Radio Days (1987)

Director: Woody Allen

Starring: Mia Farrow, Seth Green, Julie Kavner, Dianne Wiest, Michael Tucker, Danny Aiello, Tony Roberts, Jeff Daniels, Seth Green, Woody Allen (narrator)

Since the invention of the television, and other visual and auditory electronic devices, the radio, while it hasn’t been phased out, has taken on a decidedly smaller role in our lives from the one it used to play. That, in essence, is one of the main driving points of “Radio Days,” which is first and foremost a movie about nostalgia for a bygone era. Having been born during the television age, I don’t think that this movie was made with my generation (or the one after mine) in mind. Most of the vignettes are memories the main character associates with radio broadcasts of significant value which he remembers hearing as a child. Some of their real-life counterparts I know of from anecdotes I’ve heard, but I was decades away from being born when they were originally broadcast. I do like it when the TV airs reruns of older shows, or when the radio plays the songs that were hits when my parents were in their teens/early 20’s. As such, this too is not out of a sense of nostalgia, instead it is out of good taste. Same reason I’ve been on this Woody Allen marathon as of late, of which “Radio Days” is the culmination.

As the narrator, director Woody Allen provides the voice of the adult version of the main character for most of the vignettes, a redheaded Jewish boy named Joe (Seth Green) growing up in late 1930’s/early 40’s New York. One of these includes his quest to obtain a secret decoder ring, something to which most young boys can relate. We all tried to pester our parents for that toy we just HAD to have; some of us were just more persuasive than others. Joe’s parents (Julie Kavner, Michael Tucker) are not so easily persuaded, and as the adult Joe glumly reports, he never got that ring. My, how did he ever survive without it?

Occasionally, the radio holds onto the attention of our cast with startling news broadcasts… most of which are genuine. One instance in which the news is fantasy is the infamous “War of the Worlds” broadcast, interrupting an otherwise lovely evening for Joe’s Aunt Bea (Dianne Wiest), revealing her date to be a total coward. The parts about World War II are presented seriously, as well they should be. Maybe my favorite sequence, though, ends up being the news of the little girl trapped down inside a well. This is an otherwise grim situation which is reported so dramatically that it results in that special kind of uncomfortable guffaw. You know you shouldn’t laugh, but you can’t help it.

The parts of “Radio Days” I’m not so fond of are those which revolve around the character of Sally White (Mia Farrow). Whether she’s getting trapped on a rooftop, or whether we’re following her attempts at becoming a radio star, I just want her to go away. It’s that voice. That horrible, godawful voice! Oh, Sally sings just fine, but any time she speaks, that high-pitched, ear-splitting sound emanating from her mouth makes me long for someone to scratch their nails on a chalkboard. Based on her stellar performances in “Rosemary’s Baby,” “Broadway Danny Rose” and “The Purple Rose of Cairo,” I know full well that Mia Farrow is capable of much better things, which is what makes the character of Sally White that much more of a disappointment.

Absolutely not disappointing is the collection of actors with whom Allen has previously worked that make their return here. In addition to Mia Farrow, Dianne Wiest and Julie Kavner, “Radio Days” also features Tony Roberts, Wallace Shawn, Danny Aiello, Jeff Daniels and Diane Keaton. I especially appreciate the return of Keaton, even if it is for just the one song. Wallace Shawn is amusing as the radio actor who provides the voice of the macho superhero, the Masked Avenger, a role he could not have played on television.

The whole point to “Radio Days,” as I have said, is nostalgia for a bygone era. Because I do not share in that nostalgia, my interests in the movie are in whether it is funny (which it is sparingly) and whether the story is interesting. Because there is no one cohesive tale but a series of short happenings, that’s a little harder to grade. Overall, color me underwhelmed, which is a sad thing to say given that this is the film with which I end my Woody Allen marathon. Nostalgia, at its core, is all about looking back at fond memories. The movie series I’m about to switch gears back to (given that tomorrow is another “Friday the 13th”) is nowhere as sophisticated as a Woody Allen movie, but it does hold that certain fondness to which I am referring. I’ll always remember exactly how old I was when I saw them for the first time. I don’t know if I’ll be able to say the same of “Radio Days.”

