January held many great films for me. From a triple feature of Hong Kong action to one of the greats from the Universal Horror Franchise, this month at the movies…
Alien
Alien is one of my favourite films ever. It stands amongst the greats in cinema for so many reasons, far too many to properly discuss here. From the production design that invokes a dystopian cyberpunk future before cyberpunk even existed, to the xenomorph, a creature of rage and sex and destruction that few other science fiction stories could even come close to imagining. Career-best performances from the likes of Sigourney Weaver and Tom Skeritt, and one of the most intense deaths in cinema history. A masterpiece, plain and simple.
Would you like to read more of my thoughts on Alien? Starting this month, paid subscribers to my Substack will be treated to an exclusive series simply called The Favourites. Each month I’ll be writing an essay about one of my favourite films. This month I’m discussing how Alien is an allegory for working-class fear of the future and the fear of dispensability.
American Samurai
When I was a teenager first discovering my love for film, one of the first genres that I gravitated towards was the martial arts film. It made sense; I had been in karate since I was five years old, and before diving deep I had already developed a love for Jackie Chan and Jet Li action flicks. So my DVD collection started with a generous helping of bargain bin, zero-budget martial arts films that were ripoffs of other, more successful bargain bin martial arts films. My brother, knowing this new love of mine, gifted me the film American Samurai the Christmas after I started really collecting.
A Bloodsport rip-off that has everything you could possibly want in a cheesy martial arts flick; a white lead who is more Asian than the Asian villain, the hero and villain being brothers, a sacred family sword, a brash American friend who drinks beers four mugs at a time. Unfortunately, it’s neither sleazy enough to become a true trash classic nor silly enough to be a fun night in with friends. Mark Dacascos does his best to eat the entire film whole with how much he chews the scenery, an absolute blast to watch that none of the other actors are able to come close to matching, especially the dead-in-the-water performance from lead David Bradley.
What did my story of teenage focus and Christmas gifts have to do with the actual film? When my brother gifted me this film, he did it specifically because it had multiple sequels that I could then find myself. While the film is an at-best cheesefest, the memory of the gift will always delight me when I return to this one.
The Ballad of Buster Scruggs
The Coen Brothers are some of my favourite living filmmakers. It’s hard to separate them from the influence they have had on me and my views of both cinema and the world at large. As I near the end of a deep dive into their filmography (and the dreaded ranking of their works) all I can say for certain is their films will undoubtedly stand the test of time.
I write this as almost a plea, as I fear that their Netflix film The Ballad of Buster Scruggs has been all but lost in the streaming shuffle. An anthology film about the American West, Buster Scruggs contains five stories, each with the unique elements that define the brothers’ filmography. From existential dread to bleak irony to the simple unfortunate folly of man, each tale encapsulates the curdled joy that defines the Coen Brothers. While not held in the same esteem as their other works, The Ballad of Buster Scruggs would be the best film in almost any other director’s career.
While each story is beautiful and tragic and hilarious in its own right, I especially want to highlight “The Ballad of Buster Scruggs” and “Meal Ticket”, as both highlights what makes the Coens special in their own way. “Ballad” follows the titular Buster Scruggs (played impeccably by Tim Blake Nelson) as an overly cheerful outlaw, singing and shooting and killing his way across the west. Hilarious in its execution of sing-song savagery, it reminds me of a blood-soaked Hobie Doyle from the Coen’s other film Hail, Ceasar!. “Meal Ticket” covers the other end of the Coen playbook, a nihilistic, pragmatic take on survival and trust in a world that is hard to survive in and even harder to trust.
The Bride of Frankenstein
Frank Whale’s follow-up to his culture-defining Frankenstein, Bride of Frankenstein focuses almost entirely on the moral complexity of the Monster himself. While the first film questions what role man has in creation, Bride asks what true loneliness is in a world you were never meant to be in. Boris Karloff returns in his second iconic portrayal of the Monster, a beast that only wishes to feel the love his creator had promised him. After discovering friendship with a blind man, he is able to learn the ways of man. But the world, the cruel and demonic place it is, is not willing to accept this outsider, no matter his attempts at kindness.
