Moscow on the Hudson

In Soviet Russia country defects from you.

Zing! Patent office, here I come! Lines like that will change the world they will. Don't steal my material.

Eh, this movie sucks, but it sucks in a very KCAL-9 Cocktail kind of way (simplistic Hollywood swill that's kinda charming). It's jingoistically offensive (CCC of P = hella lame, US of A = supercool!) and you'll be hard-pressed to find anyone onscreen who isn't a caricature. Just look at that goddamn poster right there! Can you tell this came out in 1984?

Director Paul Maz hits you over the head with his cornball patriotism for an hour and forty, and right when you think he's done with it all he throws you the lamest scene yet. I thought Robin Williams all drunk and beaten up, disillusioned with the American Dream signaled a turn away from sappy indoor bullstuff, but then BAM! a montage of late night coffee shop immigrants reciting the Pledge of Allegiance proved me wrong. Good grief. You could hear the Cinema cringe and roll its eyes three towns over. I didn't think I'd see something more idiotic than that Keystone Kops inspired scene of KGB agents chasing Robin around Bloomingdale's, but I guess that's what happens when you assume.

At least Big Robs wasn't annoying or smug and arrogant like he is in everything else. And Maria Conchita! Why, she's a KTLA/Superstation staple and perhaps our favorite Arnold co-star. Check her out in a scene the powers-that-be will cut from basic cable. Be sure to keep your eyes peeled for the Family Matters grandma, obligatory Yakov, and uncredited Udo Kier -- that guy just keeps showing up at the Cinema and we don't even invite him.

Breaking the Waves

Man, if this isn't the most intense story we've ever come across. Extreme Calvinist devotion and dedication to the sacred vows of holy matrimony, all told through the lens of sexualized power relations. The box cover synopsis feels a bit misleading -- while the story does concern a wife's entrance into promiscuity in order to appease her newly-paralyzed spouse, the film is far more an Old Testament tale of isolated religious faith (a faith of both God and Man) than it is a sordid collage of stranger-lovin'. Lars von Trier's proto-Dogme realism makes things uncomfortable, but the film never feels exploitive, graphic, or manipulative, something I can't say for the only other von Trier joint we've seen (cue horribly depressing conclusion, cue uncontrollable sobbing).

I like how Breaking the Waves has my gray matter tied up in knots, but I ultimately think it's a bit of a failure. It's not Lars' fault, it'd be a Sisyphusian task for anyone to filmically realize the sheer gravity of this story. I will concede that the final twenty minutes are superbly effective and nearly make up for the shortcomings of the preceding 120.

Had Helena stayed on board we'd have had a completely different movie, and perhaps a better one. Emily Watson brought the provincial innocence like you can't believe, but I think Bess needed more of the crazy.

Matchstick Men

It's Saturday, it's 2 pm, you're watching HBO.


This movie'd be nothing without Nick Cage and Alison Lohman. Had the studio given this flick to some schlock director instead of a name like Ridley Scott, we'd have ended up with forgettable garbage instead of something that's actually pretty good and really well done. It's still not a great movie (reasonably lighthearted Hollywood caper stuff), but the interaction between these two actors is so A-plus money amazing that it's a shame I woke up thinking about this rather than this. Cage and Lohman's father-daughter chemistry is the reason you should queue this; once you see it you too will be taken aback by the astonishing collision of nervous tics and excitable adolescence. It's truly the stuff of a four-star classic, my friends. Too bad the rest of the movie only gets ya chuckling and grinning -- no lasting or profound emotions will shuffle through your noggin this time. But, hey, it's not like fun's a bad thing.

And...cue end credits.

Wanna get a sandwich?

The New World

I hear-tell that this here Terrence Malick is some sort of philosophical genius. I totally dig that, don't you know, but it's a tad unfortunate since it means that if watching this movie wasn't already hard enough, I've still got to write about the darn thing. And with dasein scholars in the room I'll have to watch what I say and how I say it. You know those philosophy types, they have to determine what the meaning of "is" is. Me? I haven't even read Being and Nothingness! (Although I do know Satre is smarter than this guy.)


We'll leave ontology out of this for now, and instead I'll assure you that every single goddamn shot for the entire two hour run time is both undeniably gorgeous and unpretentiously contemplative. The New World is so visually striking you'll feel bad your living room set's only 20 inches. I did. And how 'bout those twenty minutes where brooding-eyebrows Farrell and fawn-ing Q'Orianka Kilcher fall in love? Among the greatest performances captured on film, and I'll stand on Renee Jeanne Falconetti's coffee table in my cowboy boots and say that. We had some real emotions welling up inside us during some of those scenes what with all the red lips, fingertips, and silent stares. So good you'll want a ladyfriend by your side. Maybe two.

