Showing posts with label Frederic Forrest. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Frederic Forrest. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 26, 2021

Film Review: TRAUMA (1993, Dario Argento)

Stars: 3.8 of 5.
Running Time: 106 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Asia Argento (MOTHER OF TEARS, THE LAST MISTRESS), Christopher Rydell (ON GOLDEN POND, MASK), Piper Laurie (TWIN PEAKS, CARRIE), Frederic Forrest (APOCALYPSE NOW, FALLING DOWN), James Russo (MY OWN PRIVATE IDAHO, THE NINTH GATE), Brad Dourif (CHILD'S PLAY, ONE FLEW OVER THE CUCKOO'S NEST). Gore by Tom Savini (DAWN OF THE DEAD, FRIDAY THE 13TH). Music by Pino Donaggio (CARRIE, BODY DOUBLE) and Andrea Bandel.
Tagline: "A new dimension of fear."

I can sum this one up for you in just two words: "Minnesotan Giallo." I could probably make the argument that this is Argento's last great film (before they became at best, mediocre, and, at worst, money-laundering operations), but with a movie this ludicrous, that's probably a meaningless distinction, and I could easily say the same for OPERA (1987) or SLEEPLESS (2001). Nonetheless, I apparently like TRAUMA a lot more than most people do.

Based on screenplay co-written by Dario Argento, T.E.D. Klein (one of the great, underappreciated horror writers of the 1980s, whose novel THE CEREMONIES is an all-timer), Franco Ferrini (PHENOMENA, ONCE UPON A TIME IN AMERICA), Gianni Romoli (producer of CEMETERY MAN), and Ruth Jessup (production secretary on EVIL DEAD II), TRAUMA is a delicious slice of You Betcha Message-Movie madness where the twin cities are, apparently, Minneapolis and Rome (feel free to insert a St. Paul/St. Peter's Basilica joke here).

Like most of Argento's gialli, the plot has plenty of twists and turns, a satisfying/relatively surprising payoff, and notably (that is, for the thriller genre at large, not for Argento), one that holds up to repeat viewings and doesn't cheat the audience. See also: DEEP RED and TENEBRE, who also hide their Big Secrets––like Poe's purloined letter––out in the open, if we care to look. 

 

Also like most Argentos, TRAUMA has a black-leather-gloved killer, well-choreographed murders, stylized gore, avant-garde POV shots, childhood trauma, uncomfortable family member nudity, bizarrely specific animals and/or insects being instrumental to the plot, and more than a few nonsensical (Eurotrash) grace notes. New for Argento are the American milieus (though his segment of TWO EVIL EYES was also shot in the States), a semi-understated De Palma-lite orchestral score by Pino Donaggio (instead of his usual Goblin/Simonetti music), and the decision to make this a "Message Picture." (More on that in a minute.)

I'll attempt to guide you through the joys and bafflements of all this TRAUMA without giving any significant spoilers–– so, without further ado––grab your lutefisk, Vikings jerseys, and dopey ear-flap'd trapper caps, cause dontcha know we're about to delve into My Top Ten Minutiae for Argento's TRAUMA:

 

#10. Americana. 

Argento is so clearly taken with/horrified by what the ol' U.S. of A has to offer that he can't bear to look away. In a hotel hallway scene, it's the drunken man in the background in a Shriner cap:

In a corporate diner, it's what passes for food:

 It's the parking lots: 

The concrete architecture and pick-ups with fiberglass truck caps:

And, finally, in what I can only assume is a moment inspired by Argento's first confusing stay in a corporate American hotel, we see the victim unable to fight off the killer at a crucial moment because the room's lamp is screwed to the table

instead of being loose and easily removable––as it apparently should be––for defending against black-gloved, hammer-wielding murderers:

 

#9. The Message Picture Angle. 

