Film Review: A NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREET (1984, Wes Craven)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 91 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: John Saxon (TENEBRE, ENTER THE DRAGON), Ronee Blakley (NASHVILLE, THE DRIVER), Heather Langenkamp (GROWING PAINS, SHOCKER, NEW NIGHTMARE), Johnny Depp (CRY-BABY, DEAD MAN), Charles Fleischer (DEADLY FRIEND, ZODIAC), Robert Englund (ST. IVES, EATEN ALIVE, DEAD & BURIED), Amanda Wyss (BETTER OFF DEAD, POWWOW HIGHWAY), Jsu Garcia (GOTCHA!, WE WERE SOLDIERS). Cinematography by Jacques Haitkin (THE HIDDEN, CHERRY 2000). Head makeup effects by David B. Miller (THE BEASTMASTER, COCOON, WILD AT HEART). Music by Charles Bernstein (MR. MAJESTYK, DEADLY FRIEND).
Tag-line: "If Nancy Doesn't Wake Up Screaming She Won't Wake Up At All..."
Best one-liner: "Okay Krueger, we play in your court!"

There was a time when Freddy wasn't plastered on squirt guns, board games, nite lights, novelty albums, squish-'ems, pinball machines, and yo-yos.
There was a time when Freddy was scary as shit.

He wasn't a one-liner dropping contrivance- he was a terrifying burn victim and possible-pedophile who had the confounding power to haunt kids' dreams from beyond the grave. He wasn't all powerful, not by a long shot: in a toe-to-toe wrestling match between him and a high school girl (which actually happens several times in this film), the girl has a pretty good chance of kicking Freddy's raggedy ass. The existentially frustrating thing here is that Freddy cheats.

Even as the hall monitor.

He gets you when you're at your most vulnerable, your least aware- in the sweet ark of slumber. And more often than not, Craven shows Freddy's attacks from the outside- the sleeping victim thrashing about, slashed and beaten- we can only imagine what's happening in their world, and that's truly frightening. The cast is solid- Heather Langenkamp is our heroine (and a far cry from the CW douches on summer hiatus who star in today's horror), John Saxon (a Bava/Argento alum) is the no-nonsense cop dad, Ronee Blakley is the habitually loaded alky mom (watch for her hidden booze stashes), Johnny Depp is the boyfriend (even at this young age making some impressively bizarre acting choices), and, of course, Robert Englund is Krueger- a sheer force of malicious exuberance.

The visuals are startlingly potent- Freddy's arms extending to an impossible length:

a bed swallowing a victim and spewing a sanguinary geyser, a spectral form emerging from a rubbery wall:

a Cronenbergian face-lickin' phone:

or a girl chased up the steps as the carpet transforms into bemiring white goop. All of this is pre-CGI, and, in fact, is frequently visualized by extremely primitive means- its effectiveness remains a credit to the conceptual hotbed of primal fears and visceral anxieties that (ex-Humanities professor) Craven dips into. This is focused, forceful storytelling at its best. Five stars.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: SLEEPY HOLLOW (1999, Tim Burton)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 105 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Johnny Depp, Christina Ricci, Miranda Richardson (THE CRYING GAME, THE HOURS), Michael Gambon (THE LIFE AQUATIC, THE COOK, THE THIEF, HIS WIFE, AND HER LOVER), Christopher Walken (MCBAIN), Casper Van Dien (STARSHIP TROOPERS), Richard Griffiths (WITHNAIL & I, THE HISTORY BOYS), Ian McDiarmid (RETURN OF THE JEDI, DRAGONSLAYER), Michael Gough (TROG, Alfred in Burton's BATMAN), Christopher Lee, Lisa Marie (ED WOOD, MARS ATTACKS!), and Martin Landau (NORTH BY NORTHWEST, ED WOOD). Music by Danny Elfman. Executive produced by Francis Ford Coppola and Larry J. Franco! Based on the short story by Washington Irving. Written by Kevin Yagher (makeup designer on NIGHTMARE ON ELM STREETs 2-4, Chucky creator for CHILD'S PLAY, and TALES FROM THE CRYPT collaborator) and Andrew Kevin Walker (SE7EN, BRAINSCAN).
Tag-line: "Heads Will Roll."
Best one-liner: "YAHHH!" (said by Christopher Walken).

