I saw The Orphan this weekend, and I need to talk to you about it.
Now, I'm going to talk about what happens in the film, so if you can't handle the truth, I'd advise you to look away now. Yes, spoilers will be given. But don't worry, I won't ruin the film for you. Mr. Collet-Serra already did that.
So, let's talk about what makes this one of the most preposterous sequence of events shown in cinema ever. I'm just going to give you a synopsis of the plot movements:
1. Mom had a stillbirth a couple of years ago, fell into a deep depression-fueled alcoholism, almost lost her toddler daughter because of an alcoholic bender, did lose her job, almost lost her husband, but pulled herself together and hasn't had a drink in a year.
2. Barely a year sober, and with the discovery of her husband's adultery still a fresh emotional wound, Mom decides adopting a child is what she needs to fill the void left by the stillbirth, which is memorialized in a huge rosebush and plaque in the backyard.
3. Mom and Dad go to an orphanage, look around at all the kids, and settle on the one child who is not attending the party and who is not liked by the others, assuring her that "it's okay to be different."
4. Three weeks later, they have an 9-year old daughter to add to their other two children--yes, they also have a 5ish-year old girl and an 11ish-year old boy, who is very clear that he is unhappy about this sudden new addition to his already unstable family.
5. Need I mention that the adopted orphan has a subtle russian accent that steadily grows stronger, throws a fit if someone asks her to remove the wide velvet ribbons she wears on her neck and wrists, only wears old-fashioned taffeta party dresses, has a leather-bound bible filled with pictures of middle-aged men, and spends much of her time painting lovely pictures of houses and scenes that glow with demons and torture under a blacklight?
6. Mom thinks there's something wrong with her, especially as kids who cross her have a way of winding up with broken bones, but Dad chooses to side with the adopted girl they know nothing about. The kids aren't too fond of her, but are afraid to speak up, especially as she threatens to kill one of them and castrate the other.
7. Anyways, she smashes a bird, bludgeons a nun, chops up the memorial rosebush the Mom is obsessed with, breaks her own arm with a vise and blames the mom, sets fire to the treehouse with the boy in it forcing him into a coma, and then unplugs his respirator and smothers him with a pillow.
8. You'd think someone would catch on at this point, but they're all against Mom now, even her therapist, who wants her to go into rehab and out of the house. She refuses but ends up sedated in the hospital while Dad takes the two girls home and starts to drink.
9. You'd think he was the alcoholic because while he's drinking himself into oblivion, Orphan cuts up one of Mom's dresses, paints herself up like a hooker and then offers herself up to "John", previously known as Dad.
10. Dad pushes 9-year old off, saying "you're just a little girl", which sets of crazy-sparks in the Orphans eyes, and she spends a long time staring into the mirror with crazy eyes. The kind rimmed with melting eyeliner and mascara.
11. Meanwhile, Mom in the hospital receives a phone call from the Estonian "orphanage" that is revealed to be a MENTAL INSTITUTION, not an orphanage, and for God's sake, if the Orphan is in the house, get out now because she is dangerous! Not just kind of dangerous, but really dangerous because she's not a 9-year old girl, she is a 33-year old woman with a hormone deficiency and psychopathic tendencies, preying on the fathers of families she is adopted into and then killing everyone in the house when she is rejected.
12. Mom tears out of the hospital bed and into a car speeding as fast as she can on icy roads in pitch black with a phone she keeps dropping as she tries to call the house repeatedly where the husband she is trying to reach is being stabbed a million times by the Orphan who then grabs the revolver and goes after the Daughter.
13. Mom arrives just in time to rescue Daughter, getting shot a couple of times in the arm, but ultimately dodging the rest of the 8 bullets that came out of the gun.
14. The fight ends up on the frozen lake outside their house where one of the bullets creates a hole into which both Mom and Orphan fall.