Zelig (1983)

Director: Woody Allen

Starring: Woody Allen, Mia Farrow

A common conceit of biographies is that the subject, being deceased, is unable to speak on his or her own behalf. There are ways around this, with the right amount of research and testimony from key eyewitnesses. Competently composed, the resulting documentary can be both informative and entertaining. Still, you’d like to be able to know from the horse’s own mouth what he was thinking or feeling. Especially if that person existed as recently as the twentieth century, then there’s no problem. That’s why we invented the movie camera.

Leonard Zelig (Woody Allen) was a man with a most unusual talent. Slipping in and out of the public eye during the 1920’s and 1930’s, Zelig wanted more than most to fit in with the crowd and so, through means that continue to defy reasoned explanation, was able to transform himself in a most chameleon-like way. Put him in a room with a shrink, and he would engage in psychological debates. Let him near the New York Yankees, he’d behave as though he was a member of the team. Depending on a politician’s party affiliation, Zelig could become either Democrat or Republican. He could instantly begin to mimic the accents and languages of anyone from any corner of the world. No matter whether people he came in contact with were white, black, Asian, Native American, thin or obese, Zelig’s physical appearance could change to appear just like that person.

It’s stuff like this which made Zelig a national sensation. Movies and songs were written about him. The big dance craze of the day was the Chameleon. But as seems to happen so often in the life of a celebrity, in the wake of a sex scandal, Zelig’s star would fall just as easily as it rose. In between it all, there was only one person capable of breaking Zelig out of his compulsive physical and mental mutations, the psychiatrist Dr. Eudora Fletcher (Mia Farrow). After many sessions of trial and error, Dr. Fletcher decided to pretend that she, too, was someone who had to constantly change her personality to blend in. It worked. Zelig’s cycle of transformation was broken and he could finally begin to start living a normal life. The sex scandal screwed that up, of course, and it left Dr. Fletcher, who had come to love Zelig, to undertake a dangerous trek into pre-WWII Nazi Germany in search of him, which is chronicled in the documentary’s final ten or so minutes.

After the disappointing “A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy,” I was looking for something a bit different from Woody Allen. With the mockumentary “Zelig,” I could not have asked for a larger deviation from the norm. The imagination that went into this project is awe-inspiring. As someone who enjoys the occasional documentaries on PBS, the History channel and the Travel channel, I applaud Allen for giving his movie the authenticity it requires. The newsreel footage all looks accurate for the period, thanks to some deliberate scratching of the film to help give it that long-ago look. Because Zelig hobnobs with a lot of real-life figures, including various Hollywood actors, two U.S. Presidents and Adolf Hitler, Allen needed for himself and Mia Farrow to be spliced into the scenes with these historical figures. The results are virtually seamless, and the technology used would help inspire similar technical achievements in films like “Forrest Gump.”

Also surprising is Mia Farrow, after her bland performance in “A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy.” Had she been similarly sub-par here, it would have sunk “Zelig” entirely. I completely bought her as a psychiatrist who first takes on the Zelig case to make a name for herself, switching gears when she hears him admit he’s fallen in love with her and, then, discovering that she feels the same. In the end, though, the special effects of “Zelig” are its strongest point. They are, in every way, above average. The story of the man called Zelig, with extra points for creativity, is merely “good.”

A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy (1982)

Director: Woody Allen

Starring: Woody Allen, Mia Farrow, Jose Ferrer, Julie Hagerty, Tony Roberts, Mary Steenburgen

The idea that any of the six characters in this movie actually engage each other in the act of copulation leaves me feeling a bit nauseous. Fitting, given that’s typically the default reaction displayed by many of the men which Allen himself has portrayed over the years. It’s applicable here because of the ease in which they hop around between partners, with little beyond animal instinct to explain their actions. Although the line never comes up during the 88 minutes of “A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy,” that’s not to say that Allen’s character doesn’t come equipped with other hang-ups. Why shouldn’t he? Just look at the company he keeps.

