FIlm Trace

In the season finale of our Visionary Remakes season, we investigate two versions of The Maltese Falcon, the original from 1931 and the more famous 1941 version.The Maltese Falcon has almost become shorthand for both Humphrey Bogart and the beginning of film noir. That famous film was preceded by a film adaptation a decade earlier, which itself was preceded by the hard boiled crime novel a year prior. The 1941 film has totally eclipsed both the original adaptation and the book in popular consciousness. Perhaps rightly so. John Huston's directorial debut is a masterwork in writing, editing, and acting. It has also been touted as one of the more rewatchable films from the era due to its production design, clockwork plot, and Bogart's enigmatic vibes.The Maltese Falcon is a great example of why some films should be remade. The remake improves pretty much every aspect of the original film. But our discussion takes a turn when Dan questions whether Falcon is truly a noir film. We dive deep into this topic and how labels and genres can often obfuscate the significance and heritage of a film. If The Maltese Falcon is not the first big noir film, then what gives it such a high value among film lovers and filmmakers? The answer of course lies within the film itself, not a genre label.

In episode seven of our Visionary Remakes season, we traverse two classic westerns. First, Kurosawa's Yojimbo (1961) and its nearly immediate Italian reaction, Sergio Leone's A Fistful of Dollars (1964).The western has always been seen as a distinctly American film genre. The "west" in the word is the American West, a grand nearly ungovernable stretch of land filled with plains, deserts, mountains, rivers, and precarious cliffs, both literal and moral. It is a rich canvas that can tell a thousand different stories. Ironically, here we have two non-American voices calling out to the vast wilderness of the West. Perhaps it is a wild and mysterious place that exists in all cultures. Kurosawa's Yojimbo is not necessarily a textbook Western, but of course, it is deeply indebted to Shane (1953), High Noon (1952), The Gunfighter (1950), and John Ford's Stagecoach (1939) and My Darling Clementine (1946). At the same time, the source material was a hardboiled detective American novel from the 1930s, and we can not discount its place in the lineage of the chanbara films. Yojimbo is an amalgamation and many different styles and genres, but it still feels like a Western at its core.A Fistful of Dollars is resolutely a Western, but it came from somewhere left of the dial. Sergio Leone did not speak English nor had he ever been to America, let alone the American West. But Leone was able to spark something new and powerful in the waning genre. Westerns had been around since the beginning of film, but by the 1950s and 1960s, the genre had oversaturated culture mostly through dime-store tv shows: Gunsmoke, The Lone Ranger, Bonanza, and Rawhide. Westerns had become trite and tired. Along came Clint Eastwood, Sergio Leone, and Ennio Morricone to reinvent and rekindle that flickering flame.

In episode six of our Visionary Remakes season, we explore two versions of the King Kong myth, the original from 1933 and the 1970s remake. We toss in a dash of Peter Jackson's 2005 version as well.Special Guest: Riley - Good friend of the show and true film buff King Kong is a cultural institution. How that happened is still a mystery to us children of the 1980s. We grew up with the original. The 1976 version had been memory holed by the time we were children. The 1933 version is iconic for many reasons honorable or not. The special effects were groundbreaking for the time and its blending of genres was unique. But problematic doesn't even begin to describe King Kong (1933). It is hard to watch it without feeling a strong sense of distaste and unease, even viewing it as a film artefact. The remake of King Kong from 1976 was a bold attempt to one-up Jaws which came out the year before. The summer blockbuster was born, but a big budget and spectacular marketing campaign do not make a hit. The making of King Kong 1976 would probably make for a better movie than what we got on screen. Mired in legal trench warfare, this remake tried to update the King Kong story to incorporate the cynicism of post-Nixon years. It fails mostly, but it does not disappoint. It is an interesting and bizarre watch that is getting reappraised by Zoomers, for better or worse. Lastly, the 2005 version probably needs its own episode. Peter Jackson's King Kong was highly praised upon its release, and it still is held in high regard. But Dan has more than a few bones to pick with its prestige.

In episode five of our Visionary Remakes season, we dissect the original The Fly from 1958 as well as David Cronenberg's bombastic remake from 1986.Special Guest: Daniel Malone - Host of the great You Talkin' to Me? podcast where Daniel watches classic films with his son for the first time. Check it out!The impetus of this season was to explore how remakes can add, take away, or supercede the original. Of course, all remakes add to the discourse of the original, and it is not some arbitrary competition. But the intention to remake is in some sense always competitive. A producer, writer, and/or director wants to retell a story in a different way, presuming the original will no longer do. Often this desire is imprudent but The Fly is a great example of how that impulse can lead to something much deeper and richer than the original execution.The Fly (1958) is certainly not a bad film. It was an elevated B-movie for its time, shot in beautiful CinemaScope. Vincent Price dutifully shows up, and a couple scenes became iconic (both fly head reveals). When compared to David Cronenberg's masterpiece from 1986, the original suddenly feels quite quaint and slight, a time capsule curiosity rather than groundbreaking film. Cronenberg's The Fly is perhaps the paradigm of taking an interesting idea and expanding it into something much more and much better. The remake also demonstrates that an idea or concept is just the foundation of a film. The true totality of a movie is the collective creative action of hundreds of people. When it all gels, we get something special and magical.

In episode four of our Visionary Remakes season, we cross-examine two versions of Cape Fear, the original starring a creepy and enigmatic Robert Mitchum, and the 1991 remake from Martin Scorsese starring a crazed and manic Robert De Niro.Special Guest: Amanda Jane Stern - writer, producer and star of the award-winning psychosexual thriller Perfectly Good Moment. Streaming now on Tubi! Co-host of the podcast Don't Be Crazy.Both versions of Cape Fear are anchored by dazzling performances of the antagonist, Max Cady. Robert Mitchum reduces the overtly violent nature of Cady in order to play up his cleverness, obsessiveness , and wiliness. De Niro goes over the top in his version of Cady, playing him as zany, an almost comical but brutal cartoon villain. This difference underlines the drastically opposed tones, vibes, and outcomes of each version of Cape Fear. The 1962 original focused on the limits of justice. It clearly asks and attempts to answer where the line between enforced law and moral justice lives, albeit wrapped in a juicy and sensational B-movie plot. Scorsese's 1991 remake does not ask those questions, but it does drench us in pulpy genre stimuli: graphic violence, improprietous sexuality, and domestic disputes. The debate we have in this episode is whether either film is successful in its intended mission. Is the original too flat for a genre flick and perhaps too lofty to escape pretension? Do Marty and De Niro swing away and strike out, can a trashy thriller be too much even if it attempts to do nothing more than shock?