15. After a fierce struggle, Mom climbs out.
16. Just as she's almost safe, a thin white Russian orphan arm shoots out of the hole in the ice and grabs Mom's leg.
17. Mom looks back and sees the Orphan's sad eyes, crying as she begs, "Mommy, please don't let me die!"
18. To which Mom replies, "I'm not your fucking Mommy!" and kicks the Orphan in the face.
I just wanted to get it out of my system. Thanks for listening.
Showing posts with label films. Show all posts
Showing posts with label films. Show all posts
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Wednesday, April 30, 2008
Planet *s!
If you haven't already, I really encourage you strongly to check out Planet B-Boy if you're lucky enough to have it playing near you.
In one of the parallel versions of my life, I am a breakdancer. Of course, a great one. A girl one. I would be known for my crazy blowups and over the top footwork. In this version of my life, tho, I have to live it vicariously through real bboys.
I want someone to say of me, "there's nobody that can touch *s! when it comes to _____" and say that without referencing peeps or sugar consumption. I love the idea of loving something so much you can't contain yourself. And I'm envious of the passion and desperation it takes to throw your life into something. Anything. I mean I'm pretty passionate about Reese's Pieces. But I'd give them up rather than put up a fight. I'm just like that.
More from Last For One, who were the undisputed heartbreak champions of the film and the 2005 International Battle of the Year:
I love their intensity, their complete focus, and most of all, their green and white puma tracksuits. Also, ♥ BBoy Joe ♥
And from France, Phase T, who are probably the most poetic of any of the finalists:
Lil Kev, the eeny white boy, is almost too twee to take seriously. Until you see him fly across the stage.
And then of course, Gamblerz, the defending champions coming into the 2005 Battle:
They're like a series of explosions. One of the only crews to build a storyline for this competition, and one that works whether or not you know it. I love that they're a powerhouse team, but knew that they needed to round out to become a more cohesive team. And then did it.
Finally, just for fun, a clip of Gamblerz v. Ichigeki during the Pre-Elim battle:
I love the in-your-faceness of it all. The show and tell structure of a story told in dance.
In one of the parallel versions of my life, I am a breakdancer. Of course, a great one. A girl one. I would be known for my crazy blowups and over the top footwork. In this version of my life, tho, I have to live it vicariously through real bboys.
I want someone to say of me, "there's nobody that can touch *s! when it comes to _____" and say that without referencing peeps or sugar consumption. I love the idea of loving something so much you can't contain yourself. And I'm envious of the passion and desperation it takes to throw your life into something. Anything. I mean I'm pretty passionate about Reese's Pieces. But I'd give them up rather than put up a fight. I'm just like that.
More from Last For One, who were the undisputed heartbreak champions of the film and the 2005 International Battle of the Year:
I love their intensity, their complete focus, and most of all, their green and white puma tracksuits. Also, ♥ BBoy Joe ♥
And from France, Phase T, who are probably the most poetic of any of the finalists:
Lil Kev, the eeny white boy, is almost too twee to take seriously. Until you see him fly across the stage.
And then of course, Gamblerz, the defending champions coming into the 2005 Battle:
They're like a series of explosions. One of the only crews to build a storyline for this competition, and one that works whether or not you know it. I love that they're a powerhouse team, but knew that they needed to round out to become a more cohesive team. And then did it.
Finally, just for fun, a clip of Gamblerz v. Ichigeki during the Pre-Elim battle:
I love the in-your-faceness of it all. The show and tell structure of a story told in dance.
