.

I mean, on a very personal level, I obviously would. Honestly, I'd probably lock myself in my room for days and consider never writing another sentence ever again. I'm not joking or being hyperbolic. The guilt I'd feel would be damn near crippling.

Having confessed that, if I were to retain or regain any of my rational objective faculties, I would realize I have no legal responsibility (any more than John Woo has for making The Killer or Stephen King for writing The Shining after someone killed a person and wrote "REDRUM" in the room). Wondering if a violent psychopath I don't know will get a hold of my work and that he'll be inspired to behave violently and that he'll actually act on that inspiration is no way to live and no way to work. (In other words, I won't be wondering every minute of my life if I'll spontaneously combust.)

The fact remains that it was the act of a violent psychopath.

What is my responsibility for giving a violent psychopath inspirational fodder for his means of his violent psychosis? How responsible is an artist for the actions of violent psychopaths?

What irritates me with Mr. White's column and the attitude he expresses is that he admits that he grew up watching trashy horror movies for cheap thrills, but doesn't cite any specific examples as to how this corrupted...

(And corrupted is the operative word. We're not talking about being influenced. We're talking about being corrupted. We need to acknowledge that it's not a "fine line" or a "slippery slope" or anything like that. There's a huge - HUGE - difference between talking and dressing like Han Solo or roughhousing in a friend's backyard and murdering people.)

...him or his peers.

I'll put it another way. What if a statistic came out revealing that 99% of all NAMBLA members owned a copy of Star Wars? (I just made that up; I have no idea if that's true or not.) What would this say about our culture? What would this say about the correlation to child molesters and popular culture? What would this tell us about George Lucas and his responsibility? Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Should artists take responsibility for their work? Absolutely. Most worth their weight in salt already do. And again, I think this is a subject worth discussing. But self-righteous posturing gets us nowhere and talking about the influence of media doesn't really get to the root of things. It's not about influence. It's about corruption.

Perhaps in a bit I'll go into my thoughts and feelings on horror films, but that, as the kids say, is another topic for another time.

Still feeling uneasy about commenting on even
super-peripheral subjects near the VT tragedy,

James "Let's Keep To The Subject of Art As Close As Possible Here" Comtois