Friday the 13th Part VIII: Jason Takes Manhattan (1989) - film review

I feel I was a little overly harsh, with regards to a previous entry, when I called this long-running series “tiresome”, as, much to my surprise, things have generally picked-up somewhat since the first instalment’s low aspirations.

And so we come to Jason Takes Manhattan.

I’ll give this film some credit - it’s ambitious. We travel from Crystal Lake to a ship on the ocean to the streets of New York to the sewers under New York. See if you can spot the difference between those last two! Whether or not they actually shot the thing in New York City is quite another matter. I’m sure I can check the exact filming locations quite easily from where I’m sitting, but that’s far more work than I’m prepared to do for this film.

Who knows what inspired a Friday the 13th sequel’s story back in the day, but I’m gonna go ahead and assume it involved a stack of notes from the studio and a very accommodating screenwriter. I mean, I really wouldn’t like to imagine the mind of a person who feels inspired by this franchise. Well, perhaps an intense horror geek, sure, but I hope never to cross paths with such an individual. Anyway, I had barely any idea what this film was about as it unfolded, but it never seemed to matter all that much. Something to do with students going on a working vacation aboard a cruise ship that looks more like a scuttled fishing boat?

Then things go mildly crazy!

While the setup for the murderous goings on is certainly quite enticing, their execution is simply baffling. I have a hunch that this is a rough workprint of the movie, which must have been snatched out of the director’s hands before post-production was complete. Not only are there awkward pauses and moments where characters are allowed to slowly walk completely out of shot, but the film is lacking a driving musical score. There is a credited composer, but I don’t believe they actually had any involvement with this project. Or, at the very least, a day’s worth.

Basically, the whole pace of Jason Takes Manhattan is so sleepy. Seriously, you could stick this movie on after a long and tiring day at work and feel quite relaxed by the halfway mark. Jason wanders calmly around said ship like somebody’s confused dad, and the kills are over before you’ve even noticed that something “exciting” is happening. The setting: a luxurious cruise liner at night during a cosy rainstorm, only serves to heighten the lack of immediacy. Some characters briefly show a sense of urgency, but by then it’s too late. There is actually one exciting piece of filmmaking, when the camera passes through an interior porthole and keeps going. A shot like this would nowadays be handled with thousands of dollars worth of CGI bollocks, but I’m guessing here there was just a camera operator hiding under the door. I miss stuff like that in movies, because they make you wonder how they were done. It might be obvious, but at least it gets you thinking. Now everything sucks.

There are a few laugh-out-loud moments within the mould-breaking 100 minute runtime, mostly thanks to some confusing dialogue choices. One truly classic moment involves a character attempting to punch Jason to death, seemingly unable to grasp the simple concept of a protective hockey mask. This moment plays out, again, without any rousing music. It could have been an exciting set piece, but it’s not. It just kinda happens.

The cast is worse than it’s been since the early instalments, although we do get a touch of class in the form of Peter Mark Richman AKA Budget Martin Landau. Richman actually only passed away a few years ago, at the ripe-old age of 93, with 163 credits to his name. It’s always a shame to lose a great workhorse like him.

Well, that’s about all. Jason Takes Manhattan is just-about watchable for its truly unpredictable plot, which is unique for this series, and its location-hopping. Plus, as mentioned above, it’s quite a cosy little film to snuggle up to. I literally almost fell asleep halfway through, but managed to bravely plow on!

Only two more to go…

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Oppenheimer (2023) - film review

“Gravity swallows light. It’s kind of like a hole in space.”

I pissed myself laughing at the above line, delivered with the utmost sincerity, as I did a fair amount during the early scenes of this film.

As many explanatory emails to customers from commercial traders were at the start of the 2020 pandemic lockdown, I’m sure most reviews of Oppenheimer are unnecessarily long and self-indulgent, so I shall endeavour to be merciful and keep this brief.

I found the first half of this award-swallowing singularity, which chronicles the development of the Manhattan Project and setting up of Los Alamos base, embarrassing. It actually feels like a TV sketch show parody of a film like this. Christopher Nolan is good at structuring a story, but is beyond useless at writing subtle dialogue. At one point, a military official announces: “I built the Pentagon!” apropos of nothing, because apparently we, the audience, need some context to know who the man is. We don’t. Many other characters spout on-the-nose dialogue like a compendium of famous quotes from the twentieth century, or the empty motivational platitudes you’ll find in a modern fortune cookie. People react outwardly to scientific goings on in a way that people wouldn’t realistically react. They laugh, they run, they applaud, they shout. No. It’s all drama for drama’s sake, but certainly not part of my reality. The titular scientist uses physics to chat up women at parties, which made me roll my eyes so hard I had to fish them back down. Just give us information, you don’t need to bury it in sex and nudity like an owner covertly feeding their cat a worming tablet by putting the medication in its food.

