Film Review: TRICK 'R TREAT (2009, Michael Dougherty)

Stars: 4 of 5.
Running Time: 82 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Dylan Baker (HAPPINESS), Brian Cox (L.I.E.), Brit McKillip (Reggie on DEAD LIKE ME), Christine Willes (Dolores Herbig on DEAD LIKE ME), Anna Paquin (THE PIANO), Leslie Bibb (LINE OF FIRE, IRON MAN). Co-produced by Bryan Singer (THE USUAL SUSPECTS, APT PUPIL).
Tag-line: "Poison, Drowning, Claw, Or Knife. So Many Ways To Take A Life."
Best one-liner: "Always check your candy."

Playing out like some unholy fusion of THE DECALOGUE and CREEPSHOW, TRICK 'R TREAT is a damned entertaining flick, and one which was unjustly confined to the hideous 'direct to DVD' market. Soggy pussied studio execs likely pulled the plug with their hammy, sweaty fingers upon seeing the depiction of kiddies getting murdered, but everything within this film is handled with a light-hearted morbid exuberance- it's no more disturbing than a pile of dusty old EC Comics.

In fact, it's a love letter to Americana Halloween traditions, steeped in 50's nostalgia (from the vintage PSA opening to horn-rimmed costume choices), and peppered with nods toward horror classics (THE THING, THE CHANGELING, etc.).

Taking place in Anywhere, Ohio, we're entreated to four basic, overlapping tales, all of which end with the old 'switcheroo,' a corny (but endlessly fun) hallmark of the genre. Dylan Baker is phenomenal as your friendly neighborhood serial killer, finding the perfect balance between eerie placidity and frenetic slapstick.

Brian Cox rises above the stock 'crotchety old man,' and takes on a miniature attacker with elderly élan, the likes of which I hadn't seen since Agnes Moorehead in the classic TWILIGHT ZONE episode, "The Invaders."

Anna Paquin is always a pleasure to watch- her waifish exterior belying the unique and powerful presence which she naturally exudes.

And DEAD LIKE ME fans get an additional treat as well, with Brit McKillip (Reggie) as a snide teen and Christine Willes (Dolores Herbig) as a drunken teacher presiding over a (furry) jamboree. Oddly appropriate.

TRICK 'R TREAT emerges as a passionate defense of Halloween tradition- in the literal, celebratory context, and as an appeal for a return to good, old-fashioned horror storytelling. No character is safe from death, and it's not done in a cynical, post-SCREAM, 'We'll kill off who you think we won't' way, like the FEAST series; but rather a 'goddamn, we're having so much fun spinning this yarn that we just killed off half the cast!' A little sincerity goes a long way. Four stars. In a similar vein, I also recommend MURDER PARTY.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: THE FANTASTIC MR. FOX (2009, Wes Anderson & Mark Gustafson)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 87 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: George Clooney, Meryl Streep, Willem Dafoe, Bill Murray, Jason Schwartzman, Wallace Wolodarsky, Michael Gambon, Owen Wilson, Eric Chase Anderson, Brian Cox, Mario Batali, Adrien Brody. Music by Alexandre Desplat (BIRTH, THE BEAT THAT MY HEART SKIPPED). Co-written by Noah Baumbach. Animation director Mark Gustafson (did claymation for RETURN TO OZ and THE ADVENTURES OF MARK TWAIN, creator of the California Raisins TV series).
Tag-line: "This year, forget super... ignore incredible... it's all about fantastic."
Best one-liner: "Excuse me? Am I being flirted with by a psychotic rat?"

Utilizing the same stop-motion animation and adorable attention to detail which make Rankin/Bass productions like MAD MONSTER PARTY the cutest shit on the planet, FANTASTIC MR. FOX fuses that aesthetic with the stilted, familial comedy of Baumbach/Anderson and the boyish dream-logic of Roald Dahl in order to create  the sort of children's movie which I can actually stomach. You know, the kind which has Willem Dafoe playing a country-drawlin', switchblade-slingin', wife-slanderin' Rat, somehow the kiddie approximation of his role as Bobby Peru in WILD AT HEART.

It's been a lifelong dream to see Bobby Peru appear in a children's movie.