But the forty-five Xian Bale minutes are boring.

Still recommended, but we issue our official "all parts, no sum" caveat.

Requiem for a Dream

Is there a Golden Globe for most difficult montage? Tonight's thoughts also included:

Ellen Burstyn: acting!

Jennifer Connelly: beautiful

Keith David: Navy ads will never be the same

Darren Aronofsky: likes them crane shots

Marlon Wayans: good? w. t. f?

Drugs are bad, m'kay.

The Last Picture Show

Listen:

This movie is fantastic. Stop what you're doing and put it at the top of your queue.

Great imagery, expertly executed diegetic sound, and uniformly great acting, much of it by actors you didn't think were that good in the first place. Big Pete Bogs is the real deal, and it's a crying shame that it took us so long to see this. I can't say enough good things about this movie other than it convinced us that much more that Imperial Cruisers sounded the death knell of the motion picture industry.

Also: Cybill Shepherd!

She's a good actress too.

First Blood

Call this Rambo and you'll find yourself at the receiving end of the Cinema's fists of fury.

If you ask me, Johnny should've shot himself in that last scene like the good lord intended. Thankfully no one did ask me and now this, this, and this are part of our cultural history.

You should also know that Dan Hill's end-credits tune totally sucks out loud. I'm not sure I want to live in a world where I find myself wishing Frank was on the mic, but for a good two minutes that's where I was. Almost ruined a perfect UPN Sunday afternoon.

Jonathan Richman -- Take Me to the Plaza

Man, do I ever dig this Jonathan Richman. Normally the Cinema is doom, gloom, and mayhem, but Jonathan never fails to get me smilin' and sighin' with his super-sweet tales of romance, neon signs, and New England. So sappy, so corny, so unbelievably great.

Nothing else to say.

Who wants a hug?

The Making of Taxi Driver

Be sure and watch this when NetFlix delivers your copy. The darn thing's like an hour and a half long. Cinematographers and actors will tell you everything you read here, and then a little bit more.

If I played the guy that got my hand shot off you can bet I'd have that pic of me smoking with a knife jabbed thru my palm hanging right there in the living room. Sort of lame they interview Peter Boyle on the Raymond set. And why the hell is Albert Brooks in sunglasses? What a douche. Almost has me rethinking my position on Defending Your Life.

I just wanted to write another post. I don't plan write-ups for all the extras.

The Wicker Man

I like this and this, but wasn't too hot on this. Sporadically an enjoyable mystery, but the collision between old- and new-world faiths was completely lost on us. What the hell do I know about moon-dancing or Jesus? That said, the finale was surprisingly more effective what with its naked depictions of blind faith.

The powers that be sent us the truncated and probably lamer print. I was upset when that happened with this flick, but this time I don't feel cheated. Maybe the remake is good.

Crumb

Part of our Hall of Fame and the probably the Best of 1995. Famously denied a nomination. The world mourned.

R Crumb comes off as really funny and personable, and he is quite the snappy dresser. The critics surmised that art is therapy, but the social constructivist within me submits to you the proposition that interaction is therapy.

Taxi Driver

The other night at the weekly Heavy Duty/DivideByZero/Highland Cinema summit meeting I initiated a content and form discussion. I'm sure you're aware that it wasn't a landmark discussion, and it was more about content and form rather than content versus form. The whole thing came to mind earlier in the day when my current Chan Marshall enthusiasm started me thinking about artistic interpretation and appreciation. YouTube has this "Nude As the News" clip that I've watched a number of times this past week or two. You can check it if you want:


You don't have to watch the whole thing -- it's a 1996 Cat Power performance from a UK television program. I like it quite a bit as it illustrates the only consistently good thing about Chan (her voice) and also showcases her occasional talent for writing a good song.

Problem was, I didn't know what this tune was about. I wasn't paying attention to the lyrics at all. When I finally looked them up on the internets they didn't hit me in the gut like I'd hoped they would have. I started wondering whether or not that even mattered. From where should my appreciation derive? Is performance enough? I should probably get it, right? Am I doing this the wrong way?

Okay, so after we watched Taxi Driver I found myself (as usual) on the Crap/Not Crap Electrical forum where some guy wrote:

"First movie to ever make me feel like I was not crazy for feeling alienated and pissed off all the time. Top 5 all time.

NOT CRAP."