In episode three of our Visionary Remakes season, we bite into Dawn of the Dead, the original by George Romero from 1978 and the kinetic remake by Zack Snyder from 2004.Special Guest: Karl Delossantos, founder and film critic at Smash Cut, editor at The New York Times, a Rotten Tomatoes-approved critic, and member of the Online Film Critics Society.George Romero's Dawn of the Dead (1978) was my favorite film through my 20s and 30s (Dan here). The horror film's intoxicating mixture of gonzo production, revolting gore, pitch black satire, and anti-consumerist musings were a perfect match for my young adult mind. My adoration hasn't faded at all since I first saw it in high school, some 25 years ago. Dawn of the Dead is often considered Romero's masterpiece and perhaps the greatest zombie film ever made.The remake of Dawn of the Dead landed like an atom bomb in 2004. Running zombies! Zach Snyder's first, and inarguably his best, film helped launch a zombie cultural moment that peaked 10 years later when 22 million people watched the season five opener of The Walking Dead, a tv show heavily indebted to George Romero's dead universe. Zombies had become mass appeal. "What would you do in an zombie apocalypse" became a lamestream icebreaker question. While Snyder's Dawn was a catalyst for this popularity, it was really the ideas in Romero's Dead films that attracted people to this once very niche subgenre of horror.

In episode two of our Visionary Remakes season, we survey the recent Coen brothers remake of True Grit (2010) and compare it to the original film, a John Wayne vehicle from 1969.Special Guest: Brian Eggert is the owner and film critic of Deep Focus Review, where he has written movie reviews, in-depth essays, and critical analyses since 2007. Brian also regularly appears on KARE 11, the NBC affiliate for the Twin Cities, to review and discuss movies. He belongs to the Society For Cinema and Media Studies, Minnesota Film Critics Alliance, Online Film & Television Association, International Film Society Critics, Independent Film Critics of America, The Critics Circle, and National Coalition of Independent Scholars.Westerns have gone through many cycles since the beginning of filmmaking. Right now, we are seeing an uptick in interest as the tv show Yellowstone dominates the traditional tv market. But back in 2010, Westerns were definitely far off in the background as comic book movies had begun to take over the box office. In 2010, the Coen brothers were coming off a very successful adaption of No Country for Old Men (2007) as well as two more left of center films, the sprightly spy romp Burn After Reading from 2008 and the niche existentialist A Serious Man from 2009. It is unclear why they decided to remake True Grit and focus on the novel from 1968 instead of the John Wayne movie which came a year later in 1969, but the choice was very successful. True Grit (2010) became the 2nd biggest Western in the modern box office.The 2010 True Grit showcases the refined talents of the Coens alongside the gorgeous cinematography of Roger Deakins, the layered and rich music from Carter Burwell, and a smashing breakout debut performance from Hailee Steinfeld as the lead Mattie Ross. The 1969 version of True Grit offers so much less. Despite John Wayne winning an Oscar for his portrayal of Rooster Cogburn, the original film seems totally out of step and out of time. In hindsight, it was an end-of-the-line production for the core creatives involved. The director, writer, and star actor were all at the end of their careers. Indeed this very type of Western was on its last leg as evidenced by the giant leap the genre made at the same time this film was being produced and released. Watch any of the bigger westerns from the late 1960s and then try to sit through True Grit (1969). The dislocation and disorientation is severe. The original True Grit was a swan song that came about a decade too late.

A new season of Film Trace is here! This season we will try something a bit different. We are focusing on Visionary Remakes. In each episode, we will watch a remake made in the selected decade and then go back and compare it to the original film. First up, we are covering Nosferatu. This season was inspired by Robert Eggers' remake which came out late last year. The film was a surprise hit at the box office and is currently doing very well on digital release. We will compare the modern Nosferatu with the famous original, Nosferatu: A Symphony of Horror from 1922. We will also toss in a little of Werner Herzog's remake from 1979.Nosferatu is perhaps the most famous horror character in the history of film. The character was a blatant and conspicuous copy of Dracula, so much so that the original film was ordered destroyed due to copyright violations. We only have it now, because it had been exported from Germany. Eggers brings forward the titular character into the world of Imax Laser and Dolby Atmos. He adds layer upon layer of intricate production and sound design, but the overall feeling is a bit mushy and lukewarm. Eggers decided to shift the main focus from the male protagonist to a female supporting character in the original story. A bizarrely postmodern move from a resolutely modernist director. Nosferatu is perhaps the perfect film to kick off the new season. Why remake a film? What you are bringing to it, what are we losing?

A House Divided: 2024 Films We Love, Films We HateIn this special episode, Dan and Chris delve into the films that split them down the middle—where one of us loved a movie, and the other couldn't stand it. It's our version of cinematic crossfire, complete with slightly heated debates and a dash of common ground by the end.Episode Highlights:--Intro: House Divided Origins--Trap & Longlegs--The Divide--I Saw the TV GlowA Quiet Place: Day OneHit ManMaxxxineLove Lies BleedingThe SubstanceCivil WarRebel Ridge--Dan vs. Chris: To Watch Lists--For Chris:Dan Hates: Strange DarlingDan Loves: Beetlejuice Beetlejuice, Speak No EvilFor Dan:Chris Loves: Conclave, Furiosa, PavementsChris Likes: A Real Pain, The Wild Robot, Kinds of Kindness, Will & Harper, Dear SantaChris OKs: Anora, Heretic, Cuckoo, My Old Ass, Transformers One, Woman of the HourChris Hates: Nutcrackers, Moana 2--Conclusion: Where We Agree--Both Hated IT: Twisters, Deadpool & Wolverine, Alien: Romulus, Abigail, Blink TwiceBoth Love: ChallengersBoth Like Sort Of: The Fall Guy

In the season finale of our Manhunt series, we trace the trajectory of Fritz Lang's exceptional beginnings with M (1931) to his wilting end in While the City Sleeps (1956).Fritz Lang had already created two masterpieces, Metropolis (1927) and M (1931), by the time he reached middle age. He went on to direct twenty-three more films throughout his long career. While some of these subsequent films were great, it would be difficult to argue that any of them reached the heights of his early work. There is a clear reason for this. Lang, a vehement anti-Nazi, was forced into exile when the NSDAP took over Germany in the 1930s. Lang found work in the Hollywood system, which he persistently despised. This acrimonious relationship eventually soured beyond repair, and While the City Sleeps is a cynical swan song to the business side of filmmaking that Lang loathed.M and While the City Sleeps serve as excellent bookends to Lang's career, as well as to our season of Manhunt. While M delves deeply into the underbelly of Berlin and the moral abyss of the protagonist, While the City Sleeps gingerly skips along a similarly dark story with overly light interiors and day drunk actors. Lang transformed from an experimental and deeply probing artist into one who seemed more interested in cashing-in checks endorsed by the era's big movie stars. M represents a high point in the true crime, thriller, and manhunt genres. While the City Sleeps, on the other hand, exemplifies the erosion of originality we often see in this popular genre. The farther the story gets from the minds of the hunter and hunted, the less thrilling it all becomes.