Much of what I love here is due to what some would call "imperfections"- the manner in which stop-motion lends itself to spontaneous, awkward humor (i.e., the voracious rapidity with which characters eat, or how silly they look dashing across a barnyard)

or the way the animals' fur flutters during shots (because it's an actual, organic object, and not synthetic pixelation). The voice-acting is beyond first rate, not only because of the ridiculous slew of talent, but because Anderson preferred to record outdoors, replacing the sterility of the recording studio with living, breathing, tactile nature. George Clooney's incorrigible, glorious scamp; Meryl Streep's wife, a force at once blazing and soothing; Jason Schwartzman's brattish, sympathetic son (in perhaps his greatest performance to date); Michael Gambon's seething villain:

Wallace Wolodarsky's bewildered chum; or Bill Murray's irascible pushover- the voice actors are the perfect blend of tonality, timing, and role, and the film could not succeed nearly as well as it does without them. I have to wonder, though- now that Anderson has succeeded in perpetuating his vision in a (basically) controlled environment, how will he feel about returning to live action?

What would have happened if Jacques Tati had ever presided over a production using the 'Animagic' process? Well, regardless of where he chooses to go from here- five stars of pure wild animal craziness.

-Sean Gill

Side note: Animation director Mark Gustafson is not actually credited as co-director, but clearly he deserves to be.

Film Review: YOU, THE LIVING (2009, Roy Andersson)

Stars: 3.8 of 5.
Running Time: 95 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Jessika Lundberg, Elisabeth Helander, Björn Englund.
Tag-line: "From the director of SONGS FROM THE SECOND FLOOR."

If you were to encounter a conga line made up of snazzy Dixieland performers, bobbing and swaying in unison kinda like Tom Cruise and Bryan Brown doing the hippy-hippy shake in COCKTAIL, there are pretty much two ways that you could react: #1. Giggle and clap with one's mouth agape in childlike wonderment before joining in, or #2. Hope for the entire scene to be obliterated with an atomic weapon, finding respite in the fact that, though you too would be dead, SO WOULD THE ENTIRE CONGA LINE! I believe that Roy Andersson falls firmly in category #1, I fall firmly in category #2, and it's a serious testament to Andersson's filmmaking prowess that, despite these facts, I'm still able to come out of this with sincere admiration for his work.

An exploration on what Andersson calls "the grandeur of existence" using Goethe as a point of departure, YOU THE LIVING is a series of vignettes that feel as if the visually exquisite apartment-scapes and slapstick of Jacques Tati (who Andersson is just about as 'prolific' as) and the bone-dry, low-key banter of Jim Jarmusch have somehow been melded together in a Swedish locale.

Told largely through carefully devised, largely static compositions (but there ARE instances of slight camera movement, contrary to what some reviewers have stated), Andersson's forms are pale, gray, corpulent, and cartoonish- many almost resemble Ralph Steadman illustrations. Dreams and reality are interwoven with matter-of-factness; humans blunder about and find themselves nearly incapable of communicating properly; and there's a profound quiet, a stillness to the proceedings which offers a degree of comfort in this perfectly devised, dreary world.

Andersson's attention to detail is staggering- sets were sketched and built, shooting took three years, and it looks fantastic (except for, in my opinion, the acclaimed shot of airplanes over the city,

which somehow rubs me the wrong way, though I do appreciate that models were used instead of CGI). Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: SUMMER HOURS (2009, Olivier Assayas)

Stars: 3.7 of 5.
Running Time: 103 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Juliette Binoche, Jérémie Renier, Charles Berling, Kyle Eastwood, Edith Scob.
Tag-line: "Every family has its time in the sun."
Best one-liner: "Well, it's another era."
Awards: Appeared on most critics' top ten lists of 2009, Best Foreign Film of '09 according to Boston Film Critics, Los Angeles Film Critics, National Society of Film Critics, Southeastern Film Critics; recently inducted into the Criterion Collection.

SUMMER HOURS is an engrossing rumination on the nature of worldly possessions and the increasing globalization of the family unit. Assayas leaves the blockheaded storytelling of BOARDING GATE (which I still enjoyed) behind, and creates his most mature work to date- the work of a filmmaker moving from one phase of his life into the next.

In some regards, it's a procedural- doing for "upper-class French postmortem estate planning" what THE NAKED CITY did for "NYPD murder investigations." But, like the best police procedurals, it's never really about the case at hand, it's about the case’s impact on the characters. Commissioned by Paris's Musée d'Orsay, we're entreated to museums of different sorts: private, domestic shrines to childhood memories are juxtaposed with public, bureaucratic Ivory Towers.

