Film Review: THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM (1991, Stuart Gordon)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 97 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Lance Henriksen (ALIENS, THE TERMINATOR, NEAR DARK), Mark Margolis (THE WRESTLER, PI), Jeffrey Combs (RE-ANIMATOR, CASTLE FREAK), William J. Norris (brilliant Chicago theater actor), Stephen Lee (WARGAMES, DOLLS, GHOULIES III), Frances Bay (BLUE VELVET, TWIN PEAKS: FIRE WALK WITH ME, IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS), Rona de Ricci, Jonathan Fuller (CASTLE FREAK, CAMPFIRE TALES). Music by Richard Band (TERRORVISION, GHOULIES, PUPPET MASTER). Written by Dennis Paoli (RE-ANIMATOR, GHOULIES II, THE DENTIST), and loosely based on some of the writings of Edgar Allen Poe.
Tag-lines: "A bizarre descent into hell from the creator of RE-ANIMATOR."
Best one-liner: "What are you doing here? Why don't you go torture some heretics!"

How's it goin', Full Moon? It's been a long time. Come to torment me with more mediocre, direct-to-video genre cinema, have ye? Come to fool me into thinking I've rented PHANTASM? Cause if I squint my eyes and look at the cover, that's what it looks like. And if I had no idea what talents were involved, I think I'd have to assume- best case scenario- that the film within is something along the lines of 'PUPPET MASTER III meets DRAGONWORLD.' But lo and behold: THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM is a damned solid flick. I mean, it's not quite as good as Dreyer's LA PASSION DE JEANNE D'ARC, but it probably burns at least three times as many heretics, and in blazing Technicolor!

Actually, that was a lie, it just sounded better to say "in blazing Technicolor" than "in a murky 35mm-to-VHS transfer."

Now the first thing that's going to surprise you is the fact that this film appears, in fact, to have a budget of some kind. Estimated to have been made for only two million dollars, I find that to be pretty impressive. I mean, after craft services, extras, airfare, buying location access to a bona fide Italian castle, paying Stuart Gordon, semi-intricate period costuming, complex gore effects, retaining some recognizable actors, building a Pit and a Pendulum out of something sturdier than balsa wood– that seems like it would cost a lot of 1991 dollars. So I'm wondering exactly how much went to Lance Henriksen (to get him to prepare, fly him out, have him act for a few weeks, have him on call in case they need dubbing, pick-ups, etc.)?

It can't have been toooo much, the whole goddamn budget was $2 million. Let's pick an arbitrary figure- let's say that he commanded $150,000: 7.5% of the budget, which I think is a semi-reasonable guess given the costs of everything else. That would be for- let's say 6 weeks of hassle in all. Might have been more, might have been less. Does that mean that if I scraped together $3,500, I could get Lance Henriksen to hang out at my apartment for a day? And that $3,500 is what he'd normally earn for some grueling work- shaving his head into a whacky monk's tonsure, getting whipped, pouring his heart into his work, etc.

So it wouldn't even be demeaning to just hang out with him for half the day, shoot the shit, drink some beers... and then I could reasonably ask him to maybe do some light housework for the second half, maybe he could do some dishes while we discuss SURVIVAL QUEST. Time to start saving, I guess.

What was I talking about? Ah yes, THE PIT AND THE PENDULUM. Gordon and Dennis Paoli weave together the Spanish Inquisition, "The Pit and the Pendulum," "The Cask of Amontillado," "The Premature Burial," and a smattering of other Edgar Allen Poe elements into one big Medieval frenzy of swashbucklery, supernatural horror, and Gothic torture.


The plot concerns two innocents (originally cast as Billy Dee Williams and Sherilyn Fenn!) -

a breadmaker and his pious wife, played by Jonathan Fuller and Rona de Ricci- who are inadvertently swept up into a world of imprisonment, torture, and autos de fé. A gang of terrific character actors comprise the Inquistion, including Lance Henriksen (as Torquemada himself- a part originally intended for Peter O'Toole!), Jeffrey Combs, Mark Margolis (whose old crucifixion wounds are continually fingered by Lance), William J. Norris (who plays the Doctor with Paul Bartel-style flair), and Stephen Lee (who evinces dunderheaded charm). Additionally, they almost seem to directly prefigure the posse of colorful tormentors in Gordon's 2003 KING OF THE ANTS.

Of the crew, Henriksen gets the most screen time and by gum, does he make the most of it. He might be having a ball beneath that bitter, hardened exterior, but you really can't tell. The man looks like he is in genuine, diabolical agony for the duration.

He's not some cardboard cutout Inquisition villain- he's an anguished soul, scourged by his own spiritual hang-ups and ambigious sexual repressions, and he finds his outlet in pure, unfettered, self-serving sadism. He's got a weird SALÓ-style torture peephole and a Sword of Damocles installed in his quarters. He's got a Virgin Mary fetish and a hard-on for gettin' flagellated ("Flog me!"). Gordon's pulling out all the stops and the Catholicism clichés, all the way down to the (Buñuel-inspired?) crucifix dagger.

At one point, he screams, "NO ONE ESCAPES! NO ONE!!!" followed by a nearly endless recitation of "KILL HIMs." He must scream "KILL HIM!!!" about three thousand times in this movie, and every time ya hear it, it's just as fresh as the first time.

There's definitely an element of 'Inquisition-sploitation' to this picture, and when the innocent young maiden is stripped down and scrutinized by these ecclesiastical clowns, Henriksen must react.

What would you have him do, as a director? Go the hackneyed route? Have him twirl a mustache, or giggle lasciviously? Have him lick his lips, or look her up and down with the 'ole pervy once-over? Well, let's see what Lance Henriksen decided on:

Now that is an acting choice, ladies and gentlemen. Look at him. Does he even know they're making a movie? At this point in time, measured by the medium as 1/24th of a second, can we say for sure that there's a difference between Lance Henriksen and Tomás de Torquemada?... It's not for me to say. But goddamn, it's one hell of a performance. And he should have earned the first Oscar nomination to be affiliated with a Full Moon picture.

While not living up to Henriksen's sheer intensity, Jeffrey Combs manages to steal a little bit of the spotlight in his role as Francisco, the Inquisition's resident bookworm. Looking sort of like a Medieval Encyclopedia Brown, Combs is outfitted with a pageboy wig, some spectacles worthy of Mr. Peabody, and a demeanor that seems truly alien to us 21st Centurians.

Allow me to explain: as the film progresses, it becomes clear that Combs studied artwork contemporaneous to the Inquisition and painstakingly emulated the poses found therein. The rigidity, the arm movements, the way he peers into a book or disdainfully regards a potential "witch."

Though it doesn't call for a great deal of movement, it's an extremely physical role, and Combs makes it extremely memorable.

There's a meaty role by Lynch's favorite scary old lady, Frances Bay, as an actual witch captured by the Torquemada.

Bay is guaranteed to bring 'blood-curdlingly off-kilter' and 'adorable old lady' elements to her performances, and her "Esmerelda" here is no exception. She gets tortured, dispenses Obi-Wan Kenobi-style spiritual guidance, sounds off with wacky one-liners, and faces her stake-burning fate with gunpowder-gobbling panache (which leads to an... explosive payoff).

Stephen Lee and Mark Margolis waterboard Frances Bay.


Believe in yourself and you can overcome anything!

Just when you think you've seen it all, the Cardinal arrives to put the kibosh on Torquemada's brutality. I did a spit-take when he arrived, because, much to my surprise, the Cardinal was played by THE DEVILS' own Oliver Reed!!! He stumbles in, par for the course, swigging from a flask and mumbling in an accent that bears some similarity to that of an inebriated Italian chef.

He's all about shutting down Torquemada's operation, giggling somewhat malevolently, and murmuring things like "No-a, I tell you, I have-a de seal of de Pope!" When Torquemada offers him a few snifters from this schweet, aged cask of Amontillado, do you really think that Oliver Reed refuses?

SCHLERP

One thing leads to another, and- well, if you have any familiarity with Poe, you know how it turns out. Suffice it to say that Ollie Reed was- however fleeting- an unexpected pleasure. Full Moon, you continue to surprise me. Anyway, we finally get to that eponymous Pit and Pendulum around an hour and fifteen minutes in, and some satisfying (although fairly predictable) payoffs ensue.