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation
As promised, this weekend, I attended the highly anticipated (by me, at any rate) showing of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark: The Adaptation at the Backseat Film Festival (to illustrate exactly how highly anticipated it was, I have to digress for a few moments into a story about how when we arrived, the film schedule was backlogged by about an hour. So, at 7.05, five minutes after the film was supposed to begin, the previous showing was still up on the screen. Due to some level of inattention on the part of the event staff, all of us lining up outside were let in to a nearly-empty theatre. And no wonder. For the next excrutiating 45 minutes, we were forced to watch one of the most execrable pieces of developed film I've ever sat through--and let me remind you that for a brief while, I was a film student whose sole purpose in life was to do the same. And for someone who has walked out of more films in theatres than actually sat through them, it goes to show that I was willing to submit myself to the torture, albeit a whiny, tantrumy submission, for the privilege to say I have seen this film. The second moral of this story is to say that if you ever encounter a piece of footage called Jews at Sea, run like hell. And if you meet the guy responsible for it, stone him. A roomful of film lovers will thank you for it).
The opening screenshot:
And then on to the action. Scene opening in the jungles of Peru, shot on location in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. Something I wish I'd captured was the sight of Indy being chased through the jungle by a horde of angry, diminuitive and blonde Peruvian Indians in long grass skirts. Ahhh.
Here, my favorite shot of the film--Indy is about to snatch the Peruvian idol, which cheekily has a little potatohead-y face carved into the back of it:
To compare with the scene from the original, in which the Harrison Ford Indy is about to do the same. Somehow, the little gold idol is a little less endearing without that little knife-slash mouth and angry triangular eyes:
At this point, I was so caught up in the drama of the film itself that I actually forgot to take pictures as originally planned. Every time you sat there thinking, "How are these kids going to re-enact _____", they would do it. And better than you could dream of doing it yourself. Indy being chased out of the Peruvian cave by a 12-foot boulder? Check. Flames engulfing Marion's bar in Nepal after a gunfight with Toht and his henchmen? Check. The camera-pan across a vast archaeological camp digging in Tanis? Check. Streetfight in Cairo? Check. The entire climbing-over-and-under-the-truck-as-it's-chasing-Belloq-and-fighting-Nazis sequence? Check check check.
And here, Belloq's (Eric Zala) below-lit face fills up the screen as he is about to lift up the lid to the Ark:
Here, the audience sits, riveted yet, as the credits roll:
It was great. If you are within traveling distance of any of the upcoming screenings, you have to go. It's an obligation to everything you wanted to do as a kid and were told/thought was impossible.
Anyways, finally. Finally! Chris Srompolis took the microphone to briefly ("Here's our film") introduce The Adaptation:
The opening screenshot:
And then on to the action. Scene opening in the jungles of Peru, shot on location in Bay St. Louis, Mississippi. Something I wish I'd captured was the sight of Indy being chased through the jungle by a horde of angry, diminuitive and blonde Peruvian Indians in long grass skirts. Ahhh.
Here, my favorite shot of the film--Indy is about to snatch the Peruvian idol, which cheekily has a little potatohead-y face carved into the back of it:
To compare with the scene from the original, in which the Harrison Ford Indy is about to do the same. Somehow, the little gold idol is a little less endearing without that little knife-slash mouth and angry triangular eyes:
At this point, I was so caught up in the drama of the film itself that I actually forgot to take pictures as originally planned. Every time you sat there thinking, "How are these kids going to re-enact _____", they would do it. And better than you could dream of doing it yourself. Indy being chased out of the Peruvian cave by a 12-foot boulder? Check. Flames engulfing Marion's bar in Nepal after a gunfight with Toht and his henchmen? Check. The camera-pan across a vast archaeological camp digging in Tanis? Check. Streetfight in Cairo? Check. The entire climbing-over-and-under-the-truck-as-it's-chasing-Belloq-and-fighting-Nazis sequence? Check check check.
And here, Belloq's (Eric Zala) below-lit face fills up the screen as he is about to lift up the lid to the Ark:
Here, the audience sits, riveted yet, as the credits roll:
Quite seriously, the film really lived up to everything ever mythologized about it. Yes, it is a film for fans of the Indiana Jones adventures. But it's also a film for fans of film-making. And really, a film for fans of film. In the end, a 100-minute tribute film shot by a gang of 12-year olds would not stand up to audiences if it weren't good. And it wouldn't be around, packing theatres, almost 20 years after its 7 years of filming and production were complete if it weren't great.
