Shloggs Speaks Squared!

I have had the distinct pleasure and humbling honor of being a guest on two of my favorite Podcasts, Cinephobia and Profondo Cinema. I've been on with Axl and Jscott at Profondo before, but this was my first on-air banter with FEEDBACK and it's a doozy! We argue about the validity of Scott Pilgrim, the merits of Punk Rock and the fallout of 9/11 on the American cinematic landscape! I get down to some serious, in depth Rob Zombie discussion with the Profondo Cinema gents, so expect my usual hyperbolic self to rear his righteous head and bellow loudly with great frequency. These are both great shows and please remember to check out both of their back catalogs, it's all gold!

Jim Van Bebber

"Fuck your noise!"

This line, spat out by Van Bebber as the character Goose early on in his debut feature Deadbeat at Dawn, colorfully and succinctly sums up his attitude toward film making convention and notions of societal propriety. Jim Van Bebber is a throwback to the uncontrollable, visionary and fiercely independent film artists of the past. Imagine Peckinpah, Michael Reeves and early Raimi thrown in a blender, seasoned with copious amounts of alcohol and drugs, then hit puree and watch the concoction react violently, spilling over the top and generally making a mess of things. Van Bebber is an actor, writer, make up effects artist, Director, stuntman, editor, fundraiser and everything else you would conceivably need to get a film made. The fact that he is often involved in all these aspects is surely one of the main reasons he has so few features to his credit. But as Reeves famously said to Vincent Price on the set of Witchfinder General when the elder statesman questioned his methods by pointing out he'd been in hundreds of films and sneeringly questioned how many Reeves had done, "I've made three GOOD ones.

There are literally thousands of film makers out there putting out one indiscernible lump of predictable pap after another, but there is only one Jim Van Bebber. He is a class unto himself, his own genre, and as far as individuality goes, virtually untouchable. Deadbeat at Dawn, his first full length after a series of shorts made starting in middle school, is a kaleidoscopic, primal howl of a revenge picture. It's startlingly simplistic in structure, but undeniably effective and charmingly linear. It's the textbook example of rough around the edges, with sound dropping out left and right, out of focus shots and amateurish performances (outweighing the few admittedly strong ones). It's also ceaselessly entertaining and chock full of exciting camera moves and stunt work and fight choreography (primarily from Van Bebber) both enthusiastic and eye poppingly reckless. As Van Bebber has noted in interviews, it probably wasn't the best idea to be chased by a car driven by a drunk 20 year old or jump off a 40 foot embankment into a river or rappel down a 4 story parking garage without a net, but it had to get done somehow! Deadbeat at Dawn is the true "Grindhouse aesthetic" film that so many have tried and failed to produce in the last decade. It's the real deal, full of heart, danger and nascent talent. His short films are definitely worth watching as well, with My Sweet Satan being a clear standout.

His next film, The Manson Family, is legendary for the trials and tribulations it took Van Bebber to drag it kicking and screaming through sheer force of will for fifteen years to completion. It's a herculean effort and has been documented extensively elsewhere, certainly nowhere better than in the documentary on the indispensable Dark Sky "Visions of Hell" box set that compiles all his short films along with Deadbeat and The Manson Family, not to mention a multitude of great features. It truly belongs in every serious cinephiles collection. That having been said, I do not wish to elaborate on his struggle or on my thoughts concerning the Charles Manson issue. I wish only to speak about the film, which is surely one of the most passionate, intense, authentic and disturbing I've seen. Van Bebber went from promising neophyte to consummate master in the time spent assembling this monster of a film. The consistency of it's tone and intent would be amazing even if it were completed in the originally intended 2 week shooting schedule let alone 15 years! The editing, shot composition, musical selection, staggeringly graphic and realistic sequences of violence and tremendous performances make this a one of a kind cinematic experience, unlikely to be rivalled or duplicated anytime soon, if ever.

Make no mistake, this is exceedingly rough stuff. Remember that scene in Saving Private Ryan that people often refer to as an unflinchingly unsettling example of filmed violence when the German soldier slowly stabs Adam Goldberg? Picture that multiplied by 50 for 25 straight minutes and you have the last third of this film. This is not a glamorous portrayal of famous killers. This is the ugliest, most matter of fact re-enactment of a crime I've ever bore witness to. It makes you think about the consequences of violence and the terror and pain the victims felt. It's gripping, exploratory cinema made by a true artist who clearly wasn't concerned with marketability or using this as a stepping stone to get a posh studio contract.

Perhaps I so greatly appreciate Van Bebber's work because his thematic concerns would seem to be on an identical wavelength with my interests and hang-ups. Maybe it's because I love to root for an underdog, especially one whose genius is inextricably tied to his own self destructiveness. In all likelihood though, his work resonates deeply with me because he takes film as seriously as an art form as I do. To him, film is life and he's unwilling to phone it in, EVER. I would love to see more from him, but I accept that if it takes him 10 years to get a film made, it's because that's exactly how long it will take him to make it precisely how he wants to. I would rather worship the great shorts and 2 brilliant features he made than watch him sacrifice his ideals to get a shot at directing the Hellraiser remake.

You Know What's Great? The Devil's Rain

As a lifelong horror and heavy metal fan, it's hard to not be at least tangentially reverential of Anton Lavey and his brilliantly constructed nonsense. I myself have the Goat of Mendes from the cover of The Satanic Bible tattooed on my right forearm and have read the tract multiple times. Every cinephile and genre fan is aware of Rosemary's Baby and the Lavey cameo and influence. I personally have the expected, albeit grudging respect for the film, but outside of the performances by Ralph Bellamy, Ruth Gordon and Sidney Blackmer, find it to be a dull exercise in Polanski's apartment building malaise bullshit. For me, the real deal as far as the Church of Satan presented on film is The Devil's Rain, a criminally overlooked little gem from 1975 that also features a Lavey cameo and his patented occult technical advisory.