It is then that we shift from the Monster wanting to find acceptance outside himself to him wanting to find comfort from a creature like himself. Thus is born the Bride, one of the greatest designs from this era of Universal Monsters. In her only appearance on screen, she rejects the Monster, and it is this final betrayal that turns this tortured soul from a misunderstood creature to a vicious murderer. The dangers of isolation and loneliness curdle his implicit kindness into a rotten version of itself, and in the end, the Monster has no other choice than to either end his life or keep a life not worth living. The Shakespearean tragedy of the Universal Monster Classics, Bride of Frankenstein is as beautiful as it is daunting.
Brief Encounter
Love is complicated, ever complicated, and what some may see as a celebration of betrayal, others (like myself) see only as a deep yearning for what can never be. David Lean’s Brief Encounter follows a man and woman as they slowly fall in love with each other, despite being married to other people. A simple plot, a simple story, but nothing is simple when one’s heart is on the line. Told in flashback, in a confession only imagined, we are treated to the burgeoning of love, unintentional and unexpected. These are not characters who are unhappy in their lives, not searching for something more. Love is not something you can plan.
Through a short number of days the new romance rises and falls, a tremendous storm of desire, the eye of which is settled upon a quiet train station. Plans are made, plans are scrapped, futures imagined and discarded in the matter of heartbeats, and through Lean’s camera we can see all their greatest wishes fulfilled and hopes dashed. What’s right and wrong when love is concerned is never an easy question to answer, and Brief Encounter doesn’t allow the audience to escape unscathed, instead questioning what we would dare in the same situation. A beautiful, aching masterpiece.
Greener Grass
A celluloid fever dream, Greener Grass is unlike any other film you are likely ever to see (neither being a good nor bad thing). A plotless satire of modern white picket fence perfection, the film is the brainchild of two Upright Citizens Brigade alumni Jocelyn DeBoer and Dawn Lubbe. The improv background is evident in the film, as each scene is completely spontaneous and you will never know what is going to happen next (half the time you don’t even know what is happening now).
The problem with improv, however, is that no matter how great improv is it can easily overstay its welcome. While the intense absurdity of this film will keep you glued to what’s happening, the lack of coherency does begin to drag at times, as scenes bleed from one into the other. At the end of the film you’ll have felt you watched a very long, very good Adult Swim sketch. You get a laugh, you got to gawk, but you won’t be taking much else out of the experience.
Infernal Affairs
Another absolute classic, this one coming from the Hong Kong action world. The film that would later get remade as The Departed, Infernal Affairs is an intense film about honor, loyalty, and the things we do to get ahead in this world. While the film won’t carry many surprises if you have already seen The Departed, as the remake follows the story remarkably close, I would still recommend it as a stylish piece of Asian cinema. Plus, how could anyone not want more Tony Leung in their life?
The flair that is found in many Hong Kong action films of the time is also the perfect amount for anyone interested in getting more acquainted with the genre. Hong Kong films have a long history of tonal whiplash, quickly shifting from comedy to melodrama to shoot 'em-up setpieces. Western audiences unaccustomed to this style of filmmaking may find it more difficult to breach emotionally. Infernal Affairs is a great entryway film, as while those genre shifts still exist in the work, they are more tactfully and subtly deployed than other related films.
Infernal Affairs II
The prequel to the ground-breaking original film, Infernal Affairs II is never fully able to justify its existence but is able to hold on as a fun crime/drama in its own right. By retconning and reimaging certain relationships from the first film, II does deepen some of the scenes from that film without entirely throwing out the internal logic of the films. But this film struggles with nuance, exchanging tightly scripted emotional standoffs for overly played-out crime cliches. If Infernal Affairs is Pulp Fiction, Infernal Affairs II is Lucky Number Slevin: a somewhat poorer reproduction. But you know what? I still really like Lucky Number Slevin.
Infernal Affairs III
Infernal Affairs III is a difficult film to discuss. Part prequel, part sequel, part psychological paranoia thriller and part romantic love story. If all those elements sound like they wouldn’t fit together too well, you would be correct. An overstuffed and unnecessary follow-up, the film jumps back and forth between before the first film, after the first film, and during the first film, with little rhyme or reason to the chaos of continuity. While some elements work (the paranoia of a surviving criminal, which leads to some wild dream sequences) for the most part this one is only for those who really loved the first two films. For everyone else? Well, while I was leaving the theatre I overheard one group call it “one of the worst films they had ever seen.” And while I wouldn’t take it nearly that far, the fall from the first film is quite apparent.