The film is marvellously edited, on a very superficial level, but moments that should have significant time spent on them are rushed through, making the whole thing feel like an extended trailer. I get the feeling the marketing people found their work mostly done for them. I also get the feeling the actors didn’t have much fun being ferried about from location to location, only to spout a line or two. I guess they all got paid pretty well though.

Anyway, after a cringe-inducing hour or so, things finally pick up with the build up to the Trinity bomb test, which is genuinely thrilling. As is the resulting semi-political court-case-that’s-not-a-court-case over Oppenheimer’s security clearance. I’m not sure why him losing his clearance would stop him doing science altogether, but the film presents the situation as such.

All the actors try their best with Nolan’s clunky dialogue, but they must have had to practice their lines in the mirror more than usual before heading out to the set in the morning. I can’t get enough of Kenneth Branagh, who seems to be getting more handsome the older he gets, so it’s nice that he drops by. Cillian Murphy distractingly sounds like Robin Williams throughout, but at least he managed to creep me out less than usual. Such a rubbery face! Scott Grimes is in there somewhere, but I couldn’t spot him. Oh and I didn’t realise Robert Downey Jr and Matt Damon are in the damn thing until an hour in, so kudos to the makeup department and Downey Jr’s acting.

Sorry, Matt, but I just can’t do it.

I’d like to see a less overwrought and melodramatic take on the same story, or just read a sober nonfiction account, as Oppenheimer is, more often than not, the worst example of a Hollywood biopic. We get it, sometimes good things happen in a person’s life and sometimes bad things happen. Now let’s just get on with our own, shall we?

It’s worth a look, but you will need to persevere for an hour or so with all the condescension and silliness.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Furiosa (2024) - film review

Ever wondered how Furiosa lost her arm? No, me neither, but apparently we needed that backstory. However, just as George Lucas mistakenly believed that, after The Empire Strikes Back, all people wanted to know was “What happened to Luke’s lightsaber?!”, so much so that the first third of Return of the Jedi is really about introducing his new one, the human drama is actually all we care about. In fact, I didn’t even notice Furiosa had a prosthetic arm in Fury Road, until someone pointed it out to me. Still, George Miller is no George Lucas, so the above amputation is handled competently and surrounded by a well-constructed story.

I’ve been racking my brains, on and off, for nine years now, trying to work out why Fury Road doesn’t quite do it for me. Other than my being a contrarian prick, something just isn’t quite right. Finally, I figured it out recently. It’s a simple one, don’t worry. Basically, Fury Road is Mad Max without Mel Gibson, or a Mel Gibson-like actor. Don’t get me wrong, Tom Hardy is a fine performer in the right role, but filling Gibson’s charismatic boots isn’t it. Some folk complain that Charlize Theron takes over Fury Road, but, I would argue that, had an actor with Mel Gibson’s dangerous-charm been cast, we’d all be saying “Furiosa who?!” right now. I admire Fury Road, but it’ll forever be missing that special ingredient.

Just to get it out of the way three-paragraphs-up-front, I much prefer Furiosa to Fury Road. Not only is the filmmaking in Furiosa more inventive, but I actually gave a rat’s arse this time. I’m still learning about stuff that’s in Fury Road actually, as its impressive pace far exceeds the capabilities of my poor eyesight. I get the idea though, as its story is nice and simple, but much of the dialogue-free goings on are sadly lost on me.

Gosh it’s hard to write about films in present tense, but I believe that is the correct way to do it.

There was a point back when I first watched Steven Spielberg’s The Adventures of Tintin 15 years ago where, due to the exhausting pace of the stream-of-conscious action, I had to stop the disc, go to bed, and finish it the following day. I reached a similar crisis point with Furiosa, where, at the 40 minute mark, I had to press pause and potter around the flat for half-an-hour, before I could continue.

I’d say that’s a recommendation, of sorts.

