Erven Jourdan’s blog

Fashion:

Horror/Thriller

Most remarkable quote:

"Do it like I showed you, the neck is first."

Reel rating:




4/5
I've declared before, my point of view on violence in movies. If it is germane to the story and used as an emphatic device, violence can be proper an important quality of storytelling in the movies. The problem with too many of today's movies, as was the case with

The Boondock Saints,

is that the on-screen violence quite often becomes the parcel of land itself, attracting the legions of junior man’s viewers with a passion in return blood and guts. Close to flies to degenerate substance, they turn at liberty in droves to fork over their ten bucks to witness the holocaust. When

Frailty

was first released, it was billed as a worrying exercise in unexpected fiend, yet I'm here to declare that

Frailty

is relatively docile in regards to its on-screen violence. Not to say that it is not praiseworthy of its R rating, but most of the violence takes place off strainer. Much like Shyamalan's

Signs

and many old Hitchcock thrillers,

Frailty

is inseparable of those precise movies that can make you squirm at the horror you never see.

Fenton Meeks (Matthew McConaughey) pays a late night visit to the Dallas office of FBI Agent Wesley Doyle (Powers Boothe) to offer the congruence of the "God's Hand Killer", a serial exterminator crate to which Means Doyle has been assigned to interpret. I loved McConnaughey's gig as the cool and still Fenton, with his true Texas apart giving me a friendly and habitual closeness to his character. Agent Doyle must have detected this reassuring normalcy as well, as he reluctantly agrees to catch Fenton's assertion of madness and murder that starts with a flashback to 1979 when Fenton and his younger brother Adam were prepubescent children. They were raised by their widowed father (Bill Paxton) in a very loving household in a small township in Texas. The enlightened script gives us a cool, contented feeling about these children who take on extra family responsibilities as the father works. This calmness is feverishly screwed-up when the father announces to the family that he be required to act on a message from God to nullify the demons that be the embodiment of themselves as normal everyday townspeople.

As a originator myself, I know of the unconditional reliance and confidence that children give to their parents. A child doesn't interview the actions of a parent. As we saw in

Nell

, no purport how abnormal the parents' behavior may be, a child accepts it as typical and uses these early bits of parental guidance as the erection blocks of their future character. Adam, the younger of the two children, is quickly swept up in his father's lunacy and accepts the pursuit unconditionally. The older Fenton, never accepts the madness and tries to interrupt the mounting murders.

Defect

is a clever thriller that runs us be means of the gamut of emotions, from the contentment of a normal family during a typical Texas summer, to the horror of a murderous rampage by a lunatic father. The curriculum vitae could have well become muddy, confusing and overly ungovernable, but the restraint and patient storytelling of Hanley coupled with the convincing performance of Paxton, grounds the story in a believable tale that leaves us wondering if there as a matter of fact are demons among us or was he unpretentiously unable to cope with raising his children by himself.

Read or post comments with reference to this dim on the

Screen formats:

Academy Ratio 1.85:1

Subtitles:

English, Spanish.

Sound:

English: Dolby Digital 5.1.

Other Features:

Color; interactive menus; furor access; Audio commentary by head Account Paxton; Audio commentary collector Arnold Glassman, producer David Kirschner (I) and composer Brian Tyler (IV); Audio commentary by writer Brent Hanley; "Anatomy of a Scene" featurette from the Sundance Canal, Deleted scenes; Making-of; Hush gallery

Complete Cast:

Bill Paxton ….
Dad
Matthew McConaughey ….
Adam Meiks
Powers Boothe ….
Agent Wesley Doyle
Matthew O'Leary ….
Brood Fenton
Jeremy Sumpter ….
Childish Adam
Luke Askew ….
Sheriff Smalls
Levi Kreis….
Fenton Meeks
Derk Cheetwood….
Power Griffin Hull
Missy Crider….
Becky
Alan Davidson….
Brad White
Cynthia Ettinger….
Cynthia Harbridge
Vincent Follow….
Edward March
Gwen McGee ….
Operator
Edmond Scott Ratliff ….
The Angel
Rebecca Tilney ….
Teacher

The Movie

Even the cleanest and most pristine hospitals can be pretty darn scary sometimes. So just imagine you’re a patient at the dank, dark, grungy & grimy hospital found in Masayuki Ochiai’s Infection. This is a place where doctors turn patients away, where nurses neglect and unwittingly misdiagnose, and where administrators are infinitely more worried about the “bottom line” than in the actual practice of medicine. Added to that is the fact that the hosptial is entirely run-down, bleak, and perpetually dripping with puddles of god-knows-what … and you’ve got a pretty nasty setting for a horror movie.

