R.I.P. Wes Craven

I remember a time when I was a kid when literally nothing was cooler than watching something on H.B.O. The fanfare would play, the HBO logo would drift through space, and by the time the HBO intro was over -- they played it before starting every single program, but you never got tired of it -- you'd be properly psyched to watch whatever movie or TV show was about to start.

I was still in elementary school, and staying up late with my friend David to watch a double-feature: A Nightmare on Elm Street and A Nightmare on Elm Street II: Freddy's Revenge. Then we tried to sleep -- but after watching supernatural serial killer Freddy Krueger kill teenagers left and right for nearly four hours, sleep just wasn't going to happen. After all, according to the Freddy mythos, it's when you're asleep that is when you're at your most vulnerable.

Wesley Earl Craven may have directed and written many movies during the course of his career, but he'll forever be known as the creator of Freddy Krueger. The director's commentary for the Nightmare on Elm Street DVD -- Wes Craven is, by the way, one of the few directors who's actually both entertaining and informative when he provides director's commentaries -- provides a fascinating story of the multiple sources that combined to inspire him to come up with the Freddy storyline. But at its core, the concept is brilliant in its simplicity: What if the bad guy in your nightmares didn't disappear when you woke up?

Craven wasn't involved with most of the Freddy sequels, but he did direct and write the best one: Wes Craven's New Nightmare, which topped his original high concept with one even better suited for motion pictures: What if the bad guy in the scary movie didn't disappear when the movie ends? This time, Freddy isn't stalking the stereotypical teenage slasher victims, he's stalking the cast and crew of the original A Nightmare on Elm Street. Craven himself has the best scene, a cameo in which he provides the narrative context, explaining to the heroine how the very act of storytelling creates a powerful energy that can be corrupted into something dark and twisted. Leave it to Craven -- a director, a writer, and, a doctorate in philosophy -- to posit storytelling itself as both a curse and a potential salvation.

I saw New Nightmare in the theater, alone. I don't mean I didn't bring any friends with me, I mean I was the only one in the whole theater -- a common occurrence at this particular theater, an old-fashioned 2-screen movie palace in Worcester that couldn't compete with the multiplex just outside of town, and which, sadly but unsurprisingly, closed for good in 1998.  Let me give you a hint of what made Craven such an ingenious horror director: Up until way past the halfway point, New Nightmare is presented in bi-directional stereo, which was still the standard at the time; filmmakers and theaters alike were only just starting to experiment with the concept of surround sound.

So anyway, throughout nearly the whole movie, all of the dialogue, music, and noise is coming from the direction of the screen in front of me. Eventually, there is a scene where the heroine is looking for Freddy; she knows the homicidal madman is out there somewhere, but where? Suddenly, the sinister laughing voice of Freddy rang out directly behind me, and I leapt out of my seat. Craven knew about the new trend of surround sound, of course he did, but he didn't just use it -- he used it to maximum effect, waiting for just . . . the right . . . moment!

I firmly believe that New Nightmare should be taught in classrooms, and eventually will be, as a prime example of an artwork's ability to examine itself better than any outside source ever could. The film simply represents postmodernism at its best.

It's therefore easy to see why Craven, as a director, would later be attracted to the similarly themed Scream horror series written by Kevin Williamson. Unlike the characters in New Nightmare, who eventually become aware that they are characters in a horror movie, the characters in the Scream series think they're living real life -- but are still highly aware of how much the events in their lives echo cinematic convention. Craven directs these films with his usual mastery of suspense, but it's almost a shame he's so closely associated with the series, as writer Williamson really deserves the lion's share of the credit.

