Three Films Make A Post: Pain Don’t Hurt

Don’t Breathe 2 (2021): I really loved the first Don’t Breathe movie, but this much more violent and body count based sequel directed by the first film’s co-writer Rodo Sayagues (who also co-wrote with the first film’s Fede Alvarez again) is just terrible. Instead of a tight – if not terrible plausible – focussed thriller plot, the only structure here is a series of plot twists that start rather stupid and quickly become so vacuously idiotic, throwing tomatoes at the filmmakers feels like a perfectly civilized reaction to their assumption of a basically braindead audience. Their absurdly misguided decision to turn the first film’s villain into a redemptive anti-hero doesn’t exactly buy them any patience either. On a technical level, many of the scenes here are perfectly capable and competent filmmaking, but that’s really not enough when a script is quite as lazy and stupid as this one.

The Possessed (1977): Though I dislike Jerry Thorpe’s exorcism TV movie quite a bit a well, at least this seems to have been made with the assumption of a non-idiot audience. In fact, the film makes the quite clever choice not to be the TV-lessened version of The Exorcist you’d expect it to be, but clearly aims for more psychological horror. Tonally, it’s often going for psychodrama more than anything else. Alas, the writing’s not really sharp or insightful enough to make this work as a piece of 70s Slow Horror, and as it goes with films which are consciously slow when they don’t succeed, things drag rather painfully. A lack of dramatic flair is a problem, too, leaving this rather too quiet for its own good.

After Pilkington (1987): This product of the BBC’s teleplay culture, written by Simon Gray and directed by Christopher Morahan, starring Bob Peck and Miranda Richardson in two brilliant performances, on the other hand, achieves all of the goals it sets itself remarkably well. It manages to be at once a social satire about midlife crisis and types of educated lonely men and the women they turn real women into in their minds, a comedy that becomes darker in tone and humour the longer things go on, and a thriller with an intense and psychologically fitting climax that is also desperately sad.

It is all these things while also making the feat look easy, direction and script elegantly and precisely shifting modes and tones, leaving the right spaces for the performances.

Slipstream (1989)

Oh look, it’s a post-apocalyptic future, Ma! This time around, possibly man-made natural disasters have turned the world into the playground of a system of heavy winds – or something – known as the Slipstream. There are apparently some more civilized city states still around, but those seem to exist upwind and leave the rest of the world alone to wear all kinds of post-apocalyptic fashion. But instead of dune buggies, everyone has small aircraft, clearly making for the superior post-apocalypse.

Bounty hunter/bum/charming rogue without the charm and about half a brain Matt Owens (Bill Paxton who manages to portray a guy who is by far not as charming as he or the script thinks he is in a very charming manner) drifts around the world in his rundown little plane. When he encounters two police people from one of the city states – the LAPD style psychopath Tasker (Mark Hamill) and the supposedly nicer Belitski (Kitty Aldridge) - who have just caught a murderer in a natty suit (Bob Peck) with a taste for poetry and a talent for healing, he does what every sane man would do, steals the guy he will dub Byron, and flies off trying to bring Byron to wherever it is people pay for Byrons. Obviously, on their way, the odd couple will encounter various groups of the kind populating all post-apocalyptic wastelands (even the picturesque ones), have sex (with women, not one another), and will learn valuable lessons, while avoiding the particularly angry Tasker and the not quite as angry Belitski. It will also turn out that Byron’s right out of a Philip K. Dick novel.

This pretty weird and woolly SF epic by Steven Lisberger, aka the guy who directed Tron, apparently bankrupted its producer on account of finding no audience in Europe and no distribution in the US. Not to kick a dead pig, but I suspect reading the script before putting down any money might have saved someone here.

That’s not to say I didn’t enjoy my time with Slipstream. It’s just that an off-beat mix of all kinds of SF and post-apocalyptic clichés presented in the form of a picaresque and with little special effects work beyond the flying sequences in my experience is not exactly the kind of movie that’ll draw in huge audiences, even if you have Mark Hamill doing a nice turn as Evil Future Dirty Harry for a bit.

Predominantly, Lisberger’s film is odd, seemingly going out of its way to turn even theoretically pulpy and exciting sequences weird, presenting what on paper should be its big action sequences with the visual equivalent of a confused shrug, because instead of really making us excited about Matt saving Byron from having been tied to a giant kite by a wind worshipping cult while having to fight off Tasker, it really rather wants to get back to another one of its many pseudo-philosophical dialogue sequences. And boy, are there many of those in the film, all vaguely meandering around confused and confusing attempts to define what makes us human made by an idiot (that would be Matt) and the inevitable android (Byron, obviously, and that’s really not a spoiler here) and the various weirdo mini cultures they encounter (the lumpen proletariat! pirates! rich people! etc). From time to time, the film gets a real bee in its bonnet and does things like Byron doing a Fred Astaire imitation while Matt does some slow-dancing with a pretty Rich Girl who is clearly fascinated enough by that perfectly dumb, most certainly stinky, and rather chauvinist stranger to bed him. Did I mention this thing gets admirably weird more often than not?


So yes, nobody not involved in the production of the movie should be terribly surprised this was not a hit at any box office. However, if you’re of the right age or have read the right books, Slipstream is a very fun time, the movie equivalent of one of those 60s or 70s science fiction novels that were interested in the same sort of things as your Dicks or your LeGuins but not terribly sure about what they actually wanted to say about these things and even less sure how to express it, and so just decided to send their vaguely drawn protagonists travelling through various goofy corners of the imaginary world. If that sounds like a direction you think more science fiction movies should go in, Slipstream’s going to be a great time. Plus, you’re probably me, so congratulations.