Category Archives: It Came from the Reader-Suggested Queue

IT CAME FROM THE READER SUGGESTED QUEUE: IT COULDN’T HAPPEN HERE (1987)

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“I’ve just been fishing with Salvador Dali. He used a dotted line. . . caught every other fish.”

DIRECTED BY: Jack Bond

FEATURING: Neil Tennant, Chris Lowe

PLOT: From West End towns with dead end walls, the Pet Shop Boys travel around England before ending up at King’s Cross; all the while, singer Neil Tennant recalls his childhood memories in a narrative postcard to his mother.

COMMENTS: By 1987 the Pet Shop Boys had produced two hit albums with a number of chart-topping singles but they still couldn’t afford the expense of touring. When a planned concert fell through, their manager suggested they make a film, something like did with A Hard Day’s Night. Director Jack Bond, whose prior credits included the documentary Dali in New York (1965) and a series of experimental films with Jane Arden, proved integral to the project. Structured as a road movie, Bond turns the film into a Surrealist game of free association. Though punctuated by popular songs, It Couldn’t Happen Here sank into obscurity after being panned by film critics.

Anyone expecting this to be a typical band film must have been surprised by a movie that’s anything but. It lacks concert footage and behind-the-scenes interviews; instead, the Boys meander through a series of vignettes. Lyrics suddenly crop up in the dialogue as spoken word poetry or snippets on the radio. Fans of Tennant’s literate compositions, in which love, romance, and commerce all intertwine, will instantly recognize them. To anyone less familiar with the music, the isolated refrains make the film even more enigmatic.

The road trip begins at the seashore. Tennant stops by a souvenir stand to purchase  bawdy holiday postcards. He reminisces about his family nearly being kicked out of a boarding house due to his bad behavior. The scene then cuts to Chris Lowe, narrowly escaping the same overbearing landlady after he throws his breakfast in her face. “Chrissy, baby,” she moans, “what have I done to deserve this?”

The present day continually blends with the past as Lowe joins Tennant at the seaside and a blind priest chases two schoolboys through a carnival. After Tennant recalls how his father once spent their family’s savings on a blue and cream-colored Ford Zephyr, the priest then reappears as a hitchhiking serial killer. While Lowe drives and Tennant lip-syncs to himself on the radio, the hitchhiker gleefully recounts his murderous exploits with Salvador Dalí as they continue their journey across the country.

A pitstop at a diner stars a ventriloquist’s dummy who rants about the nature of time, sparking an existential crisis in a pilot seated nearby. A plane and car-chase scene, reminiscent of North by Northwest, ends in front of a phone booth being vandalized by Neo-Nazis, who politely cease in their destruction so Tennant can call the landlady.

And so it goes, passing from one bizarre set-piece to another, the proceedings occasionally interrupted by MTV-style dance breaks. Tennant and Lowe retain deadpan expressions throughout, observing everything from a man on fire and zebra keepers with black-and-white striped faces with incurious nonchalance.

Re-considering It Couldn’t Happen Here, some commentators are kinder to it in hindsight, uncovering clever political critique lurking beneath the odd sensibility. Others are not so nice, declaring it a misguided foray best left forgotten. Dedicated fans of the Pet Shop Boys should seize opportunities to check it out on physical media or streaming; there’s a certain nostalgia to hearing the group’s hits again in this context. For others, it’s an interesting, if not entirely successful, attempt at making a film according to Surrealist principles; at least, that’s my impression.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…the result is as idiosyncratic to the deadpan duo as A Hard Day’s Night was to the Fab Four. The film takes second place in a Fellini-style phantasmagoria of British seaside life, mixing past, present and abstract surrealism…”–Eddie Harrison, film-authority

(This movie was nominated for review by “Chris R.” Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: 8½ WOMEN (1999)

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DIRECTED BY: Peter Greenaway

FEATURING: John Standing, Matthew Delamere, Polly Walker, , Toni Collette, Amanda Plummer, Shizuka Inoh

PLOT: A wealthy businessman’s son attempts to bring his widower father out of his grief by introducing him to the pleasures of libertinism.