With ten years of hindsight steering the way, I believe I now possess the proper distance to proclaim that SLEEPY HOLLOW was Tim Burton's last great film. At the time, it felt like something of a letdown- coupled with MARS ATTACKS! and his burgeoning, reckless use of CGI, it seemed as if the man was on a downward spiral. But in (PLANET OF THE APES & CHOCOLATE FACTORY) retrospect, the CGI comes across as nearly prudent; the morbid sense of humor, quite clever; and the thrills and chills strike the perfect notes of an R-rated, 90's retread of THE ADVENTURES OF ICHABOD AND MR. TOAD.

Johnny Depp haplessly prances about this film: exuding inherent worthlessness, babbling reassurances to no one in particular, and fainting at the drop of a hat.


At times it feels like a more wimpish MURDER, SHE WROTE episode- albeit one with buckets of gore- and indeed, one of Johnny's inspirations for the role was none other than Angela Lansbury. The other was Basil Rathbone, and he constructs a hero that is the ANTI-Sherlock Holmes, one who'll pour chemicals on the ground and yabber scientific nonsense to himself, not to- *voila* -solve the crime, but to buy himself a little time as he contemplates his awkward exit strategy. Some have complained that Burton, writer (and makeup legend) Kevin Yagher, and script doctor Tom Stoppard stray too far from the original Irving story, but instead we have a work that does its damndest to integrate every bit of macabre Americana mythology from The Headless Horseman to iron-fisted (or is that Iron Maiden'd?) Puritans to witches and witchcraft, and I, for one, think it works. Hell, the windmill from FRANKENSTEIN even makes an appearance!

The atmosphere is exquisite, too-

Elfman's dark and rumbling score; the misty, overcast New England forest trails; flickering silhouettes cast by a ramshackle oil lamps...
And it's great to see bit parts from legends like Christoper Lee, Martin Landau (who gets his chance to run through the cornfield á la NORTH BY NORTHWEST), a dunderheaded Jeffrey Jones,

a fossilized Michael Gough, and Christopher Walken (a convincing force of sheer, Hessian malevolence, straight from the pit- his sharpened teeth and unruly hair nearly steal the show!).

On the women's side, we have a venomous she-devil played by Miranda Richardson, a waifish Christina Ricci as the love interest,

and an ethereal Lisa Marie as a motherly force (and consider the theory that Burton's decline perfectly coincides with the deterioration oft his relationship with Lisa Marie!- compare to Godard/Karina, George & Marcia Lucas, et al.). Anyway, you sort of get the idea that Burton pitched the entire project as an excuse to put ladies in cleavage-intensifying corsets, but I guess that's okay, too.

Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Side note: Watch for 'Large Marge' from PEE WEE making a (completely theoretical) cameo appearance!

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Film Review: CRY-BABY (1990, John Waters)

Stars: 4.6 of 5.
Running Time: 91 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Johnny Depp, Amy Locane (SECRETARY, AIRHEADS), Susan Tyrrell (FORBIDDEN ZONE, FAT CITY, FLESH + BLOOD), Polly Bergen (CAPE FEAR '62, THE MEN), Iggy Pop, Ricki Lake (HAIRSPRAY, SERIAL MOM), Traci Lords (VIRTUOUSITY, SERIAL MOM), Kim McGuire (SERIAL MOM, David Lynch's ON THE AIR), Willem Dafoe, Joe Dallesandro (THE LIMEY, FLESH, BLOOD FOR DRACULA), Mink Stole (PINK FLAMINGOS, DESPERATE LIVING, LOST HIGHWAY), Troy Donahue (IMITATION OF LIFE, COCKFIGHTER), Joey Heatherton (BLUEBEARD, THE HAPPY HOOKER GOES TO WASHINGTON), and Patty Hearst in her fiction film debut.
Tag-lines: "Too young to be square... Too tough to be shocked... Too late to be saved..."
Best one-liner: "Let's all put on a folk hat and learn something about a foreign culture!" (said by Patty Hearst) or perhaps "Woo-Wee, you caught me in my birthday suit, butt-naked" (said by Iggy Pop).

