Analog Terror
by Ariel Esteban Cayer

The Last Broadcast (1998)
D: Stefan Avalos & Lance Weiler
S: Stefan Avalos, Lance Weiler, David Beard

Released a year before The Blair Witch Project and often overlooked because of it, The Last Broadcast remains essential in the understanding of reality horror, be it found footage films or mockumentary films.

Constructed as an investigative report, which utilizes its own interviews and coverage, as well as evidential “found” footage, the film tells us the story of the Fact of Fiction murdersthat took place in the Pine Barrens, after 2 public-access hosts ventured into the woods in search of the Jersey Devil. The Last Broadcast makes great use (both on visual and narrative standpoint) of every kind of video material available and the film fuses its patchwork of creepy analog images and intriguing voice-over into an incredibly thrilling narrative. In fact, from its form and content, the viewer is immediately sucked in and the experience becomes more like something you’d live through good television than actual fiction film. The film (or should I say “documentary”) constantly builds up tension, captivates with hints and clues but also extends its purpose as to show us the raw power of media and its hold on its viewership, which in this case, is us. In this film, the images inform, reveal, mystify and create unease. We willingly submit to it and go as a far as aiding it attain its goal. As Blair Witch, Paranormal Activity or Trash Humpers would later confirm, much of the genre’s impact comes from the viewer’s participation. In the context of 1998, The Last Broadcast comes off as great new way of crafting a horror thriller on the cheap but also one that feels very much in tune with the late 90’s/early 00’s preoccupation with new forms of media.

Fascinating for its visual patterns – that seem logical in the context of the film but will later become benchmarks of the genre – and underlying themes, the film is also a double-edged sword. Minor but noteworthy remark; the film unfortunately fails to explore its supernatural side, which may come as a surprise for people who expect a mythology-driven film or “investigation”. Also, although immensely engaging for the greatest part of its duration, the film disappoints immensely with its ending, which is both an affront to the viewer, but also to the film’s brilliance to a certain extent. By taking a perfectly constructed exercise and turning it on its head, the filmmakers come off as untrusting of their audience. Whether they stuck to their initial idea or feared they couldn’t take their concept to its logical conclusion is unknown but the result remains the same. On the flip side, it can be argued that with this abrupt form reversal, Stefan Avalos and Lance Weiler managed to pull the ultimate trick on their audience, while taking their commentary on the media’s relation to its viewer and creator to its natural conclusion. Also, one can hypothesize that The Blair Witch came from a desire of perfecting the formula proposed here – and show it without any restraints this time around.

Ultimately, one of the reasons The Last Broadcast is so pleasing is it’s undoubtedly a product of the 90’s. From its intrinsic analog aesthetic to its relationship with technology – most of which is completely obsolete today – the film is a great document of the beginning of the new millennium and the wave of “home-made” horror it would bring.

Before The 7, They Were 3: The Works of Wright, Pegg & Frost.
by Ariel Esteban Cayer

PART ONE of THREE
Spaced (TV, 1999-2001)
D: Edgar Wright
W: Simon Pegg & Jessica Hynes
S: Simon Pegg, Jessica Hynes, Nick Frost, Mark Heap, Julia Deakin & Kathy Carmichael

Initially conceived by Simon Pegg and Jessica Hynes, there is no doubt one of the main reasons for Spaced’s success lies behind Edgar Wright and his unique brand of directing. Working tightly with Pegg and Hynes, they gave what could’ve been a conventional sitcom its unique style that not only turned Spaced into a British hit, but also a cult phenomenon that is still celebrated today. With a fanbase composed of some of the greatest names in the business (Quentin Tarantino, Kevin Smith, Diablo Cody and Matt Stone only being a few of them), Spaced put the director (and fellow stooges) on the map, which led to a yet-to-be-completed trilogy of films as well as international fame for everyone included.

While Asylum (a 6 episode series that is sadly unavailable on DVD at this point) marked the first collaboration between Wright, Pegg and Hynes, Spaced definitely launched their careers and established Edgar Wright as one great comedy directors of our time.

Before I dive into the first two films of the the Blood and Ice Cream Trilogy, also known as the Three Flavours Cornetto Trilogy, let’s take a brief look at how the show managed, during its 14-episode run, to present all of the director’s stylistic specificity, a style he will keep refining all the way to Scott Pilgrim vs the World.

All of Wright’s films are reference-based. Wright’s preoccupations with genre films, video games and comic books is essential to the understanding of his style. Tim Bisley (Simon Pegg), a struggling comic book artist and Daisy Steiner (Jessica Hynes), equally struggling journalist, live a life - which like many of us geeks - is filled with references. Be it Evil Dead II posters on our walls or Scully action figures in our bedroom, these celebrations of pop culture shape our surrounding and become essential to who we are. Following them as well at their obligatory set of neighbors and friends (notably Nick Frost as Mike and the great Mark Heap as Brian), Wright, through various stylistic decisions I’ll get to in a moment, manages to make of Spaced a world where characters not only enjoy video games, comic books, movies and music, but rather live them, as if these things had the power to shape lives, to transcend the medium. As if?

Known for his quick style of editing and timing, Wright used every reference to its full advantage, crafting complete scenes as homages to others - either Pulp Fiction or Close Encounter of the Third Kind. More than mere references, these often offered context to the gags and shaped the show in a way that made pop culture inseparable from Tim and Daisy’s existence.