Although many characters only get a pencil-sketch’s amount of development, I still felt for them. I even had to hold back on the tears as Furiosa watches her Wasteland mentor being tormented, and her brief connection to the little boy on the War Rig was very touching indeed. Sadly, Furiosa’s final confrontation with Dementus goes on just a pinch too long, just long enough for the tension to dissipate. Plus, I dunno, by that point I’d genuinely forgotten what Dementus had done to wrong Furiosa so much. See? There’s so much going on in the film that you’ll need more than one viewing to fully appreciate it. I’ll certainly be keeping my copy close by for the foreseeable future.

Even though there is an embarrassing “Begun, the Clone War has!” moment in there, but it’s fine.

I was surprised we see so much of The Citadel in this one, as I assumed it and Immortan Joe would only be teased at the very end. I suppose the War Boys have depressingly become such key icons to hyper-masculine, military-enlisting males, what with the War Boys’ well-toned bodies, the erasing of their individuality, and their willingness to die at a moment’s notice without good reason, that the film simply couldn’t exist without the place.

Yeah, I’m getting all political up in your face!

Furiosa is so full of ideas, both in terms of the visuals and the storytelling, that I’m gonna go ahead and assume that George Miller’s stack of notepads propped up the ceiling in his production office. I don’t know how that man calms down enough to sleep at night, what with his brain working the way it does. He’s probably just so tired. Apart from everything Wes Anderson does and the opening to Sam Mendes’ Spectre, I’ve been tragically bored by new films in recent years. Getting me to watch a new release takes some convincing, especially while those by-numbers Marvel movies greatly lowered the average standard. But George Miller gives me hope. There are still creative people out there with a vision, people who not only just know how to simply point and shoot, but know how to craft a set piece using the Language of Cinema.

Saying that, I’m sure we’re all baffled as to why there’s a trailer for Fury Road woven into the end credits. I mean WTF?! As if there’s a person out there who hasn’t seen that movie.

It’s a mystery.

I wonder if Charlize has watched this one. She seems like a good sport.

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

Happy Birthday, Frodo & Bilbo!

I was going to include “Baggins” in the post title, but I went ahead and assumed y’all would know who I was talking about.

Just for fun, I’ve decided to compile an alternative calendar of celebrations over the year, what with not being religious and all that. I mean, even secular folk like an excuse to have a jolly-good piss-up, am I right?! All I’ve got so far is today, 22 September, the birthday of the two titular hobbits; John From Day on 15 February; and the ancient Egyptian Festival of Drunkenness on 06 August.

I apologise if my dating convention is jarring, but that’s how I was taught to do it in admin school.

I’ve forgotten everything else I learned.

So, yeah, if you have any other interesting and nerdy ideas for days to celebrate throughout the year, drop us a comment!

Right, I best get back to Ralph Bakshi’s animated film, which is still my favourite version of Lord of the Rings thus far (bless you, Peter Woodthorpe). I appear to becoming less and less patient for Peter Jackson’s bombastic take the older I get. Alas! I wonder if some dedicated nerd will one day make the second half of Bakshi’s unfinished two-parter. Surely there must be a rotoscope app out there by now!

Do stay in touch, darlings.

Toodles!

[story corner]

NINSHUBUR AND THE THIEF OF NIPPUR

Outside time. Across worlds. Between rivers. Two children in ancient Mesopotamia become unwitting emissaries to heaven and the underworld, as gods and humans go to war over honour, love, and destiny. This work of historical-fantasy fiction contains period morality which may unsettle some readers.

PART ONE

OF THE SERVANT GIRL’S TRIALS ABROAD IN ACCURSED LANDS

CHAPTER THREE

There is something to be said about the resilience of our young heroine, in that she, along with her ne’er-do-well of a father, has survived a terrible storm upon the Arabian Sea. She has just been washed ashore on an island, lying, still clinging to a piece of driftwood, weathered and bruised, but, remarkably, still breathing.

“Enki has conspired against us!” Said Ninshubur’s hidden father, of their god of the waters. “We are lost!”

Ninshubur rubbed her eyes, still stinging with from a wash of seawater, and found her father, draped in slimy entrails of kelp, clambering from the rolling waves into the cove to rejoin his child.

“Are we alive?” Said Ninshubur, ripping her fingers from the small notch in the driftwood that had kept her alive for the past unknown period of time.

Her father looked around at the beach and the rocks and the mocking sky above them.

“I do not know.” He said, a look of terror in his eyes. “Inanna?! Queen of the heavens?! Are you there?!”

There was no reply from the god, or any other gods, for that matter.