Psuedo-commercial John Waters (PECKER, SERIAL MOM) is not necessarily better than shoestringy, gutter sleaze John Waters (FEMALE TROUBLE, DESPERATE LIVING), they're just different- much like, say, the difference between TWIN PEAKS-Lynch and INLAND EMPIRE-Lynch. Some artists flourish under constraints (you can't show Divine devouring dog stools or Liz Renay getting rabies in the ass in a PG-13 film), and Waters is creative enough to make a film which nominally pleases the mainstream, yet is still deliciously infested with his trademarked pervy pizazz. This film is an oddball tour de force of sheer, ludicrous delights from a tittering, perfidious sewer rat to a devout Joe Dallesandro zealously bellowing "Let Jesus Christ be your gang-leader!" into a megaphone (as Joey Heatherton shudders beside him in a pious frenzy)-

In short, CRY-BABY is the bee's knees. It's Drapes vs. Squares, forbidden love, a 10th-rate Baltimore Disneyland, rockabilly concerts, an orphanage jailbreak, an epic “chicken” duel and an amalgamation of everything that Waters loves about the 1950's from JAILHOUSE ROCK to TEENAGE GANG DEBS.



The bizarro performances range from the hammy to the outré. Johnny Depp transforms the act of frequent, stoic weeping into something worthy of Tiger Beat magazine.

The legendary Susan Tyrrell (FAT CITY), while wearing a taxidermy bird helmet, sputters and chortles and emotes and blows away "goddamn gophers." It’s a work of mad genius and truly a sight to behold.

Tyrrell's trademark cackle.


Tyrrell and Pop. Best onscreen couple since Tyrrell and Rutger Hauer in FLESH + BLOOD. Who were the best onscreen couple since Tyrrell and Hervé 'Ze Plane' Villechaize in FORBIDDEN ZONE. Who were the best onscreen couple since Tyrrell and Stacy Keach in FAT CITY.

Iggy Pop is her husband, bathing himself in a wooden tub on the lawn and being an all-around good sport. Amy Locane embraces a sort of 'young Kathleen Turner' aesthetic, and Waters' two favorite pariahs (Traci Lords and Patty Hearst) exude, respectively, pose-worthy sass and adorable gullibility. Mink Stole speaks in tongues, and there's a 3-D moviegoing experience that'd make William Castle proud:

Willem Dafoe even appears for an ass-slapping cameo as a sleazoid, country-drawlin' prison guard.

"We gonna give you a haircut, pretty boy!"



By gum, this shit is great. Nearly five stars.

-Sean Gill

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Film Review: ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO (2003, Robert Rodriguez)

Stars: 4.5 of 5.
Running Time: 102 minutes.
Tag-line: "The Time Has Come."
Notable Cast or Crew: Antonio Banderas, Salma Hayek, Willem Dafoe, Johnny Depp, Mickey Rourke, Eva Mendes, Danny Trejo, Cheech Marin, Rubén Blades, Enrique Iglesias, Marco Leonardi.
Best one-liner: "Ok. Smoke him... Smoke the fucker! Send him straight to fucking Broadway."

Rodriguez's continued retellings of his "Sergio Leone by-way-of Walter Hill and John Woo" EL MARIACHI legend are like a monstrous, runaway snowball. And as it rolls downhill, it increases in speed, size, ludicrousity, and finally, by ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO, it's a completely deranged, rampaging behemoth full of eclectic actors, jaw-dropping setpieces, and a tangible joie de vivre that its contemporaries truly lack.




Here's 10 reasons why ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO rises above the muck of your typical 00's action flick and is worthy of your time:

#1. Some movies will, at times, splash a little blood or water on the lens. I think it's meant to amplify the grittiness, but for me it intensifies the disconnect- 'I'm watching a movie.' Rodriguez goes a step further: during a desert dirt bike chase, some cacti get blasted and the lens is spattered with cactus juice, which I have no choice but to wholeheartedly support.


#2. Mickey Rourke (and his l'il doggie). Now this is 21st Century Rourke (fossilized skin, gravelly voice, and every third word is "goddamn") at his finest.

His purple suits are not costumes- they're from his personal wardrobe. He exudes actual pathos, and in the course of a few brief scenes builds a relationship with his little chihuahua buddy that's more genuine and touching than anything from a weepie picture.

#3. Depp and his kitschy accoutrements.

From a CLASH OF THE TITANS lunchbox to an 'I'm With Stupid' t-shirt to the fanny packs, the fake 'staches, and the shorts n' blazer combo, Depp's attire is a testament to the inspired lunacy of the man himself.

