randy_byers: (machine man)
Can you believe it? This movie was still playing in 3D here in Seattle this week, so [livejournal.com profile] holyoutlaw and I finally got to see it. We tried a couple of months ago (before Corflu) but that showing was sold out.

So yeah, it's just as beautiful as everybody said. The 3D effects were very ... effective. The design, by director Henry Selick, was just as cool as his earlier movies, The Nightmare Before Christmas and James and the Giant Peach. I especially liked how the design embodied the story, so it starts out drab and a bit boring (with little hints of eccentricity thrown in), then blossoms out into a bright, energetic, magnificent fantasia, and finally twists the fantasia into something distorted and disturbing, before alighting on a bright, cheerful, conventional ending.

One thing I've been thinking about this morning -- the one thing that has been nagging at me, so to speak -- is the Other Mother. What does she represent? My first take is that she is Coraline's fantasy of the perfect mother. The lesson of the movie seems to be that our fantasies are dangerous. I think one of the things that nags at me about the Other Mother is that she also represents Coraline herself -- or her attempt to be a mother to herself. Coraline learns that she isn't ready for autonomy yet; she still needs her mother to survive in a dangerous world.

It's interesting to me to contrast this movie with Terry Gilliam's Tideland. In that movie the parents are utterly dysfunctional and unable to help their daughter. She is forced to be her own mother, and like Coraline she does this in the realm of the imagination and creates an alternative family there. That family, too, is dysfunctional, but she knows how to survive in a dysfunctional situation. In the end she is enfolded in the arms of a new, middle class mother, but the final image is of embers reflected in her eyes. She still has her imagination and spirit to rely on. Coraline too is still in control of the story at the end. Her parents and the other adults are planting the garden that she wants, and she has a story to tell to the old granny. Yet she appears to have disavowed imagination and fantasy. She is settling for the safer realm of garden and family. Probably a good message for children, but perhaps less satisfactory to restless adults.

C. Jerry Kutner at Bright Lights After Dark recently did a series of posts on Women in Wonderland, in which he wrote about a variety of movies (and one pornographic graphic novel) on the theme. I particularly admired his discovery of Alice in Wonderland at the heart of Hitchcock's Psycho. Amongst other things he writes about MirrorMask, Pan's Labyrinth, and Coraline as representing a new burst of interest in cinematic exploration of Women in Wonderland. Throw in Tideland, and perhaps you begin to see the outline of a wave. The role of the mother in all of these films would be a worthy subject for a comparative essay. One of the things I really disliked about Pan's Labyrinth was the unsympathetic and to my mind disrespectful treatment of the mother. Not sure if that says more about the movie or about me!
randy_byers: (blonde venus)
Last night I watched Georges Méliès The Palace of Arabian Knights (Le palais des mille et une nuits, 1905), which I had seen a fragment of before. That bit, which I think was included in VCI's disk of the British Ali Baba musical, Chu Chin Chow (1934), transfixed me with its clever in-camera special effects. The full movie is around twenty minutes, and the version on the Flicker Alley Méliès collection is obviously pieced together from several different sources of widely varying quality. One of the sources, however, is a hand-tinted print that is startling and utterly gorgeous. While it is like modern colorization in that there's little variation in color tone, the variation in colors themselves is fantastic, lending the film the look of an old tinted postcard. The magical effects are just as lovely as I remembered, with dancing skeletons and a shimmering fire dragon. As usual, I was so distracted by the visuals the first time through that I couldn't really tell you what the story is, although the title gives you some context. An Orientalist Arabian fantasy. There is very much an Art Nouveau design sensibility at work, and that made me think of another film, which I watched next.