Comedic mannerisms abound in Wrights work. Visual gags and slapstick are still around (thank God!) and wordplay and misunderstandings still abound. Quick cuts and panning transitions are used for comedic impact, dramatic contrasts offer great laughs and every joke is delivered breathlessly, which never leaves the viewers bored. His later films would integrate all of these devices seamlessly and further the concept of genre as more than inspiration. After creating the meta-series par excellence, Edgar Wright would prove with his two following films that the stylistic imprint of certain genres - can go as far as being a plot device. This time, sadly without Jessica Hynes, Pegg, Frost and Wright would go on to offer us two of the best comedies of the decade.

Next stop: the zombirific comedy Shaun of the Dead.

Ariel’s pick: Exo-suit Ripley vs. Alien Queen in Aliens (1986)

Before arguably revolutionizing the special effects all over again with Avatar, James Cameron took the science-fiction world by storm with his 1986 hit sequel to Ridley Scott’s Alien. Following the incredible Terminator, James Cameron not only delivered one of the best sequels in the history of genre films, but also one of the greatest action films ever made.

“Get away from her, you bitch.” As soon as Ripley appears, in her Power Loader you know you’re in for one hell of a good time. Nothing fancy here. The soundtracks fades out and the mechanical whirings of Ripley’s suit as well as the Queen’s monstrous sounds are the only thing that fill you ears. It’s intense, it’s muscular, it’s technical. You can feel the weight of both giants. Ripley does her best to keep the Alien Queen at a distance and the fight takes a turn where - as it happens very often in James Cameron’s early films- Ripley is forced to use her environment to defeat the odds. In other words, it’s freaking awesome.

You Are a Moving Work of Art
by Ariel Esteban Cayer

Memoirs of a Geisha (2005)
D: Rob Marshall
S: Zhang Ziyi, Ken Watanabe, Gong Li, Michelle Yeoh, Kôji Yakusho

There are a few things that bother me about Rob Marshall’s Memoirs of a Geisha and I’d like to run through them before we get into further details.

I know for a fact geisha did not sell their mizuage (literaly ”hoisting for water” or virginity) after the Edo period (1603-1868), nor did it ever happen to Mineko Iwasaki, the real-life geisha that inspired the Sayuri Nitta of the novel by Arthur Golden. I also know for a fact there’s no way, in a thousand years, that anybody in late ’20s/’30s Japan would be fluent in English. In fact, Memoirs of a Geisha is a westernized interpretation of what the geisha is all about and while I am not an expert on the subject, it transcends the screen. With that in mind, there is a precise reason this film is featured during Pelikula Tumblr’s Style Week, so read on.

Rob Marshall started his career as a theatre director, a position that earned him four Tony Award nominations (all of them for choreography). One thing led to another and after his first film contract, a forgettable TV film named Annie, he moved to more serious business with Chicago in 2002. While both Chicago and Nine (2009) seem like obvious career moves, Memoirs shouldn’t be ignored.

Visually, the film is flawless. Much like the geisha herself, everything is about beauty and perfection and Marshall manages to transport us, through drop dead gorgeous sets and magnificent costumes to this exotic world, and he does so despite the film’s many inherent flaws. Roughly 50 minutes in, we are taken through a montage of a geisha’s training, which pretty much sums up the film’s artistic intentions. From the vibrant kimonos we see on film to the grain of the wood and tatamisthat constitute most of the interior sets, we are taken through a kaleidoscope of textures and lush images that are the true reason this film should be appreciated. Sayuri’s adventures lead us through the ’30s and right into World War II, which gives the film a good opportunity to contrast Japanese aesthetics vs. American—mostly military—looks, something that, while it has been done numerous times before, is ultimately very satisfying, especially when helmed by Rob Marshall and his team of great art directors and set designers.

Not a film I’d recommend in other regards, Memoirs of a Geisha is still worth a look if you’re interested in Japanese imagery and gorgeous sense of style. While the narrative lacks distinction and feels very much Western, the film looks absolutely genuine and remains a great visual experience.

Sharks Got Nothin’ On Me
by Ariel Esteban Cayer

Piranha (1978)
D: Joe Dante
S: Bradford Dillman, Heather Menzies, Kevin McCarthy

Despite shamelessly cashing in on the success of Jaws (1975), Roger Corman and Joe Dante managed to create a little cult classic, that not only launched the career of visionary director James Cameron who, whether he wants to admit it or not, went on to direct most of Piranha II: The Spawning (1981), but also led to this year’s hilarious remake, Piranha 3D, helmed by French splat pack director Alexandre Aja.

A welcome addition to the animal-horror subgenre, this is pretty much everything you’d expect, but also a tiny bit more. Opening with the death of two careless teenagers, the film moves into familiar territory. As soon as the piranhas are unleashed from the military facility that spawned them as part of the appropriately called “Operation Razorteeth”, you can be sure you’re in for a great time. Deliciously self-conscious, Piranha is not the kind of B-movie you painfully sit through just for the sake of doing so. It’s witty, gory, and packed with enough aquatic action to keep you interested. The effects are good, with low-budget gore that should please any fan of that specific and highly productive decade of filmmaking. Some of the highlights include a two-legged stop-motion animated piranha and a scene involving 10-year olds being devoured alive. Doesn’t that sound like fun?

My only criticism would be that we never get to see the piranhas in their complete prosthetic form. Whether it was done in order to avoid revealing how freaking cheap the effects actually were or not, it would’ve been nice to get a clear shot of them. In fact, the image above is pretty much as clear as we ever get to see them without frenetically pausing your remote — which I did more than once.

As you may know, Joe Dante went on to direct cult classics such as Gremlins (1984), The Howling (1981) and the insane Small Soldiers (1998). So do yourself a favor and see where it all began!