I first thought this was completely ridiculous. Travis Bickle should definitely make you feel like you're not crazy, but he sure as hell shouldn't make you feel that way because you identify with his alienation and hostility. He's clinically insane and dangerous. You angsty young men out there in the audience, your bodies full of piss and vinegar, your heads full of literate cynicism and hyperbolic disgust, you may think you are starting to relate to Travis thanks to his abject loneliness and inability with the fairer sex, but please for the love of God stop right there. He's a threat to society. He saved an eleventeen year old whore, but he was hellbent on killing a senator! For no reason. Well, no good reason. I hardly think misdirected sexual frustration is a valid motive for murder.

But then I realized that what's great about Taxi Driver is Marty's ability to subject us to a deplorable character while somehow keeping us from wallowing in said character's delusion and aggressively downward spiral. There's nothing noble or commendable about this guy and yet the movie is so expertly done that you sometimes catch yourself thinking of Travis as strange rather than as a candidate for Bellevue. There's certainly some whoa moments, but they are often understated and non-exploitive. I can't empathize with you if you honestly relate to DeNiro's character, but there's a certain level of frustration, anger, and fear present in this movie that you might find yourself thinking in a manner inconsistent with your rational mind. Taxi Driver is so good that it might make you think it's speaking for you even when the actual events taking place are entirely at odds with your moral compass. Bicks is an anti-hero in the true sense of the hyphenated term, but since the movie never stops being about him and his perceptions it doesn't necessarily debase or belittle him. Taxi Driver is uncomfortable, but I don't think it's pitiful or pathetic until you think about it later.

The point of all this was that my concern about whether or not I was misinterpreting "Nude As the News" seemed to go along with my reaction that the above Albini-fan had misread Scorsese. Upon closer inspection, I really don't think that either is a blatant case of a wrong interpretation. Sure, both could benefit from a more refined analysis, but what's most important about all of this, and what ultimately transpired from our NW Blogspot summit meeting, is that emotional response is the only thing that matters. All I knew was that voice, it made me cry. And that unnamed poster (who is most likely referring to a younger version of himself), all he knew was that Taxi Driver made him feel less alone in this cruel world in which we live. Both are entirely appropriate responses, and are furthermore ones that certainly aren't at odds with the artists' intents. So who cares? And why did I write so many paragraphs on it all? You should watch this movie. Even if you've already seen it 'cause it's really fucking good. Travis Bickle is lonely and pissed-off and alienated and you'll know that right off the bat. Hell, identify with it if you want. Chances are you're a smart cookie (you found to this page, after all!) and you'll get it soon if not now. So stop worrying. Hey, time for South Park. Later!

Congratulations! You have just read the first ever Highland Cinema "blog" post!

Capturing the Friedmans

Had Andrew Jarecki come to the Cinema for advice we'd have told him:

"Hammer home the absurdity of the McMartinesque accusations instead of making us hate the Friedman sons for the way they yelled and screamed at their poor mother."

He didn't ask us. This is still a worthwhile doc, but there's more to the case that what you see here. Just ask Debbie Nathan.

Ghost Dog

Forest Whitaker lives by a code. And kills for wiseguys. I sure wish he hadn't shot that fella who knew all the words to "Cold Lampin'." There's already too few of us in this sad and beautiful world.

Jarmusch movies are mostly the same: Good!

Forest Whitaker is a fave too...the sheer fact he did this overrides the sheer fact he did this.

Talons of the Eagle

Dr Pepper, Cool Ranch Doritos, Billy Blanks. The Holy Trinity of the Highland Cinema. Sure, we've upgraded a little, but little else has changed.

Yes, readers, it was eleven years ago that the seedlings of the Cinema first sprouted when a teenaged Highland Cinema board of directors stumbled upon the two greatest films of all time. One starred the most punchline-worthy of superstar siblings, the other featured Billy Blanks, trainer to the stars, ass-kicker of lesser stars, and the only man who can combine a serious lack of acting chops with a serious aircraft carrier-styled flattop. We've seen the Blanks rock some dudes with multiple kicks, machine gun punches, and double blasts. We've seen him take on pissant martial arts stars, sidle up next to super hot babes, wear way-too-skimpy muscle tees, and throw down with Don "The Dragon"Wilson. Hell, we've even seen his real-life "kicking machine" bro fight the Dragon. In a movie with Steve Garvey, if you can believe that! And remember that time Billy trained Shannon Tweed at Crunch Fitness? Of course you don't. Fuck yeah, we're old school, dammit, and this was all before TAE-BO so take your informercial jokes elsewhere.

