They Live (1988)

     I’ll preface by saying that this 1988 John Carpenter sci-fi film is up for a remake in the next year or two and the sunglasses will be absent.  Granted, this small fact will mean nothing if one has not seen the film in which aliens are cloaked in human form along with their subconscious commercialism brainwashing.  The hidden intergalactic race and their signs to buy more and obey orders are hidden to the human eye without the aid of oversized 80’s sunglasses.  In short, the entire premise of the movie relies on the glasses, as does its relevance as a late 1980’s artifact.
    Nada (nothing in Spanish) is also oversized and, should Mickey Rourke die sometime soon, be perfect for a biopic.  He’s a loner that finds a job in construction, befriends Keith David, and is introduced to a community of cooperative slum life where his handyman knowledge is much valued.  But if this film was composed entirely of a thick-necked loose-footed real-life pro-wrestler it would be about seven minutes long and conclude with him being crowned king of a small group of metal-sided shacks in the middle of a Los Angeles neighborhood.  Instead, an invisible species of aliens, conveniently shaped exactly like humans, inhabit human form and litter our world with simple messages of consumerism.  The most instantly recognizable is that with the instruction to obey.  Shepard Fairey would later construct the most successful street art campaign by pairing it with a stenciled Andre the Giant.  Conveniently enough, both Andre and Roddy Piper inhabit the pro-wrestling circuit.

    Our star happens upon a group of citizens aware of the secret alien race and blessed with the ability to see their disgusting faces, which resemble alien baby.  Life imitating art.  Naturally, a battle ensues as the knowers try to convince everyone else of the aliens controlling their money spending.  Unfortunately, the aliens have law enforcement on their side.  Fortunately, the humans have Nada.  In his best salute to Rambo he guns down alien after alien.  His mannerisms may be a bit reserved but he lets his fists do the talking.
    Carpenter is making some rather strong and obvious stabs at the state of consumerism in the late 80’s.  A society made of money hungry consumers who care more for their individual happiness than the health of their world does indeed warrant a rather alien feeling.  At the same time, keeping the aliens hidden recalls the marketing techniques employed that aim to promote a society of spenders.  Only when you can truly see what is in front of your eyes can you act any different towards the world around you, and hopefully more responsibly.  So a remake ditching the retro shades would be both disappointing and unwarranted.  A make-over seem more appropriate.
    But does this movie warrant a remake?  On the one hand no, it is just fine as is.  Some remakes are obviously just trying to cash in on something that has already worked without putting up too much money for something new to be written.  On the other hand, yes.  It is an awesome sci-fi film indicative of its time period that could be reworked for a modern audience; an audience that clearly has neither seen the original nor learned anything since its release.  Of course, we have seen this message before and most people don’t react positively when they perceive messages to be rammed down their throats.  My only hope is that they reenact the 5mintue and 20 second fight scene in a back alley that in no way propels the plot yet remains deliciously fun for any cult film fan. 

An American Werewolf in London (1981)

