Grabbers (Ireland/GB, 2012)

We like to drink. And we know many other people who like to drink. And when we all go out drinking together, we generally have a great time: we're witty and funny and party hardy and life is grand. That is how it is on the side of the bar that drinks, not serves. But on the side that serves, well, in another life that lasted some 15 years, 10 of which were spent serving the drinks — the other 5 were spent hiring and firing those who served them — we learned something: drunk people aren't funny. At least, not if you're not drunk, too. (Luckily, in Berlin, at least in the bars we worked in, drunken bartenders were employable and socially acceptable.)

But we weren't drunk when we watched Grabbers, a comedy monster film, with five similarly sober friends. And though we drank while watching, we never actually got drunk — or at least not drunk enough to enjoy this movie. Seldom were any of us more bored, and seldom have we laughed less.

Grabbers, the basic plot of which involves a remote Irish town that has to drink themselves into a drunken stupor to survive the onslaught of the titular monsters from outer space, which happen to be allergic to alcohol, is one dud of a movie: predictable from start to finish, almost never scary or in any way tense, thin on laughs, and full of unfunny drunken people.

Which isn't to say Grabbers doesn't have a few plus points. For one, it features Bronagh Gallagher (Botched [2007 / trailer] and Malice in Wonderland [2009 / trailer]) in a secondary role with a Betty Page haircut; we would have liked the film even less had she not been present, regardless of how minor her part.* Secondly, it has some truly fine cinematography and the landscape is fabulous — but then, the landscape of Ireland is fabulous, so that must be seen more as a credit to the country and not to this movie. (Believe us: if you've never driven through Ireland, do so; you might decide to move there.) Ditto with the great accents: the Irish lilt is always a pleasure to listen to, but again, this a credit to the land and not the movie. But other than the above three aspects, there is little to recommend in this predictable, almost trite, and definitely neither funny — OK, we did laugh when Dr. Adam Smith (Russell Tovey of Blackwood [2014 / trailer]) went flying through the air, but that was over half-way into the movie already — nor scary monster film.

* Her little exchange about renting the bridal suite reminded me of an exchange I had many years ago in Cork, but in reverse, in a sense. Having traveled through Ireland for 14 days with an Irishwoman friend — as in, non-sexual friendship — we arrived in Cork late in the evening and managed to find a bed & breakfast. When the lady of the house was showing us the room, the first room after 10 days in which the beds were separate, a fact that made both me and my friend happy, the proprietress suddenly chimed out with that fabulous accent: "Should I push the two beds together in case you want to commit a mortal sin?"

Were we in any way forgiving, we might also mention that the editing and lighting are first-rate, the CGI not shabby, the blocking and cinematography professional, and some of the acting (up until they play "drunk") is mildly good — but who gives a shit when the movie, as a whole, fails so miserably? It actually hurt now and then to see the good points wasted in a movie that was so predictable, so completely unoriginal. Hell, in the first scene that Garda Lisa Nolan (Ruth Bradley) has her coffee prepared by Garda Ciarán O'Shea (Richard Coyle of Outpost: Black Sun [2012 / trailer] and Franklyn [2008]), you already know they're going to end up a couple.

Why? Because the screenplay is by the number and has all the creativity of the pitch that was probably given: "Well, see, we take Tremors (1990 / trailer) and make the graboids into rolling octopuses called grabbers that drink blood, and move the setting from ugly Buttfuck USA to beautiful Buttfuck Ireland because the Irish like to drink and drunks are funny." Whoever green-lighted this thing must have been drunk is all that we can say.

How and why Grabbers gets so many good reviews is beyond us, and actually says less about the quality of the movie than the ease with which the masses are satisfied. Major bomb. Not funny. Total waste of time. Want a good, semi-contemporary monster movie? Go for Tremors — or, with less monster but with a similarly pro-drug attitude (yes, alcohol is a drug), the funny and suspenseful teen horror flick, The Faculty (1998 / trailer). Or, if it's just suspense you want, Splinter (2008). But skip Grabbers. We sure wish we had.

Art of the Devil II / Long khong (Thailand, 2005)

One of two follow-up movies to Tanit Jitnukul's original horror movie of the same name (2004 / trailer), Art of the Devil ll is a titular sequel only and is completely unrelated to the first film. (Art of the Devil III [2008 / trailer], in turn, while likewise only titularly related to Art I, is a prequel to this movie.) The shared narrative aspect of all three horror films, all of which were highly successful in their homeland but haven't exactly gained much notice elsewhere, is that of black magic.