In episode seven of our Manhunt series, we traverse a gritty and rebellious San Francisco in Bullitt (1968) alongside an oddly sleek and barren Paris in Le Samouraï (1967).Bullitt is famous for two reasons: Steve McQueen and the car chase. Like most famous films, its celluloid holds many more layers than its reputation claims. Bullitt was a leap forward for crime thrillers. Its naturalism, meticulousness, and postmodern plot made it a harbinger for the decades to come. There is no Chinatown without Bullit nor Heat. That alone makes it a remarkable and important film. The car chase is maybe the best ever put on screen, so that doesn't hurt it.On the other side of the Atlantic, Jean-Pierre Melville's Le Samouraï takes us into the calculated, Zen-like existence of a contract killer, played with masterful restraint by Alain Delon. Unlike the exposed id of Bullitt, Le Samouraï draws its power from a detached coolness, which deepens as the films reaches its crescendo. The film's manhunt is quietly relentless. The glitz and glamor of Paris and a life of crime are ruthlessly stripped away scene after scene until the isolated hero makes a final existential leap.

In episode six of our Manhunt series, we face the masterpiece that is Apocalypse Now (1978) alongside the much lesser Logan's Run (1976)Special Guest: the great Mike Field, Co-host of the Forgotten Cinema podcastAny film critic or scholar who dares traverse the muddy waters up river within Apocalypse Now feels doomed to be bereft of insight about such a well-established pure cinema magnum opus. But alas, here we are swimming upstream in one of the many backwater tributaries that make up the cultural cache of the definitive 1970s New Hollywood film. Yes, Apocalypse Now is a manhunt movie at its core, but that plot is a thin veneer overlaying a philosophic treatise on violence and madness. Any attempt at trying to decipher it often renders us stupefied. Coppola would probably find the same is true for him. It is the best type of film, an untouchable mystery.Logan's Run (1976) has been held in somewhat high regard for decades, but it looks quite poor in direct comparison to Apocalypse. Perhaps it is unfair to pair it against one of the best films ever made, but I think this juxtaposition only highlights the flaws that were already there. What was probably a very interesting and unique film for its time, Logan's Run now feels sluggish, stilted, and all together boring. There are some interesting ideas in the script, but those are stuffed into the first 30 minutes. By the time the chase really begins, no emotional foundation has been built for Logan, and we are left filling out a plot box score as the film diddles along to a flaccid conclusion.

In episode five of our Manhunt series, we discuss two films very rooted in the 1980s Aesthetic. First up is Michael Mann's neon blue serial killer thriller, Manhunter from 1986 followed by the bombastic and preposterous Schwarzenegger action movie, The Running Man from 1987. Special Guest: Friend of the show and co-host of the Screen Time: A Quarantine Family Podcast. BrigitteManhunter failed to make its money back at the box office when it was released in mid August 1986 on a dumping ground weekend. In the forty years since its release, the film has gained a rather prestigious reputation. The film of course established Hannibal Lecter as a film character. It was also one of the first serial killer movies where the subject matter was treated seriously as opposed to the more ghoulishly depictions often seen in b-movies. The FBI profiler, played by CSI skipper William Petersen, is shown to be slightly depraved, fully troubled, and mostly cold-blooded. Graham was an anti-hero before the term has much cache. Mann's flashy style has aged the best here along with the intertwined psychology of the hunter and hunted. It takes one to know one.The Running Man (1987) feels like the concept of an action movie. Cearly helmed by a seasoned tv director, the difference between the boob tube and pure cinema may never be more clear than this overly stuffed, rompous, and absurd action thriller. Arnold Schwarzenegger and Richard Dawson are at the Ponderosa Steakhouse eating up every scene in sight. That alone is worth watching. The rest, not so much. The source material, of course a Stephen King novel, is put in the shredder and out comes pastel and neon confetti that lights on fire the moment you touch it. It is a direct ancestor to the Schumacher Batman series, for better or worse.

In episode four of our Manhunt series, we explore two films that veer off the beaten path of their genre linenage. From Japan, Cure (1997), an atmospheric and fatalist horror film that helped launched J-Horror and the concept of elevated horror. From the United States, One False Move (1992), a raw and politically charged on-the-run film that still feels edgy and uncomfortable thirty years after its release.Special Guest: Good friend of the show, and our resident Japan expert, Harry BrammerEveryone loves a good villain, especially in a horror film. We might even root for them, see Jason Takes Manhattan. But every so often a horror antagonist comes along that we would like to forget. Mamiya is one of those bad guys. Cure plunges us into the existential dread of modern existence: dull grey concrete mixed with blinding fluorescence, devoid of all natural light and warmth. The film ties together a series of seemingly unrelated murders into one terrifying thread: a unknown force compelling ordinary people to commit unthinkable acts. Director Kiyoshi Kurosawa crafts an oppressive world out of everyday urban life. The conjuring of Mamiya seems so simple and casual until a shock of violence erupts. The film's realism anchors the fantasy to make it believable, and then Kurosawa has us in his hands.One False Move doesn't have good guys or bad guys. The film opens with unspeakable acts of violence and cruelty committed by our supposed protagonists. In this sense, the film is defiantly postmodern as it brackets out any notion of morality or propriety. Directed by Carl Franklin, it weaves a suspenseful and oddly poignant story of feckless fugitives on the run, crossing paths with a small-town sheriff who yearns for excitement. Here, the manhunt is not just a chase but an exploration of racial tension, broken dreams, and the suffocating weight of the past. The chase builds to a showdown that erupts with a flurry of gunfire, and the finale comes quick. But no answers are given, just lives squandered and lost.

In episode three of our Manhunt series, we delve into two films that helped redefine and revive the genre of pursuit. From South Korea, Memories of Murder (2003), a haunting and postmodern crime drama. From the United States, The Bourne Identity (2002), an adrenaline-fueled yet grounded spy thriller.Special Guest: the talented John Brooks from the great 1999 Podcast which covers all the films from that seminal year of film.Crime stories hinge on a denouement of justice. When that justice is denied, the audience is often left in suspended emotional agitation. We want to believe that violent crimes are always solved, and the villainous perpetrators are caught. That order is restored. Yet, reality dictates a much less clear cut finale to crime stories. Memories of Murder explores this ambiguity in its depiction of a real-life serial killer case, where answers are elusive, and the moral certainties dissolve in a haze of bureaucratic stagnation, intellectual flaccidity, and craven dispositions. Director Bong Joon-Ho crafts a deeply unsettling vibe where the boundary between good and evil fades, exposing the futility of the hunt and the flawed nature of those involved.In contrast, The Bourne Identity is sleek, fast-paced, and decidedly straightforward. This chase movie skips across Europe with the hunter and hunted dichotomy awhirl. Director Doug Liman invokes the stacco precision of a spy thriller but interweaves melodrama with Jason Bourne's fractured psyche. In many ways, Bourne is more indebted to the dutch-angled noir tradition than its most obvious predecessor, James Bond. With its relentless action and tightly wound narrative, the film strips away the nuance of morality found in Memories of Murder while delivering a linear yet captivating tale of survival, deception, and revenge.

In episode two of our Manhunt series, we explore two international films. From South Korea, New World (2013), a topsy-turvy crime drama. From New Zealand, the playful and whimsical, Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016).Crime dramas have been a staple of cinema since its inception. We find comfort in categorizing characters as good or evil. It provides order in a convoluted world. Actual morality is often murky and challenging to decipher. New World offers a crystal clear reflection of how the world truly operates, rather than a saccharine imagined one. Deep Loyalty and petty betrayal are commonplace, and the lines between good and evil blur, like a spinning merry-go-round. Taika Waititi's distinctive style is evident throughout Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016). This is both a pleasure and a frustration. While the story of two unlikely companions going on the run in the Kiwi woods is delightful, the narrative often seems to lose its way despite the simplicity of the story. The plot path is clearly laid out, but Waititi can't resist taking detours down every zany spur, leaving little room for emotional resistance and refinement. Nevertheless, it remains an entertaining joy ride with a quaint conclusion.

We kick off a new season of Film Trace exploring Manhunt Movies with Longlegs and Trap.In this season of Film Trace, we will dive into movies about being hunted or being the hunter. While these hunted vs hunter films span a wide breadth of genres, we start with the most tried and true model, the serial killer thriller. Longlegs made a huge splash this summer. A true indie made for under 10 million, Longlegs has broken the 100 million dollar mark at the worldwide box office to become the highest-grossing independent film release of the year. This is particularly bizarre for few reasons. One, the marketing campaign budget was tiny. It was a throw back to the Blair Witch Project campaign from 1999: guerrilla, less is more, driven by word of mouth. Two, Oz Perkins is not a huge director, mostly genre and more experimental fare. Three, while elevated horror has a big profile, it tends to not bring home the bacon. Longlegs starts a new chapter for Neon as studio-distributors and the horror genre at large. Trap had a huge marketing campaign and a big name behind it, M Night Shyamalan. The trailer seemed everywhere in 2024. The release spot was not great, but it still counts as a summer release. So the hopes were high for fans and the studio. It turns out to be a pretty standard M Night movie: fun, odd, and very polarizing. Josh Hartnett makes a major return in this arena thriller with a conspicuous Hitchcockian flair. Where as a Longlegs tries to get by on mostly just vibes, Trap drives forward with a mousetrap plot that feels compellingly contrived. Neither seems to hit the bullseye, but both are well-made and engaging films that provoke discourse.

We conclude our Camp Cinema season with our eighth episode covering Johnny Guitar (1954) and Imitation of Life (1959).In our finale, we delve into the origins of Camp Cinema in the 1950s, spotlighting Nicholas Ray's flamboyant western Johnny Guitar and Douglas Sirk's melodramatic Imitation of Life. Johnny Guitar subverts the traditional male bravado typical of most westerns by pitting two powerful women against each other. The visual artistry of Ray and his cinematographer, Harry Stradling, reveals the campy essense of the film with a rich palette of canary yellows, baked terra cottas, and deep azures. Imitation of Life achieves a similar feat, but with emotional resonance rather than visual flair. During our 1950s season, we explored Todd Haynes' commendable Douglas Sirk hommage, Far From Heaven. But nothing compares to the authentic touch of Sirk himself. Sirk masterfully understood cinema's power over an audience, manipulating emotions with precision in Imitation of Life. Its finale is one of the most emotionally explosive moments ever captured on celluloid. Camp manifest is many forms. Here we have two films that seem diametrically opposed in genre, but both use camp to full effect to elicit a deep response.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our seventh episode covering The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964) and Barbarella (1968)Special Guest: Manish Mathur, host of the It Pod to Be You, covering romantic comedies from classics to modern hits and everything in between.French director Jacques Demy embarked on an ambitious project to create a film in which every line was sung. What initially appeared as a gimmicky opera about everyday life evolved into one of the most acclaimed musicals of all time. The film is imbued with vivid color and adorned with enchanting songs, showcasing Demy's profound appreciation for artifice, a hallmark of camp cinema.In stark contrast to Demy's refined sensibility stands Roger Vadim's audacious science fiction film, Barbarella (1968). Infamous for the wrong reasons, the film features Jane Fonda in the lead role, navigating an incoherent narrative inspired by a French erotic comic. Here, the camp is strikingly naïve, and the collective artistic intentions remain enigmatic and elusive.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our sixth episode covering The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) and The Day of the Locust (1975). Special Guest: scholar, artist, author, and curator Marisa C. Hayes of the wonderful Afterimages podcast and book series.The first film discussed needs no introduction, though Dan and Chris could have used one since the Jim Sharman-directed camp classic was a first-watch for both of them. Enter Marisa to help break down why it perhaps took so many years for two Midwest suburban boys to break through its storied midnight movie status and witness its madcap genius. Then, a hard pivot to John Schlesinger's takedown of the Golden Age of Hollywood in all its messy, over-the-top glory. The proto-Babylon isn't fully self-aware of its turgid and grisly nature, though perhaps that's exactly what defines it as an underrated camp gem, though certainly an oddity that lies on the fringes of canon.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our fifth episode covering Hairspray (1988) and Xanadu (1980)Special Guest: Gavin Mevius and Louie Rendon from the great Mixed Reviews podcastJohn Waters is the prince of camp. We simply had to choose one of his films for our season on Camp Cinema. The lucky winner was Hairspray. While Waters is known for his deft ability to push the boundaries of taste and propriety, Hairspray spins and shakes upon the line of respectability without overly indulging in taboo. This spry wiliness in tone perhaps what makes it his most potent film. Xanadu on the other hand would never flirts with respectability or taboo. It exists in some liminal space between imagination and reality. Nothing about Xanadu makes any sense, especially the plot. But there is something a bit magical within this technicolor rumpus. Gene Kelly and Olivia Newton-John bring class and warmth to what could have been a real bad trip. Is Xanadu good? The syntax of that question is nonsensical. Camp is post logic, which is where Xanadu lies.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our fourth episode covering To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (1995) and Magnolia (1999)Special Guest: Returning Guest, Rotten Tomato approved film critic, Natasha Alvar from Cultured VulturesWhen watching To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, there is an overriding sense of what could have been. Coming out in the mid 1990s, a surprisingly much more open time in American culture, Wong Foo went to number one at the box office. It was a modest hit, but clearly well received by the general public. If this movie was made today, everyone involved would get more death threats than residuals checks. Culture doesn't always move forward, sometimes it backslides.Magnolia is a controversial pick for Camp Cinema. To me, it is the paradigm of what Susan Sontag called Naive Camp in her 1964 essays Notes on Camp. Magnolia is a manically ambition film with a passionate and serious tone. Paul Thomas Anderson, like Cameron Crowe in Vanilla Sky, strived to reach the artistic heavens, but all he did was take on a tour of the sad and lonely people of the San Fernando Valley. Chris and Natasha offer some good counterpoints to my stance.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our third episode covering Sugar and Spice (2001) and Vanilla Sky (2002)Special Guest: Good friend and frequent guest, MollyThe early Aughts was a bizarre time in American culture. The heady surge of the late 90s into Y2K was quicky benzo'd by 9/11 and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Our two selections for the 2000s were written and produced before the big comedown, and they both definitely have a "we can do anything" vibe. Sugar and Spice deftly somersaulted through the byzantine development process at New Line Cinema, who were likely distracted by their massive production of Lord of the Rings trilogy at the time. What could have easily been a teen movie cash-in is a rather spunky, satirical, and fun mess. Does it work? No, but it is sassy enough to not care. Vanilla Sky is not fun. Here Cameron Crowe's grandiose vision was blinded by his fiery ambition. Coming off his best film, Almost Famous, Crowe decided to tackle a remake of Alejandro Amenábar's 1997 Spanish film Abre Los Ojos. Vanilla Sky does not align with the traditional definition of camp, but it certainly seems to be the bullseye of what Susan Sontag called Naive Camp. It is a film so devoutly serious about something so frivolously stupid.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our second episode covering The Love Witch (2016) and Black Swan (2010)Special Guest: Filmmakers Emily Gallagher and Austin Elston of Fishtown FIlmsAs the dust begins to settle on the 2010s, the topsy turvy decade begins to come into focus. At the start of the decade, Darren Aronofsky released Black Swan (2010) to critical acclaim. I saw it in a packed NYC theater opening weekend. The buzz was palpable. Looking back now, especially post mother! and the rise of peak tv, the trashy and overwrought elements of Black Swan overshadow the great performances and wonderful cinematography, which is why we have selected as our Naive Camp film for this episode.The Love Witch had a much quieter release in 2016, but it clicked with a small group of film lovers. While filmmaking is mostly a communal art, Anna Biller was so involved with every aspect of The Love Witch that it could only exist because of her. Biller's retro and kitsch style can not obscure the riotous passion for filmmaking and gender theory at the heart of the film. It is so campy that one could argue it is post-camp in that it is both obsessed with artifice and serious at the same time. At the very least, The Love Witch exists mostly in deviance of the ideas presented in Sontag's Notes on Camp.

