If I Am Not Me, Then Who The Hell Am I?: Total Recall (1990)

It seems as though Ray Bradbury and Philip K. Dick will be doing a battle of sorts for my favorite sic-fi author whose work has been successfully transferred to film.  A handful of reviews have considered each author and their works as they have been adapted and Total Recall only proves to be the most recent case of this, a film that I had wanted to see for awhile, but always put on the back burner for a variety of reasons.  I am glad to have finally obtained a bluray and popped it into my player, because it was a very redemptive experience on a large scale.  For whatever reason I had written of Arnold Schwarzenneger as a respectable actor, despite being fully aware that he is excellent in the Terminator series amongst other things.  Furthermore, a very terrible experience with Showgirls, as well as a less than stellar response to Basic Instinct had me strongly reconsidering my notions of what constituted Paul Verhoeven as a great filmmaker, aside from Robocop.  Finally, I was rather certain that highly stylized, special effects film had lost their magic by the end of the eighties, but this film seems to really be the swan song of that era and baffled me with its continually experimental and fresh use of visual elements to create a highly watchable and active film.  One would be hard pressed to really criticize Total Recall as a film, because, while it has its moments of terrible acting and occasionally bends under its ambitious plot, it manages to be solidly executed and perfectly timed considering its both inclusive character plot and larger philosophical considerations.  Total Recall, much like Die Hard is just a fun film to engage with, one will find viewing this film to be viscerally enjoyable and visually mesmerizing while also being aware of its general badass nature, particularly in some of the more bizarre moments of special effects and cgi, which manages to exist within the world without the weird showiness present in more contemporary works.  I have not paid the remake a visit to this point, but I feel as though it will only be a let down, because this version is something extraordinary and indicative of what is truly possible with science fiction films that are fun and easily accessible, yet not so watered down as to be insultingly straight forward.

Total Recall centers on the experiences of Douglas Quaid (Arnold Schwarzenneger) a construction worker whose life within his gorgeous wife Lori (Sharon Stone) is constantly at odds given his preoccupation with his dreams about roaming Mars with a brunette woman only to result in his death when his helmet breaks and he suffocates in the toxic air.  These dreams lead Quaid to pursue answers through Rekall, a corporation that specializes in aiding people with their desires through a dream state.  Quaid takes up this opportunity only to result in a technological error that leads to him being woken up while being put under for his unconscious experience.  This awakening finds him with a severe case of memory loss and the knowledge that he must return to a certain place to assure his safety.  However, when Quaid awakes he is also fully aware that he is now a wanted man, one who apparently has ties to a man named Hauser who worked on Mars.  As Quaid begins to navigate this space it becomes clear that the people he assumed to be his friend were spies themselves, even Lori who attempts to kill Quaid when he returns to their apartment.  Despite being completely against odds Quaid's desire for survival affords him the ability to appropriate technology to his advantage, even using brawn when necessary. While running from pursuers, Quaid learns of a deeper layer of exploitation occurring in his world, one that has led to mutations in individuals, specifically groups whose living close to the surface of Mars.    Furthermore, Quaid realizes that his identity as Hauser has layers of problems, some that tie him directly to the exploitation of the persons on Mars, fortunately, Quaid meets a woman named Melina (Rachel Ticotin) and she helps him to realize his past, as well as make larger sense of the dreams he was having at the beginning of the film.  Quaid takes it upon himself to correct the wrongdoings by the large corporation, and uses both his newly obtained technology, as well as a keen awareness of the group and their hubris to his advantage, eventually saving the citizens of Mars.  The closing scene shows Melina and Quaid happily embracing, although it is quite possible that this entire world was simply the result of Quaid's initial dreaming at Rekall.

My relatively recent review of A Scanner Darkly, also an adaptation of a Dick work, considered the problem of reality and physical experiences, and it is certainly a theme in Blade Runner, a personal favorite of mine, again a result of the influence of the great science fiction author.  I would certainly place Total Recall within this context, but where the other two films seem intent on considering the issues of providing validity to a non-sentient being possessing "experience" while the other considers how experience is affected by layers of drugs, Total Recall seems to consider the idea of imagining into existence justice and egalitarianism in the world.  Quaid is certainly not a perfect person, but one can easily see from the onset of the film that he is a just and aware individual who simply wants his presence to validate those around him for something relevant, even if he can be a bit snappy and standoffish in the right circumstances.  The way the narrative, which is quite assumedly the vision of Quaid, plays up on the lesser versus the one's with unyielding power has various layers, whether it be the delusion of unwarranted power and how this affects the psychological outlook a person might have or the way a lesser individual internalizes their oppression,  suggests that Total Recall is decidedly entrenched in denying anything "performed."  It could easily possess layers of Marxism, psychoanalysis and in the right context a feminist reading and each would be able to draw upon the "dream" nature of the narrative to advance a reading of rejecting power, particularly those with such sway that their authority is even difficult to undermine in the unconscious state of the world of Total Recall, assuming of course that the film is an entire dreamscape.  Total Recall is concerned, firstly, with the issues of assuring one's presence in reality when each interaction is predicated upon a series of lies, or at the very least performances for and against expectations, and even if this rather obtuse consideration of the film is frustrating, its clear criticism of capitalist endeavors, much like what occurred in Robocop, is well worth celebrating.