I'm giving this movie four stars. I'm fairly certain it's actually a crime in some states to assign a Full Moon picture a rating such as this, but let's just run with it. For another Full Moon/Stuart Gordon/Jeffrey Combs/literary adaptation that's far better than it has any right to be, check out CASTLE FREAK.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: FLESH + BLOOD (1985, Paul Verhoeven)

Stars: 5 of 5. Running Time: 128 minutes. Notable Cast or Crew: Rutger Hauer (BLADE RUNNER, THE HITCHER), Jennifer Jason Leigh (FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH, MARGOT AT THE WEDDING), Susan Tyrrell (FAT CITY, CRY-BABY), Brion James (BLADE RUNNER, SOUTHERN COMFORT), Ronald Lacey (Toht in RAIDERS OF THE LOST ARK), Tom Burlinson (THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER), Bruno Kirby (Young Clemenza in THE GODFATHER PART II), Jack Thompson (BREAKER MORANT, SHORT CIRCUIT). Cinematography by Jan de Bont (who went on to direct TWISTER and SPEED 2: CRUISE CONTROL). Tag-line: "A timeless adventure, a passion for wealth and power. Only the strongest will survive." Best one-liner: "From now on, we'll eat like this. And whoever can't, best stay the stupid asshole he always was!"  

 I'll begin with two quotes by Paul Verhoeven which seem apropos to this film: "People love seeing violence and horrible things. The human being is bad and he can't stand more than five minutes of happiness. Put him in a dark theater and ask him to look at two hours of happiness and he'd walk out or fall asleep." and "Remember that Christianity is a religion grounded in one of the most violent acts of murder, the crucifixion. Otherwise, religion wouldn't have had any kind of impact." A lot of people like to pin down Paul Verhoeven as 'the guy who did SHOWGIRLS,' and while he cannot erase the fact that he is indeed guilty of being the guy who did SHOWGIRLS, he's one of the most audacious filmmakers to emerge from post-WWII Europe. FLESH + BLOOD is Machiavellian power games, stillborn children, nun snipers, yellowed teeth, and dogs lapping up pools of diseased gore. This movie is absolutely brutal. 

 

Every single character looks out for number one, and here, 'looking out for number one' means ripping an earring (and a chunk of flesh) from a woman as she's being raped or using 'God's word' when it's to your liking (Verhoeven has called organized religion a symptom of societal schizophrenia). Any time there's a moment for levity or genuine romance, it's immediately undercut by something like the rotting genitals or random carrion. 

 

Take a gander at this lovely idyll, for instance. 

 

It’s not exactly a historically accurate depiction of medieval warfare and the Black Death, and it doesn't quite take place in the 14th Century... sixty years ago it took place on the battlefields of Europe. Verhoeven was just a kid then, but he was there. As we speak, it's being waged by talking heads on TV, by hypocrites behind closed doors, and by vicious opportunists from here to the far corners of the world. Where an exploitation flick would insert a rape scene so the viewer might feel 'morally superior,' Verhoeven stages sexual assault as a grotesque vortex of ever-shifting power dynamics between man, woman, and the collective.

   

The performances are outstanding: Susan Tyrrell was born to do the Dark Ages––she enters the scene as a bawdy, pregnant, perpetually wasted camp follower whose life is a series of the highest, barbaric highs and the lowest, 'WHY ME?' lows:

  

Brion James is pure animal, ruthless but bewildered:  

But mostly terrifying as all get-out. 

 

   

Brion James makes the evolutionary leap to using forks and knives. 

 

Ronald Lacey is the sinister Cardinal- malicious, but sincere (not that it matters when he's got his sword in your guts):

  

Jack Thompson is the beleaguered hunter, embodying an almost Peckinpah-style morality (think Robert Ryan in THE WILD BUNCH):

   

Clearly the Medieval equivalent of "I'm gettin' too old for this shit!" 

 

and Tom Burlinson is the man of science, but his singlemindedness gives way to a sanctimonious depravity.

  

Rutger Hauer simmers and scowls- a calculating, towheaded, serpentine fiend, rapist, and murderer who might be the closest thing we've got to a traditional 'hero.'  

