Movies

HOW TO HOST A BAD MOVIE NIGHT

It's not just for Critics Any More

Good movies are no fun. You get a few friends together, you drop a classic film into the VCR, you watch it, and then what? Maybe you wipe a few tears away, or chuckle a little, but you generally get left with so much greatness stuffed in your head it's impossible to talk for a good ten minutes, leaving the room suffocating in a pause of silence. That's no way to have fun. For fun, you need bad movies.

Not bad like Bicentennial Man bad-- that just hurts. Fun bad. Bad in a way that makes everyone want to jump up and yell at the movie for being so bad. You want to get your most cynical, jaded, caustic friends together, rent a turkey, and spend the evening hurling insults and guffaws around. There's no thoughtful silence after a bad movie (though, in some extreme cases, there may be a stunned one). After a bad movie, you talk about it. For weeks. You get running jokes going. You start every sentence with, "Can you believe what...." You use the pain to bond.

If you've never hosted a bad movie night before, it's quite an experience. Here's a suggested lineup for a first-time bad movie night. Just remember, when picking future lineups, follow three rules: never rent anything over two-and-a-half hours long, stay away from block-busters no matter how bad they are, and don't try to watch more than three in a row until you're an expert.

CHILDREN OF THE CORN II: THE FINAL SACRIFICE

A great appetizer. The slasher sequel section of your video store is a cornucopia of bad movies, and this is my all-time favorite. I've seen it over a dozen times, subjected it to everyone I know (and yes, I still know some

of these people on good terms), and never tired of its silliness. The movie picks up where the vastly superior Children of the Corn left off, with all the murderous teenagers from the first movie being packed up and moved to a new town full of fresh adults to slaughter in

the name of He Who Walks Behind The Rows (dumbest deity name ever). Our heroes are a tabloid reporter and his petulant blond son, who come to the town to get a story and, one supposes, a good dose of country air. >From there, all corn breaks loose as voodoo dolls, The Wizard of Oz, and a stereotypical bitter Indian (Dr. Red Bear) propel the movie to its inevitable virgin sacrifice scene. "I saw the corn," the children tell the press. Yes, we see it too. Or should this have been called Children of the Cheese? If you can't make fun of this one, you're dead inside.

THE QUEST

Any movie that begins with Jean-Claude Van Damme on stilts and in clown makeup automatically qualifies. This thinly veiled rip-off of Mortal Kombat represents a serious downturn in Van Damme's career, and he seems to know it, because every little plot point is manufactured to make Van Damme look like the coolest, bestest, neat-est action hero to ever grace the cinema. Why is there a prolonged scene with Van Damme taking care of starv-ing street urchins? Could it be because they let Van Damme direct? A good middle film, since it doesn't take too much attention but throws enough stupid action to keep everyone awake for...

GREASER'S PALACE

It's not too often a movie simultaneously surprises and repulses you every five minutes. From the title, you

might assume Greaser's Palace is about a small-town hangout for muscle car lovers in the '50s. It's not. It's about Jesus' quest to become a vaudeville star being interrupted by a constipated general in a small town with a locked-up mariachi band and a dead gay son who keeps coming back to life and talking about naked babies. It's about a horny midget with an even hornier transvestite husband/ wife. It's about a pioneering family getting killed by God in every horrible way imaginable. It's about a cowboy in a red sequined outfit and a man who wears a sheet and a bowler. Let's see, what else ... it's about an agent in a diving helmet, an Indian with a broken back and his topless horse-riding daughter, a little monk and his manly nun, and I still haven't covered all the weirdness. Directed by Robert Downey Sr., this movie's got everything it takes to be bad and entertain-ing all at once, right down to the real-time five-minute sunset at the end. Genius or insanity? You and your friends decide.

--Chris J. Magyar

To get ideas for future bad movie nights, check out the hundreds of capsule reviews at www. badmovies. org and www.stomptokyo.com Or, if you really want to know what you're getting into, you can find more in depth analysis at www.jabootu.com and www.badmoviereport.com

Movie Reviews

MALÈNA

In 1989, Italian writer/ director Giuseppe Tornatore won over American moviego-ers with Cinema Paradiso. He went home with the Oscar for best foreign language film that year, and has been riding its success ever since. Which is why now, 11 years later, his films are still advertised as "from the director of Cinema Paradiso."

Malèna, his latest work, seems like a return to his past success. Once again Tornatore has penned a coming-of-age story in World War II-era Sicily. But where Paridiso's young lead fantasized about a movie theater, Malèna's Renato spends his days and nights dreaming of Malèna, the town's most beautiful woman. As the film progresses, it quickly becomes her story as much as his, but Tornatore makes his movie stand out by telling it from the pre-teen's point of view.

The title character is a beautiful woman who is the subject of most conversations in her small town. The men, regardless of age, can't take their eyes off her, and the women admonish her, starting rumors of Malèna's infidelity to her soldier husband. Renato stands out as her only defender; even though he has never interacted with her, he swears by her innocence and goes to church only to pray that she be protected from the town (and to express his anger when his prayers aren't answered).

In truth, nothing in this film really stands out. The writing and directing are fairly standard fare for anyone familiar with Tornatore's work-- you know you're being emotionally manipulated, but you don't mind all that much. The acting works, but the only thing spectacular about it is that newcomer Giuseppe Sulfaro, in the role of Renato, isn't as annoying as most child actors. Maybe they grow them different in Sicily. Monica Bellucci plays the title role well, and there will be few objections to her being cast as the object of an adolescent's fantasies, but she doesn't do much with the part until the climactic scene.