Hoo boy, here we go. Asia Argento––Dario's daughter––plays one of the film's dual protagonists. Having witnessed the murder of her parents, she has acquired a number of problems. From the filmmakers' point of view, the most important of these is an eating disorder. You see, she binges and purges.


This, as we all know, is not a cartoonishly simplified, textbook case of bulimia, but rather––according to Dr. Dario Argento and every character in the film––"anorexia."

 

That's right: Argento decided to make a Message Picture about overcoming an eating disorder and proceeded to misidentify the disorder. To those who are not lifetime aficionados, this is the most Argento thing he could possibly do. In Dario Argento's MONK, Tony Shalhoub would express every symptom of OCD, but they'd call it multiple personality disorder. In Dario Argento's TRAINSPOTTING, Ewan McGregor would spend half the movie shooting up heroin but they'd call it a gambling addiction. This is, obviously, incredible. For instance, Argento would rather put way more time, effort, and detail into something like


#8. Butterfly P.O.V.

It's a dizzying scene, completely unnecessary, and yet it's a perfect moment of Pure Cinema.



#7. But Wait, I'm Not Done Talking About the Message Picture Angle.

Oookay, so he keeps going. There are lengthy monologues and montages about "anorexia" which flirt with absurdity,

 

interrupted by images of sad, skinny women on the streets of Minnesota who may not even know what they're being filmed for

as the "symptoms of anorexia" get weirdly specific (every person with anorexia is deeply attached to an unstable mother?)

Oh, did I say "flirts with absurdity?" I meant, "dates absurdity, marries absurdity, purchases a burial plot beside absurdity..."



Err––WHUT? Let's not ponder that last one too deeply.


#6. Christopher Rydell's bland "David Parsons." The secondary protagonist is a mopey dude who makes a living as a horror sketch artist for a local Minneapolis news station.


 

Huh. Didn't know that was a real, full-time job. Guess I'll defer to the expert on such matters: Dario Argento. 

Even though he's an American who has been featured in such films as MASK, GOTCHA, HOW I GOT INTO COLLEGE, and ON GOLDEN POND, Argento pulls a pouty, Eurotrash performance out of him. He sorta reminds me of Marco Gregorio ("Trash" in Enzo Castellari's 1990: BRONX WARRIORS).

He's a grown man with this sketchy day job and a pretty normal life and a newscaster girlfriend until he meets up with Asia's teenage runaway "Aura" and decides to let her move in with him. (Ostensibly, it's because he also has struggled with drug problems––oh yeah, did I mention that Asia's character is also a heroin addict? That's mentioned once and then buried beneath a lot of bulimia––but the whole thing feels a little creepy.) He wears the kind of 90s outfits you'd see on Chandler from FRIENDS. Oh, hey, look, there's a Chi-Chi's in the background.

That'd be a good trivia question: in which Dario Argento film is there a Chi-Chi's? This one.


#5. Brad Dourif!

He has a bit part here as a former doctor going through a midlife crisis, and he's got the six-day stubble and gold chain/earring combo to prove it. He gives his role some sleaze, some comedy, and some pathos.

He, or his agent, must have insisted on the strange credit of "special appearance by."

It's only weird because there are other, well-known character actors of similar caliber and with a similar amount of screen-time. Actors like...


#4. Piper Laurie!

As an Eastern European psychic and Asia's on-screen mother, Piper offers us shades of CARRIE while hamming it up and laying on a thick Romanian accent.

As always, she's fantastic. Horror royalty in this household. Royalty, I say.


#3. And Frederic Forrest. Another oddball American character actor/Oscar nominee being used very effectively.

That's right, there are three Oscar nominees in this movie. It's a shame that Argento's association with great American character actors pretty much dried up post-1993 (are we counting Steven Weber in JENIFER? No, no we are not), cause they really deliver some earnest post-giallo seasoning to the proceedings here.