Welcome to the first episode of Season 13 of Film Trace. In this season, we will explore the notion of Camp in Film. Building off of Susan Sontag's foundational 1964 essay, Notes on Camp, we will explore two films each episode we think demonstrate Sontag's concepts of naive camp and intentional camp.First off is the financial and critical disaster of Madame Web (2024). We argue this film is a good example of what Sontag would call naive camp: over the top, extravagant, but without much artistic merit. A spectacular failure. The open question with Madame is whether anyone involved thought it should be anything more than a lark inspired by the trashy comic book films of the 1990s.Countering the cinematic cacophony of Madame Web is the arthouse excess of Pearl. Ti West was given a million dollars by A24 to create a prequel to his 2022 slasher X. The star of that film, Mia Goth, helped write the script and plays the titular Pearl. Boy this one is a doozy. Goth is out there in a place all her own. We think it is a great example of intentional camp: total excess that somehow succeeds in being a good film.

We felt like doing an Oscars show, so we did:Topics of discussion1. Intro: 2023's Film Trace movies. They stood the test of time, but were they awarded upon release?2. Nominated film most obviously conceived specifically with little gold men in mind?3. Nominated film conceived originally with absolutely no award hopes in mind?4. Nominated director/writer/DP/actor most obviously groomed to one day become an Oscar winner?5. Nominated director/writer/DOP/actor least groomed throughout their career to one day walk to the stage?6. Conclusion: Release the hounds. What 2023 movies do we think will stand the test of time despite receiving zero nominations?

In the eighth and final episode of our Future Wars season, we discuss the sci-fi classic The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) alongside the b-movie stunner Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956).Alas we have come to the finale of our Future Wars cycle. It has been a long season with a super-sized eight episode run. Sci-fi is often a real bummer. Most of the movies we covered this season depicted humanity's future as a nightmarish dystopia. Here we trace back the genre to its roots. The Day the Earth Stood Still established many sci-fi genre conventions while Invasion of the Body Snatchers brilliantly depicted the nebulous unease that took over American domestic life in 1950s. The start of the Cold War did a real number on Americans. The real threat of nuclear annihilation doused the tranquil domesticity of new suburbia in caustic self-doubt and a deep fear of outsiders. But whereas more recent Future War films demonstrated the totalizing destruction of AI, aliens, or ourselves, these films from the 1950s had less fatalistic finales. Perhaps the actual threat of destruction gave them reason to think of an imagined way out.

In the seventh episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss the classic Dr Strangelove (1964) alongside a bizarre artifact from the French New Wave, Alphaville (1965)Special Guest: Good friend of the show and onscreen performer Harry Brammer, dialing in from Tokyo.Here we have two masters, Kubrick and Godard, spinning tales of future conflict and war in the mid 1960s. Slipping in their polemics right before the great social upheavals of the decade, these films depict the western world teetering on the edge of breakdown. Kubrick's scolding satire in Strangelove still smolders 60 years later. He depicts the most powerful people in the world, people with the ability to end the human race, as complete and utter buffoons. The accuracy of his portrayal is startling as it has only become more true with time. Godard's Alphaville is a very different story. Shot for next to nothing in Paris, this ambitious film can't support its own intellectual weight. While some scenes still pop off the screen, it is a trudge to get through despite it merits.

In the sixth episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss the last man on earth romp The Omega Man (1971) as well as the bonkers fever dream that is Zardoz (1974).Special Guest: Sean Patrick from the great Everyone's a Critic podcastThe 1970s were a trip. The Omega Man is a zany, over-the-top apocalypse movie that is helmed by maybe the worst possible choice for the role, Charlton Heston. Zardoz is a legendary cult film that makes even less sense now than it did on release. Films about the future mirror their present, and it was crystal clear that the human race was in La La Land in the 1970s. But what could be read as unserious in these movies is more a reflection of our present. We feel locked into a future of degrading democracy, climate, and personal prospects. The absurdity of these films reflects a different time, a time before Reagan, AIDs, and a slowly suffocating planet. Perhaps there is something in the openness and creativity of a film like Zardoz. That maybe, we aren't stuck in an express lane to Cyberpunk 2077, time will tell.

In the fifth episode of our Future Wars cycle, we tackle two giant films from the action sci fi maestro James Cameron: The Terminator (1984) and Aliens (1986).Special Guest: David Riedel, film critic and co-host of the great Spoilerpiece Theatre podcast.James Cameron is a master filmmaker. This two film run in the mid 1980s is iconic, legendary, and ground-breaking. When we think of this cycle's theme, Future Wars, we are ultimately thinking of Cameron and his oeuvre. The status of Terminator and Aliens is well-established, but it is interesting to look back at the actual films themselves instead of the cultural miasma surrounding them. Peeking behind the curtain is risky. A film that seemed powerful and important can easily be defrocked by time and an ever-changing collective consciousness. Terminator and Aliens have defied this normal cycle of art criticism. If anything, their power and status has been consistently reified decade and decade since their release. Perhaps if anything, the greatness of these films makes us mourn the loss of Cameron to the technical three ring circus of Avatar. What could have been becomes palpable when imbibing the tech noir vibes of Terminator or sweaty machismo of Aliens.

