Just the Ticket #61: Six Degrees of Horrorfest-ation, Part III
"The Horror! The Horror!" That was a quote from Apocalypse Now (a great movie that tops the very short list of war movies I will sit through). It's not up for review today, but the quote fits perfectly with the state of affairs here in Central Washington, where it's perfectly legal to purchase and set off your own fireworks, all the while getting shizzlefaced (or as one of the kids in Grown Ups put it, getting "chocolate wasted") and risking a Roman Candle to the face. On top of that (and some personal issues with the Fourth that I'd rather not talk about here), the heat is in the triple digits (how do you make a Baked Alaska? Global warming! *rimshot* *canned laughter*) and we Northland Cable customers have been without internet or phone for seven days straight.
To gitcha from Apocalypse Now to the movies up for review today, I'm gonna hitcha with a little Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon: Apocalypse Now is a war movie starring Martin Sheen. Platoon is a war movie starring Charlie Sheen and Willem Dafoe. Willem Dafoe was the Green Goblin in Spider-Man. Spider-Man is a Marvel Films production. So is X-Men: First Class, which starred Kevin Bacon. OK, that was only five degrees. But we're not here today to talk about Kevin Bacon or the Sheenstevez family. We're here to discuss Willem Dafoe and his solitary dramatic performance in The Hunter, and continue this issue's Tasmanian Tiger theme with a trip to After Dark Horrorfest III's Dying Breed. Breed on, Ticketholders! OK, that pun came out more disgusting than I wanted it to. Anyway, keep reading....
Willem Dafoe stars as The Hunter, a single father, mercenary, and skilled woodsman (there's another Kevin Bacon reference, folks! Read all about it here) hired by a major pharmaceutical company to go to Tasmania in search of the presumably extinct Tasmanian Tiger, which he is to kill and harvest for DNA to give to the company. Acting as his observer, and unrecognizable beneath a short, ashy beard and his own Aussie accent and old age, is Sam Niell (for who knows more about harvesting the DNA of extinct species for a major corporation than the guy who survived Jurassic Park--twice?). Too bad he had to run afoul of a local woman's missing husband, who is lying in wait to rectify his own failed head start on Dafoe. Or is hunting the Tiger (what looks more like a cross between a hyena, a fox, a pygmy zebra, and a contender for America's ugliest cat) Dafoe's only task in Tasmania?
Between checking in on the missing man's once Oxy-addicted wife (a topic that has garnered much coverage in recent weeks, including its own public service announcement) and her two children and giving us a non-verbal crash-course in the art of improvised animal traps (obscuring the important details, a la Burn Notice's many IED lessons), there is a lot of wordless jungle-tromping and not much more to The Hunter. In all honesty, I fell asleep several times, and don't really care if I missed anything (nor do I feel like I missed anything). But by the time things came to a surprisingly dichotomous climax, I had gathered--from what little I observed of Dafoe's silence-laden journey into sound--a thousand infinities of imagery that paint a complete picture of our environmental hero in the making.
There is Dafoe as the warrior-spirit, a Ronin out of time doing what he's paid to, but not averse to struggling with the morality of questions he's not supposed to ask.
There is Dafoe the hunter (duh, winning), a man quietly tortured by the blood on his hands, but who also harbors a deep spiritual kinship with whatever he kills, be it man or beast.
And without the ominous, unnamed corporation, there would not be Dafoe the crusader, a budding activist out of his depth, fighting the smallest of wars against an enemy too big to be seen but just big enough that you can feel how wrong it is.
Sometimes a complete character is story enough in itself.
B+
I'll make this as brief as I can: Dying Breed sucks.
For those who don't know, Australia had beginnings as a British penal colony. The only man to ever escape from the colony was a murderous cannibal (is there any way to eat a person alive and not kill them in the process? I don't think so) named Alexander "The Pieman" Pierce, a figure of Aussie historical legend who was recaptured and hanged in 1824.
In Dying Breed, as in any number of backwoods, foreign country gorefests, a group of college students decide to camp in the middle of nowhere as they follow some random whim, only to get stranded by the sabotaging locals who then kill them off one by one. The whim in question in Dying Breed is that this particular human sampler platter has come to Tasmania to do their senior project on (you guessed it, Ticketholders!) the Tasmanian Tiger. Little do they know, the Tiger is long extinct, and the reported Tiger attacks that drew the students to the small island south of Australia are actually the work of the escaped Pieman--obviously, some drastic liberties were taken with historical fact to make this possible--and his flesh-eating family, who are on the brink of extinction themselves.
The creators get points for their creativity with historical fiction, and (as in The Hunter above), the scenery is beautiful. But story, and unfortunately, the horror that should be a prerequisite for any horror movie of merit, are sacrificed brutally in favor of gore and disgust. Is the blonde who ultimately kills Pieman (in Friday the 13th, it was always a blonde) a descendant of his? The hints to that effect are far too subtle, such that I now think I imagined them to give more depth to thestory film (there is no story, remember?) for my own benefit, and the concept is never explored.