Key Scene: The X-ray machine sequence could have been in a film this year and still been as captivating.

Total Recall on bluray is super cheap and certainly will prove a great film to have on hand for various situations.

Now That's An Oogie Mess: Misery (1990)

I am really having a lot of fun exploring where the category of "women in film" has taken me and I am only six days into this marathon, hopefully, this time around I can have a sort of reflection on the last day, something I had hoped to do with the Halloween month, but failed to do when caught up with some school priorities.  The next stop on my unplanned list brought me to a Stephen King adaptation, something I have blogged about before with the surprisingly watchable The Mist.  However, The Mist was a film I heard about within film critic circles and from various film based podcasts, as opposed to Misery which had a reputation that more than preceded itself, due almost entirely to a scene involving James Caan's ankles and a sledgehammer.  I say it has a reputation for this alone, and it is somewhat of a shame, because Kathy Bates is a revelation in this film, it is one thing to play a crazy woman who entraps an author in her house to write texts, however, to add layers of delusion and religious based madness, is a whole other thing.  I do not believe that I have seen any of the other Oscar nominated performances from that year, and, to be honest, it really does not matter, since it clearly deserved to go to Bates.  I was glad to catch up with this role, because Kathy Bates has come to the point in her career, that she is essentially playing roles predicated upon her being Kathy Bates, her recent cameos on The Office come to mind immediately.  Yet, in 1990 when this film was initially released she was still establishing herself as a well-known and respected actor and was still years away from her empowering role in the overtly problematic, but, nonetheless, cinematic Titanic.  It is one thing to act along side Richard Farnsworth and James Caan, but is even more a feat when you act circles around them in the process.  Of course, considering that it is being reviewed now within the framework of women in film, the problems the narrative creates relating to a rhetoric of hysteria and women's outlets of desire must be acknowledged, not to mention the very self-engratiating manner with which Stephen King demands his readers, in this case viewers, comprehend the woes of writing creatively.

Misery focuses on well-established author Paul Sheldon (James Caan) who has recently finished a text in his prolific Misery series, focusing on a woman and her experience in 19th century America.  Concerned with being pigeon-holed by this particular sort of text, Sheldon decides to write a book focusing on the experiences of his childhood in New York, a far cry from his previous work.  Although his subject has changed, his methodology has not, taking up shelter in a remote lodge in Colorado until he completes his text, enjoying one cigarette and one glass of Don Perignon after.  Unfortunately, he complete his task in the dead of winter and must travel in a heavy snow storm to return home.  On his trip he crashes on a snow bank, presumably left for dead to the elements.  Sheldon, however, is rescued by Annie Wilkes (Kathy Bates) a local nurse, with excellent hospice care, who openly admits to being Sheldon's "number one fan" a statement she validates by quoting passages directly and debating the most minor of details with Sheldon.  It appears as though Annie has the best of intentions, yet when she reads Sheldon's new work she is disgusted by its foul language and lack of dignity in relation to the Misery series, only to be pushed over the edge when she purchases the final installment of the Misery series to discover that the protagonist she has invested much time into has been killed off by Sheldon.  At this point, Sheldon realizes that Annie has been quite deceptive about her contact with the community and their being made aware of his forced inhabitation in her home, even leading to a concern by the local sheriff Buster (Richard Farnsworth).  Annie, however, in her deep web of delusion manages to plan far ahead of any escape Sheldon could hope to make, going so far as to infamously "hobble" him into staying.  Yet, Sheldon realizes that he can dangle the final chapters of his "revised" Misery book, in order, to play at Annie's affections, a methodology that allows him to attack her and eventually kill her.  He returns to New York, now crippled, and finds his texts receiving critical praise, although he is completely dismissive of the possibility of recounting his experiences of entrapment, especially since he finds himself still paranoid about seeing Annie even in high-scale dining establishments.