In the fourth episode of our Future Wars cycle, we explore two late 90s classic, The Matrix (1999) and Starship Trooper (1997).Special Guest: Evan Crean, film critic and co-host of the great Spoilerpiece Theatre podcast.Here we have two films with diametrically opposed authorial voices. The Matrix is self-serious, pointelty intellectual, and so cool that it borders on frigid sterility. Starship Troopers is a polemic anti-fascist satire that mirrors Baywatch more than it does Aliens. Nearing its 25th anniversary, The Matrix has been rightfully deemed classic cinema. Starship Troopers, on the other hand, remains on the fringes due to its multiplicitous and duplicitous nature. Intention seems to hold an enhanced importance in the longevity of a film's reputation. While The Matrix can easily be called pretentious, it hasn't lost its potency over the last two decades. In many ways and despite its middling sequels, The Matrix has risen to a new level of respect in the 21st century. Not for its accuracy in depicting the future, but rather for its ability to capture the dissociating effects of technology on our everyday lives. Starship Troopers has sadly begun to fade. For those of us in on the joke, the political reality we have lived through has lessen the bite of the punchline and satire. It also calls into question the effectiveness of red-nosed satire, lighting up the social commentary in every scene. When Verhoeven is perhaps murkier with intentions like in the reclaimed masterpiece Showgirls, his wit and delightful skewering of America feels heavier and more accurate. In Troopers, the daytime tv look is perhaps too much of a veneer on a devolving society surging towards fascism.

In the third episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss Spielberg's bad guy alien film, War of The Worlds along side the bleak and desolate Cormac McCarthy adaptation, The Road.Special Guest: Film critic and co-host of Spoilerpiece Theatre and The Slashers, Megan Kearns.The world doesn't end with a whimper. It ends with loud alien tripods and a nuclear winter. Spielberg had already made two alien films before War of the Worlds, Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977) and E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982). This was his chance to live out his boyhood dream of blowing stuff up on camera by displaying a not so friendly side of Non-Human Intelligence. War of the Worlds is a marvelous spectacle that most action and sci-fi lovers will enjoy. Spielberg is having so much fun pulverising the world that it is easy to miss the underweight story that ends too abruptly. The Road is not fun. The Road is brutal and awful. The viewer feels like they are staggering alongside the father and son with untread shoes and ripped rags for clothing that flutter in the frigid winds of a wasteland. Cormac McCarthy saw the end times being way worse than we could ever imagine. The film at least captures his unique nightmare even if it misses the deeper meaning within the novel.

In the second episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss with George Miller's gonzo-apocalypto in Mad Max: Fury Road alongside the low budget middle-brow of The Purge.Special Guest: Tommy Thevenet from the fantastic Haven't Scene It: A Movie PodcastAs we dip a little further into the last decade, our Future War cycle begins to take shape with the genius Mad Max massively outshining the sophomoric drivel of The Purge. Mad Max: Fury Road was stranded in development hell for over a decade. Geo-political upheaval, once in a century flooding, and skeptical studio execs conspired to keep it out of the theaters, but George Miller and his motley crew found a way to make it happen. The film is crazy in the best possible way. Unbelievable visuals and stunt work, a bizzaro grab bag of eccentric characters, and pure adrenaline. It is cinema magic. Geo-political upheaval, once in a century flooding, and skeptical studio execs conspired to keep it out of the theaters, but George Miller and his motley crew found a way to make it happen. The film is crazy in the best possible way. Unbelievable visuals and stunt work, a bizzaro grab bag of eccentric characters, and pure adrenaline. It is cinema magic. The Purge on the other hand was successful only as a concept. The execution leaves so much to be desired. Despite spawning many sequels over the last decade, this Blumhouse thinkpiece has next to no meat on the bones.

In the first episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss the new Gareth Edwards sci-fi epic, The Creator, and Denis Villeneuve's recent attempt of adapting Dune onto film.Our Future Wars cycle is focused on how the conflicts of tomorrow were depicted in the past. Over this 8 episode series, we will review 16 films spanning from the 1950s through today that attempted to predict how mankind might find itself at odds with the world and itself.The first episode covers the 2020s with The Creator and Dune. Gareth Edwards gained famed after toiling away as a video editor at the BBC with Monsters, a shoestring sci-fi film. Edwards was immediately called up to the majors to helm two blockbuster budgets with Godzilla (2014) and Rogue One (2016). The results were decidedly mixed, and Gareth found himself longing for a simpler way to shoot a big movie. The Creator looks like a very well done 200 million dollar film, but it only cost 80. Technical achievements aside, the story attempts to unravel the very present day conflict of Artificial Intelligence and what role it should play in our lives. Dune is a great counter film to The Creator as both films tackle a large scale war of tomorrow, but the approaches are diametrically opposed. The world created by Edwards feels warm, lived in, and extremely perilous. Dune, locked into the imagined worlds of Frank Herbert's book, is depicted by Denis Villeneuve as cold, spartan, and fateful. The Creator feels entrapped in the present, and Dune feels entombed by the past.

In the final episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we cover two classics, Cool Hand Luke and Rebel Without a Cause.We have come to the end of our 1950s cycle, and we are struggling to find a thread that weaves through all of these films. The films we covered all use the 1950s in different ways: set dressing, pastiche base layer, dreamscape, hommage, coming of age background. Each film is a creative outcome of the lived reality of its source decade. Cool Hand Luke feels like a New Hollywood film. It is filled with rebellion and American Existentialism. Rebel Without a Cause, the only film we selected that was made in the 1950s, feels vibrant and raw. Its messiness a sign of authenticity. Perhaps one theme that reoccurred through these films is one of rebellion. Rebellion against some amorphous authority: moral, masculine, or otherwise. Indeed, the 1950s has always been seen as a decade of normalcy and Pax Americana. Each of these films counter examines the assumptions we have collectively made about the years of peace and plenty.The next season of Film Trace is coming soon: Future Wars.