(Being a child of the 80's, the ideas at play here call to mind Indiana Jones' thickheaded "it belongs in a museum!" logic that the Smithsonian is somehow a better place for the Golden Idol than the Hovitos' Temple!)

"That Marjorelle display case belongs in a Marjorelle display case at a museum!"

The style is simple and languid; the performances are unostentatious but truthful (Juliette Binoche, Jérémie Renier, Assayas alter-ego Charles Berling, and even a bit part by Kyle Eastwood!); and the payoffs are wistful and largely affecting.

Binoche: always solid.

But allow me to play devil's advocate for a moment, because I'm not sure Olivier and I are seeing eye to eye. I can understand how an object is robbed of meaning in the transplantation from a family home to a sterile display case (to be gawked at by impassive masses who shuffle through the halls of Orsay). But does it REALLY have more meaning to a pack of bluebloods who take things like Majorelle cases or Josef Hoffmann armoires for granted, even as they lay guilt trips on the help for occasionally breaking a dish or an objet d'art? I've cater-waitered for these people before, and I hated them. So pardon me if I don't shed a tear your dearly departed summer home.

This sweet old vulture rings especially true.


Every family has its time in the sun, just as every family has a summer home. I mean, at least the families one ought to consort with.

Still, it’s an artful, pensive film which captures a certain, fleeting quality of memory. Four stars.

-Sean Gill

Side note: And the teens at the end! The French teen party at the summer home! I was held in rapt attention- the way one might react to a train wreck. They're even worse than American teens- moneyed, self-absorbed, and totally bummed out that the summer home will no longer be available for their nauseating leisure activities.

A whole new generation of well-heeled D-bags. It's like the Hydra- you cut off one head, and two grow up in its place. Next thing you know, you've got an infestation.

And yet the point of the scene, I believe, was to show that "the next generation has a sincere appreciation of extravagant things, too, it just takes a different form." And I really don't want to get going on a rant about wealth distribution, so let's just end this here before the rhetoric gets too vitriolic.


COMING SOON: My best of '09 lists.

Film Review: PARANORMAL ACTIVITY (2009, Oren Peli)

Stars: 3.8 of 5.
Running Time: 86 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Katie Featherston, Micah Sloat.
Best one-liner: [Micah's efforts to rile up the spirit in true Dubya, "Bring it on" fashion:] "What is your quest? What is your favorite color?"

This is no horror masterpiece, but it's an effective, minimalist chiller helmed by (Oren Peli) a clear aficionado of the "BOO!" genre. It doesn't really bring anything new to the table, and the acting may not always be first-rate, but you know you've used your $15,000 budget well when you have an audience anticipating the slightest change in a static image with baited breath. It’s almost as if you enter into a contract with this film to 'be more attentive,' and this even goes beyond the lengthy sleeping scenes. For example, at one point the characters leave the room, but a Ouija board ominously remains on the table. Surely something supernatural is about to happen. You wait. You're afraid you're going to blink and miss it, so you're scrutinizing the screen with wide-eyed, "Where's Waldo" intensity. And that's exactly it- PARANORMAL ACTIVITY is to films what "Where's Waldo" is to books! You're happy to spend a little time on it (86 minutes), you're certainly engaged for the duration, and the payoffs beget a sort of trifling satisfaction, but, at the end of the line, you're not taking anything away from it (nor should you!).

Regardless, the theatrical ending (changed apparently at the behest of Steven Spielberg, and involving a soggy J-Horror climax... and a CGI ghoul-morph!) is considerably weaker than the alternate ending on the DVD (which evidently made the rounds at a festival screening), so I wholeheartedly recommend the latter.

In terms of 'characters with a video camera' horror, I still prefer [•REC] and DIARY OF THE DEAD, but I must admit that every time I think this shakycam horse is dead, there’s another twitch, another few muscle spasms, and somebody like Oren Peli gets in a few more good licks. So- nearly four stars.

[However, unfortunately for us, now that Paramount has got their hooks into the 'PARANORMAL ACTIVITY franchise" (not to mention a CLOVERFIELD sequel), that horse may have a few postmortem beatdowns in store.]

-Sean Gill

Musical side note: And I think excellent closing credits music would've been a rousing rendition of Heart's "These Dreams."