That said, let's take a closer look at the film at hand, which was pulled from our pile of "mystery DVDs" (i.e., don't when or why or how it was procured) and watched last week with an audience of four. Art of the Devil ll also elicited four different reactions: one person said "That sucked"; another dismissed it with "That was gross"; a third said "That was an enjoyably bad movie"; and lastly came the protestation, "Hey, it was a pretty good flick". We were the protesting party. For: "Sucked" it did not, "gross" it often was, and a "bad movie" in the sense of psychotronic fun or fun crap like Showgirls (1995 / trailer) or The Hottie and the Nottie (2008 / trailer) it is most definitely not. And we ourselves at least founds the movie often rather horrific.

True, The Art of the Devil II may be low-culture trash, as body-count and other genre films generally are, but it is also interesting in many ways and easily retains viewer interest, and not just because of the exotic factor. (This alone makes it way better than most movies out there, and not just genre films.) Like many Asian films the editing sometimes overly streamlines the narrative, not only moving the story forward in jumps but also resulting in gaps that require some quick and creative thinking on the part of the viewer. Still, considering that the movie was directed by seven directors (Pasith Buranajan, Kongkiat Khomsiri, Isara Nadee, Seree Phongnithi, Yosapong Polsap, Putipong Saisikaew and Art Thamthrakul), Art of the Devil ll is not only surprisingly coherent, but the acting passable to excellent. In this regard, the evil woman of the film, the total MILF teacher Mrs. Panor (Napakpapha Nakprasitte), excels: sexy throughout, she succeeds at different points to convey likability, pain, seductiveness, bitchiness, pure evil — in other words, the full gamut needed to become a convincing character. It is not surprising that she was nominated for acting awards that year by both the Bangkok Critics Assembly as well as the Thailand National Film Association. (The various no names that play the fodder don't excel in any way, but considering that dubbing usually makes bad actors even worse and they merely come across as weak, they do a perfectly acceptable job.)

The basic plot of Art of the Devil ll has little to do with art, other than that there are a few obscure references to tattoos and the MILF also has some devilish body art. The basic plot involves a group of students returning to their countryside home after two years in the big city for the funeral of the father of their friend, Ta (Namo Tongkumnerd, also of Art of the Devil III and 407 Dark Flight 3D [2014 / trailer]), who stayed behind in the backwaters of Thailand. But things are not as they seem in them there backwaters, and come nightfall the realization comes that the sins of the past are now demanding their due. 

Ghosts and dead people play a part in a moral tail that is anything but gore lite and that also (Thank god!) lacks the Asian (e.g., Japanese and Korean) obsession with long-haired ghosts. The moral to the tale is a simple one: don't fuck around with black magic. Black magic, however, is the shared sin of all those in the movie, and they pay dearly for their sins; the dark arts are even at the foundation of the final twist of the movie, a twist that we for one did not see coming. (Indeed, a slow-dawning twist of Art of the Devil ll is the realization that the evil MILF was, basically, driven to madness and evil by all those around her, and that she became what she is due to desperation caused by factors that she had no control of. Be careful of what you create, we must say.)

The horror in Art of the Devil ll is of the illogical supernatural type, in that the way it manifests itself is often more nightmarishly inane than fully understandable. Much like, say, in the great granddaddy of all Gothic horror novels, Horace Walpole's The Castle of Otranto, in which the about-to-marry Conrad dies by being crushed by a gigantic helmet falling from the sky, there is often no logical explanation why something happens or why some die in a specific way, other than it is supernatural. Two deaths that perfectly exemplify this would be the first one, in which a man (whom we later learn was the local gym teacher) suffers fishhooks emerging from beneath his skin, and the death of Ko [Pavarit Wongpanitch], who suffers a similar fate, only this time it's living lizards that bloodily and fatally force themselves out from under his skin. Bloody, but why fishhooks or lizards? Especially since the evil MILF generally seems to prefer a more hands-on or at least direct approach. But then, black magic and revenge follows no logic but its own.

Amidst all the many gore highlights are other events that are more mundane but nonetheless effectively horrific, as exemplified by the scene in which the group suddenly realize that their half-eaten evening meal is made from their missing friend Noot [Chanida Suriyakompon]. (The scene of granny eating the cat, on the other hand, is more laughable, both because the cat looks so fake and because of Ta's reaction. [He says something to the effect "She's hungry, but a little confused."]) Occasionally, there are moments of unexpectedly subtlety, as in the scene following that in which the group lights incense to ward off evil spirits.