It was great. If you are within traveling distance of any of the upcoming screenings, you have to go. It's an obligation to everything you wanted to do as a kid and were told/thought was impossible.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Henry Walton Jones, Jr., Ph.D.
...but you can call him Indy.
A couple of years ago, I heard a bizarre story about a group of kids who had obsessively recreated and filmed their version of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, scene by scene, taking almost a decade to complete. As someone who has similar obsessive and compulsive tendencies, I immediately appreciated both the ability to love something so much that it would take over your life so completely as well as the need to nurture this love and in turn, let it evolve into something new.
The sheer brilliance of a 12-year old, creating storyboards, detailing each of the 609 scenes they would later shoot is just mind-boggling. I mean, just take a look at the meticulousness of the wardrobe sets:
Angela R. and Chris S. as Marion and Indy.
Nazis marching the Ark through Indonesia.
One version featuring suspiciously diminuitive Nazis.
Eric Z. and Paul Freeman as Rene Belloq.
"Jooones? Jooooooooo-oonnes!"
Chris and Harrison Ford starring in their respective Cairo streetfights.
A couple of years ago, I heard a bizarre story about a group of kids who had obsessively recreated and filmed their version of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark, scene by scene, taking almost a decade to complete. As someone who has similar obsessive and compulsive tendencies, I immediately appreciated both the ability to love something so much that it would take over your life so completely as well as the need to nurture this love and in turn, let it evolve into something new.
The sheer brilliance of a 12-year old, creating storyboards, detailing each of the 609 scenes they would later shoot is just mind-boggling. I mean, just take a look at the meticulousness of the wardrobe sets:
So, how excited am I that it's showing at the 2008 Backseat Film Festival? And that this weekend, I'll be writing to tell you how awesome it was instead of how excited I am to go see it? Pretty fucking excited.
Doing anything Saturday night? Get tickets and meet me there!
In the meantime, this should convince you that we're not talking about some run-of-the-mill afterschool project here:
Angela R. and Chris S. as Marion and Indy.
Nazis marching the Ark through Indonesia.
One version featuring suspiciously diminuitive Nazis.
Eric Z. and Paul Freeman as Rene Belloq.
"Jooones? Jooooooooo-oonnes!"
Chris and Harrison Ford starring in their respective Cairo streetfights.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
satan loves that scrabble
so pb told me once that when he was younger, he was always afraid of accidentally selling his soul to the devil. and I found this surprisingly interesting--for all my fear of the afterworld and whatever just deserts I will meted upon arrival, I never was worried about the trickery of the prince of darkness. why? well, as a reigning spelling bee & math champ, I could only assume that I would be able to outmanuever lucifer and any of his logically/lexicographically challenged minions when it came to pawing at my soul. after all, consider the evidence, as documented by modern cinema:
The Ninth Gate
how lame is it that the whole plot hinges on the fact that the satanic illustrations are marked with the initials "LCF" to stand for LuCiFer. why? this book was created by the devil himself, and he decided to mark the pictures by signing the first letter of the syllables of one of his name, and in english? eh? BZB seems much more evil, something about that Z.
Rosemary's Baby
I guess it only makes sense that the man who brought you the above piece of lexical brilliance originated his thinking with a game of scrabble untangling the clues to figure out that creepy next-door-neighbor ROMAN CASTAVET was actually son of noted satanic wizard, STEVEN MARCATO. once more, we ask, why? satan is that tied to these, again, english versions of his name? he couldn't just come up with a new name for one of his most powerful followers? if he'd just been renamed Stanley or something, they wouldn't've had to go through all that trouble of kidnapping Ro in the street or killing Hutch or feeding her all that chalky-undertasting tannis root. actually, if the devil had just filed his nails, the entire plot would've gone off without a hitch. which leads me to believe that satan's stupider than he'd like us to believe
Exorcist III
the premise here is that the Gemini Killer is possessed by the devil. I mean, that's the whole point of the exorcisms, right? so, why can't the devil spell-check? the double-Ls are supposed to be a mark of the GK, but seriously, wouldn't we all take evil more seriously if he weren't a poor speller?
