All posts by Giles Edwards

Film major & would-be writer. 6'3". @gilesforyou (TwT)

FANTASIA 2023: APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: HIPPO (2023)

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DIRECTED BY:

FEATURING: Kimball Farley, Lilla Kizlinger, Eliza Roberts, voice of

PLOT: A nineteen-year-old boy lives a sheltered life of sugar and videogames under the guardianship of his conspiracy-obsessed mother and in the company of his adopted seventeen-year-old Hungarian sister who is obsessed with conceiving a child.

Still from Hippo (2023)

WHY IT SHOULD MAKE THE APOCRYPHA: This is a very dark, but laugh-out-loud comedy centered on a family whose dysfunction makes the viewer sympathize with a visiting sex offender. Outrageous, unsettling, and hilarious.

COMMENTS: On those rare occasions when one is smacked upside the head with such beautiful domestic horror, it pays to linger on the experience: savoring the deadpan unpleasantness that oozes a quirky charm reminiscent of Eraserhead as directed by ; contemplating the beauty of life as it emerges from horrid, gooey ingredients; and laughing your ass off at the mad, matter-of-fact insanity of a calmly self-assured beta-male psycho. Hippo feels tailor made for those happy few who can overlook sacrilege, sexual mores, and can find it in their heart to embrace a nightmare version of Thomas Kinkade.

Like his adopted Hungarian sister, Buttercup, Adam is schooled at home by a mother who has witnessed UFOs. The lad, recently turned nineteen, is called “Hippo” by his sister and mother, a pet name derived from a stuffed animal in his possession for years, and which he recently has begun humping nightly before sleep. (He does not know about “masturbation”, per se, and similarly his stepsister is wholly unaware of the facts about sex and sexuality.) As the trio go about their routines, dynamics shift as Hippo becomes more paranoid about the dangers outside the home—alien invasion and World War III among them—and Buttercup, in her own semi-detached view of this insular world, desires more and more to bear a child, preferably her stepbrother’s. A visitation by an out-of-town pervert (for a “play-date”, the drunken mother assures the group at an awkward dinner) catalyses the collapse of the old family unit, bringing Hippo and Buttercup into a strange new world.

Hippo is horror, in its way. Its depiction of a ’90s-era man-child, obsessed as much with violence as his own merits as an individual, induces both dismay and guffaws. Kimball Farley is nothing short of frightening in his depiction of Hippo, challenging viewers with his impressively crummy portrayals of masculinity through remarks like, “Quiet. You are about to witness man made horrors beyond your comprehension”, and meaning every word. I could also write that as, Kimball Farley is nothing short of hilarious in his depiction of Hippo. Such is the line being tread here, with Hippo’s aspiring-alpha-male deadpan complemented perfectly by his stepsister’s resigned deadpan (and each side glued by the unflappability of Eliza Roberts’ mother hen).

The black and white cinematography is artistic and ridiculous, in keeping with the thematic and stylistic dualities found throughout. As an exploration of extreme religion clashing with extreme modernity (vintage, in this case, as Hippo relishes a particular—and violent—new game on his N64), Rapaport shows a societal decay through a mercifully semi-detached lens. I laughed heartily, particularly at the finale’s Genesis punchline, and only felt comfortable so doing because I knew the crowd I was watching alongside. Hippo is not for the easily offended: a bouncy-dark vision with the kind of happy ending that only a Henry Spencer could relish.

Listen to our interview with star and Director of Photography William Babcock.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…an exceedingly strange, quirky film meant to provoke, like the incestuous subtext of The Royal Tenenbaums restaged by way of Yorgos Lanthimos’ Dogtooth a fantastically weird investigation into young manhood, one that feels like it comments on the modern ‘incel’ as much as it does on sheltered 90s kids.”–Eric Langberg, “Everything’s Interesting”

2023 FANTASIA FILM FESTIVAL: “MEGA-MEMORANDA”, PART ONE

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Montréal, 2023

I am ensconced above three delightful restaurants just two blocks from the venue. This is almost criminal.

7/20: Mami Wata

A period of transition threatens the village of Iyi, a period that has been a long-time coming. C.J. “Fiery” Obasi’s film plays out with beautiful  cinematography full of closeups of decorated black tribesfolk whose faith in Mami Wata, the goddess of water, begins to crumble just as a stranger washes ashore near their isolated village. Modernity has barely touched this world, wherein two sisters (adopted daughters of the village’s “Intermediary”, or chieftess/priestess) must restore their villager’s safety, their own sovereignty, and faith in their life-giving deity.

While watching Mami Wata, the thought occurred that black and white is wasted on white folk. The natural lighting on the tribal make-up adorning the high priestess and her daughters, the chiaroscuro (both generally, and particularly when light plays around and through the intricate hairstyles), and the lively incidental sheen from the beautiful dark tones of the actors make for a visual experience I had not before seen. The story has classically tragic overtones, and a strange twist to events during the climax before the state of affairs is put to rights, and any doubts of the villagers are quelled with a truly striking vision in tidal blues, greens, and browns.