The point is that Blanks is the fucking man and when I sat there scrolling through the list of Billy's cinematic achievements I stopped here. Talons of the Eagle? Must've slipped through the cracks. Holy shit! Also stars James Hong! Priscilla Barnes! Matthias (S)Hues! All of our favorites of years past. And present. Who doesn't fucking love Big Trouble? Or Three's Company? Or TC 2000? Here we are, legitimate adults and every single one of us here at the Cinema thinks hands down that Talons of the Eagle is the best movie in celluloid history. There's a theme song at the end credits! You see that picture up there? It's the fucking Eagle's Claw! Imagine you're hearing DVDA sing rawked up shit. Soooo good. Dude, these guys drive through a fireball! Blanks slices a guy's throat! That kind of shit never happens in these B-movies. A few necks get snapped, but you never see a karate dude work a blade through a jugular. But it happened here, and you know you're watching some serious shit.

You don't care about the plot, right? Oh, really? Blanks and Jalal Merhi are undercover cops out to get James Hong. The end. Lots of fighting and some stripper boobies.

We can die happy.

Wait, bitchin' sidenote!!! You know this is the Cinema's favorite band, but these guys are a close second. They were already closing in a battle royale with some space beasts, but once we found out they watched Showdown before every show the race got that much closer. Stay tuned.

Comedians of Comedy

How awesome is it that Brian Posehn got excited about buying candy? That guy can come to the Highland Cinema anytime. Our concession stand is here for you, buddy! And what's more is that this Posehn cat is goddamn hilarious. He has a Death Angel t-shirt! Remember when we saw them? He even makes a side-splitting "Straight Outta Cockpit" joke when they talk about Northwest Airlines. Hey, didn't we have that same conversation last night? Krusty Kuffs! Bleeps and creeps! George Lucas in a Greedo mask!

There. You've just watched the entire movie. Not amazing, but better than my original vitriolic draft would have led you to believe. Your enjoyment depends on how funny you find bear catch-phrases, arrested development, and hanging out. Hey, three for three for the Cinema. That stuff's gold, Jerry. Gold. We don't really dig on the comic books, though. Well, not most comic books anyway.

I walked away thinking that I should have been treated to a much better movie, but also that Maria Bamford has some serious fucking balls to do that act for the past fifteen years. I'm sure she was a favorite at the Sheboygan Giggle Hut.

Three Kings

A dude movie classic from a year known for its dude movies. Also a part of the Highland Cinema's permanent collection, a collection I found myself perusing after a sooner-than-expected return to headquarters late this morning.


Three Kings brings brings way too much cool to the table. Ice Cube! Marky Mark! Gaffs in a bit part! But we really have to give it up for this guy. Kudos to you, my main man, you stole the show almost as much as he did. A performance so good even they loved it.

And I don't know about you, but when I see Nora Dunn I only hear this voice.

Werner Herzog Eats His Shoe

Why? He is a man of his word, he is. And he is crazy.


Herzog has some good flicks under his belt, but I'll take his commentaries over his films any day of the week. Shoe is passable -- a story like this is the stuff of artiste legend, but I think it would be better served if the footage did not exist. Herzog lives as he speaks, I don't think anybody can deny him that. His pines for adequate poetic imagery are certainly realized here in spite of the fact he isn't even behind the camera.

Best of SNL -- Christopher Walken

Saturday Night Live is mostly unfunny.

Christopher Walken is one hell of a character.

The end.

Bruiser

This is the most awful piece of shit. Ever.

How's that for an opener?

Really though, Bruiser is worse than made-for-Showtime garbage and Sci-Fi channel originals. Worse than Hell Comes to Frogtown. Worse than Get Rich or Die Tryin'. Worse than Mac and Me. It bothered us that Bruiser wasn't coherent, stupidly violent, or interesting, but it insulted us that it was neither FUN nor fun to make fun of. I didn't even think such a thing was possible. The Cinema was dead silent for this one, and you know something is rotten when even we're not a-crackin' wise. I joked my way through a corpse's cunning linguistics, a school library one-man squeeze-off, and an entire Morrissey concert, but I spent my time with Bruiser dumbfounded and slack-jawed, all the while thinking, "Is that six-pound bag of pretzels really almost gone?" and "Is it eleven o'clock yet? Damn." Show me disgusting! depraved! shocking! but please don't show me boring.

This sure seemed like the perfect Cinema fodder. Guy wakes up with a mask instead of a face and lays down the law on those who've wronged him. Whoa. Neat, right? Let's see some revenge. Problem is he only offs three cats, and he kills 'em in the most mundane of ways: gunshots, sack of silverware to the dome, extension cord hanging. Laaaame. We kept thinking it would kick into gear, but it never ever did. I can't even figure out why in the hell he starts killing people in the first place. Is it because he doesn't have a face? That doesn't even make sense. He has a face, it's just sorta covered up. Now if he was invisible or marked for death, a killing spree I could understand. But this?!? Shouldn't there be some zombies or steel mills somewhere? This is a George A. Romero joint for Pete's sake!