Despite its graphic and gory opening scene, Art of the Devil ll is perhaps a little slow to start, but once the college students are underway and the first brown-tinged flashback kicks in, the movie definitely begins to intrigue. The time-jumping narration works surprisingly well, and the revelations the flashbacks disclose often add an unexpected viewpoint to the events, if not a kick in the gut to the viewer's sympathies at the given point in the movie. (More than one person in the movie has a dark secret, you might say.) The blood-spattered scenes and shocks are often unnerving and cringingly effective, at best both painful and nightmarish. (And not for the squeamish, as the movie often waltzes deep into the sphere of torture porn.) And considering how prudish the young couple Kim (Hataiwan Ngamsukonpusit) and Por (Akarin Siwapornpitak) are at the start of the movie — they barely manage to kiss each other's cheeks — sex plays a huge role in the movie, which features scenes not only of the MILF teacher getting it on with a variety of men, but also infers both a lesbian relationship between two of the group as well as the oral rape of the young students, both female and male, by the gym teacher. (Never graphic, but always unequivocal.) The final twist is not necessarily to be seen in advance — as we've already mentioned, we sure didn't see it coming — but is nevertheless extremely consequent to the black tale told.

Karma is a bitch — and Art of the Devil ll is bitchin'!

Short Film: Un Chien Andalou / An Andalusian Dog (France, 1929)

We are continually surprised at how many people have not yet seen this film. Sure, everyone who's ever gone to art school or studied filmmaking has seen it, but if you get down to it, that's a smaller group than you might imagine. Indeed, recently we were at a table of film fanatics, and we proved to be the only one who had ever seen this early masterpiece of Surreal cinema co-written by Salvador Domingo Felipe Jacinto Dalí i Domènech, Marqués de Dalí de Pubol (11 May 1904 — 23 Jan 1989) and directed and co-written by Luis Buñuel Portolés (22 Feb 1900 — 29 July 1983). (But then, we did go to art school in another life.) Though "the most famous short film ever made" (according to Roger Ebert [18 June 1942 — 4 April 2013]), it would seem that while masses of people out there may have heard of it, masses have also yet to see it. We would like to do our bit at correcting this hole in the education of the general film fan.

We won't talk too much about what the film is about, for despite all the possible interpretations, Freudian and otherwise, we have always tended to believe Buñuel's insistence that there is no meaning to be found in the string of scenes collected from his and Dali's dreams and imagination. As Buñuel once explained, "Our only rule [when writing the script] was very simple: no idea or image that might lend itself to a rational explanation of any kind would be accepted. We had to open all doors to the irrational and keep only those images that surprised us, without trying to explain why."

Assuming this is true and not a later reimagining of intention — similar, for example, to scriptwriter Joe Eszterhas's later ascertain that he meant Paul Verhoeven's Showgirls (1995 / trailer) to be as funny as it is — then at best the movie is an example of how anything can be interpreted and given meaning should one choose to. Above all, what the young Surrealists were doing back in 1929 was simply trying to aggressively attack the common form and structure of film. They did a good job, as you can well imagine that that which still shocks (in parts) today, was a full slap in the face in 1929.

Un Chien Andalou / An Andalusian Dog was the directorial debut of Luis Buñuel, whose other known previous screen credits are that of assistant director on Jean Epstein's screen adaptation of Mauprat (1926 / full movie, French subtitles) and Mario Nalpas & Henri Étiévant's Papitou / Siren of the Tropics (1927 / Joséphine Baker dancing), a co-scriptwriting credit on Epstein's later horror film, The Fall of the House of Usher (1928 / full movie, French subtitles), and a small acting part in Jacques Feyder's Carmen (1926 / from the soundtrack). Buñuel, who went on to be rather famous as a filmmaker, appears in the opening scene of this film as the macho smoker who slits the eye. The young Dali is also seen briefly in the film, as one of the two priests being dragged behind the two grand pianos laden with dead donkeys (he's at your right above).