Still from 8 1/2 Women (1999)

COMMENTS: Probably the most quoted line from Peter Greenaway’s exploration of high-class sexual adventurism comes when father and son watch Fellini’s classic . “How many film directors make films to satisfy their sexual fantasies?” Philip asks. “Most of them,” his son replies. It’s a noteworthy piece of art that coughs up its mission statement so readily. Greenaway is already renowned for his treatment of sex as an artistic endeavor. By aligning himself with one of the acknowledged greats of the cinema, he would seem to be making a definitive statement on the primal urge.

It’s important to remember, however, that Greenaway really doesn’t think much of the male of the species. The two weirdest elements of 8½ Women—how much humiliation men are willing to endure to get their base needs met, and what women deem important enough to lead them to assent—are opposite sides of the same coin. Blinkered, selfish, easily distracted by carnal matters, men are always getting in their own way, and so it goes with Philip and his son Storey. These men possess staggering wealth (their fortune was built on debt collection), so much so that they can usually ignore the niceties of culture or propriety, and even then, they can think of little but their next gratification. No surprise that women recognize them for the pathetic, hollow beings they are. 8½ Women feels like an argument for mutual benefits: the men get the sexual gratification they crave, and the women get to fulfill their own needs, be they professional or psychological.

Those needs, to be certain, are kinda peculiar. Gioconda wants to be pregnant at all times, but Clothilde just wants permission to wear her old mistress’ hats, while Beryl has a thing for farm animals, a fetish that lands her in the world’s most perverse body cast. Lording over them all is Palmira, the most powerful person in the house (and probably in any room she enters) by virtue of having the most control over her reason for being there: the pleasure of shagging Philip until he drops, a fact which is completely lost on Philip’s son, who petulantly expects to be next in line.

Walker is electrifying in her power, which highlights how deliberately unsexy this movie about men who keep a harem is. This spiciest scene in the film features novice nun Griselda (played by Colette) leading the Emmenthal boys to her chamber; they are enraptured, she is paying off a debt. She’s not the only one. It’s noteworthy that when one of them actually needs something from the men–such as Mio, a Japanese woman who wants to take on the qualities of a Kabuki female impersonator–they come up pathetically short. 8½ Women never stops reminding you that these relationships are transactional, and is surprisingly cruel to anyone who dares think love has anything to do with it. (One woman is even bludgeoned over the head with a roof tile for her mistake.)

8½ Women is implicitly weird because of what Greenaway brings to any project, but it ultimately doesn’t add up to much. People come, people go, those who understand the rules get what they want. Philip and Storey may get to the root of Fellini’s imagination, but never get anywhere near the magic found there.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Like all other Greenaway movies, 8 1/2 Women transpires in a surreal setting that reflects our reality as seen through a looking glass darkly… traditional cinematic elements exist primarily to provide a framework in which Greenaway can operate to present a variety of outrageous sequences… unless you like the offbeat simply because it’s offbeat, 8½ Women may not be the best choice for an evening’s entertainment.” – James Berardinelli, Reel View (contemporaneous)

(This movie was nominated for review by Caleb Moss, who described it thusly: “”Peter Greenaway presents Marquis de Sade, complete with father/son homoerotic subtext, a giant pig, a woman with an odd sexual predilection for horses and swine, inexplicable earthquakes, self-aware parallelisms with Fellini, and as you may of guessed, literally half of a woman, to name some of the very least of strange, detached debaucheries in this film.” Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: WELCOME HOME, BROTHER CHARLES (1975)

AKA Soul Vengeance

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“Too bad the title ‘Shaft’ was already taken.”–Peter Hanson, “Every ‘70s Movie”

DIRECTED BY: Jamaa Fanaka

FEATURING: Marlo Monte, Reatha Gray, Stan Kamber, Ben Bigelow, Jake Carter, Jackie Ziegler

PLOT: After a three-year stint in the pen, Charles returns home with an extraordinary new ability that will help him settle scores with the racist cop who nabbed him and the former friend who stole his drug-dealing business and his old girlfriend.