At least we got to see the Misfits. Of course, it was the super-lame Mountain Dew Misfits instead of the super-cool Jagermeister Misfits. How much would it be to send this to Lodi, NJ? Express mail, please.

The final verdict: we used to suspect it, but now we're certain -- the only good thing about Big George is Tom Savini. Not even these awesome frames could change our minds.

City of God

I spent the entire movie trying to think of an appropriately side-splitting Seu Jorge joke without even realizing he was in the fucking movie! And not just as some goofball extra, but in a real deal role. The entire second hour depends on him! He's second in command!

Jesus, what an idiot.


I eventually got over that, but the Highland Cinema wondered what the future will say about City of God. At only a few years old it is fast becoming a certified classic -- the recipient of many-a four-star review and the eighteenth greatest of all time. Better than Dr. Strangelove says a mass of internet voters. Sure, we enjoyed it. We enjoyed it a whole lot in fact, but those jump cuts, that start-at-the-sort-of-end narrative framework, and the oversaturated color timing just scream turn of the millennium. Temporal is one thing, but dated can cast an overwhelming pall on a thing. Will Fernando Meirelles' excesses be Cidade de Deus' pastel sportcoat?

Broadway Danny Rose

That Woody Allen, he knows how to get the Highland Cinema a-laughin'. And now that we're getting older we've found out he also knows a thing or two about getting the Highland Cinema a-creeped out. I know, I know, she wasn't technically his daughter, but ain't no right about that, no way, no how.

This Broadway Danny Rose? "A-O-decent!" if I can steal a witticism from our imagined good friend. Lots of exaggerated schlemiel-in' and neat photography, but not a whole lot else that got me going. That parrot wearing a bonnet, though, that had me dying.

Chopper

Chopper is a bad dude. A bad dude with personality, but a bad dude nonetheless. Motherfucker gets stabbed eight times by his best friend and doesn't blink an eye. He pays a guy to cut off his earlobes just 'cause he wants a cellblock transfer. The blood's running down his shoulders and pooling at his feet and he's yelling at the guy to stop being a pussy and cut faster. Once he finally gets released he suspects his lady-of-the-night "girlfriend" is seeing another dude so he beats her senseless in front of her own mother. Then Chopper tracks down the other guy and shoots him in the stomach, but only after he demands a cash payout. Damn. One crazy s.o.b.

The Highland Cinema's only goal in life is to stay out of the pen -- smiley manipulative cats like this will trick you into thinking you're friends, but won't think twice about stabbing you in the face with a filed-down spork. Or worse -- you do know what prisons are most famous for, right? What hurts most is the lack of respect.

We Jam Econo: The Story of the Minutemen

The Highland Cinema doesn't listen to the Minutemen. "Why in the hell not?!?" I ask myself. Especially since I fucking love Mike Watt. Really I do. Those tour diaries? I've read every single one. In its entirety. Usually while at work. In less than two years I saw Watt play four different times, the first backing up my most-favorite of guitarists, the last supporting that awful band with Krist and Curt Kirkwood. And how couldn't I dig Watt when he has such super-cool fashion sense? It's like looking in a mirror.

But I still don't listen to the 'Men. The CD cabinet has some fIREHOSE and Engine Room, but where's Double Nickels? Would you believe that I have eight Greg Ginn solo releases and not this? What gives, Highland Cinema?!? You love SST! You love proto-alt-rock! Get with it!


We Jam Econo is great: chock full of live performances that are chock full of sweaty fat guys and drum fills. And lots of early 80s hipster talking heads -- most of whom you'll recognize from Get in the Van. But where's Ginn? And more Hurley! Is that J Mascis or your Grandma? Check out these guys' living rooms. Jack Brewer is forty-something and it looks like he lives at home, and Joe Baiza has Christmas lights in his kitchen.

What we really dug was how all these cats absolutely adored the Minutemen. This band was a force to be reckoned with, a live juggernaut that made you listen but weren't assholes about it. Seeing that almost makes me feel okay for not having any of the records -- they were just flyers for the gigs anyway.

You should totally see this. But skip the rambling, go-nowhere "deleted" scenes. "Deleted," my ass! No one would put that Pettibon segment in a movie.

Jandek on Corwood

Watch this movie and you might think Jandek's a genius.