Film Review: ANTICHRIST (2009, Lars Trier)

Stars: 4 of 5.

Running Time: 104 minutes.

Notable Cast or Crew: Willem Dafoe, Charlotte Gainsbourg. Cinematography by Anthony Dod Mantle (FESTEN, SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE, DOGVILLE, 28 DAYS LATER...).

Tag-line: "When nature turns evil, true terror awaits"

Best one-liner: "Chaos reigns."

When I heard that that cinema's biggest worrywort Lars Trier (despite adoring many of his films, I refuse to indulge the bratty affectation of the ersatz 'von') was remaking BODY OF EVIDENCE, I was like 'Well, if he doesn't get Madonna back, I sure hope he gets the fingering scene right,' and, oh yes, he sure does. The 'Dafoe assthrusting factor' and the ‘all women are evil' vibe are quite undeniably present as well. In all seriousness, though, this is Trier coming to grips with his personal celluloid hero––Andrei Tarkovsky (who, for the sake of brevity, I shall refer to as 'Big T'). Some of Trier's early films (IMAGES OF RELIEF, THE ELEMENT OF CRIME, MEDEA) struggled to emerge from Big T's shadow.

Big T yucks it up, knowing Lars will never TRULY emerge from his shadow. 

By the 90's, it had seemed he'd found his 'own' (lack of?) style when he and a squad of his Dane buddies submitted Dogme 95 for our consideration (THE IDIOTS). Later, for the USA trilogy (DOGVILLE, MANDERLAY), he combined elements of his prior styles with stark, black box staging. But now, with ANTICHRIST, he's taken 30 years of experience, and reapplied it to Big T's universe. The film is even dedicated to Big T's memory.

What follows is a staggering tract (shot by original Dogme lenser Anthony Dod Mantle) which might just be the most beautifully photographed film of the decade (though I'm not sure Big T would’ve approved of CGI acorns). Dafoe and Gainsbourg, as He and She (of course), are terrific. She wonders if her grief is atypical. He wonders if a 'fear pyramid' chart can save her (an exercise which I'm absolutely sure that little bundle of nerves named Trier has done on occasion). But they're both missing that elephant in the room. It looks like a nice vase of flowers. But if we get closer, just a little closer... start to look at the dirty water, start to let it consume us...

That dirty flower water... starts to sully everything.... JESUS GOD, IT'S CONSUMED EVERYTHING!!! And that, I think, is a little window of insight into Mr. Trier's OCD world. Lars Trier is scared. Scared of everything. And he wants you to be scared, too.

And he's gonna sit right here, wearin' his hoodie, until Hot Topic agrees to carry a line of ANTICHRIST action figures. But it’s hard to say exactly how Trier wants us to react. Does he want us to shudder and cry in the flickering darkness, or does he want us to chortle or crack a smile every time there's a shot for shot homage to Big T? Keep your eyes peeled for quotes from SOLARIS, MIRROR, etc...

Big T's MIRROR.

Little T's ANTICHRIST.

Or is he content if we merely have a reaction in general? For example, I don't think I'm going camping for a while.

The fantastic Mr. Fox.

Parts of this film are certainly hilarious––slomo floppy balls n' penetration set to Handel, unexpected nipple biting, Dafoe's endless psychobabble, or his AMAZING exasperated sigh upon the return of some l'il forest buddies (you'll know it when you see it). The script may be a tad ham-fisted (it might have benefited from being a silent film?), but viscerally, we're kept in a state of suffocation (and I don't think a film has succeeded at suffocating the viewer quite so much since Todd Haynes' SAFE): stifling slow-motion, ominous aural frequencies, a choking shroud of fog, and TICKS, TICKS, TICKS!!!– the base, cruel, vile filth of nature. (Where's Herzog?!) Yes! Fuck nature! Fuck it in the ear! Cue The Cramps' "All Women Are Bad," and give this thing four stars.

Side note: And stay for the credits: you'll see the "department of misogyny research," "the department of horror film research," and, while there's no "no animals were harmed in this production" statement, there is an "all animals were handled by professionals" disclaimer. So on a Lars Trier film, animals are only harmed by professionals. Uh, ok. It seems fitting.