#2. Meta-Argento. He gets extremely self-reflexive in TRAUMA. To name a few moments, there is sudden and creepy pre-murder doll placement, as in DEEP RED:

(As a whole, it's very DEEP RED-influenced, from opening with a "séance gone wrong" to using the earlier film's bloody finale as a sly inspiration for the murderer's preferred instrument here.)

Hand-acting by Argento, which can be morbidly comic when things aren't going as smoothly as the murderer would prefer (as in DEEP RED, TENEBRE, OPERA, and elsewhere):


A domestic murder which thematically and literally recalls the iconic, extended crane-shot setpiece of TENEBRE (as well as the nature of the victims):

Impassive animal witnesses to murders, as in PHENOMENA, THE BIRD WITH THE CRYSTAL PLUMAGE, FOUR FLIES ON GRAY VELVET, and elsewhere (here, it's a gecko):

Impromptu, macabre paper dolls, as in DEEP RED: 

And a random child learning more about the murderer (and earlier) than any other character, which is certainly a post-SHADOW OF A DOUBT ur-Hitchcockian idea which lies at the root of many of Argento's films.

That the child in question closely resembles Macaulay Culkin is simply a reminder that this movie was made in 1993.


#1. Reggae Dance Party.

Without spoiling the end of the picture, I will tell you this: it concludes with a reggae concert/dance party on a suburban Minnesotan porch. The lead dancer is, I believe, one of the skinny girls from the earlier street montage. What this is all meant to indicate is, at best, unclear. But who are we to question the maestro's judgment?

Saturday, February 27, 2021

Only now does it occur to me... CHASERS (1994)

Only now does it occur to me... that Dennis Hopper slides a nice little homage to his friend and collaborator David Lynch in his "THE LAST DETAIL-reimagined-as-a-90s-comedy" road movie, CHASERS. The homage in question is an extended shot of a logging truck, just like in TWIN PEAKS.

That's not all: this thing is packed with Lynch collaborators, including BLUE VELVET and DUNE's Dean Stockwell as a car dealership owner:

"Here's to your fuck, Frank!"

WILD AT HEART's Crispin Glover as a put-upon sailor who's been pushed around for too long:

"I'm making my lunch!"

and LOST HIGHWAY's Gary Busey as a marine who clearly is improvising all of his dialogue:



Hopper himself appears as a lingerie salesman with a fake-Karl Malden nose, for some reason:


"Heineken? Fuck that shit!"

Anyway, what we have here is an episodic, charmingly rambling, critically maligned road movie that is better than I expected it to be. Tom Berenger, doing kind of a whisky-ravaged Tom Waits/BEETLEJUICE voice is a hardboiled career member of Shore Patrol, transporting Navy prisoners across the country.

William McNamara (a likable man-génue who deserved a better career––you may have seen him in SURVIVING THE GAME, DREAM A LITTLE DREAM, EXTREME JUSTICE, or Argento's OPERA) plays a young sailor on his last day before discharge. 
 
He's enlisted to help Berenger out with a prisoner transport––though due to a clerical mix-up, the prisoner is unexpectedly a woman.
Played by Erica Eleniak (former BAYWATCH cast member, UNDER SIEGE cake-jumper, and co-star of BETRAYAL and BORDELLO OF BLOOD), she actually brings pathos and humor to a role that could have easily been a caricature. As the unlikely trio crosses the country and bonds with one another (again, THE LAST DETAIL is the point of origin/departure), we meet the whole host of character actors I have already detailed, as well as zany waitress Marilu Henner (TAXI, PERFECT):

and creepy-ass trucker Frederic Forrest (APOCALYPSE NOW, FALLING DOWN):
Born to play a creepy trucker

In the end, CHASERS was Dennis Hopper's final feature as a director, and it's a weird, pleasant relic of the "EASY RIDERS, RAGING BULLS" era, worth a look for character actor and Americana aficionados. I can probably sum it up best in guessing that Wim Wenders probably loves the shit out of this movie.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Film Review: FALLING DOWN (1993, Joel Schumacher)