Though sainthood is more than a stretch. 

   

And ain't this a surreal fucken sight: a BLADE RUNNER reunion! (Not to mention that Brion James is giving Rutger Hauer a goddamned wheelbarrow ride!) 

 

Jennifer Jason Leigh- in possibly her finest performance- is a privileged, maid-beating blueblood who attends the condottiere's ‘school of hard knocks’ and emerges as perhaps the most complex and guileful of the bunch.

  

Nihilistic ‘entertainment’ at its best: five stars, and my highest recommendation.

Film Review: THE DEVILS (1971, Ken Russell)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 111 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Oliver Reed (REVOLVER, THE BIG SLEEP '78, GLADIATOR, TOMMY, WOMEN IN LOVE, THE THREE MUSKETEERS), Vanessa Redgrave (BLOWUP, HOWARD'S END), Dudley Sutton (BIG SLEEP '78, Fellini's CASANOVA), Graham Armitage (KICKBOXER 5, THE SPY WHO CAME IN FROM THE COLD), Murray Melvin (BARRY LYNDON, ALFIE), Michael Gothard (LIFEFORCE, FOR YOUR EYES ONLY), Christopher Logue (JABBERWOCKY). Production design by Derek Jarman (director of JUBILEE, EDWARD II, BLUE, the "It's a Sin" music video for the Pet Shop Boys, which has surprising connections to THE DEVILS).
Tag-line: "Hell holds no surprises for them."
Best one-liner: "What fresh lunacy is this? A crocodile?"

THE DEVILS, holy shit, THE DEVILS! I have been rendered nearly speechless. It's two hours of nonstop brilliance- melodrama, spectacle, terror, history, religion, self-destruction, despair. I'm unsure if I've ever seen a more convincing, compelling portrait of the human condition for what it is– a puppet theater of the absurd; the strings pulled by repression, indoctrination, and the gluttonous, diabolical powers that be; the propmasters wield the accoutrements and ornamentation of faith; the actors are the the overzealous, the overeager, those who thirst not for righteousness, but rather the delusion of righteousness. Those who do not recite the lines expected of them had better pay heed- knowledge and rationality will not save us! [To quote IN THE MOUTH OF MADNESS (a personal favorite which I've just re-watched), "A reality is just what we tell each other it is. Sane and insane could easily switch places...if the insane were to become the majority."] A whispered truth is meaningless beside a screamed deception– he who shrieks loudest possesses the most credibility! And these are harsh truths spelled out here (with visual splendor, I might add) by Mr. Ken Russell. Apparently, I've made the mistake of watching Russell's films in the wrong order: TOMMY, ALTERED STATES, even THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM (which I adore!) are mere crumbs in comparison to the provocative, grotesque feast served up by THE DEVILS- a tale of politics, witchcraft, and corruption which makes THE CRUCIBLE look like THE WORST WITCH.

Based on Aldous Huxley's THE DEVILS OF LOUDUN (a work of non-fiction), which in turn is based on the historical event of the 1634 Loudun possessions, THE DEVILS takes certain liberties with its storytelling (well, of course it does, it's Ken Russell), but the end result is the same: calculating, powerhungry fucknuts (a hypocritical, pseudo-religious establishment) take advantage of human nature (low self-esteem can be raised by believing that you're 'right,' which means that someone else is 'wrong,' which means they must be punished, and ohhh, doesn't it feel so good to punish 'evildoers?' Oh, it feels so good!) in order to defeat their enemies (rationality, tolerance, enlightenment), and said enemies can't properly fight back because they're not calculating, powerhungry fucknuts, and I don't need to tell you that this happened over and over before 1634, and happened over and over again since, and keeps happening and there's nothing we can do about it unless we become calculating, powerhungry fucknuts, in which case we'd be happy to see it keep happening, and this may officially be the longest sentence I've ever written.

The performances are astounding. The legendary Oliver Reed (unfortunately now is not the proper time or place to delve into his ridiculous off-screen exploits) delivers perhaps the grandest performance of his career as the stoic Urbain Grandier. He later said of the film:

"You would think from the critics’ hostility that Ken Russell had tried to pull off some obscene hoax. On the contrary, the film is, I think, an utterly serious attempt to understand the nature of religious and political persecution. It is not in any way exaggerated. If anything, the horrors perpetrated in Loudun in the 17th century were worse than Russell has chosen to show...the character of the priest was a marvelous one to act. Ken Russell’s brother-in-law is an historian and he helped me research Grandier’s life, with particular reference to his thesis in celibacy. The people of Loudun loved him. He walked among the plague victims and comforted them. I started to play him as a priest and realized that he was a politician."

At once a weak philanderer, an eloquent defender of freedom, and a steadfast champion of his city, Reed glides through the film like a sort of elegant bulldog- unafraid to admit his own shortcomings, but ever-prepared to take on the master manipulators with a throaty bellow and mustache-twirling élan.

As the hunchback'd, repressed accuser, Vanessa Redgrave is absolutely electrifying from the instant her off-kilter presence penetrates the frame– her canted head and giggly demeanor seem at first humorous, then chilling, and ultimately pitiable.

Her pain, her despair, and her desire to be wanted fuse together to form an unholy runaway train whose ultimate destination is self-obliteration. Redgrave takes that journey from point A to B to C and beyond, into the void, and the ever-curdling weight it all effortlessly plays upon her gasping, tortured countenance and twisted form.

Ken Russell tackles the material with the fervor one would expect from his mad genius, and this film's influence can be felt from Peter Greenaway to Julie Taymor. In the first five minutes, we have glitter-daubed queens prancing about onstage in a vivid reimagining of Botticelli's Birth of Venus and maggots wriggling and slithering forth from a Protestant's corpse (lashed to a rickety wagon wheel stake). Derek Jarman's jaw-dropping, elaborate sets recall an earlier, more opulent studio era- that of Griffith and Lang and DeMille. Oliver Reed fights a man, using a crocodile's corpse as a fencing sword. Father Barre (Michael Gothard) plays a notorious witch-hunter who seems, at times, more like a modern-day rock star:

Graham Armitage plays a Louis XIII who's so flamboyant that he makes "Amen" ("Aaay-mennnn.") sound like a pick-up line (the historical Louis XIII was supposedly bi).

Later, he shoots peasants dressed as birds ("Bye-bye, blackbird!") as a conniving Richelieu endeavors to catch his ear. Nuns cavort nude in the midst of sacreligious shenanigans that would make even Caligula blush. This movie is all about over-the-top utter fucking mayhem, but that's precisely why it has the ring of truth to it. The quality of frothing-mouthed, fevered, shrieking performance is quite compelling... have you turned on FOX news lately? The performance becomes a mask of sorts, and there is a delicious, faux-righteous anonymity in the wearing of that mask. At Father Grandier's eventual trial, the entire crowd- the very citizens who he has continually sought to protect- wear actual masks as they join the fray (as willing participants), reciting the very lines which Grandier refuses. This is a powerful, powerful film, and one whose criminal unavailability (censored or uncensored) in this country speaks volumes about the feathers it might ruffle. See it censored, see it uncensored, but, by God, see it.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: CONQUEST (1983, Lucio Fulci)

Stars: 3 of 5.
Running Time: 88 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Jorge Rivero (RIO LOBO, WEREWOLF), Andrea Occipinti (THE SEA INSIDE, BOLERO, NEW YORK RIPPER), Conrado San Martín (ONCE UPON A TIME IN THE WEST, DUCK YOU SUCKER), Sabrina Siani (THE BLACK COBRA, ATOR THE INVINCIBLE), music by Claudio Simonetti (of Goblin).
Tag-line: "In a place beyond time, comes a terrifying challenge beyond imagination!"
Best exchange: "What's your name?" –"My enemies call me Mace." "And your friends?" –"I don't have any friends."

I don't know if it was the twelver of Schlitz, the 3 AM viewing hour, or the fact that Fulci exclusively used soft focus, glamour filters, and echo effects, but CONQUEST left me with the impression of a half-remembered dream. We begin with some boneheaded legend about the sun coming down and raining arrows on the forces of evil through a magic bow. Later, when we see this bow in action- something which happens in nearly every scene- it most definitely shoots blue LASERS, not heavenly sunlight.