But watch this and you'll probably think he's crazy.

I can't weigh in on the matter since there's no way I want to wade through forty-plus Corwood releases, but I sure think this Jandek guy's interesting.

Nekromantik // Nekromantik 2

Oh my goddamn. Who would've thought a corpse-lovin' double feature could be so gross? Hey, I know, how about everybody? And I don't mean just plain "gross," I mean fucking gross. Think of the most repulsive thing you've seen and add one. Hell, think of the most repulsive thing you can imagine and then add one. Or two. Or eight. Eighty minutes of greasy, slimy, decaying German bodies and people doing things they shouldn't be doing. 'Cuse me while I puke. [Shudder]


Nekro I is a classic inasmuch as something this putrid can be classic: you watch that opening menage and think, "Whoa, that's the most disgusting thing I've ever seen." [Blech] "That's a dead body! And a lady in the throes of passion!" [Barf] But hold on! If you make to the very end you'll get a scene that is even more disgusting and more offensive, and I will guarantee you that's it'll be unlike anything you'll ever see in any movie for the rest of your life. Especially one that you could get from Netflix. Yuck. I'm serious. Don't watch this. Ever.


But wait, there's more! In case you forgot about Nekro's finale, Nekro II makes you watch it again. The humanity! The horror! The...[throws up in trash can]. Man, that was fucked up, what the hell, Jorg? Nekro II is sometimes even more repellent than its predecessor thanks to a new and improved bloated green corpse. Yecch. [Retch]

Hey, why does it smell like pretzels and stomach acid in here?

Billy Jack

There's this episode of Sabrina the Teenage Witch where Martin Mull and Melissa Joan Hart fight over the theme for the Homecoming Dance. She wants Grease, he wants Billy Jack. She wins, but he still shows up in a western shirt and black hat.

That shit had me rolling on the motherfucking floor.

Billy Jack is classic. Billy Jack is a badass, Howard Hesseman is a badass, and Susan Foster has a hot ass! Too much soapboxin'; really great improv-in'. Released in 1971. All you need to know. See it now and up your cred.

Love Object

Kenneth is creepy, lonely, and socially inept, but he's also a kick-ass instruction-manual writer and the kind of guy who thinks nothing of throwing down ten grand on a silicone doll. But that doll, she is switched to evil she is. Pure evil. She makes him do all sorts of crazy things. They get in arguments, he buys a Do-It-Yourself home bondage kit, he slices up an apartment manager. Oh, and how could I forget that he has sex with a plasticine woman! More than once. Whoa. Crusty cuffs are so much easier on the pocketbook, dude. Get a clue. If that's not creepy enough, perhaps I should mention that he orders this doll to look exactly like the new office temp. Allow me to reiterate: Whoa.

Love Object sounds like it'd be all disturbing and gross, but it's pretty Tales From the Crypt (read: too light on the gore and flesh). Decent acting though. When you need a Gwyneth Paltrow understudy, look no further than Melissa Sagemiller. And when you need a character actor to be a hardass boss, look no further than Rip Torn.

The Highland Cinema liked the surprise ending (hint: they get the wrong guy...hmmm...not really a hint....you aren't gonna see this anyway), the Shield co-star, and....hell, Melissa Sagemiller. She must not have a good agent 'cuz she hasn't been in anything.

The Brother From Another Planet

Couldn't be more of a Roger Corman picture if it was. The Brother From is connected to the Corms tangentially (John Sayles screenwrote a number of drive-in classics and still script-doctors today), but it has all the trappings of a Attack of the Crab Monsters, a Deathrace 2000, or a The Wild Angels. Trappings like: understated yet wholly present socio-political commentary, cheap (read: nonexistent) special effects, undeniably great supporting cast (nothing but "that guy!"s), and burgeoning auteurs.

But get this: Sayles had three movies under his belt by this time. And all of his movies (save for the Roan Inish) are extraordinarily terrestrial -- characters so real they live next door and dialogue the entire time. Yet the Brother is a three-toed mute from the outer regions of this galaxy who finds himself adrift in Harlem with only the power to heal Burger Time machines and owies. It's as if the years behind a desk penning werewolf stories, 'gator scripts, and space operas caught up to Big John and he just had to make one himself. Once it left his system he was back to real estate development and hot bloggin'. Perhaps the world is a better place. You remember how we heaped praise on Limbo, but this one here fell a little short of our Sayles expectations. Quirky and interesting, but not really a success. At least not in the same way.