The Omens (I, II and III)
it's like the devil keeps playing this poorly-conceived game of hide-and-seek. like, he doesn't want anyone to know it's him, and yet he'll mark himself all over (head, back, hands) with the 666. look, once you let us see that "mark of the beast", the jig is up. we all know who you are and from whence you came. der.
Angel Heart
again, so the devil takes his place on earth, and after a stroll through the Big Book of Names, he came up with Louis Cyphre? does he go by "Lou"? why is satan such a chump?
To the Devil a Daughter
okay, so the devil wants the soul of a young girl to be his representative on earth, and the only way he could figure out how to do so was to get her father's signature on a contract. because she's not yet 18. so all this time, she could've given that soul away at will, but minority laws are upheld in the under/afterworld? and it has to be a physical document that the father signs, in regular ink. does he get a copy? was it notarized? I hope satan's got good representation...
The Devil's Advocate
...and yet The Devil's Advocate teaches us that indeed, Lucifer is picking his attorneys out of the yellow pages, just like the rest of us. Seriously, if Kevin Lomax is John Milton (har har)'s son, why wait so long to test his evil-ness? Why not harness and tap into his well of devilry from at least law school and spare himself all that work?
The Ninth Gate
how lame is it that the whole plot hinges on the fact that the satanic illustrations are marked with the initials "LCF" to stand for LuCiFer. why? this book was created by the devil himself, and he decided to mark the pictures by signing the first letter of the syllables of one of his name, and in english? eh? BZB seems much more evil, something about that Z.
Rosemary's Baby
I guess it only makes sense that the man who brought you the above piece of lexical brilliance originated his thinking with a game of scrabble untangling the clues to figure out that creepy next-door-neighbor ROMAN CASTAVET was actually son of noted satanic wizard, STEVEN MARCATO. once more, we ask, why? satan is that tied to these, again, english versions of his name? he couldn't just come up with a new name for one of his most powerful followers? if he'd just been renamed Stanley or something, they wouldn't've had to go through all that trouble of kidnapping Ro in the street or killing Hutch or feeding her all that chalky-undertasting tannis root. actually, if the devil had just filed his nails, the entire plot would've gone off without a hitch. which leads me to believe that satan's stupider than he'd like us to believe
Exorcist III
the premise here is that the Gemini Killer is possessed by the devil. I mean, that's the whole point of the exorcisms, right? so, why can't the devil spell-check? the double-Ls are supposed to be a mark of the GK, but seriously, wouldn't we all take evil more seriously if he weren't a poor speller?
The Omens (I, II and III)
it's like the devil keeps playing this poorly-conceived game of hide-and-seek. like, he doesn't want anyone to know it's him, and yet he'll mark himself all over (head, back, hands) with the 666. look, once you let us see that "mark of the beast", the jig is up. we all know who you are and from whence you came. der.
Angel Heart
again, so the devil takes his place on earth, and after a stroll through the Big Book of Names, he came up with Louis Cyphre? does he go by "Lou"? why is satan such a chump?
To the Devil a Daughter
okay, so the devil wants the soul of a young girl to be his representative on earth, and the only way he could figure out how to do so was to get her father's signature on a contract. because she's not yet 18. so all this time, she could've given that soul away at will, but minority laws are upheld in the under/afterworld? and it has to be a physical document that the father signs, in regular ink. does he get a copy? was it notarized? I hope satan's got good representation...