Film Review: IN THE LOOP (2009, Armando Iannucci)

Stars: 4.3 of 5.
Running Time: 106 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Peter Capaldi, Gina McKee, James Gandolfini, Mimi Kennedy, David Rasche, Steve Coogan, Anna Chlumsky, Tom Hollander, Chris Addison.
Tag-line: "The fate of the world is on the line."
Best one-liner: "Within your 'purview'? Where do you think you are, some fucking regency costume drama? This is a government department, not some fucking Jane fucking Austen novel! Allow me to pop a jaunty little bonnet on your purview and ram it up your shitter with a lubricated horse cock!"

"So you're not resigning? Are you still playing the hawk?" –"Well, in...in a way I'm playing a much cleverer game than that...I'm a fake hawk." Finally the 'awkward, cinéma vérité workplace satire' which allowed THE OFFICE and EXTRAS to resonate so deeply with viewers has been applied to something timely, weighty, and significant- the ham-fisted, bush league, real-life machinations behind global politics. As Khrushchev wrote in a message to JFK during the Cuban Missile Crisis, "I have participated in two wars and know that war ends when it has rolled through cities and villages, everywhere sowing death and destruction. For such is the logic of war. If people do not display wisdom, they will clash like blind moles and then mutual annihilation will commence." This statement still applies, of course, but with several major addenda– they will clash and slash and parry like blind moles, but instead of the true face of war, they'll see promotion, demotion, an office with glass doors, or perhaps a shabby cubicle. The incompetence which could erroneously destroy an entire nation can easily be corrected when you're re-editing the minutes to your last policy meeting. People with strong convictions? Those who accept accountability? A dying race. Dying because they are no longer fashionable.

This is all rather heavy, but, make no mistake, IN THE LOOP is extremely funny. Non-stop waggish barbs are flung with HIS GIRL FRIDAY-style rapidity. The performances are spot-on: Peter Capaldi's (THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM) foul-mouthed, weaselly Scotsman;

David Rasche's (COBRA, UNITED 93) soothingly ominous warmonger; Mimi Kennedy's (DHARMA & GREG) earnest, outmatched diplomat;

Tom Hollander's (PIRATES OF THE CARIBBEAN 2) wishy-washy simpleton; James Gandolfini's hot-tempered, peace-loving General (and his face-off with Capaldi is worth the price of admission alone);

Gina McKee's (CROUPIER, THE LAIR OF THE WHITE WORM) smarmy aide; Anna Chlumsky's (Vada from MY GIRL!) deluged subordinate; and our ostensible 'hero,' the mop-topped, half-assed newbie (Chris Addison). It’s the perfect ‘war movie’ in an era where the top torturer is some pencil-neck writing a policy memo at his desk. Nearly five stars.

-Sean Gill

Film Review: THE HURT LOCKER (2009, Kathryn Bigelow)

Stars: 4.8 of 5.
Running Time: 131 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Jeremy Renner, Anthony Mackie, Brian Geraghty, Guy Pearce, Ralph Fiennes, David Morse, Evangeline Lilly, Christian Camargo (DEXTER, K-19: THE WIDOWMAKER).
Tag-line: "You'll know when you're in it."
Best one-liner: "That's a good one. That's spoken like a wild man. That's good."

Kathryn Bigelow has built a career out of making immersive, visceral action films that try to duplicate the experience of the first-person adrenaline rush, whether it be through skydiving (POINT BREAK), watching someone else's memories (STRANGE DAYS), the dangerous thrill of joining up with vampires (NEAR DARK), or a rookie cop's first harrowing day on the job (BLUE STEEL). And because her movies are largely balls-to-the-wall potboilers, she has often found herself critically denigrated as existing only in the shadow of her ex-husband, James Cameron. Well, with THE HURT LOCKER, it appears that Bigelow has made a film that satisfies the arthouse palate and the shoot 'em up enthusiast alike (and one which quite cleverly bridges this gap by never overtly waxing political).

The film focuses on a bomb squad whose entire existence is perpetually a hair's breadth away from instantaneous, explosive, 'internal organs flying through the air' death. The trio of actors who bring them to life are Jeremy Renner (who seems destined for stardom- and is the spitting image of a young Rainer Werner Fassbinder!),

Renner vs....

...young Fassbinder in LOVE IS COLDER THAN DEATH.