    John Landis’s classic 1981 monster movie is by no means first or last in the long list of lycanthropic titles.  What makes it stand out is its mix of semi-campiness and bloody effects.  At the same time it manages to introduce some serious topics despite any attempt to satisfactorily resolve them.
    We meet a rather idiotic pair of Yankees in over their messy-haired heads while backpacking in the Yorkshire moors.  After being dropped from the back of a sheep truck they navigate the indiscernible land with complete disregard to spatial continuity; not the only time the film cheats its locations.  They arrive at the appropriately named Slaughtered Lamb to a cold reception from the accented natives who have neither food nor hospitality.  Upon leaving, they are greeted by a howling werewolf that murders one friend while the other flees in terror.
    And so begins the trials of David Kessler as he is haunted by his decaying best friend who is caught in a state of limbo.  Jack has returned in an attempt to get David to kill himself, a thought not entirely foreign after running from his friend’s side as he was slaughtered by a mysterious creature.  For the sake of a movie more than ten minutes long, David is more interested in his nurse, with whom he soon sparks a relationship that garners him both a place to stay and a convenient plot propellant.  Jack informs David that he must end the werewolf curse by ending his own life, or else he will become the beast during the next full moon…
    Naturally, he takes these apparitions as insanity and soon transforms, rather painfully, into a wolf.  A very ugly wolf.  Numerous others die and are added to the list of lives he must atone for, all the visitors in some stage of decay as he meets them in the back of a porn theater.  By this point he’s probably wishing the wolf had killed him.
    The premier wolf attack is taken almost tongue-in-cheek as a huge prop is thrust from screen-left and statically knocks Jack down.  The fact that David runs for his life is a knee-jerk reaction but remains the point of contention for the film.  David owes Jack his life and as such Jack feels compelled not to blame his friend but ask for his help in relieving him and others from a netherworld.  In a straight drama this dynamic would be played out to sappy music, emotional connection, meaningful dialogue.  Here, the awesome Rick Baker effects overshadow any serious issues and instead make the transformation scenes the serious issue. 
    David’s fingers protrude to an uncomfortable length, his face stretches forward, his shoulders arch into almost anorexic detail while growing scraggily hairs.  His eyes, ears, and mouth all transform, grotesquely, into the werecreature.  No less is spared on Jack’s postmortem presence that becomes puppet like near the end but effective nonetheless.  Naturally, the quantity of blood is sufficient for what one expects at the scene of a werewolf-attributed slaughter.  The Academy of Motion Pictures took note and created an Outstanding Achievement in Make-Up award for Baker's efforts.
    Throughout, the film maintains a sense of self-consciousness in its referral to past wolf lore and continued tone; never does it tread on being taken completely serious nor descend into another completely campy splatterfest.  Landis effectively navigates the line between making it worthwhile and making it fun.  We could certainly use a bit more discussion on the issue of say, stigmas of insanity, suicide, friendship, etc.  But then again, this is a werewolf movie.

    Look for the remake next year.

Pumping Iron (1977)

Yes, this is the Arnold documentary where the now world famous strongman/actor/governor compares the act of weightlifting to sexual gratification.  And such comparisons never hurt his political career.  While he may not show it now, in his aged and endured state, back in the day he was ripped from head to toe, more so than in Terminator.

            Labeled as a documentary, there are many confessed falsities revealed in a follow-up documentary about the film’s making.  Regardless, the content within is energetic and testosterone infused, making it all the more entertaining and impressive.  There seems a natural peculiarity in the sport itself, where one builds loads of muscle then poses on stage to scores of screaming fans and everyday weaklings.  Perhaps there is something vicarious in a muscle-bound mammoth of a man displays the potential of the human body, a potential that none of us normies will ever reach.

            At the same time there is just as much oddity in the event.  It is like a freakshow, a collection of strange people, who in this case have something in common.  But unlike that malformed or bizarre, these people have intentionally transformed their body into something more.  And more is better.

            The film creates a battle between Arnold and an East Coast nemesis who weighs in at 275 pounds of solid muscle.  His father is his trainer, he is partially deaf, and his gym is like a torture chamber where he gruels away the days.  On the other side of the country is Arnold pumping weights at Gold’s Gym and Venice Beach and posing in photo shoots with bikini-clad women.  And this rivalry was created for the film, regardless of whether it would have existed itself; it was embellished by the filmmakers for the sake of conflict.

            This is not altogether a bad thing, but labeling it a documentary stretches the definition to a degree.  A degree that, in my opinion, is not even necessary in the first place.  The body building culture, which is still effectively portrayed throughout the film, is fascinating in its own right.  Legions of screaming fans and scores of muscle magazines and groups of the manliest of men encouraging each other to lift a little more.  Much of this film is consists of groaning interludes with specific music that, if one were to close their eyes, could be mistaken for an old-school adult film.

            But ‘tis not the case and this 1977 feature is as motivating as it is curious.  A definite must for the cult fan, doc snob, and muscle head. 

Basket Case (1982)

            One of the more aptly named films I can think of.  It is also a very simple and cheaply executed cult film that spawned a pair of sequels during the ‘90’s.  Almost Cronenbergian in parts, the film delivers enough blood and creature carnage to make the midnight movie crowd happy as well as drops a few jaws of the everyday person.

            Duane carries his twin brother around in a picnic basket after a group of evil doctors separated them.  The twin, basically a head with arms, was thrown out with the trash and left to die.  Duane found his brother, being able to communicate telepathically, and saved his life.  The movie recounts their journey of exacting revenge on the doctors and society at large who are unwelcoming of the freak.

            There is not shortage of face grabbing, blood spewing, scalpel stabbing, and stop-motion creaturing, in the 1982 film.  It is no surprise that the film’s lasting status suggested a modern remake. (yet to be seen)