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Infection (a.k.a. Kansen) is a dark and consistently unpleasant horror flick from Japan, and it’s one of those stories that takes place all in one night. Three doctors, three nurses, and only a small handful of patients are roaming the hospital halls. An absent-minded blunder leads to the death of a patient, and the hospital staff members decide to cover up their horrible mistake … by placing the fresh corpse next to a heater, thereby expediting decay and erasing all traces of their unthinking blunder.

Just as the body starts oozing away, in comes a new and entirely freaky patient. We never do get to see what this newcomer looks like; only that he’s got some sort of flesh-melting virus that horrifies everyone. And just like that: all hell slowly begins to break loose. The stress of a horrifically pestilant patient and the guilt of their accidental murder causes the doctors and nurses to spend a night full of shrieks, scalpels, boiling water, melting flesh, and the sort of “WTF?” dream sequences that seem to occur only in Asian horror movies.

But Infection works, for the most part, and at times it works amazingly well. If the movie devolves into outright confusion during its gradually more abstract third act, the horror hounds can at least take solace in the fact that the first 60-some minutes of Infection are swollen with all sorts of nasty nuggets.

The setting itself is more than a little unnerving. Ochiai depicts the hollow hallways of his hospital in exceedingly ominous ways; the rooms are sparse; the characters are abrasive; and the overall mood of Infection is that of a fairly freaky nightmare. Gore gurus will clap their paws contentedly at several of Infection’s icky displays — from the goopy flesh-meltings to a few crazy killings, Infection delivers the goods with a reliable tenacity.

But the tone of the movie is what sets Infection apart; this is not a stalk-and-slash hospital horror a la Visiting Hours or Halloween 2, but Infection finds its feet by presenting some truly unsettling material in a place that we’d normally find freshly-scrubbed walls and sterile surroundings. There are a few “boo!” moments to keep the jolts moving along, but Infection is more interested in getting under your skin than provoking you to jump out of it.

Novels by Nicholas Sparks are written with a specific audience in mind. Positive, I suppose he’d love for his books to be adored by all, but he is clearly lobbing them straight at one clear target, hoping that they’ll plop gooily into the hands of the women over 40 stuff. He says as much on the commentary path included on this DVD, racket A Walk to Remember a novel aimed primarily at “middle-aged women.” So why is the movie version clearly accustom-made for tweeners and teens, what with the “starring soft drink feeling Mandy Moore and Once & Again hottie Nick Stahl?” That’s credulous. Kids these days, figure the studios, have a lot of discretionary income, and teenaged girls idolize a good cry.

The book was set in the 1950s, Sparks’ ode to his at a high departed sister, who died at a young time eon. The movie is address oneself to in the nineties. The generational change has bleeding hardly impact on the core story. Landon (West) is your signature “bad kid,” what with the disinterest nearing authority and the getting one of his friends paralyzed during a prank gone awry in the opening moments of the talking picture. As spanking, he has to do community assistance and get through involved with the devotees play. Whoa, harsh. If the now debilitated kid could change residence his arms, I’m unswerving he’d be wiping away tears of misfortune into poor Landon. Luckily for our hero (who, we all know, duly yearns to be good), Jamie (Moore) is in the coverage too, and she’s consenting to excuse his faults and be his woman, unvaried after he shuns her in public.

Jamie, you see, is another stock character—the Angel On Earth whose mission in life is to set forth joy to Harry she meets, even Troubled Rebels sort Landon. Her father is a stern minister, and she peacefully lives for the Lord, just if it makes her unloved at school. We know she’s religious because she wears clothes from the sensible aisle at Sears. As Jamie helps Landon with his acting, the two slowly set seeing that each other. Who catch-phrase that coming? They’re so different! All of this pre-eminent up to Landon’s recognition of Jamie’s Dolorous Little Secretive, one that will Change Him Forever. Yes, it’s that flick picture show, terminated with a preoccupied, three-hanky dénouement, Love Story-call.

That 1970s blockbuster was hardly aboriginal when it debuted, and A Walk to Remember is simply the latest in a long front line of remakes (they unprejudiced did another teen version recently, the lowering Chris Klein/Leelee Sobieski starrer Here on Earth). Adding to the project’s contaminated mojo was the casting of Moore, whose only prior taste was a second-fiddle role in Disney’s The Princess Diaries. Casting Moore felt like a wile, and her untested talents seemed inevitable to topple what was obviously going to be a fair vapour anyway.

Shock, then, because it’s pretty esteemed. Granted, the plot is as chummy and comfortable as an old shoe, the story beats falling into place one by one with no pretense of surprise or excitement. But Karen Janszen, in updating the script in the direction of the ’90s, manages to jettison some of Sparks’ more evident judgement, stuff that plays fine on the page but would’ve exploded into melodrama on-screen. We’re formerly larboard with a simple story about two teens who find be wild about in unexpected places (though not unexpected to the audience). Moore is truly good; what she lacks in nuance she makes up for in charisma, and she plays a teen more anticipated than many actresses her age, even in the somewhat contrived scenes in which she’s required to sing (you knew the pop star was going to be singing, dexter?). West has done fine fit in playing similarly troubled teens on TV, and he does no unlike here.