Still from "Welcome Home, Brother Charles" (1975)

COMMENTS: Jamaa Fanaka rejected the term “blaxploitation” to describe his films. He felt it was more apt to describe the movies that white producers made to exploit the market, as opposed to home-grown productions representing the real concerns of black people. But he was no elitist; this is, after all, the man behind the Penitentiary series (one of which also has a spot in our reader-suggestion queue). So it’s interesting to see what Fanaka had in mind when he first had the chance to tell a story of his own. Welcome Home, Brother Charles, a movie that he cobbled together on weekends during his tenure at UCLA film school, contains plenty of sex and violence to titillate audiences, and the portrait of an African American society ridden with drugs, booze, and prostitution would be right at home in the genre. But this is a film with a genuine anger to express, and it manifests itself in the most extraordinary revenge.

(The story of Fanaka’s name is too good not to be told. The aspiring filmmaker born Walter Gordon attended a screening of Cooley High and was shocked to discover that director Michael Schultz, name notwithstanding, was black. Determined to avoid any confusion, he got hold of a Swahili dictionary and invented a new name for himself that roughly translates as “through togetherness we will find success.”)

Things look bad for our hero from the start: we open with the title character on the edge of a building, with a white cop trying to talk him down. Then we flashback to when all the trouble began, most notably his arrest by a cop so bigoted that he tries to cut off Charles’ genitals even before he’s read him his rights. (Not surprisingly, this earns the cop a mild “knock it off” from his superiors as punishment. He gets more of a smackdown from his cheating wife, who notes that he’s not only bad in bed, but doesn’t even have the fortitude to slap her around.) Monte’s scream is purely derived from pain, but it serves as a howl of injustice.

To this point, this has all been extreme and unfair, but not unexpected. The hint that something weirder is coming first arrives during Charles’ stay in jail, when he has terrible dreams with suggestions of illicit experimentation. It’s clear that something much stranger is going on when Charles pays a visit to the racist cop’s home and seduces the bigot’s wife. She is flat-out hypnotized by the sight of him, literally dropping her panties and agreeing to do nothing while he seeks vengeance on her odious husband. In fact, that turns out to be his whole plan: find the men who railroaded him, seduce their ladies with his superior sexual prowess, and then kill the damned racist pig. It’s a simple, straightforward scheme, only complicated by Charles’ weapon of choice.

You see, while we recognize the trope of the well-endowed black man, Charles’ gifts are considerably  greater than that. In fact, his manhood is incredibly large, unthinkably long, and fully prehensile. (If you were paying close attention during the opening credits, you are rewarded for spotting the foreshadowing.) Yep, his trouser snake is actually a 15-foot boa constrictor, and it operates in similar fashion, wrapping around the necks of the white men who wronged him and choking them until they’re dead. This is the astounding plot twist that kicks Welcome Home, Brother Charles into the strange stratosphere, because while this site is no stranger to giant johnsons pursuing justice, this killer anaconda is on a whole other level.

Perhaps the surest sign that Fanaka did not want a run-of-the-mill blaxploitation film is his determination to end the film on a dark note. Despite the monster in his pants, Charles can’t hold off institutional racism for long, and the fact that going out on his own terms is the victory reflects this movie’s mindset. Brother Charles finishes with a serious-minded epigram—“Let them indulge their pride if thinking I am destroyed is a comfort to them; let it be”—that isn’t really earned, and which suggests a very different film in Fanaka’s head from the one we just watched. If that film existed, the third act strangled it to death with its audacious twist. Maybe Welcome Home, Brother Charles isn’t blaxploitation. But something’s being exploited, that’s for sure.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…really, really weird… one of the most insane movies you will ever see. It’s also not very good, but it’s not awful, and I still wholeheartedly recommend it, at least to lovers of all things cheese related.”–Ryan McDonald, Shameless Self Expression

(This movie was nominated for review by TimK. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.) 

Soul Vengeance
  • Factory sealed DVD

CAPSULE: SPIDER (1991)

Zirneklis

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DIRECTED BY: Vasili Mass

FEATURING: Aurelija Anuzhite, , Algirdas Paulavicius

PLOT: A teenage girl who dreams of spiders attracts the attention of a mysterious painter.