Blackout

is no stranger to monster movies; in one form or another, they’re just about his entire oeuvre. Blackout starts with a bit of classic-style violence—a “hard” R-rated update to the ’30s monster scene—and quickly segues into social commentary: pro-immigration, anti-environmental destruction, pro-MILF-y lawyers, &c. It’s an odd combination of breezy charm, small town melodrama, intermittent eccentricity, and, of course, supernatural horror.

It is also quite obviously a project enjoyed by everyone involved in it. Performances range from “meh-but-good-enough” (looking at you, Marshall Bell) to “I’m impressed that I’m believing this guy” (Alex Hurt, looking rather like Tom Cruise or Chuck Norris, depending upon his beardedness in the scene), to “we are touching sublimely odd” (Joseph Castillo-Midyett, who never found a middle-distance he didn’t prefer to look toward, or a cup of coffee he didn’t want to empty before ever taking a sip). As with so much of the output from Fessenden and the larger family of contemporary horror creatives, the technical floor of quality is more than high enough, with random reaches up toward that genre’s ceiling: some unlikely animation, Continue reading 2023 FANTASIA FILM FESTIVAL: “MEGA-MEMORANDA”, PART ONE

A FANTASTIC DUO TALKS ABOUT “THE FANTASTIC GOLEM AFFAIRS”

Juan González and Nando Martínez, two swell fellows (“swellows”, if you will) hailing from across the waters, were delighted to première their latest feature on the North American continent for a receptive Fantasia crowd. The Fantastic Golem Affairs is a breezy, fun-time movie, which came as no surprise to this interviewer considering how fun-time the creative team behind it proved to be.

Audio only link (Soundcloud download)

FANTASIA 2023: APOCRYPHA CANDIDATE: SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL (2023)

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DIRECTED BY: Yuval Adler

FEATURING: Nicolas Cage, Joel Kinnaman

PLOT: A father-to-be is waylaid at gunpoint while en route to the maternity ward, and instead spends the evening surviving his kidnapper’s increasingly odd and desperate outbursts.

Still from Sympathy for the Devil (2023)

WHY IT SHOULD MAKE THE APOCRYPHA: Idiot that I am, my initial thought was, “Nah. This is exactly the kind of movie Nicolas Cage would star in these days,” only to recognize some moments afterwards that, oh yes, that necessarily means it’s a weird ride.

COMMENTS: There’s an honesty to Yuval Adler’s film. It’s in the title, where we’re told up front just what emotion to succumb to. It’s in the song playing under the opening credits, heralding both a plot point and a celebration who this movie is for. (Hint: it’s for you, but not just you…) And it’s in the first, murky appearance of Sympathy for the Devil‘s raison d’être, the old man himself, Nicolas Cage. This is a vehicle for weird cinema’s favorite high caliber nutjob, and it appropriately takes place in a literal vehicle. Sure, sure, there are some segues: an amusing gas station aside, an extended diner freakout, and a Dantean expository oratorio in a labyrinth of big rigs. But this is about Nic Cage, in a vehicle, with his red hair and red lounge-jacket and assorted weapons and intermittent Boston accent.

Knowing the star and the premise, you know whether or not you’re going to watch this already. But I would like to take a moment to highlight two ancillary, but still important, elements. First, allow me to share the good news. This is a deliciously gleaming film. In case you’re not aware, it begins in Las Vegas, and though driver and passenger leave the Strip early on, they bring the colors with them.

Cage’s “passenger” does the heavy lifting (never has red hair looked so doofy, frightening, and appropriate as in this movie), but the film’s palette does its share of overtime to complement the bright, bright shock above the his maniacal face: the cool blues recurring around the bamboozled driver; the dreamy electro-greens during an inspired performance of Alicia Bridges’ “I Love the Night Life“… Frankly, it’s a visual delight, particularly when the flames burst during Cage’s operatic rant.

Second, as you have probably guessed, is the bad news. But bad, well, that’s somewhat too strong. With an experience like Sympathy for the Devil, it’s borderline ungrateful to opine about the ending. We’ve had the pleasure of riding with a nutso Cage for ninety minutes, so damn the whys and wherefors! But an esteemed media colleague suggested that it may have been better—certainly more (which, we know, is a synonym for “better” in this case)—if the inverse had occurred. At the time I agreed, and still, for the most part, do. I got to thinking this past day, and began to wonder if there was any “ideal” way to wrap up this evening trapped in a car with Nicolas Cage. Presuming you can sink your teeth into his particular brand of ham, the only disappointing part is the meal’s completion. Mandy managed to end the dinner with a masterful touch of psycho-cutesy. But Yuval Adler just kinds of stops the car, turns the ignition key, and leaves us to wander off with a mere “oh, okay” after an evening of “oh dear Lord!”

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Both actors play off each other well in this insane little indie that’s better and more outlandish than you’d ever expect.”–Randy Meyers, San Jose Mercury News (contemporaneous)