Still, Craven has much in his career to be lauded for. In addition to the two best of the Freddy movies, he also gave us the classroom drama Music of the Heart, the nail-biting suspense film Red Eye, and also some of the best episodes of the 1980s incarnation of The Twilight Zone. But for all of the fun he provided, for all of the brilliance he put into even his seemingly most simple horror movies, I'll always remember him for that one ecstatically terrifying moment, when I sat alone in that movie theater and suddenly heard Freddy Krueger laughing in my ear. Well done, Wes. Well done.



retro movie review: Hard Rain

Sometimes, what seems on the surface to be mere "mindless entertainment" is actually impressively well structured. Screenwriter Graham Yost specializes in disguising especially well-crafted genre work as brainless fun. Yost is the man behind the criminally under-rated TV series Raines, and the more well-received Justified (the latter based on characters created by Elmore Leonard), but he will forever be known mostly as the writer of the 1994 blockbuster Speed. Yes, Speed was high concept, but what a concept! -- and one that Yost explored with more intelligence than you may remember.

Four years later, Yost teamed with director Mikael Salomon (another under-rated behind-the-camera artist) to give us Hard Rain, which, like Speed, combines high concept with superior plotting and dialogue.

Christian Slater stars as Tom, a rookie security guard for an armored car company. His mentor and partner on the job is his grumpy but ultimately soft-hearted uncle, Charlie (Edward Asner). When an over-burdened dam and a torrential rain storm combine to threaten the small town of Huntingburg with a devastating flood, Charlie and Tom are sent to empty the banks of their cash and transport them to safety. Along the way, though, they get trapped in a wash-out, and are then attacked by would-be thieves led by the surprisingly three-dimensional Jim (Morgan Freeman). Charlie dies in the attempted heist, but Tom escapes with the money, leading to an extended cat-and-mouse chase through the increasingly flooded town.

Yes, there are plenty of chases, explosions, and gun-fights, but thanks to Salomon and Yost, you always know exactly who is doing what and why. There are bad guys and good guys, but with some of the characters, their moral alignment is more complex than that.

One fun thing about Jim and Tom is that they are a villain and hero who use their brains a lot; they chase and shoot at each other, but they also spend much of the movie trying to out-think each other, which is a lot more interesting than simply seeing who has the faster motor-boat.

Randy Quaid is also a lot of fun as Mike Collig, the dedicated and vastly under-appreciated sheriff, who desperately tries to figure out what's going on amidst all the chaos caused by all the shooting, running around, and rising flood waters. A highly gifted comedic actor, Quaid could have played this role for laughs -- lord knows the character's situation often sets him up as a potentially comedic figure -- and he would have done a great job. Quaid and Yost, however, have something different in mind, and for the most part, Quaid plays the role straight, as a man wearied by his job and his circumstances, but determined to do the right thing even as the heavens pour down on him. That approach not only makes the character more believable and relatable, but it also means that when Quaid does get laughs in the movie, it's because the character has earned them, rather than the easy-but-cheap laughs Quaid would have gotten if he'd stumbled around like a law-enforcement version of Cousin Eddie.

Historian's note: This was a movie in which many of the cast felt they had something to prove; Christian Slater was trying to prove that he could be an action hero, Morgan Freeman was trying to prove he could be more than just Mr. Oscar Bait, and Minnie Driver was trying to prove she could be the next Sandra Bullock. In the long run, in terms of how their careers panned out for audiences, none of them entirely succeeded -- but in Hard Rain, they sure do give it the good ol' college try.

My one gripe is the plot twist. Oh, I don't have a problem with the twist itself, which is simultaneously shocking, game-changing, and well-earned. My problem is with the movie trailer, which idiotically and unambiguously gives the twist away, for no apparent reason. Yost clearly wrote this screenplay with care and skill. Both he and the audience should be allowed the gift of discovery.

new to DVD: Danny Collins

Danny Collins is a movie that has a severely miscast actor in the lead role. Danny Collins is also a movie that benefits greatly from that miscasting.