The Devil's Advocate
...and yet The Devil's Advocate teaches us that indeed, Lucifer is picking his attorneys out of the yellow pages, just like the rest of us. Seriously, if Kevin Lomax is John Milton (har har)'s son, why wait so long to test his evil-ness? Why not harness and tap into his well of devilry from at least law school and spare himself all that work?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
union fidelity trust
I'm watching Take the Money and Run, and besides giving me a craving for spaghetti, I am having a difficult time with it.
Sorry, Chiik.
Sorry, Chiik.
Monday, January 21, 2008
thomas jerome newton
one of the best 10-minute opening sequences to any film ever made.
if I could have or be anyone ever, it would be david bowie in the beginning of this film.
if I could have or be anyone ever, it would be david bowie in the beginning of this film.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
nightmare at the landmark sunshine
last weekend, I went to see el orfanato at the landmark sunshine, and haven't slept through the night since. it's the kind of sleeplessness, though, that you savor, as you lie curled up under the covers: was that shadow there a blink ago? did the room just get colder? is someone breathing?
there's little else as deliciously gratifying as a good horror film. the kind that leaves fingernail crescents on your palms by the end, and tendrils of nightmarescapes reaching deep into the waiting nights ahead.
the start itself was in perfect pitch: a richly romantic palette draping the screen with the smeariness of hazy unreality--all greenish greys and mossy browns--a crumbling grotto opening up into the rising sea where a forgotten lighthouse flickers in and out of sight, boulders piled high on cliffs, and accusingly piercing the low clouds, the orphanage, holding its breath and lying in wait.
I'm fairly easily seduced with a particularized mise en scène. but.
the image of the dark-panelled hallway, with that slack-limbed child shuffling forward, wet snuffling sounds leaking out from inside the grotesque sackcloth tied over his head is the most profoundly unsettling thing I have ever experienced on film.
other portents of cinematic cringe-induced finger-biting to come:
* echoey nursery chants from children whose faces you can't see clearly
* entire handfuls of milk teeth
* grinning, lopsided scarecrows
* black prams lying in the road with one wheel slowly coming to a stop
* black orthopedic shoes, and the crazy-eyed wrinkled ladies shuffling away in them
okay, so the ending was bathed in a warm, slightly sugary bath. but I can forgive it for everything that it gave me leading to it. and love it for everything it didn't.
I plan on being awake most of tonight, too.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
there's little else as deliciously gratifying as a good horror film. the kind that leaves fingernail crescents on your palms by the end, and tendrils of nightmarescapes reaching deep into the waiting nights ahead.
the start itself was in perfect pitch: a richly romantic palette draping the screen with the smeariness of hazy unreality--all greenish greys and mossy browns--a crumbling grotto opening up into the rising sea where a forgotten lighthouse flickers in and out of sight, boulders piled high on cliffs, and accusingly piercing the low clouds, the orphanage, holding its breath and lying in wait.
I'm fairly easily seduced with a particularized mise en scène. but.
the image of the dark-panelled hallway, with that slack-limbed child shuffling forward, wet snuffling sounds leaking out from inside the grotesque sackcloth tied over his head is the most profoundly unsettling thing I have ever experienced on film.
other portents of cinematic cringe-induced finger-biting to come:
* echoey nursery chants from children whose faces you can't see clearly
* entire handfuls of milk teeth
* grinning, lopsided scarecrows
* black prams lying in the road with one wheel slowly coming to a stop
* black orthopedic shoes, and the crazy-eyed wrinkled ladies shuffling away in them
okay, so the ending was bathed in a warm, slightly sugary bath. but I can forgive it for everything that it gave me leading to it. and love it for everything it didn't.
I plan on being awake most of tonight, too.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
somewhere between the wet snuffling and the orthopedic shoes, I turned around and caught a picture of TC and an ewok enjoying the show:
also, Stattler, I owe you an apology for gouging out those flesh divots in your upper arm during the "1,2,3 pica la pared!" sequence in the basement. sorry.
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