PEEEWWWWW! PEW-PEW-PEW!

I'm okay with that, personally. Set to an eternally pounding synth score by Goblin's Claudio Simonetti (fresh off of Castellari's NEW BARBARIANS), CONQUEST is basically an Italian mashup of BEASTMASTER and CONAN THE BARBARIAN.

The film is so stock ("Where are you from?" -"From a distant land."), so meandering, and so 80's, that it almost feels like a Choose Your Own Adventure with nudity. Yeah- did I mention that the main villain is a naked woman, clothed only with a spiked g-string, a creepy bronze mask, and a black feather boa?

And that her minions are an army of Wookiees who rip nude women limb from limb? Fulci works in some hardcore gore, cobwebby swamp zombies:

Swamp zombies swoop down from the heavens in slow motion with a giant camouflage net.

dummies flung from cliffs, an old man who speaks like Yoda, nunchucks, and a shag-carpet bed. There's no Zombie vs. Shark scene (like in Fulci's ZOMBIE), but there IS a "Caveman saved by Dolphins" scene, which is about the same thing if you squint your eyes.

Our hero says, "A man meets man, you never know which one will die; an animal meets a man, the animal always dies. That's why I'm on the side of the animal." [In addition to not making sense, he's EATING an animal (!) when he makes that speech.] Bravo, Lucio. The whole thing ends with the declaration that "any reference to persons or events is purely coincidental." God damn- I sure hope so!

This scene is not, in fact, a faithful portrayal of real life (outside of Italy).

Anyway, in good conscience, I can only give this three stars. And, I have no idea why, but I was left with a curious craving for beef jerky...

This beef jerky, to be exact. And I bought it. And I ate it. And in retrospect, it was maybe one of my worst ideas.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: THE NAME OF THE ROSE (1986, Jean-Jacques Annaud)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 130 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Sean Connery, Christian Slater, F. Murray Abraham, Ron Perlman (HELLBOY), Feodor Chaliapin, Jr. (INFERO), William Hickey (WISE BLOOD, PINK CADILLAC, REMO WILLIAMS), Vernon Dobtcheff (the Nazi butler in INDIANA JONES AND THE LAST CRUSADE), Elya Baskin (AIR FORCE ONE, SPIDERMAN 2), Michael Lonsdale (THE PHANTOM OF LIBERTY, THE LAST MISTRESS), Urs Althaus (NEW YORK RIPPER, WARBUS).
Tag-lines: "Who, in the name of God, is getting away with murder?"
Best one-liner(s): "My dear Adso, we must not allow ourselves to be influenced by irrational rumors of the Antichrist, hmm? Let us instead exercise our brains and try to solve this tantalizing conundrum."

A brilliant, moving tale of the import of knowledge and the power of repression. Sean Connery as the learned monk William of Baskerville is absolute perfection, beginning a string of fantastic late 80's performances culminating in THE UNTOUCHABLES, THE HUNT FOR RED OCTOBER, and INDIANA JONES AND THE LAST CRUSADE. The only times I've seen him better are possibly THE HILL or THE MAN WHO WOULD BE KING. Christian Slater plays his young apprentice in one of his earliest roles. The Slater factor is surprisingly low here, mainly because of his uncharacteristically low-key eyebrow performance and the fact that it's really the Sean Connery show.

Slater factor mostly neutralized by restrained use of eyebrows and presence of Sean Connery.

Somehow this international production recalls not only the wonder of vintage (violent) German fairy tales, the exquisitely spun mysteries of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, and the operatic visuals of Sergio Leone (thanks to phenomenal cinematography by Tonino Delli Colli), but also the muted poeticism of classic French cinema. Supposedly Robert De Niro was meant to play William, but was dismissed by director Jean-Jacques Annaud when he insisted on a gratuitous sword-fight sequence. This movie is not a swashbuckler, a 'Gotcha!' mystery, nor a witchcraft exploitation film. It is a languid, thoughtful, and humble work. Annaud even begins the film by respectfully crediting Umberto Eco's work, not even claiming to have made an adaptation, but rather a 'palimpsest.' This film derives power and poignancy from a work where it could have all too easily devolved into groan-mustering mawkishness, and that is a difficult feat, indeed.