Maurice Tourneur was a French director who came to the US in 1914 with the French film company Éclair and worked in Fort Lee, New Jersey and then Hollywood until he got fed up with the producer-driven American studio system and returned to France in 1926. (His son, Jacques, was the director of such great Hollywood films as The Cat People (1942) and Out of the Past (1947).) In 1918, Tourneur filmed an adaptation of Maurice Maeterlinck's symbolist fairy tale play, The Blue Bird, which is about two children's journey in a magical realm in search of happiness. I've watched it a couple of times before, although I don't like it as much as a couple of the other Tourneur films I've seen, particularly The Wishing Ring (1914) and his adaptation of Conrad, Victory (1919). Despite the beautiful visuals, the heavy and obvious symbolism does not wear well on me and approaches the farcical at times. ("I am the Luxury-of-Being-Rich, and I come with my brothers to beg you to honor our endless repast. This is my son-in-law, the Luxury-of-Being-a-Landowner.")

But watching the Méliès, I was struck that this was the source for Tourneur's own fantastical approach, and sure enough there does seem to be a direct connection. Amongst other things, there is once again a heavily Art Nouveau design sense, but there's also a similarly static tableau approach to scene construction (although Tourneur does use some camera movement too), and an emphasis on in-camera special effects. Tourneur's lighting is much more sophisticated than his predecessor's, with heavy use of chiaroscuro at times. Checking the notes in my movie database, I discovered I'd pasted in this snippet from an IMDb comment: 'The visuals are splendid, and the effects gorgeous (reminiscent of Melies in some scenes and German expressionism in others). ... It will remind you of the 1939 "Wizard of Oz", especially in costume and sentiment, but pre-dates it by over 20 years.' Which reminds me that the other connection between the Méliès and the Tourneur (and the '39 Oz) was the use of people in animal costumes -- essentially people playing animal characters. There's also a "no place like home" ending for the children, returning from their visit to the Land of the Unborn Children in the Kingdom of the Future, where they meet their little brother-to-come. Because after all, home is where true happiness is found.

After that, sticking in the French vein, so to speak, I threw on Jean Rollin's Lips of Blood (Lèvres de sang, 1975) for the hell of it. This is an arty exploitation vampire flick, with lots of nudity and at least one scene that approaches the pornographic. I didn't make it all the way through this one before the Sandman came to call, and once again I'd have a hard time telling you what it was about. A young man sees a picture of a ruined castle and starts wandering around aimlessly, seemingly protected by half-naked vampires from people who are trying to mess with him for some reason. Here's what someone on IMDb (sheenafilm from Hamburg, German, as a matter of fact) has to say: 'The French cult director often was strong on the visual side and created a dense, dreamlike atmosphere, in this case especially in the dark, deserted city streets, but "Levres de sang" also has a good story to tell about a voyage into the subconscious, a quest for love and death. Briefly, a young man rediscovers traces of his forgotten childhood: the familiar ruin of a castle a photographer has taken pictures of, a mysterious woman in white he believes he met many years before... and vampires who protect him, or so it seems!' Right, forgot about the mysterious woman in white. Well, not much Méliès or Tourneur in all this, but it was, sure, dreamy enough (although definitely in a cheesy kind of way) that I'll probably watch it again from the beginning.

There has always been a strong connection between vampires and sex, hasn't there? Even old Dracula was a sly seducer of young women, and his wives wore out poor Mr. Harker.
randy_byers: (Default)
Obviously the key thing about this novel is the complex (not to mention ravishing) figure of Ayesha herself -- a figure of both desire and fear -- She-who-must-be-obeyed. She is a two-thousand-year-old virgin who has clung adamantly all this time to her love for Kallikrates and her hatred of his lover, Amenartas. All of this is absurd, yet the absurdity lends force to the symbolism. There is something of Artemis in Ayesha: the eternally virgin maiden-goddess whose beauty is dangerous to look upon. Another curious detail is that she is Arabian, although she is always described in terms of her pure whiteness. She is older than Mohamed or Christ. She remembers the pagan gods of the early Arabs, although she herself was a priestess of Isis. Holly tries to explain Christianity to her, but she's only interested in Christ as a male, as a Man. "The religions come and the religions pass," she tells Holly, "and civilizations come and pass, and naught endures but the world and human nature." A pretty atheist, for all her godlike powers.

