Pops Saw Some Movies: OPUS and SMILE 2

In the past week, I’ve watched two horror movies set in the world of pop music, one of them surprisingly much better than the other, both of them making me think about my relationship with that genre (pop music, not horror). 

The new A24 film, OPUS (written and directed by Mark Anthony Green) is about a hugely popular and influential pop star who comes out of retirement after decades to release his long-gestating masterpiece. Alfred Moretti (now there’s a pop icon name for ya) invites a small, select group of media tastemakers to his Utah compound for a special listening event, but everything goes south when it turns out that he’s a cult leader whose agenda only starts with revenge…

It’s… not good. It’s head-scratchingly bad, in fact. Despite a nice performance by Ayo Edebiri of THE BEAR as the hero of the piece (the one chosen guest who’s not a drooling sycophant of Moretti), there’s way too much of a been-there-done-that feel to this movie (many have noted its similarities to films like MIDSOMMAR and THE MENU, the latter of which I quite enjoyed, the former, not so much), and this horror sub-genre has reached the saturation point at which there are very few surprises (even the jump scares don’t pop). The ending is also a little muddled and forced, and I won’t spoil it apart from saying that its metaphor of the cultural brainwashing that a cult of personality engenders is not only a bit heavy handed, but almost redundant at this point. 

But the film’s biggest blunder is its casting, primarily of the enigmatic and hypnotizing pop icon. Alfred Moretti is presented as being bigger, more acclaimed, and more influential than Madonna, Taylor Swift, David Bowie, and Michael Jackson combined. There’s a montage of his last hit, “Dina, Simone” being sung along to by fans around the world and it is a laugh-out-loudly unbelievable construct in which dozens of wannabe actors get their Tic-Toc moment (which, I guess, is apt). Numerous times we’re shown that there are millions who would sell their soul to be in the presence of this icon.

... And he’s played by John Malkovich. No, for real. 

Now, Malkovich is obviously a great actor. Few would argue that. And he chews the scenery in many glam outfits that would make Elton John say, “that’s a little much, don’t you think?” But if part of the point of this movie is the superficiality of celebrity worship, wouldn’t it have made more sense to cast someone who… how can I put this… looks a bit LESS like… John Malkovich? The actor actually sings and raps and dances in a few scenes, and it mostly made me cover my eyes in embarrassment more than any sense of horror. It’s such a weird misstep that I have to imagine Green has some kind of reasoning for the casting, but for me (and others), it just makes the whole setup impossible to buy. 

I mean, at this point, A24 has pretty much lost any automatic prestige it once enjoyed. But let’s move on. 

A few nights later, I decided to watch last year’s SMILE 2 (written and directed by Parker Finn), despite having never seen the first entrant in the series. The plot is pretty simple: A demonic entity moves from victim to victim, causing them to experience horrific hallucinations that eventually drive them insane, compelling them to commit heinous acts until they kill themselves, the demon then jumping to any nearby human vessel (the “Smile” is the demon attempting to ape human emotions and not really getting it).

The possessed person in this film is Skye Riley, a pop star recovering from both addiction and a tragic, drug-fueled car accident that killed her actor boyfriend (she caught the demonic entity from a former dealer from whom she had the misfortune to try to buy some Vicodin). Skye’s comeback is overseen by her manager mother, whose unwavering support is tested by the increasingly erratic, unhinged behavior of her daughter. Skye is told the true nature of her possession by the brother of a former victim of the entity, but it takes a few more nightmarish events / hallucinations for her to be convinced. Skye then takes radical action to free herself of the Smile demon. 

The film is better than I expected, with some genuinely creepy moments (the eeriest one being a scene that contains practically no gore, but rather a smiling, advancing pack of background dancers in Skye’s apartment) and a wallop of an ending. But what truly makes this movie worth a watch is its lead, Naomi Scott, who gives an absolutely astounding performance as the tortured Skye Riley. Scott manages to make us feel empathy for a character whose flaws and wasted opportunities (even before she becomes possessed) normally elicit schadenfreude from an audience who always thinks they’d handle wealth and fame better. She beautifully portrays the conflicted emotions a celebrity often feels towards their fans and their fame. But once the demon takes hold of Skye, Scott’s portrayal of her escalating confusion and terror is nothing short of brilliant. I am not shitting you, I have NEVER seen a performance like this in a horror movie… or any film in which the protagonist suffers an unimaginable nightmare. It’s not just Scott’s willingness to make herself look bad, grimacing with snot running out of her nose and clumps of hair pulled from her head, she absolutely makes you believe that her entire life is falling apart in the worst way imaginable, and there’s nothing she can do to make it stop. It’s a stunning performance, and if I gave any credence to movie awards of any kind, I’d call it a crime that she’s not nominated for anything (genre acting rarely is). 