I won't spoil the century spanning satanic melodrama that comprises its plot. I will however apprise those not in the know of its "are you fucking kidding me?" cast. No less than Ernest Borgnine, Eddie Albert, Tom Skerritt, Ida Lupino, William Shatner and John Travolta in his heavily made-up and overdubbed feature film debut show up to turn in performances ranging from knowingly over the top to woefully confused, Borgnine masterfully displaying the former and Shatner shamefully contributing the latter.

Seriously folks, Old Uncle Ernie is pure gold in this. That an Oscar winner of his caliber would deign to appear in such a bizarre, unwholesome piece of cinematic evil, let alone lay low the ramparts and turn it up to 11 is indicative of his dedication to craft and general awesomeness as a human being. He exudes such devilish charm and intimidating charisma as cult leader Corbis it makes one wonder how a late career turn as bogeyman and heavy could have benefited '70's and '80's cinema. He even works in some heavy make-up that could be outrageously silly, but through judicious use of his magnetic and expressive eyes becomes a natural extension of his character.

Speaking of the make-up effects, this film keeps the prosthetic stuff hot and cold flowing on tap. From the disconcerting, pasty eyeless devotees of Corbis to Borgnine's aforementioned man-goat state to some jaw droppingly awesome meltdown effects that take center stage for the films stunningly apocalyptic climax, this is exactly the sort of feature that the enemies of CGI clamor for, but mysteriously never reference.

If you're tired of the never ending influx of same old same old from modern Hollywood or have worn out your favorite films and want something new to enter into the rotation alongside the classics, I highly recommend this film and picking up the excellent release Dark Sky gave it. It's 86 minutes of campy, creepy fun that blows by without ever being boring or too full of itself. It's the film you've been looking for for the last decade and didn't know existed. Recognize!

X-Men First Class

X-Men First Class is an extraordinarily frustrating film. I can think of no other film that so lustily flirts with greatness only to be ultimately undone by the predictably unnecessary tropes inherent to its genre. If you read my reviews, you're no doubt familiar with my aversion to synopsizing and lack of reverence for spoilers, so consider this your warning before proceeding.

First, let me address the considerable magnificence contained in the film. I've been nurturing a man crush on Fassbender since 300, Blood Creek and Inglorious Basterds and he justifies my blushing appreciation by turning in a performance that does the unthinkable. I actually forgot about Ian McKellan's take on Magneto watching this movie. He's that good. He brings to the role a potent physicality, wounded anger and tortured determination so palpable it pins you to the back of your seat, wholly mesmerized every time he's on the screen. Mcavoy is also quite good as Xavier and their chemistry is easily the highlight here. They share a scene where Xavier unlocks a memory for Lenscherr he thought lost that caught me off guard with its beauty and tenderness. It easily ranks as one of the most emotional and well acted scenes in any Comic Book film, perhaps any film period. The relationship between the two characters and their dichotomous worldviews has been exhaustingly explored in previous franchise entries, but these master thespians improbably find a way to make it fresh and exhilarating all over again.

Kevin Bacon brought something to the table as the lead villain I never would have expected from him or his character. It's a reinvention along the lines of his sleaze encrusted role in Sleepers, yet totally original and always interesting to watch. His powers are revealed and visually brought to life in a confident, fascinating manner, making him a terrifyingly awesome nemesis, and films such as this live and die by how well the threat is presented.

Playing almost as huge a part in the films success is the jaw dropping costuming and set design. It evokes a fantasy 1960's that contains everything you want from the era while still making it contemporary and believable. Bacon's submarine lair and nightclub backroom are a sumptuous marvel of production design that will no doubt be ignored come Oscar time, but they are entirely deserved of such accolades. I love a movie that creates a world you wish you could swim in forever and X-Men First Class goes above and beyond as far as this is concerned.

So what torpedoes this film exactly? It's what brings down most comic book adaptations. A surplus of decidedly uninteresting and irritating characters shoehorned in to appease dorks who will no doubt wail about inaccurate back story anyway. This film did not need the "First Class". Just like Schumaker's Batman films and the last Spiderman joint didn't need so many bad guys and extraneous nobodies gumming up the pacing and obfuscating the central themes. Magneto is where it's at. When you have a lead actor knocking it the fuck out of the park as Fassbender does here, you're wasting his precious screen time by delving into the training and application of such silly mutants as screamer dude, lame Havok, dragonfly lady and tornado dip shit. There powers were beyond idiotic and the actors portraying them lifeless non-entities. Three mutants on each side would have sufficed. Azazel was cool and in the film exactly as much as he needed to be, but why they cast a top notch actor like Flemyng for the heavily made up, nearly wordless role is beyond me.

Speaking of casting, you can cram as many chicken cutlets into January Jones padded bra as you want, but it doesn't mean she can deliver her lines credibly or with any charisma. Her performance here is as flat as her chest is over inflated. The dude that played beast irked me so much I couldn't tolerate any moment he was onscreen. I don't know what it was, but I could not stand listening to him speak or even looking at his wormy, unlikable face. If they would have excised the bulk of the youngsters, it would have cut 25 minutes off the film and brought the strongest aspects of the narrative into even sharper relief. Casting someone with an ability to register as something other than a bored supermodel would have made Emma Frost a delicious, Bond Villainess worth remembering. As it stands, these missteps rob the film of its masterpiece potential and render it as a regrettably flawed template for what NOT to do when spinning such cinematic yarns.

Don't get me wrong, I loved it despite these flaws and will see it again in theaters. The great stuff is just so tremendously great. The first hour is better than any other X-Men film frankly. I would have much rather it had been Magneto: Nazi Hunter and left the kids at home.