In the sixth episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we discuss Peter Bogdanovich's coming of age story, The Last Picture Show (1971), along with the Lenny Bruce bio pic, Lenny, directed by theater great Bob Fosse. Special Guest: Andrea G, co-founder of filmchisme, X: @alifebydreamingThe 1950s has never been known as a gritty decade. We wanted to find films that demonstrated some of the hidden realities of the Eisenhower years. The Last Picture Show and Lenny both muck up the shiny image of Post War America. Bogdanovich's dusty tale of rural Texas shows us that even small town life is filled with contradiction, tragedy, and sorrow. Fosse's portrayal of Lenny Bruce never leaves the gutter. Both are vibrant films that give us an alternative glimpse into a decade too often encased in a plastic cover.Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

In the fifth episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we discuss the 1980s hidden gem Desert Hearts and the highly lauded Diner.Special Guest: Friend and frequent guest, Molly, who led us both to the existential oasis that is Desert HeartsWe often try to choose two films that create a discourse between them, but here I think it is safe to say both films are talking past each other. Desert Hearts was an impossible film that was made through sheer will and determination. Donna Deitch raised 1.5 million to make the film mostly via individual stock sales to investors. Unheard of back then and today. The film itself exudes that deep poetic desire. Diner, on the other hand, feels ramshackle and blase. Despite its high stature amongst film critics, the movie plays like a playboy who has had one too many, slipping and sliding through life as if no consequence could cut the wrong way. These two films are about the same decade, but they are about completely different worlds.Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

In the fourth episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we cover the 1990s neo-noir LA Confidential along side the coming of age tale in This Boy's Life.We dive into two different worlds of the 1950s: the glam and seedy glitz of Los Angeles vs the cold and wet solitude of rural Washington. LA Confidential won high praise upon its release in the fall of 1997. It's stature has not faded much in the 25 years since. This Boy's Life had a muted release Easter weekend of 1993, and it seems to have gone missing since then. While LA Confidential uses the 1950s as a way to doll up the actors and scenery, it's satirical wit is focused mostly on the city itself and less on the time period. LA is notoriously born of bad blood, and the film never lets us forget that. This Boy's Life has much more simple and intimate story of triumph over an overbearing authority. It's matinee sappiness covers up a base coat of 1950s misogyny and patriarchy it attempts to critique. Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

In the third episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we compare two hommages to the post war decade: Todd Haynes' Far from Heaven and Frank Darabont's The Majestic.Special guests: Brian Eggert from Deep Focus Reviews, Rotten Tomato Approved and frequent KARE 11 guest film critic What started out as a random pairing of two 1950s period pieces from the early Aughts became a rather interesting juxtaposition on the potency and fugility of worshiping art from the past. Far From Heaven was born from a love and respect for Douglas Sirk's fifties melodramas, and The Majestic has Frank Darabont donning his best Capra impression. While both films have inherited riches from the past, their contemporary narratives tend to sizzle instead of sparkle. Far From Heaven is beautifully shot and acted with an intricate and immaculate product design. But we wonder if there is anything happening beyond a Sirk lovefest. The Majestic has a prefab Americana store of redemption that is instantly gripping. But while the trim looks polished and proper, the rooms feel empty. Both films demonstrate how hommage can result is both a dissonant feedback loop as well as an illuminating ouroboros. Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

In the second episode of our cycle Set in the 1950s, we look at two auteurs who swing for the fences with Terrence Malick's Tree of Life (2011) and Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master (2012).Special guests and friends of the show Molly and Ryan join us to discuss what happens when Malick and Anderson get the creative freedom and financing to direct the movie they always wanted to make. Tree of Life kicked off a recent prolific period for the ever reclusive Malick. He originally had the idea for Life back in the late 1970s while working on his masterful Days of Heaven. Then he disappeared for twenty years. Similarly, Anderson had been ruminating on the root idea behind The Master for many years before he was able to finally make it happen. Both directors go all in, and the final results vary widely depending on the viewer's willingness to go along with them. Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

In the first episode of our new cycle Set in the 1950s, we take a look at Wes Anderson's new film, Asteroid City (2023). Both Chris and I are devout Wes Anderson fans, and covering Asteroid City was really the impetus for this cycle's theme. As we have traversed this cycle, we are seeing how the 1950s setting can be used in a variety of ways with varying degrees of historical richness. Wes, quite predictably, uses the Eisenhower years as mostly set dressing for his story of grief and isolation out in the red desert. Of course the film looks gorgeous and is filled to the brim with exquisite detail, but the film does deviate significantly from the typical Anderson film. Here the meta impulse is greatly indulged with a play running intertwined within the main narrative. The film has become quite divisive even amongst Wes Anderson aficionados. A great counterpoint to Asteroid City is Steven Spielberg's autobiographical The Fabelmans (2022). Both works are about directors turning the lens inwards. Whereas Anderson deconstructs his own style and voice into a kaleidoscope of detail and paratexts, Spielberg lends his own story a hyperrealism he often evoked in his most classic work. Both films are honest reflections.Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.

The sixth and finale film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Richard Brooks' true crime magnum opus, In Cold Blood (1967). Often overlooked by the infamy of its origin source, In Cold Blood enormous value as a film: the beautiful and stark cinematography of Conrad Hall (who went on to shoot Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Road to Perdition), the unsettling and rapturous performances of leads Robert Blake and Scott Wilson, the surgical plotting and execution of Richard Brooks. It sits snugly inbetween the post-war studio system and the auteur anarchism of the 1970s. Despite these creative high marks, In Cold Blood could be a thesis statement for this cycle: exploitation and true life film are inseparable. The moral weight of retelling this grisly murder of a family by two drifters is too much for the film, even with its progressive anti-death penalty ideology. But we find interest and discourse in the cracks and fissures of great art. Perfection in film would be a negation of the medium. For our chaser film, we trace the lineage of true crime back to Compulsion (1959), a mess of a film that is salvaged by wonderful performances from Orson Welles, Diane Varsi, Dean Stockwell, and the truly creepy Bradford Dillman.

The fifth film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Sidney Lumet's provocative bank heister, Dog Day Afternoon (1975).Special Guest: Good friend of the show and dedicated film nerd, Riley. Dog Day Afternoon is certainly a film you hear about before you ever see it. The film has had a stellar reputation since its release in the mid 1970s. It is considered one of Sidney Lumet's most important and best films. As we approach the film's 50th anniversary, we reappraised both what is on the screen and what happened in real life, not all of which is easy to reconcile with the aura of prestige surrounding the film. As we explore about how true life overlaps with fiction, Dog Day Afternoon becomes hornet's nest of contradiction, exploitation, and high art craftsmanship. Featuring stellar performances from Al Pacino and John Cazale, we face the question that always arises when great stories are told about terrible people: can we separate art from reality?For our chaser film, we reclaim a lost 70s classic, Straight Time. Dripping in 70s malaise and alienation, Dustin Hoffman plays a man on the edge of all things prudent.

The fourth film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is David Cronenberg's deep trip twin thriller, Dead Ringers (1988). Special Guest: Rob from the awesome Smoke & Mirrors PodcastDavid Cronenberg was evicted from his home after his early film, Shivers, sent shockwaves through the Toronto intelligentsia. Cronenberg has always been an outsider with a deft ability to contort himself into the good graces of the monied class over his now fifty year career. Dead Ringers is one of his most grounded works but it is also one of his most confounding. The film closely follows the journalistic essays written about the life and death of twins Stewart and Cyril Marcus. As Cronenberg himself said, “The art of The Fly was to make the fantasy absolutely real, whereas the challenge here was to make the realistic seem fantastic.” But by the end, even Jeremy Irons' spectacular performance can't quite conjure the truth that lies between the tragedy of these twin brothers.For our chaser film, we dissect Wes Craven's ballsy attempt to adapt a notorious account of real life zombies in Haiti, The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988).