But what also struck me watching both of these movies back to back is again how utterly disconnected from mainstream America I often am. The pop music world in which these films are set is something in which I’ve never had an iota of interest (aside from a very brief period when I kinda dug Madonna), and often held in high disdain. I sometimes even forget that overproduced, visually-centered, hyper-theatrical, choreographed, style-over-substance stuff like this is something that MOST of the humans unabashedly enjoy without a lick of irony. I mean, I get it, neither of these movies would have worked as well if they’d employed the lead guitarist of a traditional rock band (such as they exist anymore), that the theatricality and excessive lifestyle of a huge pop star makes for a far more dynamic and accessible milieu. But I do wonder if my antipathy towards that genre made me enter these movies with more detachment than if, say, the singer in OPUS were more Bowie and less Swift? Or maybe because I think that stuff is already inherently horrific, it actually helped me to get into the horror mindset? Hm? 

Anyway. Don’t visit a cult compound. Or buy a ticket for stadium pop concerts. It’s risky.

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POSTSCRIPT: A few days after posting this, I watched M. Night Shyamalan's TRAP, another thriller set in the world of pop music. I'd not bothered to see this movie before because I am most decidedly NOT a fan of that particular auteur. I probably should've sucked it up and watched it to round out this review, but...  no, on second thought, I'm glad I didn't. 

Pops Watched TV: ADOLESCENCE

I tuned out after two episodes of Netflix' limited series, ADOLESCENCE partially because I’m already depressed enough about what social media has done to society, but also one of the reasons I took a pass on procreating was to avoid this kind of agony. 

But the main reason I couldn’t keep watching was the show’s usage of the supremely tiresome SINGLE SHOT for each episode, which I find a distracting, pretentious trope that negates one of the medium’s primary storytelling tools (being editing). It worked in Alfred Hitchcock’s ROPE (wherein the single apartment setting made it a more subliminal trick that did actually amplify the tension), but every use since then (including BIRDMAN and OLDBOY and yes, even the opening of GOODFELLAS) has just taken me out of the moment as I find myself paying attention to the technical HOW way more than the narrative WHAT (which is not a good thing on which to focus). 

As always, your mileage may vary. Oh, and I keep meaning to ditch Netflix, so this is a good li’l kick in that direction. 

Mego Key Parties

 Based on these photos found in some recent eBay auctions, there must have been some crazy Mego key parties going on in the swingin' '70s! 

Pops Saw a Movie: NOSFERATU

 Years ago, when I first heard that Robert Eggers was interested in doing a NOSFERATU remake, I was over the moon; I couldn’t have imagined a better match of director and material. F.W. Murnau’s unauthorized 1922 adaptation of DRACULA has always been my favorite iteration of that character (or at least the most terrifying) and I was certain that Eggers’ vision and immaculate filmmaking skills would make for way more than just a superfluous adaptation.

So I entered the Alamo Drafthouse Brooklyn last Thursday (along with my brother, Ken, who graciously treated) with way higher expectations than I normally afford myself when going to the movies (even with that occurrence being very rare in the After Times).

And it was fine. I liked it. But NOSFERATU was not the immersive, terrifying experience for which I’d hoped.

I think for me, the biggest issue was that Eggers’ laser-focused insistence on period accuracy worked against the film in this case (unlike in THE VVITCH, when it enhanced that movie’s mood and effectiveness). Making sure your characters are clad in the right clothes, living in the right environments, utilizing the right implements are all laudable goals… to an extent. But when working in the realm of fantasy, shouldn’t there be a little leeway?