Ninshubur stopped her father in his dazed wandering and slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

“Pull yourself together, man!” She said. “We need to find any other survivors and provisions, if we can!”

Her father touched his cheek, the shock and pain of his daughter’s strike barely noticeable to him.

“We are to die here.” He said, falling to his knees in the sand. “I have sold my cart and forsaken my family! What untold miseries lie ahead?!”

Ninshubur rolled her eyes and crouched next to the hopeless man.

“Only the sound of me shrieking at you for days on end for giving up.” She said, now stroking his hair affectionately back into place. “Now you just think about that.”

While her father knelt considering his near future, Ninshubur believed she could discern a wailing from just offshore. She shielded her eyes from the sun and scanned the rough seas for the source of the commotion. Suddenly, on the outcropping that walled-in the cove, appeared a gaggle of sailors clinging to a rock.

“There!” Ninshubur shouted to her father. “Survivors! We must go and rescue them!”

She began to rush towards the unfolding drama.

Her father, following her gaze, took stock of the men in jeopardy.

“Let them perish.” He said, in a somber mutter. “We are all to perish.”

Ninshubur ran back to the man and took hold of his water-shrivelled hand.

“Come on, you old fool!” She said, summoning the strength to pull him to his feet. “We are not done yet!”

The miserable sailors were far from thankful after Ninshubur and her father aided in their clambering onto solid ground. Indeed, they blamed the two strangers for inciting their voyage in the first place, an accusation which Ninshubur’s father solemnly pleaded guilty to.

“You are to keep your mouth shut, father!” Said the girl, as the party of now-five survivors began combing the beach for any useful wreckage.

“But, my dearest child, what hope have we upon this evil place?!” Said her father, dreamily collecting seashells in his traumatised state. 'We must give into our fate!”

Ninshubur found a prettily-painted and well-filled amphora, still sealed, and began rolling it towards the party’s burgeoning makeshift camp.

“We shall do no such thing!” She said, slapping him for the umpteenth time that day. “If we are to believe the men, we have washed up on the western tip of Socotra. There is a pirate settlement on the eastern side, no doubt with a boat we can commandeer.”

Her father looked his daughter in the eyes for the first time since the storm had hit the night before.

“Pirates?! But they will surely kill us or sell us into slavery!” He said, gazing down at the shells in his shaking hands. “A fitting end, I suppose.”

The shells dropped to the sand between their two pairs of feet. Ninshubur stamped on one. It shattered, catapulting a small creature into the air. The girl caught it with her teeth and swallowed it without a pause.

“Nonsense!” She said, wincing at the creature’s bitterness. “They will never know we were there, so you are to keep silent once we cross the island, do you understand?!”

Her father merely nodded.

“What did it taste like?” He said, only half-absorbing his daughter’s commands.

“It tasted terrible, but we must get used to making-do with what we can find.”

The party eventually erected a sturdy fortification of flotsam and rocks found around their camp. They, except for Ninshubur’s whinging patriarch, found their spirits buoyed by the admittedly impressive architectural accomplishment. One of the men claimed this not to be his first seafaring survival scenario, which Ninshubur found herself unsurprised by, given the nautical incompetence the man displayed whilst their ship had been still afloat.

The amphora Ninshubur had found in the sand revealed itself to contain a strong beer, which led the survivors to rejoice that one god or another had finally taken sympathetic interest in their plight.

As the beer began to run low, their spirits rose, with Ninshubur entertaining the bawdy men with a dance. The sailors knew many songs to accompany her with, none of which sounded like they had reached the borders of Sumer. At least, not in Ninshubur’s short lifetime.

As the fire began to go out, the men sat closer together to plan their journey set for the following day. They refused to listen to the young girl in their party, despite her insistence that she had heard a battle tactic or two from soldiers in her home city of Uruk.

“Never heard of the place!” Said one, barely able to keep his drunken eyes open.

The girl had angrily folded her arms with indignation and stormed out of the camp for a quieter part of the beach. Much to her surprised, she was left alone by all the men present, who seemed more inclined to prefer their own masculine company,

As she watched the stars and wondered who was watching from the heavens, she prayed for sight of her simple, mud-brick home and the sound of familiar voices. She was content in the knowledge that she had passed on the fateful tablet, entrusted to her by the boy-king of Kemet, to a scribe at Kush. Whether they would discriminate its desperate plee and bring about good fortune, the Ninshibur did not know.

⬅︎ PREVIOUS CHAPTER⎜NEXT CHAPTER ➡︎