Anthony Mackie (THE MANCHURIAN CANDIDATE remake, 8 MILE), and Brian Geraghty (JARHEAD, ART SCHOOL CONFIDENTIAL). Their tangible camaraderie and incredible commitment bestow the narrative with a palpable spine. Renner's character embraces the raw power inherent in not giving a fuck about living or dying (see also: Terence Stamp in THE HIT), and it is a joy (albeit one on tenterhooks) to watch. The celebrity bit parts (Guy Pearce, Ralph Fiennes, David Morse) are notable because Bigelow doesn't give a shit that they're famous. They could deliver a few hilarious lines or they could die without fanfare and Bigelow is not going to kowtow to their fame by lingering. In fact, everything's handled with Jacques Becker-style restraint and attention to detail: the barracks mean boredom, faux-wood paneling, and cheap booze; the field means staring down the scope of a sniper rifle for three hours and taking a much-deserved sip of Capri Sun.

In short, it’s the best bomb disposal movie since THE SMALL BACK ROOM.

Side note: (And the best use of Ministry's music since that Labatt Maximum Ice HIGHLANDER 2 commercial with Michael Ironside back in '93.)

-Sean Gill

Film Review: MY SON, MY SON, WHAT HAVE YE DONE? (2009, Werner Herzog)

Stars: 5 of 5.
Running Time: 93 minutes.
Notable Cast or Crew: Michael Shannon, Willem Dafoe, Brad Dourif, Grace Zabriskie, Udo Kier, Chloë Sevigny, Verne Troyer, Irma P. Hall. Presented by David Lynch. Shot by Peter Zeitlinger.
Tag-line: "The mystery isn't who... but why?"
Best one-liner: "Razzle... dazzle..."

You could say that this is a portrait of an obsessed, delusional figure; or, you could say this is a vehicle for Brad Dourif to talk about a behemoth (pronounced as "ba-hay-muth") chicken; and you'd be right on both counts. It's comedy, it's tragedy, it's Herzog. David Lynch is the executive producer, so there's been a lot of talk of "poor man's Lynch," and "weirdness for its own sake," and so on. Herzog has said that he and Lynch are kindred spirits: while their films to not 'speak' to one another exactly, they have 'danced' with one another. Lynch was instrumental to this project only so far as he paired director, producer, and casting- he had no creative input. In Lynch's honor, Herzog made an homage or two (a man on a treadmill has an oxygen mask), but before you mention 'Lynch's shadow,' know that Herzog was making movies about little people 20 years before TWIN PEAKS.

MY SON, MY SON... is a brilliant film, and one which is pure, unadulterated Werner.

The peculiarities of the film's characters do not exist as empty quirk, as some have criticized, they represent the victory of humanity in the face of nature's indifference.

Mental illness, misfiring synapses, bad chemicals- these are the base and vile weapons of a cruel universe. Madness is almost a rational retort to the insane stimuli served up by fate, God, the cosmos, whatever you want to call it. Owning a Razzle Dazzle mug, transforming your home into the flamingo and cactus-infused equivalent of Pee-Wee's Playhouse:

fixing up a vat of black Jell-O, seeing God in a tube of oatmeal:

abandoning a basketball in a tree:

these are humanity's ways, however twisted or trivial, of combating the impassivity: of leaving our mark on the world, no matter how insignificant it may seem. A man's schizophrenic notion (that the entire world is scrutinizing him) is transformed by Herzog into a meditation on interesting faces in a Peruvian marketplace. Peter Zeitlinger's (Herzog's primary DP since the 90's) camera roves and roams and dashes and flutters about this film like some twitterpated bird- it views the world through an innocent, excitable kino-eye.

And if BAD LIEUTENANT is Herzog's 'lizard' movie, then it must be said that MY SON, MY SON is for the birds- or should I say "dinosaurs in drag?" (a fact that Udo Kier learns quite unexpectedly when an ostrich schlerps on his spectacles).


"Disgusting!"


Shannon and Uncle Ted (Brad Dourif) look on.

The performances are astounding, too- Michael Shannon's piercing frustration:

Grace Zabriskie's terrifyingly doting mother:

Willem Dafoe's considerate cop trying to put the pieces together:

Udo Kier's Euro-theater director who's having none of your sports analogies, and Dourif's grimy Uncle Ted ["The only thing Greeks know how to play with is each other's balls!"].

This is a magnificent film, and one that ends with an ambiguous image viewed first by who Herzog would call a "perpetual tourist" and then by who he'd call a "citizen of the world." This movie was made for the latter.

-Sean Gill