A mockumentary describing the supposed Masonic influences hidden in America’s pastime, focusing on the 1920 death (sacrificial killing?) of Ray Chapman from a beanball.
(This short was suggested by Parmesan74, who said “picture Haxan but it involves baseball.” Suggest a weird movie of your own here.)
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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
Larry Fessenden 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
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.
Two affable Irish filmmakers, George Kane & Shane O’Brien, took the time to talk with us about their collaborations, their projects, their backgrounds, their restaurants of choice, and, oh yes—their newly-shown-outside-of-Ireland-for-the-first-time feature film, Apocalypse Clown!
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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.
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: