I Do Movies Badly

After a long and edifying journey, Jim (again) says goodbye to I Do Movies Badly and the friends he made along the way.

Alonso Duralde, podcaster extraordinaire and author of "Have Yourself a Movie Little Christmas," returns to IDMB for the annual tradition of Christmas recommendations - this time with a bloody twist. On brand for 2020, Alonso's recommendations for this year are Christmas horror films and they're not the ones you'd expect: Curtis Harrington's Whoever Slew Auntie Roo? (1972), Lewis Jackson's Christmas Evil (1980), and Chris Peckover's Better Watch Out (2016).

In the pantheon of IDMB movies that have befuddled me, there's Igmar Bergman's Person, Andrei Tarkovsky's The Mirror, Kim Ki-duk's The Isles, and now, there's Andrzej Zulawski's Possession.

House is uh...an indescribable film. Avant-garde haunted house horror-comedy, Obayashi's absurdist answer to Jaws is technically innovative, off the wall ridiculous, and a seeming deconstruction of horror archetypes. Also, boring and exhausting (unless you're Chuck Stephens)

The Killing of a Sacred Deer is a darkly comic tale of moral and social rigidity in which an unseen act brings out the inherent darkness in its protagonist. The balance that Lanthimos strikes between absurdity and horror is superb, but does our protagonist deserve what befalls him? Here's where you can find The Killing of a Sacred Deer review from RogerEbert.com by Brian Tallerico

Benny Krown returns to I Do Movies Badly for the November (and a little bit of December) theme of Highbrow Horror! The guest whose last appearance to talk about Abbas Kiarostami has equal pretensions on his mind, discussing his relationship with the horror genre, what it means to be highbrow/arthouse/pretentious, and recommending three horror films that exist well outside the mainstream consciousness: Yorgos Lanthimos' The Killing of a Sacred Dear (2017), Nobuhiko Obayashi's House (1977), and Andrzej Zulawski's Possession (1981).

Ma is neither great nor terrible, though its quality would certainly lean more towards the latter if not for the casting of and rewriting for Octavia Spencer, whose portrayal of a character not written to be African-American lends a subtext of tokenism and how victimization perpetuates victimization.  After a discussion of the film, some news on the direction of the podcast for the remainder of the year (SPOILERS: it's horror).

What can be said about a film that in just 3 years has already been canonized as a classic and has inspired classes in academia? All I can really add to the conversation about Get Out are the reasons that I think it's an excellent horror film along with why it's a fucking absurd critique to say "if the protagonist was white, we wouldn't be talking about it."

First and foremost, thanks to everyone who contributed in some way - big or small - in helping me surpass 100,000 downloads!  Second and..er...secondmost(?), Wes Craven's The People Under the Stairs is clunky at times and strange all the time, but is an excellent social satire, depicting the real life horrors of gentrification and systemic racism in an over-the-top way that made Craven's biting social commentary more entertaining for a mass audience. The article that I quoted extensively is Daily Dead's "Retrospective: Wes Craven's The People Under the Stairs" written by Patrick Bromley.

If you've ever been to BlackHorrorMovies.com or watched the fabulous documentary, Horror Noire: A History of Black Horror, then you may recognize my October guest. To help celebrate the Halloween season, Mark H. Harris joins I Do Movies Badly to talk about racial reckoning in horror films! Mark talks about how he fell in love with horror, the elements and history of black horror films and racial reckoning, and recommends 3 films that each focus on a different aspect of racism and white people getting their comeuppance: Wes Craven's The People Under the Stairs (1991), Get Out (2017), and Ma (2019).

The Prophecy has a really cool premise - angels seeking an edge over other angels to win the second war in Heaven! - and some enjoyable campy performances, but is a badly disjointed film (whether that's because of its first-time director or meddling from the Weinsteins is something maybe only God knows).

Unlike some films (here's looking at you, The Usual Suspects), Frailty holds up very well on a second viewing, probably because there's more to it than just the twist, like the honest depiction of emotional abuse and the culmination of the film's cynical journey towards its gut punch reveal.

Almost 50 years after its release, why is The Exorcist such an enduring, powerful horror film? I am obviously the first to ever ask this question about this cinematic classic, so allow me to answer: the time it takes to layout what's at stake and Owen Roizman's objective, documentary approach to the cinematography.

Chelsea Bennington and Rick Guzman, who started the Spooky Doings improv group that in turn inspired the titular podcast, join I Do Movies Badly to talk about the advent of their horror-themed improv comedy, how their religious upbringings have influenced their moviegoing, and share some religious horror films to watch.  Full disclosure: the recommendations are based around Judeo-Christian themes and iconography. This approach was not taken to be dismissive of or discriminatory against other religions, but because it happens to be the formative religion for all of them: Rick (a devout atheist raised Catholic), Chelsea (spiritual, but not religious), and Jim (devout Christian).  Recommendations: William Friedkin's The Exorcist (1973), Frailty (2001), and The Prophecy (1995). Keep up with Spooky Doings on FacebookListen to the Spooky Doings Podcast (specifically, if so interested, Jim's guest episode talking about Bram Stoker's Dracula)

The journey for the perfect metaphor ends with Near Dark, a wonderfully directed film that subverts the expectations of the Western genre, but that also signals that the "Others" are vile, bloodthirsty creatures whose influence can only be overcome by blood transfusion. Read the summary of the essay, "Vampires, Indians, and the Queer Fantastic: Kathryn Bigelow's Near Dark" from The Glorious and the Grotesque

When Joel Schumacher took over directing The Lost Boys, he made some big changes to the initial idea including making the vampires older, making them sexier, and, by extension, making our heteronormative, boring suburban family protagonists the "others."Read Alcy Leyva's "30 Years Ago, The Lost Boys Introduced Me to Queer Cinema."

Happy 200th Episode to and from I Do Movies Badly! But enough mushy stuff - let's talk about the original Fright Night, a film that seems to be find its queer coded vampire character infinitely more fascinating than the other characters, but one that also casts him as a corrupter of youth and a sexual deviant. Or maybe that's just the POV of its main character, who hates the feelings that his next door neighbor has awoken in him...

Terry Mesnard of Gayly Dreadful brings some new blood (pardon the pun) to I Do Movies Badly to discuss films of the Queer Vampire Cycle. Terry talks about how his love for horror started with A Nightmare on Elm Street and its drag villain, explores how queer coded characters emerged out of a film industry and American society that didn't want to acknowledge homosexuality, and wades in on whether a director's intent matters as much as audience interpretation (SPOILERS: it does not). No matter what the directors may or may not have intended, Terry explores the queer subtext of the following three films: Tom Holland's Fright Night (1985), Joel Schumacher's The Lost Boys (1987), and Kathryn Bigelow's Near Dark (1987).   Follow Terry on Twitter @gaylydreadful Check out his podcast, Scarred for Life And follow it on Twitter as well @ScarredPodcast

Did Mark L. Lester, the man behind Commando, intend us to take Class of 1984 to be a satire of the overblown panic about violence in schools or a gravely serious warning about what he deemed an apathetic, dangerous next generation? Either way, it's an abject failure even if it does typify Canuxploitation. (Also, he definitely intended us to take it seriously)

There does seem at first to be something clever and subversive about setting a slasher film on Valentine's Day...until you remember that Valentine's Day is a Hallmark holiday and My Bloody Valentine bungles the execution of what could have been an interesting mystery.

Black Christmas has earned its reputation as a seminal horror film, with Bob Clark's directorial choices and effective subversion of the Christmas holiday season establishing its influence for decades to come (especially in 2020, when this reviewer will be heavily inspired by I'll Be Gone in the Dark)

David Bax remains the only I Do Movies Badly guest to actively pitch me topics and thus, he returns for the second time in three months to discuss some Canuxploitation films - or, less fun, "tax shelter films" - in which our neighbors of the Great White North used tax laws to create genre films that were precursors to American genre films in more ways than one. There is, of course, some talk about the impending NHL playoffs and why they're a stupid idea, wading into the waters of questioning if Hamilton is a "movie" or not, and, obviously, the recommendations: Bob Clark's Black Christmas (1974), George Mihalka's My Bloody Valentine (1981), and Mark L. Lester's Class of 1984 (1982). 

Benson and Moorhead revisit the world that they established in Resolution with The Endless allowing them to explore more of the "what" of the entity controlling peoples' fates, but still neglecting to answer the "why" or "how."

Who'd have thought that it was a review from IMDb cluing me into how Resolution, a film that I initially wrote off as "two guys who did the best they could with what they had," was actually a meta parody of tired horror tropes that leaned into its budget restrictions rather than tried to work around them?

Benson and Moorhead's Spring is a marvelous exploration of suspense over surprise, focusing on two closed off characters whose world views of objectification stem from their vulnerabilities and fears of loss (even if its female lead is far more interesting than its male lead).

It only made sense to bring in the first pair of guests in IDMB history to converse about the first directing pair being covered in IDMB history! Jerry Smith and Mike Snoonian of The Pod and the Pendulum podcast join to discuss the films of indie genre pair, Justin Benson and Aaron Moorhead. The boys first all check in to see how everyone is holding up and taking care of themselves as the COVID-19 pandemic rages on and protestors continue to demand police accountability and racial justice. Jerry and Mike talk about their personal creative journeys and how they joined together for The Pod and the Pendulum, they catch listeners up on the Cinestate fallout, and humorously relay the story of how $60 were mysteriously donated to Jerry one day out of the blue.  The two explain their deep love for the low-budget filmmaking duo who build genre elements around ultimately hopeful stories of love and relationships and gush about their three recommendations: Spring (2014), Resolution (2012), and The Endless (2017). Horror fandom is a passion that is not bound by race, gender, sex, or orientation. If you want to support the diverse voices of genre fans check out these other websites and podcasts:Faculty of HorrorSpinsters of HorrorGood Mourning, NancyThe Grave Girls PodcastKill By KillScaretroducingHorror Movie Survival GuideThe Losers ClubHalloweeniesGayly DreadfulHorror Virgin

Lone Star is, for better and for worse, an efficient encapsulation of the two things that make John Sayles films well, John Sayles films: his earnest filmmaking and his egalitarianism towards his characters.

Eight Men Out is a pretty faithful and earnest retelling of the 1919 "Black Sox" Scandal...to the film's detriment. More concerned with compiling a mostly historically accurate checklist of what transpired, perhaps Sayles' script would have been better served by another director who could have helped stoke the film's emotional core.

The protagonist in The Brother From Another Planet doesn't speak one word throughout the entire film, but allows the people that he meets and the neighborhood in which he meets them to tell us a more realistic picture of what it's like to be an immigrant assimilating into a city with a troubling history of racism.

He was tutored by Roger Corman like Coppola, Scorsese, and Dante. He's worked with actors like Chris Cooper, Matthew McConaughey, David Strathairn, and Angela Bassett. He's done script doctering on notable films like Apollo 13 and Mimic. He's received 2 Oscar nominations for screenwriting. He's John Sayles and, despite his prolific career, nobody talks about him. James McCormick of The Cast of Cthulhu returns to I Do Movies Badly to discuss the career of a writer/director who came up with the New Hollywood crowd, but neither hit the mainstream like Spielberg nor faded away like Rafaelson. The output of the man from Schenectady ranges from "low key" science-fiction to working class dramas and includes the three films James recommends: Brother From Another Planet (1984), Eight Men Out (1988), and Lone Star (1993).

With Man With a Movie Camera, Dziga Vertov pioneered many technical camera techniques (double exposure, superimposition, under/overcranking) that filmmakers would utilize regularly for decades to come as well as pioneering the cinéma vérité style. But can we talk about how the guy who's mantra was to capture "life as it is".....didn't do that with this film?

"Dedicated propagandist" Vsevolod Pudovkin introduces us to the plight of the poor and working class with Mother, a film that reminds us all that the phrase "eat the rich" was not a contemporary idea. 

It's back to film school with the discussion of Battleship Potemkin, a film that is almost 100 years old, yet pioneered many cinematic techniques that we're still seeing implemented regularly today (Montage! Invisible edits! Romanticizing a country's troubling history!). It's both an effective film and an effective piece of propaganda,

I Do Movies Badly returns from its month-long with David Bax of Battleship Pretension in tow (tug? Like a tugboat? That's a boat joke). It's been a while, so there's a good deal of catching up first including some talk on working and viewing habits in the pandemic, recapping my improvised marriage in the face of a shelter in place order, and revisiting the lost bet* that resulted in David choosing the topic of discussion.  That topic of discussion, by the way, is on Soviet silent films, which were ahead of their times in how they pioneered editing techniques (...and state funded propaganda). It's a return to film school as David recommends Sergei Eistenstein's Battleship Potemkin (1925), Vsevolod Pudovkin's Mother (1926), and Dziga Vertov's Man with a Movie Camera (1929).

Reed Morano month(s) goes out with a whimper instead of a bang. From box office receipts to tepid creativity, there is no way to describe The Rhythm Section other than a disappointment.  Reminder that I'm taking a hiatus for March, but I'll be back with a new guest, new theme, and a wife! In the meantime, head over to my other podcast, The Cast of Cthulhu, to get your fix!

It's 13 minutes before any words are spoken in I Think We're Alone Now, but by that time, we already know all we need to about the film's main character, his world, and how he sees his role in it. If you're unfamiliar with "film grammar," then you've no better introduction than this Reed Morano film.

It's 13 minutes before any words are spoken in I Think We're Alone Now, but by that time, we already know all we need to about the film's main character, his world, and how he sees his role in it. If you're unfamiliar with "film grammar," then you've no better introduction than this Reed Morano film.

The Skeleton Twins would have already been a great film thanks to the script from Mark Heyman and director Craig Johnson, but it's accentuated by the indelible mark that Reed Morano leaves on it with her emotionally evocative camerawork and lighting.

 Reed Morano's directorial debut is an immersive emotional journey into grief and pain, realized wonderfully by how the director/DP uses her camera. But emotion over logic doesn't always lead to satisfying conclusions.

New York-based DP/director Sean Meehan returns to IDMB to talk about another DP/director, Reed Morano! The conversation is a little more inside baseball than usual with some film school-ish explanations of the technical and creative considerations that go into being a DP (I learned where the term "color timing" came from!), but it transitions into an excellent conversation about why Morano was equipped to be a great director by first being a great DP.  Seeing Morano's third feature as director, The Rhythm Section hasn't yet been released, Sean had to get clever and recommend one film that she was lensing rather than directing, making January's titles: Meadowland (2015), The Skeleton Twins (2014), and I Think We're Alone Now (2018). Be sure to keep up with I Do Movies Badly on Battleship Pretension, Podbean, and Facebook

In this final episode of 2019, Jim talks a little bit about Dans Paris (not a fan), but mostly uses it to wax poetic about Christmas and how his life has changed, is changing, and will continue to change.   Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, and Happy New Year to everyone!   

It would be easy to assume that Rare Exports is just a dark and cynical twist on the Christmas symbolism of which many people have grown sick, but that wouldn't do justice to the  fine line that writer/director Jalmari Helander straddles between satire and sincerity.

Arnaud Desplechin's A Christmas Tale is a mix of emotions, personalities, soundtracks, powerful performances, and filmmaking tricks that masterfully encapsulates the cacophony that results from a reunion of so many people with so much baggage. Desplechin's aesthetic keeps the audience constantly unsettled, riding waves of emotions that whip the audience back and forth amongst relating with his characters and rejecting them from scene-to-scene. It's a fabulous work, but not one without its problems.

'Tis the season to be jolly...and for Alonso Duralde to return to I Do Movies Badly! The author of "Have Yourself a Movie Little Christmas" makes his annual appearance on the podcast to talk about all things Christmas from the why's and what's of the influx of original streaming content to who's the best cinematic Ebenezer Scrooge (the correct answer is Michael Caine). Yuletide recommendations abound in both some highlights from this year's streaming crop to the titles I'll be reviewing this month: Arnaud Desplechin's A Christmas Tale (2002), Jalmari Helander's Rare Exports (2010), and Christophe Honoré's Dans Paris (2006).

Okja may not have made me swear off meat, but its intimacy with an adorable albeit extremely large pig did provide an emotional and critical look at larger societal forces (corporations, police, extremist groups) that all contribute to the oppression and separation of innocent people.

The exploration of class separation may be more subtext in The Host than it was text in Memories of Murder, but it still provides fertile ground for exploring the absurdity of authorities that perpetuate the separation of people. Also, go see Parasite!

Memories of Murder is a story that's relatively simple in concept, but complex in execution because of how Bong Joon-ho skillfully blends emotions together within his characters and his scenes.

Writer/director Jim Mickle (Stake Land, We Are What We Are, In the Shadow of the Moon) graces I Do Movies Badly with his presence to talk about his journey to filmmaking, his penchant for genre, and - of course - Korean filmmaker Bong Joon-ho! The Jims talk about Joon-ho's tendency to change lanes and moods mid-film, how his films are always centered in heart, and why Snowpiercer is Mickle's least favorite of the filmmaker's output before getting on to the recommendations: Memories of a Murder (2003), The Host (2006), and Okja (2017). Jim Mickle's latest film, In the Shadow of the Moon, is streaming now on Netflix!

I'm wrapping up September with unadulterated, unfiltered Abbas Kiarostami. Close-Up, the filmmaker's second feature-length film, radiates the visual and aesthetic ambition of a young filmmaker exploring cinematic conventions for the very first time.  Listen to the end for an exciting announcement about October's guest and theme!

After some big news - New podcast! New co-host! Coming next week! - I get to the discussion of Certified Copy, a film that I was fully on board with for...55 minutes.

It doesn't take long to find application of Kiarostami's duplicity of the image. In fact, it's a theme he introduces in the very first shot of the film, setting the tone for the interplay between image and language that would carry the remainder of the film.