From the moment I popped the DVD in, I knew I was screwed. Woody Allen plays Andrew, a crackpot inventor living in the early 1900’s whose marriage is suffering from trouble in the bedroom. Who plays Adrian, his wife? Mary Steenburgen. I’ve only ever seen this actress in one movie where I found her tolerable: 1978’s “Goin’ South,” in which her co-star was Jack Nicholson. I hoped that, perhaps, this being another period piece and the presence of another Hollywood legend would help out as with that other movie. It did not. Strike One! For Andrew, things get decidedly more complicated when it’s revealed that Adrian’s cousin Leopold (Jose Ferrer) is going to be spending the weekend with them and is bringing his bride-to-be, Ariel, with him. Andrew, who lusted after Ariel in the past and regrets not having acted upon it, freaks out. Ariel is played by Mia Farrow, who was terrific in “Rosemary’s Baby” but, like Steenburgen, grates on the nerves otherwise. The knowledge that her part was originally written for Diane Keaton (Woody Allen’s greatest on-screen partner) cannot be held against her, but doesn’t help matters either. We’re supposed to buy that all three men, at one time or another, want this woman badly. Never once do I get how the bland Ariel can be quite so desirable, and I can’t help thinking that Keaton might have been able to pull it off. Farrow has several Woody Allen films after this with which to correct my unfortunate impression of her but, for now, I call this “Strike Two!”

Help arrives in the form of Andrew’s doctor friend, Maxwell (Tony Roberts), who brings with him his nurse, Dulcy (Julie Hagerty). As she has done throughout her career, Hagerty uses her timid-sounding voice to her advantage. Dulcy is somewhat of an expert in the art of getting busy with the opposite sex. Maxwell knows this, hence the reason Dulcy is here. Julie Hagerty gets many of the movie’s best lines, especially in the scene where Dulcy is matter-of-factly answering questions which Adrian has about finding new ways to please Andrew. No doubt about it, Julie Hagerty is the stand-out of “A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy.”

Finally, we come to the glorified plot device of the movie… Andrew’s inventions. I’ll stop short of calling them the only reason for the 1900’s setting, because the plot of “A Midsummer Night’s Dream” is based on Ingmar Bergman’s “Smiles of a Summer Night,” which also features partner-swapping and is also set at the turn of the 20th century. The good: Andrew’s flying bicycle. Never mind the fact that this contraption always eventually comes crashing back down to Earth, or that none of its passengers ever seem to need medical attention after these violent landings. While it’s in the air, it’s simply fun to watch. The bad… or more accurately, the odd: whatever you call that spinning gizmo that is supposedly either a window into the past, future or the afterlife. Doesn’t really matter how it works, or what Andrew used in building the damn thing, neither of which we ever learn. What does matter is that it is really only here for the purposes of servicing the out-of-nowhere punchline ending. Strike Three!

Now, I recognize that not every director can piece together a winner every time. When you have a career that spans the decades as his does, disappointing titles like “Alice,” “Shadows and Fog,” and “A Midsummer Night’s Sex Comedy” are bound to slip through the cracks. When stinkers such as these do crop up, I am always consoled by the fact that they are in most cases followed up by true works of art. Here’s to hoping for a continuation of that trend.

31 Screams in October, #10: Ginger Snaps (2000)

Director: John Fawcett

Starring: Emily Perkins, Katharine Isabelle, Kris Lemche, Mimi Rogers

Puberty… it’s unavoidable. Everyone must go through it eventually; it’s just a question of when. With it comes the basic animal instincts inside each one of us, with an emphasis on the ones having to do with choosing mates and, to a lesser extent, with taking our roles in the hunter/prey dynamic (also known as bully/victim). But the cold hard fact about the ascension to adulthood is that it’s harder on women than it is on men. Us guys don’t have to count the days of a calendar until we’re faced with mood swings and bleeding from that most sensitive part of our body. I don’t envy my female counterparts at all in that department, though I sympathize with anyone whose body works against them every now and then.

Brigitte (Emily Perkins) and her older sister, Ginger (Katharine Isabelle) are death-obsessed high school students in an unnamed Canadian town. Ginger is highly protective of her sister, who is only a year younger than she. That means that anyone, be they boy or girl, is likely to have problems should they injure, threaten or otherwise annoy Brigitte. The two are outsiders, often finding themselves criticizing the popular social cliques almost as much as they in turn are ridiculed by those same rich kids. Because this movie was released just as I, myself, was closing out my own four-year high school term, many of the fashions, the slang terminology, and the fact that you still had to use a Polaroid camera if you wanted to take an instantly-developed photograph are all familiar in a time-warp sort of way.