Aside from the fascination of She herself, a couple of things caught my eye as a science fiction reader. First was that despite the fantastic nature of much of the adventure, Haggard continually insists that none of this is supernatural. "Nay, nay; O Holly ... it is not magic, that is a dream of ignorance," Ayesha says when she shows Holly an image of the past in the surface reflection of a vessel of water (shades of Galadriel's mirror, as others have pointed out). "There is no such thing as magic, though there is such a thing as knowledge of the hidden ways of Nature." This is pretty close to Clarke's Law that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. And indeed, Merritt's The Moon Pool is in many ways the belated advancement of this concept, in which all manner of fantastic powers common in the old romances are rationalized in the pulp super-science terms of the day.

The other striking thing to these science fictional eyes was the world-building involved in the ancient lost city of Kôr. This was the book's other major contribution to the literature. It is fundamentally an expression of Ayesha's comment above that "civilizations come and pass, and naught endures." The ancient empire of Kôr is long gone, with all its splendor and riches and life. All that remains is a degenerate tribe of savages living in the ruins, with their alien female-centered marriage customs and cannibalistic hot pots. This is clearly something that made an impression on Edgar Rice Burroughs, amongst others, perhaps Wells' The Time Machine too, from a different angle. Haggard's concept seems to have been influenced by the archeology of the day, particularly the Egyptology that had such an effect on popular literature. (It seems to me that Sumer would have been a better reference, but it was perhaps still too obscure in 1887.) The ancient inhabitants of Kôr had perfected a form of preserving corpses in a completely undecayed form, which is played for several macabre effects. They were also great architects and engineers, and the ruins are fantastically elaborate and extensive. Here Haggard references the great feats of Victorian engineering, such as the Suez Canal and the Mont Cenis tunnel through the Alps, that were such a matter of pride in his day. There is a powerful scene toward the end of the book when Ayesha shows them a statue of the goddess Truth worshipped by those ancient people. It's an Ozymandias moment. "By Death only can thy veil be drawn, O Truth!" reads the inscription on the statue. Yet even chastened by this warning about the limits of understanding, Holly notes that the representation of the World as a globe in the sculpture is suggestive of scientific knowledge long before anybody else had figured out that the Earth is spherical. The penetrating spirit of science dances with the swirling, irrational lusts and fears of sex in this novel, setting a template for much to come.
randy_byers: (Default)
This is a fairy tale about a girl's sexual coming of age. It uses Little Red Riding Hood as the basis for the story, with the red cape symbolizing menarche or menstruation. (Reminiscent of Laurie Anderson's song, "Beautiful Red Dress".) There's a lot of playful and odd symbolism in the movie, not all of which I understand, although some of it seems pretty danged obvious once I think about it. For example, at one point the girl, Rosaleen, climbs a tree in the forest and finds a nest full of eggs and also one mirror. She looks in the mirror in a preening way, and then the eggs crack open to reveal tiny human baby figures. I don't entirely understand the mirror, although it resonates with the Snow White story and the vain question of who's the fairest of them all, but the eggs and baby figures seem to represent her new fertility. This makes even more sense when you realize that the adult bird she chases off when she finds the nest is a stork. Later she shows one of the baby figures to her mother, who looks very pleased and proud. Is this where babies come from?

Happy and bleeding for you ... )
randy_byers: (santa)
I saw this Terry Gilliam movie in the theater last year, and I enjoyed it well enough but recall thinking it was messy and fairly minor. The special effects and production design seemed low rent -- a disappointment in a Terry Gilliam movie -- and Peter Stormare's campy Italian torturer and Jonathan Pryce's blandly cruel French commander seemed to be from some other movie entirely. Now I've watched it twice in a row on DVD (once with Gilliam's commentary) and like it quite a bit more than that, although I still wouldn't say it's in the top tier of his work. (For me his top tier would be Brazil, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas, and -- provisionally, at least -- Tideland.)