Yeah, I’m talking about the mustache. I mean, not JUST the mustache, but the fact that Robert Eggers INSISTED that his Count Orlok (well played by Bill Skarsgård) have a big bushy lip scrub just because it was the style at the time felt like a bit too much. The only aspect of this version of Nosferatu that’s anywhere near as terrifying as the gaunt demon played by Max Schreck over a century ago is his hands (and maybe his coat… but an outer garment shouldn’t be more imposing than Nosferatu’s face). It’s almost as if Eggers forgot that you don’t have to make everything believable IN A VAMPIRE MOVIE.

But it’s not just Skarsgård’s mustachioed, rotting zombie behemoth that dampened my enthusiasm… The first act kind of fell apart for me when Thomas Hutter (Nicholas Hoult, who will also be in the only other movie I plan on seeing in the theater this year) reached Castle Orlok… rather than the traditional build of tension and terror as the young clerk transacts his business within the confines of the strange, disturbing place, things get crazy pretty much immediately, with a perpetually panicked Hutter trying to escape like Bugs Bunny in the clutches of the mad scientist. And having Ellen (a fantastic Lily-Rose Depp) give herself to Orlok at the very beginning of the movie makes the conclusion a bit anticlimactic.

But I did not dislike the film as a whole. The acting is good, the cinematography is gorgeous (although part of me almost wishes Eggers had filmed it in black and white, as the washed out tones are almost never punched up with any color that might’ve added some graphic intensity), there are a handful of indelible shots… but I was expecting more than a handful. Most of the time, it didn’t even feel like a Robert Eggers film to me (an opinion that’s raised some disbelieving hackles amongst my film nerd friends). My favorite thing about this movie shouldn’t be its logo.

Again, my expectations were probably too high. I should know better. We’ll see how I feel when I watch it again after it drops on some streaming platform (and I am glad I didn’t wait for that to see it the first time… I missed all of Eggers’ previous films on the big screen, which I regret).

I should also comment on this being my first Alamo Drafthouse experience… another thing that’s been hyped over the years to lofty assumptions. And again… it was fine. But, like so many other things in the 21st century, for me, it’s TOO much choice. I’m on record as disliking assigned seating in movie theaters, but at least the “no talking, no cell phones” rules eliminate the main reason that I usually want the freedom to move. The reclining lounge chairs are nice, but not necessary. And while it’s great (GREAT) to be able to order a beer or a cocktail, I neither need nor want more than traditional snacks during a movie. I don’t even like the idea of those shitty nachos or hot dogs at the average multiplex. Who the hell wants to eat wings or a burger in a darkened room where you can’t see what you’re doing and the smell is as liable to be intrusive to other patrons as when people chow down on a subway car (which is, of course, verboten)? Bottomless popcorn, yes. Fish and Chips? Hell no!

But, as usual, that’s just me.

(And thanks again, Kenny! It was a really fun day!) 

Pops Saw Some Movies

 The past handful of weeks have been a trial, so I’m behind on yapping about some movies I’ve recently seen. Here’s a little bit of catch-up. 

THE APPRENTICE
Having read Mary Trump’s book, TOO MUCH AND NOT ENOUGH, I have to say, Ali Abassi goes too easy on the protagonists of this film. Roy Cohn is made to be pitiable, Fred Trump is not nearly demonic enough (in behavior or appearance), and Donald Trump (as played by Sebastian Stan, the Winter Soldier, which is kinda apt) is portrayed as a semi-naive waif being taught the dark arts by villainous groomers. Hell, he’s even given a fuzzy rom-com sequence in which he woos Ivana in scenes that wouldn’t be out of place in a Hallmark movie. There are enough glimpses into Trump’s “origin” as a serial liar to make the film interesting, but it’s not going to move the needle at all on this bizarre Idiocracy in which we now live. 

ALIEN: ROMULUS

After a promising first act (marred by some ginormous plot holes and a grating Gen-Z cast), Fede Alvarez’ film quickly breaks down into lazy retread and unearned fan service (a “Get away from her, you BITCH!” Is maybe the most pathetic example of pandering I’ve ever seen in a movie). ROMULUS is yet another genre sequel / reboot (ala HALLOWEEN, THE THING, APARTMENT 7A) that is overly reliant on the hope that the audience is unfamiliar with the source material. Then again, there hasn’t been a good ALIEN movie since the first two, so… 

JOKER: FOLIE A DEUX
I didn’t like the first pointless, nihilistic wankfest, and may have skipped this altogether were it not for its trainwreck status, which made me want to rubberneck. And while it’s not good (it feels more like an epilogue than a full movie), it’s certainly not worth the venom it’s garnered. While many decry the musical aspect of the movie, I have to wonder if that animus is more aimed towards the Great American Songbook selections sung by Phoenix and Gaga than the genre itself. And while the film’s climax ever so slightly redeems both films by (slight spoiler) confirming the theory that this “Joker” is not “THE Joker,” it still feels like a movie made more out of spite than inspiration. 