The only really interesting character doesn't get much in the way of screen time, or even a name for that matter. Listed in the credits only as "Renalto's father," Luciano Federico is given the interesting task of being the only person in town who isn't won over by Mussolini's politics (there are hints of a more interesting side story here, but regrettably they are never explored). He is clearly concerned for the welfare of his son, but at the same time feels the need to punish what he sees as a perverted obsession. Unfortunately, what could have been a much more intriguing element to the drama of Renalto's life is too often played for comedy and cheap laughs.

As a whole, Malèna starts out slow. The beginning stumbles through a series of character establishment scenes, adolescent humor, and predictable fantasy sequences. It isn't until about half an hour into the film, when Malèna receives news of her husband's death, that we are offered anything interesting. From there on out, Malèna's situation deteriorates, forcing her to go to great lengths to support herself. This is when the film starts to pick itself up out of the hole dug by the first thirty minutes. It builds steadily toward an emotional climax, followed by a surprising denouement. It's this ending actually makes Malèna worth its less than stellar beginning. While it actually isn't anything won-derful or original on its own, the final act plays so well off of what Tornatore struggled setting up that Malèna rises above the sum of its parts. B--- Chris Ward

POLLOCK

I think the best thing about the first day of school is the evening, when you get home and your mom takes you shopping for sup-plies. And the best thing about getting new supplies is getting that Velcro-close Trapper Keeper. The black one with purple and yel-low splatter paint all over it. Fuck yeah, the same design that's on the bottom of Michael J. Fox's Valtera skateboard in "Back to the Future." That shit's all about Jackson Pollock. Even though I think his splatter/ drip paintings kind of suck in com-parison to his earlier abstract work, we owe him a debt of gratitude for coming up with the mold. Pollock made way for the Trapper Keeper and Valtera people, along with countless others, to take his design, make the colors hideous and plaster it all over the place. Thank you Jackson.

Ed Harris has directed his first movie, Pollock, a biography of the famous artist, and while it stands as a truly mighty debut, it really got my insides stirring with its very accurate representation of art critics. These flops are just begrudged artists who could-n't hack eating cold soup out of cans and sleeping on piss-soaked floors until their big break or whatever, so they threw in the towel and hopped on a typer. Fuckers. Harris, in a gritty and brilliant perform-ance, makes a good point as Pollock, say-ing that people shouldn't tear their hair out over a painting. Don't try to explain the shit, just enjoy it for what it is. Word up. These bitches just rant strategically unintel-ligently about all the esoteric and deep-seeded meanings in every piece of art they see, ripping them hard from time to time in a overt and sad attempt to justify their own existences. It's sad. His wife in the movie (Marcia Gay Harden) said something like, "My god, Pollock, you've cracked it wide open," when she sees his first piece of driz-zle art. Shut up, he didn't crack anything wide open. He did something no other artist had at the time, but really? He's not Jonas Salk.

He was a chill, timid man when sober and a lost raving child when drunk; I can appreci-ate that. Harris is a hell of a guy with some real vision, and this is a fine film with a lot of perspective and history to offer. It proved to me that there is nothing more annoying and pathetic in this life than an art critic; well, except for maybe a film critic. B+
--Josh Tyson

DVD Report

American Movie

All Mark Borchardt ever wanted to do was make a movie. As a teenager, he filmed a series of horror shorts, and as an adult he made a number of short films building up to the project of his dreams: Northwestern, a semi-autobiographical film about suburban decay in the Midwest. In the making of Northwestern, Mark searched high and low for talent and funding, despite the discouragement of family and friends who saw Mark as a loser who never finished what he started. So impressed was one of Mark's fellow low-budget directors with Mark's determination that he embarked on a film-making project of his own: to document the making of Northwestern.

Unfortunately, before Northwestern begins shooting in earnest, Mark decides he must finish Coven (rhymes with 'cloven', not 'oven'), a 30-minute horror film which is nearly complete, to make some money towards the production of Northwestern. American Movie shifts gears with Mark and follows his efforts to finish Coven through disintegrating relationships, grueling film sessions, and continually diminishing funds.

This is one of the most honest documentaries I've ever seen, and not coincidentally one of the funniest. Mark and his formerly drug-addicted but impossibly sincere friend, Mike, sally forth to complete Coven. Along the way they offer comments about themselves and their predicament that made me wonder how one loses one's self-consciousness so completely. Mark has a quick tongue and a veneer of b. s. that makes him the ideal person to swindle money and favors from friends and family (" His greatest asset is his mouth," says Mark's brother), but his honest frustration at his problems with Coven makes American Movie one of the most compelling documentaries ever made about film production. Along the way the film almost becomes a biography Mark's fast-fading yet crotchety Uncle Bill, but it rights itself just in time and reminds us that it's all about getting the film in the can.

Included is a commentary featuring Smith, his producer/ microphone operator Sarah Price, Mark, and Mike. The commentary is as informative as the film itself about the happenings in the film and afterwards, as well as the thoughts of the creators and subjects about audience reactions to the film. Personally, I would have liked to have heard a commentary without Mark or Mike-- Mark tends to dominate any conversation he's in with remarks about alcohol or the Midwest (two mutually inclusive subjects, apparently) and his frequent use of the word 'man'. Mark's absence would have freed (or possibly forced) Smith and Price to talk more about the making of the film and less about the reactions of Mark and Mike. Too much time is wasted on "Hey! There's Kenny!" when we'd really like to know what Smith and Price were thinking during some of the more awk-ward scenes.

More enjoyable than the commentary is the cornucopia of deleted scenes, all of which expose more about the personali-ties involved. The real treasure, however, is the inclusion of Borchardt's Coven. It would be improper to review Coven here in a few sentences, and it's especially difficult to review the short horror flick once having seen the documentary of its production. Those who find themselves fascinated with Borchardt & Co., however, won't be disappointed by the full 30- minute film. A-

--Chris Holland