Living
A complete blind watch as I am catching up with the Oscar nominees, Living is a quiet film about passion in a passionless world. A remake of Akira Kurosawa’s masterpiece Ikiru, we follow a lifelong bureaucrat after his diagnosis of a terminal disease. While other films about a life squandered tend to lead into sickly sweet sentiments and overly saccharine pleas for redemption, Living is a much more patient film than these. There are no wailings, no cries against time, just a quiet acceptance of what will be, and a stoic defiance of what can be done until the day the bell tolls.
Bill Nighy gives a career-best as a man who only when facing death is he able to truly live. Again, this is not done in a commonly melodramatic fashion. After a single night out on the town, as hedonistic and depressed as anyone else with months left to live would be, instead of wallowing in the basics of desire, Nighy’s character strives for more. Not a lot. Not world peace, or the saving of a life. Just a simple, small act of kindness, one which can grow in the hearts of all it touches. A small, quiet film about small, quiet acts. And an inspiration for anyone wishing to leave any mark on this world.
M3GAN
Have you seen Child’s Play? Not the original, the remake from a few years back. If you have, no you haven’t. Nobody saw that movie. If you haven’t then good news! You can just watch M3GAN instead. A fun, campy update on a fairly played-out concept, M3GAN is the evil doll of the new generation. No more hokey voodoo chants either, just good, old-fashioned artificial intelligence run amok. And while the concept is somewhat cliched, it’s the execution that really sells this film. A film that knows exactly what it is and delivers that will always get points from me. This is why films like Jackass Forever will always be great; they know what they’re doing, and they do it well.
M3GAN doesn’t quite reach the heights of either camp or horror it could have. Originally shot as an R-rated bloody affair, only to be edited down to a PG-13, the cuts are fairly blatant and do hurt the more fun death scenes. If they had gone all out, with good gore accompanying the more surreal moments (such as a bizarre dance sequence and a truly creepy rendition of Titanium by David Guetta) this could easily have been a bigger horror hit. As it stands though, while the box office and reception have been great, I can’t help but feel it will fade easily in time.
This Sporting Life
A very large film from British kitchen sink melodramas, This Sporting Life was well ahead of its time in its depiction of the desperation that can come with toxic masculinity. A young man, brash and abusive in a world that sees him as nothing but a tool to use, finds comfort in the violent world of rugby. In this sport, all the manners which have outcast him out from the more refined company are not only embraced but celebrated. His rough ways and inability to express himself make him a beloved member of the team.
His success on the field is contrasted with his failure in other aspects of his life, as he can not understand how to navigate the world outside the brutality of sport. Love doesn’t come with bruises, bills can’t be paid in blood, and friendship is not forged in force. Our lead Frank (played wonderfully by Richard Harris) can’t help but break all he wishes to cherish, unable to change his ways, only to be left feeling empty anywhere off the field. Even the few occurrences of kindness shown to him are brushed off by him, as having been so hurt he is weary of anything that doesn’t match his anger. A drastic screed against the role men force themselves to play in a world they themselves run.
Tokyo Drifter
The first of two new wave films I saw this month, and by far the better of the two, Tokyo Drifter is as cool as they come. If Toykyo Drifter was a person it would be James Dean, leather jacket unzipped and cigarette unfiltered, eyeing you from across the dancefloor in 1958. Yes, it’s that cool. This is the film Quentin Tarantino always thinks he’s making.
Is the story that special? Not really. A fairly standard tale of a criminal outcast being chased down by the leaders of the underworld. But it’s the pure detachment of the character from reality that makes this a great film. Few characters truly care whether they live or die as Tetsuya, the former yakuza enforcer. He kills with icy efficiency, not a care in the world, with his only reason for living being pure spite. Blended into these scenic shots of bizarrely designed Tokyo nightclubs and dive bars and we have one of the best Japanese New Wave films out there.
Weekend
Any pretensions I have regarding film quickly melt away anytime I encounter a film from the French New Wave. Many consider these films to be daring cries against the status quo and the established film world. By refusing to play by the rules of narrative storytelling, French New Wave demanded attention from the masses as well as the elites. Unfortunately for me, these rallying cries of the starving artist become bland jeers at everyone and everything.
French New Wave, and Weekend specifically, are the lol random era of film culture. I’m sure within the political and cultural context of the time it makes sense and worked as a piece of art. But removed from the context, and instead formatted in a beautiful blu-ray restoration (something I strongly believe to be a deeply bourgeoisie item to own) it has lost all power. It has become the industry it had first hated. The rage has transformed into the machine, and all we’re left with is a silly nothing.