THE SUBSTANCE

I need to watch this again, because my take certainly does not align with that of many people whose opinions I respect. While I think the movie has a strong setup, some great performances, and a stunning visual style, for me the metaphor loses strength in the third act when I found myself asking too many questions to get lost in the batshit body horror of the thing (which felt more like an homage to Cronenberg & Raimi than its own thing). Also, add my name to the list of people who think the most disgusting thing in the film is the closeups of Dennis Quaid eating prawns. I’ll give Coralie Fargeat's feminist horror another shot… but probably not until after the holidays. 

WOMAN OF THE HOUR
The only one of these films I truly enjoyed, Anna Kendrick’s story of Rodney Alcala, the serial killer who appeared on THE DATING GAME in the 1970s is a riveting, brutal portrait of the many layers of misogyny that (still) permeate society, broadly ranging from casual sexism to murder, and everything in between. Kendrick humanizes the victims rather than just presenting them as plot points as do so many serial killer dramas. A dive into the real story reveals more than a handful of apocryphal moments, but that’s to be expected, and doesn’t diminish the power of Kendrick’s first film as a director.

Pops Saw a Movie: DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE

 Maybe I shouldn’t write a review of DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE, as I am absolutely not the target audience. I don’t like anti-heroes (being good guys who use the tactics and tools of bad guys). Even a comic book geek like myself is suffering superhero fatigue (and I’m beyond tired of the kind of wink-wink, piss-taking superhero movies that seem to now be the norm). And perhaps most importantly, I absolutely detest the era of superhero comics from which this movie takes its inspiration, being the ultra-dark 1990s, an overblown, Image over substance, hyper-kinetic, trench-coated period that actually made me stop buying comics. Oh, also, not really a fan of Ryan Reynolds. 

However. 

So many of of my friends had asked me if I was going to see this, and for a hot second, I actually considered hitting the multiplex for D&W (despite only having seen the previous two DEADPOOL films on the tee-vee, and the fact that I’ve only seen one new movie in the theater in the past three years, being THE BATMAN, which, meh), but quickly decided I couldn’t deal with being stuck in a chair with this film for over two hours. Still, I was curious enough that when I saw it dropped on PLEX (the Napster of movies) this past week, I dove in. 

And I pretty much hated it. D&W fails for me on every level, comedically, as a superhero movie, and emotionally. 

Comedically: I actually had a notebook next to me so I could keep track of my actual laughs during the movie, and the final tally was Two: One came 33 minutes in, when we get to see Wolverine at his actual comic book height (he’s very short). The other hit a half hour later, when Dogpool won’t stop licking Deadpool’s face. That’s it. Two laughs. Maybe a few smirks throughout the rest of the film, but the relentless spray of snark and meta jokes and fourth wall breaks and, mostly, about a hundred dick, balls, and ass jokes (seriously, this movie is so obsessed with goodies, bits, and butts that it makes Joel Schumacher’s Batman movies look like conversion therapy videos) just felt like I was being pelted with urine-soaked spitballs for 128 minutes. 

Dramatically: I mean, “dramatically” in superhero context. So, after Disney+’s LOKI series spent two seasons working to fix the MCU’s multiverse timelines, bringing its lead character from villain to sacrificial hero, with a dramatic, emotional climax, this movie… is about fixing the MCU’s multiverse timelines, right down to the bit about the heroes wanting to save their loved ones in their own branched realities (where was the meta joke about this plot basically being the same as that show’s?). I’m not sure what’s more aggravating, the ongoing convolution of the Marvel Universe, or the attempts to fix it (didn’t Kevin Feige ever hear of CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS? Google it, non-nerds). And, as much as I disliked LOGAN (and I did!), I have to agree with that film’s director and writer that DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE pretty much renders any emotional impact of that movie’s climax moot. And speaking of death meaning nothing in the MCU, what’s the point of endless (ENDLESS!!) CGI fights to the death with characters who can’t die? 