Al Pacino stars as Danny Collins. When he was a young man in the early 70s, Danny was a naive but talented folk music singer/ songwriter on the cusp of greatness. One day while still relatively unknown, he gets a radio interview in which he is overwhelmed by the interviewer's enthusiasm. The d.j. calls Danny a genius, predicts fame and fortune for him, and compares his songwriting to that of Danny's own hero, John Lennon. Unbeknownst to Danny, Lennon actually listens to the broadcast, and writes him a letter. Unfortunately, Lennon writes the letter to Danny care of the radio station, and the letter never gets to Danny.*

44 years later, Danny's best friend and manager, Frank Grubman (Christopher Plummer) discovers the letter and presents it to Danny as a birthday present. Danny's reaction is far beyond anything Frank could have imagined. In the decades since that naive young man sat in that tiny little radio station, Danny has become a major celebrity. He has long ago completely abandoned the folk roots and songwriting that were once the cornerstones of his career, and has instead coasted on covering highly accessible pop songs written for him by studio staff writers. His biggest hit, "Hey, Baby Doll" is fun in the sense that it's catchy, but its lyrics are insipid, and the tune is so vocally undemanding that . . . well, that even Al Pacino can sing it pretty well.

But the discovery of the Lennon letter inspires Danny to change his life around. He cancels a lucrative upcoming tour to focus on getting back to songwriting. He moves out of his postmodern mansion in Hollywood to a standard Hilton suite in New Jersey. And the choice of locations is not insignificant; Danny's adult son, whom he has never even met, lives a blue-collar life in Jersey.

And here we get to the heart of the story. Danny's celebrity is a subplot. His music career is a subplot. The potential romance he develops with the hotel manager (Annette Bening at her most charming) is a subplot. The real story is about Danny trying to become a father figure to his angry son and the son's family.

A word about the performances: Al Pacino plays Al Pacino. Face it, it's been decades since he's done anything else. Pacino doesn't do character work. He shows up, blusters about (he's the only actor I know who can seem blustery even in his quieter moments), and never lets us forget that "hey there, you're watching Al fucking Pacino, so watch out!" I don't mean any of this as a complaint, just an observation, because the truth is, Pacino sticks so closely to his screen persona because, quite simply, it works. He makes bad scenes good and good scenes great through sheer charisma.

All of this explains my comment at the beginning of this review. Pacino, who can't carry a note, is the perfectly wrong actor to cast as a singing superstar. But he's so damn fun in the role that I rarely cared while watching the movie. In fact, the very fact that Pacino can't sing worth a damn may be an assett to the characterization; Danny is supposed to have a long list of hit songs, but the only one we hear is "Baby Doll," which, like so many pop songs, is somehow bad and good at the same time and doesn't require any talent to perform. You know what I mean. How many songs currently on the pop charts require Sinatra-level talent, am I right?

In their supporting roles, Bening and Plummer are equally good. But because Pacino tends to overwhelm the screen with his over-the-top performances, the real stand-outs in this cast will be overlooked by most: Bobby Cannavale and Jennifer Garner as Danny's son and daughter-in-law.

For someone still relatively young, Cannavale has played a wide variety of roles, but here he is 100% completely believable as an average guy. He is angered by Danny's lifelong absence and sudden appearance, unimpressed with his father's celebrity, and thoroughly convincing as a loving father and husband with working-class weights on his shoulders. Garner, meanwhile, is charming as Samantha, who is so right when she says that she's "the perfect daughter-in-law" that the comment doesn't even come across as arrogant.

This highly capable cast is aided in no small way by Dan Fogelman's script, who makes every character, from Pacino's larger-than-life superstar, to Cannavale's regular working Joe equally, thoroughly believable. One thing I loved about Fogelman's script is that it tends to set up cliched situations and then turn them on their heads in ways that are completely unexpected, but yet somehow feel just right, and not at all like "gotcha" twists.

This is a very good movie.

*Just a side-note, I've got to nitpick at Matt Zoller Seitz, a critic I generally admire, who makes an extremely stupid mistake in his review of this film, getting the details all wrong in the "letter from Lennon" back-story. It's odd, considering how clearly and explicitly Frank explains the letter's origin in the movie, how Zoller Seitz could have gotten the story so wrong. It wouldn't be worth mentioning save for the fact that Zoller Seitz's examination of the movie, and of the Frank character, finds significance in the back-story that the critic so completely misunderstands.