Still, this movie does its best to remained focused about immigration and xeno-relations (no, no, not Xenu-relations! Shit, don't click that link -- they might shut me down!), but we got a huge kick out of Sayles and Strathairn playing a pair of intergalactic men in black. You will never ever see Straths in something like this. So fucking camped out and classic. This pair in these roles is Jack in the dentist's chair, people. They order beer on the rocks, screech like banshees, and slink around the bar. I also dug how the Brother's silence made him something different to everyone. And also how he found a shoe in the trash. And popped out his eyeball. And boned that happenin' lady. This Joe Morton's a real actor I tell ya.

Keep your eyes peeled for the late Steve James, Josh Mostel, and Fisher Stevens. And this guy, who you'll recognize right off the bat but you won't know from where!

Mean Creek

Mean Creek has it all! A fake Macaulay, a fake Andy Milonakis, a fake dude from Parker Lewis, a fake Arquette daughter, a fake Breckin Meyer, a fake cameo from a fake Jump to Conclusions guy, and a fake Wayne Knight as gay other dad. The soundtrack even boasts a fake Elliott Smith, a fake Silver Mt Zion, and a fake Superchunk.

Hey, what did you expect? It's just a fake Bully. A less disturbing and less -- ahem -- "adult" Bully, but a fake one nonetheless.

That said, we thought this Culkin kid really killed it. If it didn't already have a Rory adorning its metaphorically hallowed hall(s), the Highland Cinema would accept Culkin Jr's application for admission. Sorry, kid. Keep up the good work and someday you could find yourself heralded right alongside him!

And speaking of killing it, this guy spent the entire movie copping Tyler Durden. "Stop!" we said. "Pots! " Where's a chemical burn when you need one?

Jonestown: The Life and Death of People's Temple

Jim Jones was a horrible person. I feel so strongly about it that I'll admit to you that the Highland Cinema started to tear up a little bit during this one. Just over nine hundred real people died thanks to this cruel, manipulative, lying sonofabitch. If Jim Wynorski's name was in the credits, I'd offer you a Kool-Aid joke and exaggerated, insensitive Darwinism. Instead I only offer you the following:

Read up on Jonestown here, here, and here. A number of People's Temple texts are in circulation, but I've only read this one.

Wow, that turned to be way more serious than I'd anticipated. We will now return to our regularly scheduled sleaze.

Coming soon: Nekromantik!

Peeping Tom

Scop(t)ophilia, and maybe an allegory about film spectatorship. Marty says it's all you need to know about directing!

Carl Boehm plays a creepy, lispy, super 8 fetishist who kills women with his Kinoflex and records the whole thing. Maybe he does it for posterity, most definitely he does it to capture the ultimate fear, and perhaps he does it to...ah...well, let's forget about that last one, but I think you know where I was heading.

There is much to be said about Peeping Tom, but Highland Cinema is a blog and not a dissertation. We'll leave it at, "And I thought a camera only stole your soul!"

"Pretty great when the old dude buys the girlie pics."

And "How about when he actually makes out with the camera?!?" He does. Caresses it oh so gently. Weirdo.

Enjoy this spoiler:

Three...Extremes

The most unsettling stuff we've seen at Highland thus far. If you remember this, you remember how Joel M Reed made us yawn when he showed us human dart boards and some broad with a straw stabbed in her skull. What a hack. Then some guy named Fruit Chan of all things shows me a bloody fetus and I think I'll have nightmares. Don't even get me started on this Takashi Miike character. We'll leave his segment for the neo-Freudians. That guy is some kind of genius. An auteur, if I remember my Film 151 definitions. No, not Freud, he was a quack. Scroll to "Acquisition and Control of Fire" and laugh yourself 'til you pee.



Act I: Soylent dumplings make you young. I'll have to wait until a Supreme Court decision comes down before I can definitively call them "soylent." Grossed us out with its gyno-corporeal Cronenbergisms and bloody bathtub water, but way too conventional when stacked up against the next two. Watch as Bai Ling picks her nose. We spotted the plot turns a mile away.



Act II: Ok, Fruit Chan was lame. This Oldboy cat is the real deal. Fingers in a blender. Vampire girl in the opening scene. Unbelievably great set design. Hurtful and nasty confessions. I didn't get the ending. Probably requires a second viewing.



Act III: Miike gives us some Taboo shit. [Wince] Speechless. Nothing funny to say.

Except this: remember when I saw the Three...Extremes trailer? It was after this. I was not on my A-game that day.

Das Experiment

[Editor's note: I had to bring Highland Cinema up to date, hence today's rash of entries. Hope you enjoy it.]