In which I never describe the plot, which is probably saying something ... )
randy_byers: (Default)
As reported elsewhere, yesterday was moving day for [livejournal.com profile] holyoutlaw and [livejournal.com profile] juliebata, as an enormous crew of buff science fiction fans formed a bucket brigade stretching from Wallingford to Fremont. In the rain! We worked for four hours, with a break for a tasty deli lunch from PCC. As [livejournal.com profile] jackwilliambell said, the move covered all the bases: blood, sweat, and tears. (Fortunately, the blood was his, not mine.) Glenn Hackney and I had a devil of a time figuring out how to rotate Luke's desks on various axes to get through a series of interlocking tight spaces in the stairwell of the house, but O, the towering feeling when we succeeded! Here's a devout wish that the torn and frayed feelings of all parties in the former household can now begin to mend or that they can at least layer soothing pearl on the irritation.

Last night was Vanguard, which doubled as a birthday party for Jordin Kare, who has hit the five-oh. [livejournal.com profile] marykaykare was the hostess with the mostest in her lovely purple gown. Along with the birthday song and cake and the gab about TAFF, early SF, woodworking, and why the chicken crossed the road, the evening was also filled with sad thoughts about Michael Scanlon, whom I only knew through Vanguard and who died a couple of days ago after a bad fall. I didn't know him well, and in fact didn't know he had a wife and children. His death reminded me of Octavia Butler's, both involving a fall, two faces I will no longer see at our monthly gathering of old and newer friends.

On Friday I snuck out of work a little early to catch the first regular showing in Seattle of Terry Gilliam's newish movie, Tideland (actually made around the same time last year as his Brothers Grimm). It has been getting terrible reviews, but of the almost angry, argumentative sort that made me hopeful that this was a movie that struck a live nerve. It is a grotesque fairy tale of sorts about a very young girl who loses her junkie parents and meets some strange characters on the prairie (and in the little house thereon). It's hard to describe, because I can't think of what else to compare it to, although it has elements of a zillion familiar things, from Alice in Wonderland to Andrew Wyeth to Psycho and (I'm told) Texas Chainsaw Massacre. The theme is very similar to Brazil (fantasy as an escape from pain), except that the humor is if anything even blacker (while at the same time whimsical and broad) and the girl's situation is even more nightmarish, although perhaps only because she seems so innocent, vulnerable, and helpless. On a very basic level, it's a story about child abuse, and it's also about surviving the abuse. The girl is grotesque in her own fractured way, but it's how she survives. From that angle, the story reminds me of Samuel Delany's horrific porn novel, Hogg, which also shares certain elements of white trash grotesquerie.

I dunno, it's hard to describe. It creates its own idiosyncratic tone that refuses easy reduction. I walked out of the theater uncertain how I felt, uncertain that I'd ever want to see it again, but also laughing in astonishment as I thought of various outrageous scenes. There is stuff that makes you cringe and laugh at the same time. There is stuff that made me cover my mouth as if to stifle the laugh that wanted shamefully to come out. I think it may be an amazing movie. It was interesting after reading so many negative reviews to go to IMDb and find rave after rave in the comments. It strikes a nerve, whether you wanted that nerve struck or not. There is some powerful juju there. Definitely recommended to fans of Gilliam (at least if you liked Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas) but I don't know about the rest of yiz.
randy_byers: (Default)
So I really enjoyed Pirates of the Caribbean: Dead Man's Chest. The production design is awesome, and I was intrigued to learn that there's probably a reason that I was reminded of the look and feel of Sleepy Hollow (1999) several times: Rich Heinrichs was the production designer for both movies. In fact, he has an interesting filmography in a variety of roles, including production design on Lemony Snicket, The Big Lebowski, and Fargo, set design on The Fisher King and Edward Scissorhands, and stop motion animation on Buckaroo Banzai.