The film is excellent and certainly is a thrill to watch and it is impossible to deny the horrific nature of a delusional woman entrapping an author as a result of a devilish cocktail of delusion and fandom.  However, it cannot be overlooked that the film problematizes the image of the single woman living alone, something which is often depicted problematically in an urban setting, and only worsened by the secluded rural setting.  While one could certainly glean moments of sympathy from this film which are directed towards Annie, it is clear that she is a villain and somewhat less clear, but, nonetheless, suggested that it is a result of her feminine instability.  Her fandom, within the context of the film, is clearly rooted in her loss of a husband, assumedly to infidelity.  It is not necessarily her adoration of Sheldon, so much as her love of the figure and idea of Misery, an independent and successful, all be it fictional, woman.  The film appears far too concerned with noticing how particularly "feminine" her madness is, constantly tying her break downs and mental issues to the domestic space, even though her large, domineering nature visually contradicts the demure assumptions about domesticity and femininity.  One also cannot help but consider this film as a text about the problem of acknowledging non-physical disability, especially since viewers are provided with Sheldon's character as an example of physical disability, therefore, deserved of outright pity.  To borrow from feminist disability theorist Susan Wendell, Annie also suffers from a disability, but because it is mental and not clearly quantitative, aside from her violent outbursts, society, or in the case of this film viewers, is unwilling to accept it as a serious problem or issue to acknowledge within a social conversation.  Annie is certainly a demented character and is to be reprimanded for trapping a person against his will, yet the film fails to really consider the emotional distresses faced by her years before that may have been overlooked because of their decidedly non-physical elements.

Key Scene: As hyped as it is and well known, there is no denying the cinematic intensity of the "hobbling" scene.

This is a solid film that I own on DVD, however, it is more than acceptable to check out on Neflix, where it is currently Watch Instantly.

Experiments in Film: Begotten (1990)

What kind of blog month at Cinemalacrum would it be if I were not to include at least one outright experimental film in my set of horror films.  I vowed to include more experimental films in my blog at the new year and was doing relatively well for a few months before failing a bit, as such I have included E. Elias Merhige's Begotten this month as one of the definitive experimental horror films of the past few decades.  A horrific film in every sense of the word, Begotten manages to make viewers uncomfortable both in what they can contextualize in what is being shown, as well as troubling over what they cannot make out, let alone understand.  Incorporating black and white negative images of gore and violent sexual acts, Merhige manages to completely eviscerate any sense of comfort upon viewing this film, which is allegedly a reconsideration of the creation stories found in Genesis, as well as a few other global religions.  At no point is it evident that Merhige attempts to comfort his viewers with images of safe familiarity, even when we are clearly show something like a mother nature figure it is only quickly disrupted by either jarring angles, awkward encounters with sexuality or a saturation of the screen with some degree of blood and filth.  Even the presence of  a soundtrack manages to complicate the viewing experience, as many of the sounds only consist of out of place cricket noises or disturbing gargling and sloshing sounds.  One could got at lengths about what is possibily commented upon within Begotten, but it is clear that its main course of action is to both deconstruct and undermine the seemingly high amount of respect attached to these ancient religious figures, by depicting them engaged in some of the most debasing and dehumanizing acts possible, not only stripping of their deity powers, but even the basis of human relations as well.

At the onset of the film, Begotten posits a statement concerning the dismantling of language traditions and memory, suggesting that such incantations of the past are dead, going further to suggest that they shall flicker away like a flame.  With this in mind we can at a very simple level attempt to appropriate the manner in which the images formulate and function upon the screen.  All of the imagery is black and white, and the construction of the scenes often causes their to be a clear delineation between the whites and blacks on the screen, perhaps making reference to textual history, something the film seems adamant about destroying.  In fact, the only time the film seems to offer images of grey, or any other merger of black and white is when the shot cuts to a skyline, perhaps positioning the questions to why such grotesque actions occur within the hands of spiritual inquiry.  Of course, the film manages to dismiss this as it is never ended with just a skyline, but always followed by more images of horror and violence.  In fact, if Begotten manages to provide any insight into what one should consider about religion it is that it is a misogynist, patriarchal and violent oppressive force that takes pride in slaughter and forceful sexual dominance, and for it to be discontinued one needs to return to a natural world, but this natural rebirth necessarily requires a large death of sorts, one that, according to Begotten, is all but metaphorical.

Begotten excels in being disturbingly beautiful, while the imagery is certainly problematic and at times nearly unwatchable it is interjected with some truly provocative and awe-inducing cinematography that makes the viewing worth one's while.  It should also be noted that Susan Sontag thinks this to be one of the ten most important modern films, a point of high praise if I say so myself.