I never felt like I was watching Dying Breed, just looking at it and hoping in vain for something impactful to happen.
F+
From bad news to good movie to bad movie, and now to some good news: I finally landed a stable job I can keep. I just completed four days of training to work in the customer service booth at Safeway (that's Vons for my 619 fans down in SoCal). It's a great job that keeps you guessing because you never know what elaborate, crazy request is going to come through the door or the phone line. In two days of hands-on training (the first two days were just computer training modules), I've run the gamut, and I'm having fun with it. Plus I can pay some bills.
Next issue is going to be a funny one, I hope. Two spies fight over Reese Witherspoon in This Means War, and I'll introduce (or is it intro-douche) you to Jeff Who Lives At Home. Duh, winning. Change your morning routine every day and stay tuned for some dry, hot, chilly weather.
Speaking of, look for my new TV review column Stay Tuned to debut some time later this week.
To gitcha from Apocalypse Now to the movies up for review today, I'm gonna hitcha with a little Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon: Apocalypse Now is a war movie starring Martin Sheen. Platoon is a war movie starring Charlie Sheen and Willem Dafoe. Willem Dafoe was the Green Goblin in Spider-Man. Spider-Man is a Marvel Films production. So is X-Men: First Class, which starred Kevin Bacon. OK, that was only five degrees. But we're not here today to talk about Kevin Bacon or the Sheenstevez family. We're here to discuss Willem Dafoe and his solitary dramatic performance in The Hunter, and continue this issue's Tasmanian Tiger theme with a trip to After Dark Horrorfest III's Dying Breed. Breed on, Ticketholders! OK, that pun came out more disgusting than I wanted it to. Anyway, keep reading....
Between checking in on the missing man's once Oxy-addicted wife (a topic that has garnered much coverage in recent weeks, including its own public service announcement) and her two children and giving us a non-verbal crash-course in the art of improvised animal traps (obscuring the important details, a la Burn Notice's many IED lessons), there is a lot of wordless jungle-tromping and not much more to The Hunter. In all honesty, I fell asleep several times, and don't really care if I missed anything (nor do I feel like I missed anything). But by the time things came to a surprisingly dichotomous climax, I had gathered--from what little I observed of Dafoe's silence-laden journey into sound--a thousand infinities of imagery that paint a complete picture of our environmental hero in the making.
There is Dafoe as the warrior-spirit, a Ronin out of time doing what he's paid to, but not averse to struggling with the morality of questions he's not supposed to ask.
There is Dafoe the hunter (duh, winning), a man quietly tortured by the blood on his hands, but who also harbors a deep spiritual kinship with whatever he kills, be it man or beast.
And without the ominous, unnamed corporation, there would not be Dafoe the crusader, a budding activist out of his depth, fighting the smallest of wars against an enemy too big to be seen but just big enough that you can feel how wrong it is.
Sometimes a complete character is story enough in itself.
B+
I'll make this as brief as I can: Dying Breed sucks.
In Dying Breed, as in any number of backwoods, foreign country gorefests, a group of college students decide to camp in the middle of nowhere as they follow some random whim, only to get stranded by the sabotaging locals who then kill them off one by one. The whim in question in Dying Breed is that this particular human sampler platter has come to Tasmania to do their senior project on (you guessed it, Ticketholders!) the Tasmanian Tiger. Little do they know, the Tiger is long extinct, and the reported Tiger attacks that drew the students to the small island south of Australia are actually the work of the escaped Pieman--obviously, some drastic liberties were taken with historical fact to make this possible--and his flesh-eating family, who are on the brink of extinction themselves.
The creators get points for their creativity with historical fiction, and (as in The Hunter above), the scenery is beautiful. But story, and unfortunately, the horror that should be a prerequisite for any horror movie of merit, are sacrificed brutally in favor of gore and disgust. Is the blonde who ultimately kills Pieman (in Friday the 13th, it was always a blonde) a descendant of his? The hints to that effect are far too subtle, such that I now think I imagined them to give more depth to the
I never felt like I was watching Dying Breed, just looking at it and hoping in vain for something impactful to happen.
F+
From bad news to good movie to bad movie, and now to some good news: I finally landed a stable job I can keep. I just completed four days of training to work in the customer service booth at Safeway (that's Vons for my 619 fans down in SoCal). It's a great job that keeps you guessing because you never know what elaborate, crazy request is going to come through the door or the phone line. In two days of hands-on training (the first two days were just computer training modules), I've run the gamut, and I'm having fun with it. Plus I can pay some bills.
Next issue is going to be a funny one, I hope. Two spies fight over Reese Witherspoon in This Means War, and I'll introduce (or is it intro-douche) you to Jeff Who Lives At Home. Duh, winning. Change your morning routine every day and stay tuned for some dry, hot, chilly weather.
Speaking of, look for my new TV review column Stay Tuned to debut some time later this week.
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