Stars: 3.4 of 5.
Running Time: 113 minutes.
Tag-line: "The adventures of an ordinary man at war with the everyday world."
Notable Cast or Crew: Michael Douglas, Robert Duvall, Rachel Tictotin (TOTAL RECALL, CON AIR), Tuesday Weld (PRETTY POISON, LORD LOVE A DUCK), Barbara Hershey (THE RIGHT STUFF, THE STUNT MAN), Raymond J. Barry (COOL RUNNINGS, BORN ON THE FOURTH OF JULY), and Frederic Forrest (APOCALYPSE NOW, TRAUMA, THE CONVERSATION). Music by James Newton Howard (WATERWORLD, UNBREAKABLE, ER). Cinematography by Andrej Bartkowiak (PRINCE OF THE CITY, Q&A, TWINS, SPEED).
Best one-liner: See review.

Despite its famous rant pertaining to certain golden-arched dining establishment (well, technically it's 'WhammyBurger'), FALLING DOWN is kind of like McTAXI DRIVER.

We've got our white male rage, our paramilitary transformation, and our casual racism; but instead of delving deeply into our hero's mind to see the deadened core, the writhing frustrations, and the bubbling violence firsthand (like in ROLLING THUNDER, HARDCORE, or RAGING BULL), we've got ridiculous situations, clichés, and a parade of one-liners. On an intellectual level, this film is a failure. It tries to mimic the mere trappings of past masterpieces (the Schrader flicks I’ve named, the snowglobe breakage from CITIZEN KANE, the hypnotic traffic jam that opens 8 1/2), in my opinion, so that it doesn't have to ask the tough questions, and instead would sorta just slide into the pantheon of greatness like a slick little puzzle piece. Well, that didn’t work. So why almost three and a half stars?

Well, as Freddy Krueger would attest, I am a sucker for one-liners. And these one-liners are damn solid. And they’re all delivered by a horn-rimmed, wearily psychotic Michael Douglas.

I am also a sucker for scenes that could have easily been culled from a classic Golan-Globus flick. Scenes like this one.

To a convenience store owner, as he trashes his overpriced goods: “I’m just standing up for my rights as a consumer!” To a would-be drive-by artist: “Take some shooting lessons, asshole!”

To a rich, crusty golfer: “You're gonna die, wearing that stupid hat. How does it feel?”


FOOOSH

As such, the entertainment level is where FALLING DOWN succeeds. Most of the time, it feels like a straight-up comedy. Hey––it’s from the director of D.C. CAB, not THE SEVENTH SEAL. And, even in 1993, it adheres to that ironclad rule of 80’s cinema: if there’s ever a fancy, special order cake present, it must not be eaten: someone will be sucker-punched and –KER-SQUASH- land right on top of it. Frederic Forrest gets a horrific bit part as a closeted Neo-Nazi:

Frederic Forrest: terrifying.

Rachel Ticotin plays––gasp––a tuff Latina cop, Tuesday Weld sends a postcard from Nagsville, U.S.A., and Robert Duvall’s a worn out detective on that clichéd last day before retirement (but still manages to imbue his cardboard role with an abundance of humanity) .

Rounding out the talent is hazy, sweltering, evocative L.A. cinematography by Sidney Lumet-lenser Andrej Bartkowiak. I'm getting sweaty just thinking about it. In all, I'll pass along about three and a half stars.

-Sean Gill


6. BLIND FURY (1989, Philip Noyce)
7. HIS KIND OF WOMAN (1951, John Farrow)
8. HIGH SCHOOL U.S.A. (1983, Rod Amateau)
9. DR. JEKYLL AND MS. HYDE (1995, David Price)
10. MIDNIGHT IN THE GARDEN OF GOOD AND EVIL (1997, Clint Eastwood)
11. 1990: BRONX WARRIORS (1982, Enzo G. Castellari)
12. FALLING DOWN (1993, Joel Schumacher)
13. ...