I didn’t even get any nostalgic jollies out of this film because (as I so subtly alluded to up there), I have almost zero affinity for (and, in some cases, knowledge of) most of these characters. I liked the X-Men in the ‘80s as much as anyone, but Wolverine was never really my jam. And he’s probably my favorite character in the film! I never read a Deadpool comic, never read a single thing with Gambit in it (what a stupid character), don’t really care about Blade, Elektra was a great part of Frank Miller’s DAREDEVIL run, but she shoulda’ stayed dead, and most of the other cameos just didn’t land with me. As always, your mileage may vary. 

Emotionally: I was actually stunned at how much syrup was poured on the climax of the film. I kept thinking that all the gushing buddy film love slung between the titular heroes was going to revert to the antagonistic back and forth that defined the first two acts of the movie, but no! These dudes now love each other, and pretty much tell say so for the last twenty minutes of the film! The movie even ends with a nostalgic, credit-roll montage of the actors’ histories making Marvel movies for 20th Century Fox, set to—I shit you not— Green Day’s never-not-grating, and utterly played out “Good Riddance [Time of Your Life]”…. UNIRONICALLY!!! 

Phew. Anyway. So, yeah, the movie’s not for me. But even putting aside my subjective dislike of the source material and this particular kind of superhero movie, I don’t think DEADPOOL & WOLVERINE is a good movie. It’s a LOT of movie, however, and, like the overdrawn, needlessly-detailed, hyper-violent comic books of the 1990s that dazzled young fans with style over substance, I guess that’s enough for a lot of people.

Pops Watched TV and Saw a Movie: DAHMER and BLONDE

 I couldn’t binge DAHMER: MONSTER: THE JEFFREY DAHMER STORY (or whatever) because it was just too much to stomach (no pun intended) more than an hour at a time, so it took me over a week to finish. I wasn’t even going to say anything about it until I watched BLONDE last night and decided to contrast these very different dramatizations of real life tragic figures. 

DAHMER is undeniably a riveting watch, but the many protestations over its humanization of the serial killer are not without merit. Evan Peters is way too likeable an actor to not make you feel some sort of empathy for Dahmer as her struggles with his compulsions. As with every “Based on a True Story” film or TV show, I spend a lot of time wondering what’s real and what’s not. I don’t demand 100% adherence to the facts, I understand the demands of creating dramatic fiction, and these days, all it takes is some quick Googling to separate the apocryphal from the factual. DAHMER mostly sticks to the facts, the biggest creative license being merging a number of the killer’s neighbors into one person, and moving her into the apartment next door. But what fascinates me most about this series isn’t the show itself but our collective fascination with true crime. What is it that draws us into being willing to watch ten hours dedicated to the most horrific, gruesome human behavior we can imagine? Why do we love this shit? I’d watch a ten-part series parsing that sociological phenomenon. 

Meanwhile, on the same platform, BLONDE is being marketed as a simple biopic of Marilyn Monroe, but that couldn’t be farther from the truth. Instead based on Joyce Carol Oates’ 2000 novel, it’s a fictionalized, highly impressionistic overview of the icon’s mental instability and lifetime of various forms of abuse, presented with far more style than substance. The movie jumps from point to point, leaving exposition as to how Norma Jeane / Marilyn came to be involved with the various men in her life mostly cursory. The movie seems to be far more concerned with recreating iconic images of Monroe than fleshing out a tragic life beyond “unhappy childhood - bad relationships - extreme insecurity - oh, and pills and booze.” But unlike DAHMER, BLONDE feels zero compunction about creating some stories out of whole cloth (which will no doubt lead to even more public confusion among those who treat films like this as gospel). The one saving grace of the movie is Ana de Armas’ magnetic performance (although the decision to have her employ “Marilyn’s” breathy girly voice even in her private life is an odd one). Ironically, the timing of this film kind of works against it, as de Armas is currently Hollywood’s “It Girl,” making it hard to forget that it’s her under the wig and veneers. Ultimately, though, 2011’s MY WEEK WITH MARILYN (starring Michelle Williams) is a far more insightful and personal examination of the actual human being.

Originally posted on social media, Oct. 3, 2022.