COMMENTS: A priest and an artist walk into a bar. . . well, actually they meet in the artist’s studio and drink coffee, but they have a revealing conversation nonetheless. The priest prefers the artist’s early works, painted in the style of the Italian Renaissance. In contrast, his current works appear much darker, inspired by the likes of Hieronymous Bosch and Caravaggio. “It’s a changing world,” the artist says by way of explanation, “and we’re changing with it.” “We’re changing,” the priest corrects him, “and so we change the world.”

Spider opens with a quotation from Sigmund Freud (“Subconscious sexual desires are closely linked to the sense of fear”). This sets it up to be a softcore tale of burgeoning adolescent sexuality, though one with serious art-house vibes (in an early scene, the main character imagines herself entering a Pre-Raphaelite bower where she clutches a bouquet of pink flowers to her heart as trickles of blood seep between her fingers). The film then abruptly cycles through various genres, from a Gothic mystery in a haunted medieval castle to, by the nightmarish finale, a full-blown seventies-style satanic horror. Like its antagonist, it constantly changes form, leaving the viewer wondering just where it will go next.

The plot seems simple enough at first. The priest commissions the artist to paint an Annunciation scene for a homeless shelter. The artist spots teenaged Vita at the church and tells the priest he’ll only take the commission if she’ll model for the Virgin Mary. The priest agrees and says he’ll convince Vita to pose for the painting.

Though ostensibly a wholesome girl, one who chooses to hang out at church rather than in night clubs, vivid dreams and hallucinations of spiders plague Vita’s sleeping and waking moments. Her dreams and reality continue to intersect after her first visit to the artist’s studio. One of the other models tells Vita to beware of the artist since he was once bitten by a spider. He then begins to haunt her dreams, along with other ominous black-robed figures and insects.

Made in Latvia on the cusp of the Soviet Union’s collapse, Spider feels like a time capsule of its era, but also of earlier filmmaking conventions. Scenes of paintings come to life feature actual actors posed on detailed sets in elaborate costumes. The titular spider is a massive puppet with many, partly animated, writhing appendages. The ending includes practical effects worthy of Luigi Cozzi, evoking nostalgia for the days when corpses routinely exploded with glue and Jello. Director Mass is also obsessed with lighting effects; soft focus lens flares and rainbows characterize nearly every shot. The score, too, travels through the decades. The main theme, a pastoral with pan pipes, accompanies Classical, opera, and late ’80s synth stings whenever the suspense ratchets up.

After waking from a nightmare with spider bites on her back, Vita’s mother takes her to a doctor. Upon examination, the bites are gone; the doctor diagnoses auto-hypnotic suggestion and recommends a period of rest in the country. Vita’s mother then sends her to visit her aunt, who lives in a castle on an island. Since the modeling job creates conflict between mother and daughter, the priest decides to call off the commission. He tells the artist Vita will no longer be his model, then leaves his studio before the artist can argue with him. The scene then repeats, and in the second version, the artist informs the priest he will not be dismissing Vita. She now belongs to him, and she will be his, until he finishes the painting.

Meanwhile, Vita happily moves into her aunt’s castle where she’s warned against a mysterious bedroom that’s off-limits. The isolated island community, peopled with various strange characters, provides a verdant setting for more imaginative erotic set-pieces. By this point in the narrative, a critical viewer might fault the director for introducing a series of plot threads without ever tying them up.

A more charitable viewer may assume the director intended to create a tangled web of the plot. The artist tells the priest, “Both evil and good are threads of a spider web. . . untangle it and they’re gone, both good and evil.” Mass complicates the narrative as Spider moves beyond the highly eroticized reveries of a horny teenager. There are shades of Pygmalion and Galatea, and one possible interpretation attributes Vita’s experiences to Stendhal Syndrome. Either way, far from being a merely evil foil to the good priest, the artist comes across as a much more ambiguous character, though in the end, he’s vanquished (or is he?) by the sign of the cross.

The artist’s dialogue centers on themes of surface appearances, control, manipulation, and illusion. He tells Vita appearances are deceptive because they hide the soul, and “the soul is a great mystery.” By the end, Spider suggests the pertinent issue isn’t Vita’s sexual allure. It’s her dreams, the secrets of her soul, which beg the question, in a rapidly changing world, how can you tell the difference between mirage and reality?