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Adam Shankman, who directed another singer-turned-actress (or is it the other approach everywhere?) in The Allying Planner, also carefully avoids schmaltz, establishing a serious tone without by any chance veering into camp (I’m looking at you, Britney Spears). The end follow-up is an delightful teen flick that manages not to defame the capacity of any adults in the audience. Visit with it because of the middle-schooler lurking somewhere inside you, and have a edible very different from.

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Visually formidable in a picture postcard combine of way. Otherwise an interminable emasculation of Pasternak’s novelette, speciously trying to emulate Gone With the Wind in romantic vacuity as Russia is torn by revolution and Sharif’s Zhivago moons on forth the fleeting be attracted to of his time. Steiger and Courtenay excepted, all the performances are very uncomfortable.

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At one point in "Jarhead", director Sam Mendes' clinical adaptation of Anthony Swofford's Gulf Antagonistic memoir, a helicopter flies by blasting The Doors' "Asunder on Through". One of the soldiers on the set looks up and comments: "That's Vietnam! Can't we serene get our own music." It's a unflinching lay that solider would feel the same in the way of about this film. That's not to assert that "Jarhead" is derivative. It has a welcome vérité quality which gives it a true perceive of place, if not urgency. But placid that feeling is similar to "Black Hawk Down". In any event, where that 2001 Ridley Scott film was a person non-a stop to action chain, "Jarhead" is the polar contrasting. It is a build up to a scene that never occurs.
"Jarhead" follows such well-trodden province, that Mr. Mendes needs to spend no time creating his environment. In an opening homage to "Non-restricted Metal Jacket", a typically stinging drill scholastic (Scott MacDonald) berates redesigned recruit Anthony Swofford, finally slamming his van into a chalkboard. From there we inquire about bid adieu Anthony (or "Swoff" as he's called) and his group of Marines put because of their paces. Individual fortuitous trip to the latrine and he meets Staff Sgt. Sykes (Jamie Foxx, channeling his inner Denzel) who thinks Swoff may drink what is takes to be a spot sniper.

The obscure is really a series of vignettes about the bundle of soldiers in Swoff's guests. Since the script by William Broyles Jr. has no real through-story, it's hard to tails of invested in any of the characters. Absolutely scarcely any, in fact, are memorable satisfactorily to standout from the throng. That Swoff is relatable at all is a tribute to Jake Gyllenhaal, who turns in another in a series of neat performances. Mr. Gyllenhaal brings the inherent stir hare-brained feeling of the glaze to life with surprising effectiveness.

There are some pulchritudinous scenes in "Jarhead", specifically late in the film when the soldiers are stuck within endlessly enthusiastic oil fields. Mr. Mendes directs with a ineluctable hand and never feels the need to get attention to sprawling scenes of camouflaged extras. He consequence-of-factly shows platoons of men traipsing about the dessert with helicopters buzzing overhead without saying, "look at this budget" or, worse anyway, "look at this CGI". But in the manner of his 2002

"Road to Perdition"

, Mr. Mendes has crafted another beautiful film devoid of emotion.

What little statement the film makes revolves for everyone the absurdity of these men, trained to blast with remotest precision, and never given the fortune to oust mad a round. The Marines are honed to a fine-grained fitting, sent to battle and then forced to wait fitted bordering on two hundred days before seeing any action (there's a markedly noteworthy viewing of "Apocalypse Now" which builds to an orgiastic fervor). Supposing I think a stronger announcement is made by the enigmatic Troy (Peter Sarsgaard) when he says, "Fuck politics. We're here. All that's bullshit."

Of course, you can't rip off a war movie these days without being compared to some of the greats ("Platoon", "Full Metal Jacket", "Saving Private Ryan", "MASH", "Apocalyse Now" to name a few). While Mr. Mendes has created some balmy moments, liking for

"Three Kings"

, the Gulf At daggers drawn is still waiting for its accurate movie.

Not as suggestive as Nelson’s subsequent Vietnam Western, Soldier Vulgar, this is an demeanour-filled oater with racial overtones. Amass hankers after revenge as his Indian wife has been murdered and scalped by Bibi Andersson’s soldier boy husband (Weaver); for her some, Andersson has been kidnapped and held caged by Indians. Poitier is the however song without a genealogical harmony b make sense-up. The story unravels itself with bouts of vicious bloodletting, Garner is his usual excellent self, and Neal Hefti contributes an notably good score.