Of the others who appear in the film: the actress playing the woman whose eye is slit, Simone Mareuil, killed herself at the age of 55 by self-immolation on a public square on 24 October 1954, while Pierre Batcheff (born 23 June 1907), the man dressed as a nun, supposedly died of an overdose of veronal on 12 April 1932. The other most notable face of the movie, the attractively androgynous woman on the street, is played by Fano Messan (1902-1998), a mostly forgotten woman sculptor who, like Marlene, liked to wear men's clothing; active in the Parisian cultural scene of late 20s, among other artists she posed for is one of our favorites, Kees van Dongen (26 January 1877 – 28 May 1968). That's his painting of her above.
In any event, enjoy this month's short film: An Andalusian Dog.

Teenage Caveman (USA, 2002)

In all truth, for the main gist of the following review, you can skip down to the final paragraph... but read on, should our normal meandering and verbosity interest you in any way.

(Spoilers.) Way back around the turn of the century, the cheap horror movies of yesteryear suddenly became a source of new product for the American film industry. Dark Castle Entertainment, for example, was founded (initially) to make new versions of the films of William Castle (see: 13 Ghosts [2002 / trailer] and House on Haunted Hill [1999 / trailer]), while Platinum Dunes looked less far back in time and brought us updated versions of trash classics and semi-classics such as The Texas Chainsaw Massacre [2003 / trailer], The Amityville Horror [2005 / trailer], and others. The American cable channel Cinemax also followed suit (if with far lower budgets) and, in 2001, under the banner "Creature Features", broadcast a series of five extremely loose and cheaply made "remakes" of "classic" B movies that the great Samuel Z. Arkoff had originally produced for AIP in the 50s and 60s — the very films many a Gen Xer had grown up watching on their local creature-feature show. (The new versions were produced by Arkoff's son Lou Arkoff and, oddly enough, comedy starlet and former Playboy model Colleen Camp [below, in her prime].) All five TV movies were subsequently released on DVD, and while none enjoyed any great praise or popularity, this one here, Teenage Caveman was perhaps the most reviled.

We ourselves stumbled upon Teenage Caveman in a bargain-basement barrel, and while drawn to it only due to the inanity of the concept of such a remake, we probably would never have tossed down the 50 cents to buy it were it not for the name of the movie's director: Larry Clark. In the art world of the 70s and 80s, Larry Clark had had some success, fortune, and infamy as a photographer of the drug-, alcohol-, and sex-fueled naked underbelly of teenage America. And like a variety of other, more respectable art stars of the generation — e.g., Robert Longo (Johnny Mnemonic [1995 / trailer]), Cindy Sherman (Office Killer [1997 / trailer]), David Salle (Search and Destroy [1995 / trailer]) and Julian Schnabel — when given the chance to move into movie-making in the mid-1990s, he went for it and brought out the scandal movie Kids (1995 / trailer), which focused on the drug-, alcohol-, and sex-filled life of teens confronted with HIV. (And launched the careers of Chloë Sevigny, Rosario "Hot Stuff" Dawson, & Harmony Korine [the director of Gummo (1997 / trailer) and Trash Humpers (2009 / trailer)].) Since then, Clark remains, alongside Schnabel, one of the select few of the bigger art names of the 80s to still be regularly active as a filmmaker.

In any event, the concept of a cheap teen horror flick directed by a "name" ephebophiliac artist intrigued us enough to plop down 50 cents for the DVD and, three years later, to finally pop the flick into the DVD player. And we must say that although we had no expectations, we were disappointed by Teenage Caveman... even as we must admit that the cheap flick probably is in many way exactly what one might expect from a man obsessed with the sex and drug lives of teenagers: sleazy, and full of teens having sex and doing drugs and drinking. Just, the fixation on teenage sex and drug abuse is obsessive to the point of discomfort: the flick makes you, as the viewer, feel sort of dirty after awhile. Also, none in the cast of newbies really excels as a thespian, the jokes are few and mostly flat, tension is virtually non-existence, and the main bad guy (Richard Hillman [13 Dec 1974 — 27 June 2009] as Neil) overacts to the point of being almost unwatchable.

About the only thing that the 2002 version of Teenage Caveman has in common with the original 1958 version — directed by Roger Corman as Prehistoric World, released in England as Out of Darkness, and starring Robert Vaughn [of Unwed Mother [1958 / trailer], Starship Invasions [1977 / trailer], Battle Beyond the Stars [1980 / trailer], Killing Birds [1987 / trailer], Transylvania Twist [1989/ trailer], and much, much more]) — is the post-apocalyptic setting. But unlike in the original film, in which this fact is the film's final denouement, we know relatively quickly (with the movie's first and perhaps only intentional laugh involving a "no skateboarding" sign) that in Clark's version, the primitive world of the protagonists is post-apocalyptic.