Only on set for a few days, Depp hand-picked his own wardrobe from the festering aisles of tacky, border-town thrift shops and proceeded to unleash a hurricane of loopy, Brando-style improvisation, supposedly inspired by an anonymous, eccentric Hollywood mover and shaker who Depp always imagined "wore really cheesy tourist shirts, had a sideline obsession with Broadway, and favored strange, obvious disguises."

The end result is nothing short of astonishing, and 'Agent Sands' surely belongs on the short list of great characters in contemporary action cinema.

#4. Banderas' brutal double low-blow, worthy of Leo Fong. You'll know it when you see it.



Banderas' look says it all: he takes brutal ball-squeezing very seriously.

I'm sad to say, however, that the duration still compares unfavorably to THE EVIL THAT MEN DO.

#5. Willem Dafoe.

Scary with a mustache. Scary in silk shirts. Scary behind bandages. So scary, even Danny Trejo has got the heebie-jeebies, which is really saying something. Hell, he's even freaking out his döppelganger.

It's nearly a throwaway role- one in a parade of villainous entities- but we all know that Dafoe doesn't require a majority of screen-time to be terrifying as all get out.

WILLEM DAFOE WILL STARE INTO YOUR SOUL

#6. This camera angle.

Sometime between the ribaldry of classic 70's action cinema (BRING ME THE HEAD OF ALFREDO GARCIA, ROLLING THUNDER, et al.) and the present day, Hollywood moved from "gritty South American hooker in a smoke den with peeling paint" sleaze to "corporate, collagen, plasticine, air-brushed to oblivion" sleaze. And, frankly, I find the latter kind of disturbing. Regardless, while Eva Mendes certainly wouldn't belong in a Peckinpah flick, this camera-angle, and what it represents- an unrepentant, 'let's-call-a-spade-a-spade' style of bawdiness– is refreshing.

#7. "Are you a Mexi-CAN or a Mexi-CAN'T?"


#8. Cheech Marin.

Well, he missed out on the first EL MARIACHI movie, so I suppose he tried to make up for it by subsequently playing seven roles in seven Rodriguez flicks- a feat more impressive than it sounds, given that 5 of those films belong to ongoing series (3 SPY KIDS and 2 EL MARIACHI films). Here, he's amusingly long-winded and has got an eye patch, and that's really all you need to know.

#9. Rubén Blades. He's not the flashiest performer here. He's not an ex-con like Danny Trejo, a funnyman like Cheech Marin, a pop star like Enrique Iglesias, or a petrified, walking cautionary tale like Mickey Rourke.

He's low-key. He's convincing. And Rodriguez outfits him with a story arc that's well worth our time. In a film that's a whirling vortex of over-the-top yarns, off-kilter character actors, and reeling action set-pieces, Blades is that grounding dose of subtlety that really ties it all together.

#10. The finale: an eyeless gunslinger who makes Zatoichi look like Mr. Magoo, Banderas surfing down a staircase on his guitar, PREDATOR 2 references, and endless one-liners- life is good.


Nearly five stars. And while I surely wouldn't say no to a fourth EL MARIACHI flick, I'm not sure how Rodriguez could possibly escalate upon the bedlam contained herein without it collapsing under its own weight...

-Sean Gill

Junta Juleil's Summer '10 Movie Series
1. HELL IN THE PACIFIC (1968, John Boorman)
2. KUFFS (1992, Bruce A. Evans)
3. THE OUTFIT (1973, John Flynn)

4. FOR Y'UR HEIGHT ONLY (1981, Eddie Nicart)

5. A*P*E (1976, Paul Leder)

6. BLIND FURY (1989, Philip Noyce)
7. HIS KIND OF WOMAN (1951, John Farrow)
8. HIGH SCHOOL U.S.A. (1983, Rod Amateau)
9. DR. JEKYLL AND MS. HYDE (1995, David Price)
10. MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL (1997, Clint Eastwood)
11. 1990: BRONX WARRIORS (1982, Enzo G. Castellari)
12. FALLING DOWN (1993, Joel Schumacher)
13. TOURIST TRAP (1979, David Schmoeller)
14. THE THREE MUSKETEERS (1973, Richard Lester)
15. BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA (1986, John Carpenter)
16. TOP GUN (1986, Tony Scott)
17. 48 HRS. (1982, Walter Hill)
18. ONCE UPON A TIME IN MEXICO (2003, Robert Rodriguez)
19. ...

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