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“…psychedelic and often jaw-dropping Eastern European mash up of Walerian Borowczyk and Alain Robbe-Grillet…”- Nathaniel Thompson, Mondo-Digital

IT CAME FROM THE READER-SUGGESTED QUEUE: TIERRA [EARTH] (1996)

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DIRECTED BY: Julio Medem

FEATURING: Carmelo Gómez, Emma Suárez, Silke, Karra Elejalde, Nancho Novo

PLOT: A man fresh out of a mental hospital takes a job fumigating a scourge of wood lice in the countryside in Spanish wine country, where he finds himself irresistibly drawn to both a comely young wife who is neglected by her farmer husband and a spirited wild child who is being kept as a mistress by that same husband.

Still from Tierra (1996)

COMMENTS: Ángel is cool as a cucumber. At least, Ángel as portrayed by Carmelo Gómez is cool as a cucumber. Looking like Judd Nelson at the moment when he might have been the sexiest member of the Brat Pack, he’s utterly unflappable, rolling into town in his exterminator truck and telling the residents how he will wipe out the wood lice that have been making their wine taste “earthy.” Is earthy bad? You wouldn’t think so to watch Ángel take a taste. On paper, he ought to be the most unsettled man in Spain: mental stability in question, with a trip to a sanitarium that everyone knows about, his life narrated by an alter ego that constantly reminds him of his mortality, reduced to killing bugs in a dusty nowheresville, and deeply attracted to two beautiful but distinctly opposite women, each of whom is being kept by a possessive and violent man. Ángel ought to be up to his ears in anxiety. But there he sits, laid back like the cool philosophy professor, taking things as they come, man. It’s fascinating.

Tierra is notably odd for being a character study about a character with very little character. Ángel keeps finding himself in extreme circumstances: encountering a lightning strike victim, arousing the ire of a full Roma encampment, accidentally (?) shooting a rival during a town-wide hunt for wild boars. In every case he is preternaturally calm, taking in the circumstances with the passive contentment of a saint—which the film suggests he may be, hinting more than once that he has had a life-changing experience. On the other hand, we’re also told that his stint in the mental ward was due to an “overactive imagination.” Whatever Ángel’s truth may be, Gómez plays it close to the vest.

It would be completely reasonable for Ángel to be torn between the two young women he meets in town. Ángela, the fetching young mom with a name that screams out how in sync the two must be, is played by Suárez with an aching need that she hopes the newcomer can fill. Meanwhile, Silke’s sexpot Mari always seems to be bending over a pool table with painted-on jeans and a come-hither stare, but she is just as desperate for the change in circumstances that Ángel could provide. But what exactly Ángel has to offer to either of them, beyond escape from the status quo, is not entirely clear. Medem manufactures some suspense over whether he will end up with the sweet mom or the hot chick, but neither the tension nor the choice is altogether convincing. 

In a review of another Medem film, a critic observed that “there’s the sense that he’s more interested in his ideas than in his people.” That suspicion permeates Tierra. The barrenness of the Spanish landscape captivates, creating an almost apocalyptic feel, and an outsider with a supernatural connection would absolutely fill a narrative void. But Medem’s affection for Ángel is such that his protagonist does nothing but win, which means that even the ideas aren’t all that compelling. Wherever Ángel and his new companion are headed, there is little reason to worry about them. No wonder he’s so cool all the time. He never has to feel the heat.

WHAT THE CRITICS SAY:

“Like Medem’s two most recent films, ‘Tierra’ (Spanish for ‘Earth’) is an intricately structured, densely allusive affair. Its central figure is an itinerant exterminator named Angel (Carmelo Gomez) — a nod in the direction of Luis Bunuel’s ‘The Exterminating Angel,’ you might think, but only in the sense that both films draw water from the same surrealist pond… Despite its affectations, however — thanks mainly to a stunning ocher cinematographic palette, rock-solid acting and a story that’s as robustly sensual as it is otherworldly — ‘Tierra’ keeps its two feet (two of everything, in fact) firmly grounded on this Earth.” – Michael O’Sullivan, Washington Post (repertory review)

(This movie was nominated for review by Morgan. Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)