I particularly admired the variegated sea-creature designs of the crew of the Flying Dutchman, with their barnacle, starfish, and coral extrusions, and those are pearls that were his eyes. The movie as a whole seems to be similarly cobbled and coraled together from the flotsam and jetsam of a zillion other action-adventure-fantasy movies, including those listed above. (Yes, Cap'n Jack abides.) They could have cut the whole cannibal sequence without any loss to the plot, such as it is, but the plot is in the pudding, or is a pudding, or is just a delivery mechanism for the raisins, or maguffins, or something. I enjoyed the thing more than I expected to, that's all I'm sayin'.
randy_byers: (Default)
This is the first film by Takashi Miike that I've seen. While I've been intrigued by what sounded like a pretty crazy sense of humor, he has mostly worked a horrific, grotesque vein that doesn't interest me whatsoever. ([livejournal.com profile] sneerpout's description of Audition was enough to send me scrabbling under my bed to hide amongst the dust bunnies for weeks.) But this movie was described as HR Pufnstuf on acid, which sounded like exactly my kind of thing. The friend who described it thus burned a DVD-R from what was, knowing him, probably a bootleg, so the image isn't the greatest, but I enjoyed the movie so much that I'll be getting it on commercial DVD. Probably from Hong Kong, considering how the modern film market seems to work.

Cute, but at least vaguely creepy -- possible spoilers )
randy_byers: (Default)
The first Peter Jackson film I saw was The Fellowship of the Rings, and I really liked it. It wasn't my favorite movie of the year (I liked both Moulin Rouge and Amelie better), but I saw it more times in the theater than any other movie just for the eye candy. I thought Jackson had done a wonderful job of capturing the look of Middle Earth. However, I pretty much hated the next two LOTR movies. They just seemed like big dumb (really dumb) loud war movies with lots of swoopy camera and silly slo-mo and painfully broad strokes and Elijah Wood looking constipated. I can't think of a worse scene in modern cinema than the one in The Return of the King where Denethor sends Faramir off to die in slo-mo while Denethor pulps cherry tomatos in his nasty teeth and Pippin sings a Celtic New Age song. WTF? Fortunately, there was Pirates of the Carribean and Johnny Depp in mascara to keep me entertained in the theater that year.

So you could say that I wasn't amongst those salivating when Jackson announced that he was remaking King Kong, but I figured that it might be fun to see a state of the art CGI Skull Island and inhabitants. If I kept my expectations low, I could probably enjoy it as a big dumb spectacle. But as I've read through a series of reviews of the movie, most of them more or less glowing and/or ecstatic, I find myself losing all interest. It sounds too much like the last two LOTR movies, except with even more monsters and noise and big, grand, sweeping, meaningful gestures, plus gorillas in the sunset. It seems as though watching it will be like drowning in big loud treacly pudding. It seems as though there is a huge machine trying to suck me into the theater to endure it so that I can Be With It. It fills me with Lovecraftian dread and loathing.

So now I'm not sure I'm even going to bother. I'd like to see a bigscreen winter spectacle, but none of the CGI fantasies -- Potter, Narnia, Kong -- are appealing to me. (I'll likely see Narnia anyway, if Denys is interested.) So I hope the spectacle of Heath Ledger and Jake Gyllenhaal having anal sex on the range ends up being entertaining, but I'm not sure I can cope with a tragic love story at the moment. So what else is there to look forward to?
randy_byers: (Default)
From a message board discussing favorite Lovecraft stories:

"My favorite is the one where the guy is driven insane by an incomprehensible horror."


I just finished reading The Dream Cycle of H.P. Lovecraft: Dreams of Terror and Death -- a collection published by Del Rey Books, with an introduction by Neil Gaiman. I picked it up a couple of years ago because the blurbs talked about Dunsany's influence on Lovecraft, which caused a lightbulb to go off in my head. The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath has always been my favorite story by Lovecraft, but I read it before I read Dunsany and never put two and two together.

Where 2 + 2 = the unreverberate blackness of the abyss )

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