The third film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Terry Gilliam's visual extravaganza, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998).Special Guest: The crew from There Are Too Many Movies podcast - Chris Collins, Josh Rodriguez, and Alex Wilshin.Hunter S. Thompson was the paradigm of Stranger Than Fiction journalism. He helped create the entire genre of creative nonfiction by telling the world what he saw we his own two eyes instead of assuming some fake omniscient third person perspective, also known as "reporting." Terry Gilliam saddled up with Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro to bravely attempt an adaptation of Thompson's classic work of gonzo. It fails spectacularly, but the film is absolutely a high mark in visual experimentation. Not for nothing, Gilliam captures altered perception in a way never done before or since. It's too bad the film mostly misses the moral and political polemics underneath the book's narcotic blatherings. For our chaser film, we travel to the fourth dimensions with Peter Jackson's wonderfully macabre Heavenly Creatures (1994).

The second film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Nicolas Winding Refn's left field take on bio pics, 2008's Bronson.Special Guest: Katey Stoetzel is co-founder and TV Editor for InBetweenDrafts. She hosts the “House of the Dragon After Show” podcast and can be read on various other places like Inverse and Screen Speck. Refn's conspicuous filmmaking style lends itself well to the crazy and violent life of Charles Bronson aka Britain's "most violent prisoner." Shot as a performance art piece rather than a narrative film, Bronson was certainly a calling card for both Refn and the magnificent lead performance of Tom Hardy. Looking back on the film some fifteen years later, the boldness feels oversaturated and worn, like an overly compressed mp3. It blasts loud, but the dynamic range is so blown out that little emotional timbre is left. Especially troubling is the tightrope Refn chooses to snap in two instead of traverse. Refn claims he is making a movie about man he knows nothing about. Charles Bronson is a real person who did very awful things to real people. Refn gives us a barometer with which to measure the level of exploitation that true life films can conjure. Here lies the bottom.For our chaser film, we lounge with Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg in 2004's The Terminal, a comfy mid-aughts dramedy filled with max schmaltz and min edge.

The first film in our new Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Elizabeth Bank's gonzo misfire, Cocaine Bear (2023).Elizabeth Banks is an almost household name who likes to stay busy as an actor, producer, film director, and now gameshow host. While prolific, the quality of her output has been uneven. Her 2019 film Charlie's Angels spectacularly bombed, and Banks, always the press whisperer, jumped on the grenade and blamed sexism. Here she returns to the director's chair for a loosely true concept about a bear who eats a lot of cocaine. Clearly a joke by people who are too well connected to truly fail, Cocaine Bear is tonal salmagundi: black comedy, creature feature, coming of age, postmodern pastiche. None of it really lands beyond the basic concept of bear being turnt up on coke. Considering the large production budget and the talented people involved, the final result is an embarrassment. For our chaser film, we discuss The Bling Ring, Sofia Coppola's blasé docudrama of young thieves obsessed with celebrity consumption. Despite its glassy surface, Coppola suggests a deeper abyss lies below.

The sixth and final film in our Risqué Romance cycle is Luca Guadagnino's meatlovers romance, Bones and All (2022).Coming off his break out art-house hit Call Me by Your Name (2017) and his wonderfully bizarre remake of Suspiria (2018), Luca Guadagnino rejoined with white hot Timothée Chalamet to adapt this young adult novel about the ills of eating human flesh. The book, a vegan polemic, is translated here by Luca with his normal grace, poise, and naturalism. Joining Chalamet is the splendid performance of Taylor Russell as the two young lovers crisscross the eastern half of the US. Also strangely a 1980s period piece, Bones and All becomes a gumbo of genre, style, and tone. It doesn't really work, but there is a joy in the experience of trying to make sense of it all. Mark Rylance shows up to piss off Chris and for me to fall in love again.For our chaser film, we reconnect with Her (2013), a techno-romance that captured the thirty something zeitgeist of the late Obama years as we became soulmates with our iPhones.

We decided to do an end of the year show for 2022. Life has been hectic so we haven't been able to post on our normal schedule, and we have a longer break coming up before Season 10 of Film Trace kicks off. So we decided to do a one-off show to give the people what they want: Drama!Chris and Dan present the top five behind the scenes dramas in film for 2022. The goal of our show is to tell the listener the story of how a film came to be. Sometimes everything goes right, and we get Top Gun: Maverick. Sometimes it doesn't go right and we get Morbius. The successes are fun to talk about but the abject failures are truly delicious. Join us as we trace the lives of five films that face planted in 2022.

The fifth film in our Risqué Romance cycle is Ang Lee's western romance, Brokeback Mountain (2005) Special Guest: Amanda Jane Stern - writer, actor, and producer from New York City. She wrote, produced, and starred in the new erotic thriller Perfectly Good Moment, soon to be playing at a film festival near you!When Brokeback came out in the mid-Aughts, it was supported by effuse buzz and whispered homophonic jokes. This was not unlike the release of The Crying Game in the early 90s. Both films were from smaller studios and gained traction due to their misperceived salaciousness. Looking back on Brokeback, the film's reputation is bizarre and totally ill-fitting. The film is a quiet and slow mediation on how love blossoms quickly but then withers for decades only to constantly reemerge through turned soil, like a perennial bud. Its loss to Crash at the 2006 Oscars for Best Picture feels more and more criminal with every passing year. Brokeback Mountain is one of Ang Lee's enduring masterpieces alongside Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.For our chaser film, we reexamine the 2002 film Secretary, which felt like a slight curiosity on release but plays totally differently now. Very much a hidden gem.

The fourth film in our Risqué Romance cycle is Lana and Lily Wachowski's debut film, Bound (1996).Like the Wachowskis' more successful and canonical sophomore effort, The Matrix, Bound both works wonderfully on its own as a playful lesbian-centered noir and as a challenge to the WWII-era subgenre, as well as modern crime films writ large, to reconsider and deconstruct masculinity and femininity alike. Essentially a chamber drama with Hong Kong action-inspired flair, its lead performances from the still-underrated Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon leap off the screen with ferocity while also retaining a delicate sense of intimacy. The supporting cast, including reliable Wachowski mainstay Joe Pantoliano and a magnetically maniacal turn from Christopher Meloni, fleshes out the film's ahead-of-its-time graphic novel pulp sensibility too. The whole affair comes off as not just risqué but downright revolutionary.For our chaser film, we discuss the trashy erotic thriller Poison Ivy (1992). Directed by exploitation master Roger Corman protégé Katt Shea and largely a footnote of the decade's offerings, its queer undertones and Lolita riffing merit discussion, not to mention the fact that it somehow spawned three direct-to-video sequels.Dan is off this episode, but joining Chris in his absence is the insightful and talented freelance film writer and frequent Little White Lies contributor Lillian Crawford.