Based on the Stanford Prison Experiment, a psych experiment which I think Philip Zimbardo dreamed up just so he could buy more black hair dye. I read about this thing four years ago when it debuted at the California Theater, but missed it because it was only there for a week. C'mon! Expectations remained moderately low since no one ever mentions or stocks this. But torpedos be damned. The Highland Cinema tracked it down and so should you.

Twenty volunteers: half guards, half inmates. Humilation as punishment, Napoleon complexes and power trips, a German Elvis impersonator, and that guy from Run Lola Run. But what was up with the love story? Sure, she's grieving and he's "imprisoned," but that was a stretch. You still get a forcible head-shaving, a hives-outburst, and lactose intolerance, so all is right in the world.

GWAR -- Live From Antarctica

Craig Kilborn had Bob Saget, Larry Sanders had George Segal, the Highland Cinema has GWAR. Whenever we're feeling a little uninspired or find our programming is in a rut, GWAR is there to bail us out. Sometimes you just need to see dopesick space monsters pee on someone, rip a beer out of a guy's stomach, or melt your face with bitchin' solos.

Live From Antarctica is the greatest of GWAR's filmic output -- to not see it is to forever insult the Cinema. Really. You're hurting my feelings right now. At least watch this.

Oldboy

Drunken Korean man asks, "Why did you lock me in this room for fifteen years?" The answer is only revealed after he eats live octopus, beds a happenin' lady, and performs impromptu oral surgery. Recommended some time ago by one of these guys, but screened here when we heard about this. Which I can't imagine happening. I'll spoil Limbo, but I'll keep Oldboy a secret since you might actually want to see it.

Why Should the Devil Have All the Good Music?

Boring and hideously unfocused doc about the indie Christian music scene. I forced this on the Highland Cinema because I like the Electrical Audio forum so much.

Directed by the ladyfriends of Steve Albini and Tim Midgett, and edited by the late Michael Dahlquist.

Be Here to Love Me: A Film About Townes Van Zandt

Steve Earle says Townes Van Zandt is better than Dylan.

I say Joel RL Phelps singing Townes Van Zandt is better than God.

Detention

Dolph Lundgren fights some guys in a locked-down high school. Well, not really "some" and they don't exactly "fight," but he takes care of business like an ex-Special Forces officer turned inner-city history teacher should.

We like Dolph because he's a stone-cold genius.

And he could totally kick Chuck Norris' ass.

Morrissey -- Who Put the "M" in Manchester?

Moz put the "M" in Manchester and Kilbs put the "Y" in "Why I like Morrissey."



Morrissey is important to some people. Remember how he kept you company while you drove your parents' station wagon? Or how Strangeways didn't leave your walkman until junior year? Morrissey has charisma and personality, people, it's the only way anyone could tolerate his velvet croon and easy-listening orchestration. Not to mention his questionable merchandise (the Smiths only metaphorically saved your life, Morrissey does it for real). The Highland Cinema likes fandom, cults, and concert dvds, so we have to like this even if it is a little, ah...well, never mind, never mind.

Audition

Whoa, f'ing weird. We've been screening all these sleazy movies and now I have to call David Lynch to tell me what this is about. I know, I know, it's interesting and good, and probably has a lot to say about serious things like gender identity and patterns of abuse, but we're in the mood to eat Doritos and make snide comments. That's hard to do when you're saying, "What's happening?" or "Is this real?" At least there's a decapitation and some extended needle torture. How 'bout that guy who lives in a bag? He had a reverse shocker. And no tongue. I wonder what he thought of Bad Taste?

The Highland Cinema's current calendar looks more Grindhouse a Go-Go than Pacific Film Archive. My condolences to our more erudite readers, but stay tuned as I'm sure this will change if only slightly.

Hell Comes to Frogtown

Back when the Highland Cinema was the El Moro Cinema, we screened so many Roddy Piper movies that it wasn't funny. No, wait, it was funny. Roddy Piper is the man, dammit. Back in Action was a favorite at the El Moro, and a double feature with this, after all.

So of course it was a surprise how Hell Comes to Frogtown could have slipped through the cracks. Look! There's frogs, Sandahl Bergman, Rory Calhoun, a post-apocalyptic future, that guy from Maniac Cop. All super-awesome, and we could only imagine what wonderous possibilites would occur when combined. Especially with Rowdy Roddy there to kick ass and chew bubble gum. But where are the frog beast vs man beast fistfights? And where are the one-liners? And why is everything so boring?

Seeing this only made my life better inasmuch as I can say how horrible it was. I wish that I knew what I know now when I was younger -- I could have spent that ninety minutes on YouTube.

We were drunk while this played. It was 6-6-06, what do you expect? The movie still wasn't good.