At its onset, Teenage Caveman seems to hold some promise, despite its obvious threadbare budget and thespian inadequacies. Namely, the new world order back at the communal cave looks to contain the seeds of dramatic tension, and Clark's obsession with sex, not yet in visual overload, is instead reflected in an interesting plot point: Shaman (Paul Hipp), the leader of the tribe and father of our handsome hero David (Andrew Keegan), is a David Koresh-like, fanatically religious, hypocritical, and corrupt tribal leader who forbids sex within the tribe but reserves the God-given right to fuck all the young girls. (An underlying thematic point of the movie, though well hidden, is that of the corruption of power.) Shaman makes the mistake of deciding to bone his son's gal Sarah (Tara Subkoff of The Notorious Bettie Page [2005 / trailer]), and before you can finish reading a Penthouse Forum letter, Shaman is dead and David is tied to the stake outside the cave in an obvious homage to that gay icon of the religious martyrs, St. Sebastian. (Clark's camera loves his hairy armpit and man nipples.) But what are real friends for but to help you escape and leave the tribe in search of a better life? And thus the scraggly group of contumacious teens hit the road...

A radioactive rainstorm later, they awaken in the luxury apartment decorated with Jeff Koons art pieces belonging to Neil and his female counterpart Judith, (Tiffany Limos), and before the plot continues the movie stagnates for an interminable amount of time on the introduction of our innocent group to the wicked world of sex and drugs, for which they must pay dearly later. Make no mistake: Clark may wallow in nudity and sex and drugs, but this is an extremely anti-sex film. Much like in the slashers of the 80s, in Teenage Caveman having sex basically means you're going to die. But though Clark displays a desire to punish his innocents for their being corrupted, he wants to have his cake, too, and thus first casts a long, prolonged, narrative- and mood-crippling gaze on barely post-pubescent breasts of the young girls and the naked butts (or stuffed underwear) of the young boys. (Note: sex scenes as filmed by Clark are a perfect opportunity to get a new beer or empty your bladder.) Oddly enough, for all his fascination in the body of the barely hairy and cheap-looking store-bought underwear — Payless obviously survived the apocalypse — Clark lacks the cojones to do a full frontal of a male, though he does many of the girls.

For that, however, he does have the cojones to film perhaps one of the most audacious, transgressive scenes we've ever seen in a Pay TV movie: when Elizabeth (Crystal Celeste Grant) begins to suffer the after-effects of unprotected sex with the genetically modified duo, the "good" villainess Judith begins to masturbate — and then gets pissed when the young lady literally explodes prematurely. (Needless to say, Judith is no better a person than the main villain of the movie, Neil.) Why does Elizabeth explode? Neil and Judith are genetically altered super-humans, and much like HIV, their traits are transferred virally through body fluids. But most normal bodies cannot survive the conversion to superdom and self-destruct — not good.

Like so many badly made movies, in Teenage Caveman there is little tension felt as the  characters die one by one until there is but the final girl and final guy and main villain and the final showdown, which in itself might have been funny were the movie not so exhausting and repulsive to sit through up till that point. To give Clark justifiable credit again, however, he ends the movie in a subtly depressing manner that is at least 100% in line with his obvious anti-sex attitude and his less obvious theme of the corruption of power. But being true to a vision doesn't mean that the vision is any good, or worth your time watching.

Teenage Caveman, in short: An anti-sex and ultimately depressing film made by an ephebophiliac man who obviously prefers to punish the victim, the movie is hampered by bad acting, a low budget, a total lack of suspense, and terrible pacing. The gore ranges from well-made to cheesy, but despite a blood-drenched money shot or two, none are good or bad enough to make them worth waiting for — with the possible exception of the exploding belly & masturbation scene, which could really fit well in a Richard Kern flick. The sex and drugs scenes are alienating and dull, and oddly repulsive, sort of as if you have sudden insight to the sexual fantasies of the wanna-be paedophile next door. Neither the director nor scriptwriter evidence any real talent in their craft, and the themes and possibilities of the narrative appear and disappear indiscriminately. By the end of the movie the only thing one realizes, really feels, really knows, is that Teenage Caveman is one fucked up film and a total waste of time.

Not surprisingly, rumor has it that another remake is in the works.

Trailer to the original
Teenage Caveman (1958):