For more information on E. Elias Merhige, or to watch the film online click on either of the screenshots below:

I Don't Remember The Past: Tell Me Something (1999)

Korean cinema has been coming into it's own in the past decade or so and is evidenced most clearly by their horror films.  This came to me as I am currently halfway through an excellent book on New Korean Cinema and will certainly review it upon completion, but in the meantime, I will discuss the handful of films I view as mentioned in the book.  The first of these films is the excellent crime thriller/ psychological horror excursion titled Tell Me Something, which does not have the reputation of the works of Joon-Ho Bong or Chan-wook Park, yet still manages to be something remarkable.  Tell Me Something, directed by Yoon-hyung Chang is a visceral study of deceit, revenge and degradation unlike anything before, combining a grating soundtrack, meta-cinematic dread and meticulous acting to provide a thrill ride that clearly borrows from predecessors like Basic Instinct while managing to be completely fresh in its vision.  In a historic sense, Tell Me Something is one of the harbingers of what would become a globally recognized nation of cinema.  Sure, it is not the best film to come out of Korea by any means, but is a fine piece of cinema that is masterful in its existence alone.

Tell Me Something, is a convoluted and multifaceted crime film of grand proportions.  The film follows one Detective Oh (Suk-kyu Han) who is returning to work after the recent death of his mother.  His return is shadowed by the fact that he borrowed money from a notorious gang leader to assure a surgery for his now deceased mother.  It is only moments into his new return that he is assigned to a case involving a serial killer.  As with most serial killers, his subject has their own modus operandi, which consists of killing respectable mails and severing their body parts, often leaving one part attached to another dead body, however, in each instance at least one body part is left missing.  Befuddled but determined to regain the respect of his colleagues Oh sets out to find the killer.  His search leads him very quickly to one Chae (Eun-ha Shim) who is the daughter of a famous Korean painter.  As the film's pace picks up it becomes clear that Chae is a very troubled individual between her past sexual abuses on the part of her father and her trouble relationships with past guys, who incidentally end up being the victims in the still unknown serial killers crimes.  Despite her obvious problems, Oh grows fond of Chae and pursues her while continually defending her place in the crimes.  As he remains oblivious to her actions, other lovers from Chae's past become victims and in no time Oh's colleagues begin to die.  In one final confrontation, which pits Oh blaming the murders on a jealous female friend of Chae, he denounces Chae's guilt and is almost killed by the psychotic friend.  After the dust clears, Oh and Chae share a discussion in which he turns down her invitations to live with him in Paris.  In the closing scenes, Chae is shown boarding a plane, while Oh enters her apartment one last time.  He turns on the light to reveal one her art projects, a morbid hodgepodge of the body parts remaining from the killers victims.  It becomes clear that she was the murderer the entire time, yet frozen in fear Oh is unable to stop her from leaving on the plane.  The film then closes with Chae talking to another man on the flight, suggesting that her killing is far from completion.

As noted earlier, I am currently reading a fascinating book on New Korean Cinema that discusses this film briefly while defending that the horror genre can serve as social critique.  Ignoring the debate surrounding horror as critique (although I am in favor of it's possibility) I instead what to elaborate on another point made about the film.  In the piece, the author, Kyu-hyun Kim, discusses the foolish claims that the film just furthers notions of women as hysterical and that their otherness and subsequent violent behavior adhere to conservative fears.  Instead, Kim suggests that the film promotes the problems of patriarchy and that rebellion is necessary in dismantling such occurrences.  While the film certainly counters male power in a violent manner, it does raise very serious questions concerning sexual abuse, the voice of women in Korea and the problem of male desires and their interference in the world of criminal justice.  Chae is certainly a mentally unstable character in need of help, yet it is also apparent that most of her problems stem from her father's sexual abuse and violent degradation.  She is at many points paralleled to Ophelia of Shakespeare's Hamlet, who has grown to become one of the most problematic women in the history of the written word, save for the Virgin Mary.  Chae throughout the film continues in her violent ways, but with the exception of the few cops trying to do their jobs, her violent acts are reactionary to previous injustices enacted by men, whether it is her father's violence or one of her lovers who engaged in scopophilic voyeurism with Chae while dating.  It is no coincidence then that Oh, the only one to claim her innocence, is spared her violent wrath.  Not only does he not act violently towards her, when he does discover that she is indeed guilty he does nothing to punish her for her actions.  While part of this failure to report her comes from paralysis, it is always possible that he realizes that at a very basic level her revenge was more than justified.

If you fancy yourself at all concerned with the current world of Asian cinema, Tell Me Something is a must see.  If you like crime thrillers Tell Me Something is a must see.  Hell, if you even remotely enjoy movies Tell Me Something is a must see.  Go get a copy. You will not be disappointed.