One night, the thing responsible for the dismemberment of several neighborhood dogs attacks Ginger while she and her sister are out hoping to make the queen bitch of their school think her beloved pet is dead (which, they find out, it already is). In a panic, Brigitte leads her wounded sister back home, with the animal in chase. The girls are saved when the beast has a chance encounter with the front bumper of the van belonging to the town’s resident young drug dealer, Sam (Kris Lemche). Seeing the blood all over his windshield, Sam is understandably freaked out, although careful examination of the animal’s remains reveals a curious oddity: a human circumcised penis.

Brigitte has her own problems, first wondering if her sister is going to survive the next few minutes, and then in shock when Ginger’s wounds start healing at an accelerated rate. She’s even more creeped out later on when those wounds start sprouting hairs. Ginger’s not happy about it either, as a hairy body is not socially acceptable for women. The tail growing from her backside would likely raise a lot of questions, as well. They’re a bit stuck, though, because they know there’s only so much information they can give out to anyone before they’ll start to sound crazy. When they half-heartedly explain the symptoms to the school nurse, Ginger’s situation is mistaken for the onset of her period. The only real help they get from anyone is from Sam, who has a theory regarding lycanthropes, a.k.a. werewolves. While he and Brigette are trying to find a cure, Brigette is also struggling to keep her sister from giving into the urge to kill, and she’s slowly losing that battle.

“Ginger Snaps” is by no means the first horror movie to tie the menstruation cycle to the female lead obtaining some sort of supernatural ability, but it may be the first one to do it with the werewolf subgenre, and in such a direct and specific manner. Ginger has at least two ways in which she can spread her lycanthropy to others, by the traditional method of causing wounds but not killing the victim (as was done to her), or by having unprotected sex with them, thereby likening the parasitic virus to a sexually-transmitted disease.

A few traditions associated with these stories are absent from this film. The full moon doesn’t have to be present in order for a werewolf to change. The conventional method of killing a werewolf, silver, is also proven to be unnecessary. Werewolves here are not special. They die just as easily as any other mammal does. None of this bothers me at all, and that’s because I’m admittedly not the biggest fan of werewolf movies. I don’t care for “The Howling” or “An American Werewolf in London,” and even the original “Wolf Man” doesn’t move me all that much. Generally, a movie has to include vampires as the werewolves’ adversaries (“Underworld,” for example) for me to develop an interest. With “Ginger Snaps,” it’s the fresh approach to the old conventions and my emotional connection to late 90’s/early 00’s high school combined with the realistic sisterly bond provided by actresses Katharine Isabelle and Emily Perkins that make this one so enjoyable.

Martyrs (2008)

Director: Pascal Laugier

Starring: Morjana Alaoui, Mylène Jampanoï, Catherine Bégin

Horror, by definition, is supposed to shake you to your very core. For some time now, the American horror genre has grown stale. It has become safe, like an expertly run amusement park ride. There’s too much “fun” and not enough “scare.” As a result, many horror fans have looked elsewhere for something with a little more edge but also much deeper, more thoughtful messages to get across than simply “Look at all the fake blood and naked women!” One of these foreign sources is France, which in the last decade has produced such gems as 2003’s “Haute tension,” 2007’s “À L’Intérieur,” and 2008’s “Frontière(s).” Each of these films reaches back to the days of 1970’s horror, a time when the genre as a whole was without compromise, relentlessly cruel and darker than the blackest abyss. The very best of them would often drag the audience with them down that deep, seemingly never-ending hole. “Martyrs” (which stands independent from the other recent French horror films mentioned above) may be the best example of this in many years.

The movie starts, appropriately enough, in 1971. A young girl named Lucie has managed to escape from a slaughterhouse where she has been bound and beaten for an unspecified amount of time, though there are no signs that she had at any point been sexually abused. This experience, understandably, leaves Lucie shaken enough that she is placed in a mental hospital, where she speaks to no one except a friend she acquires named Anna, herself a victim of abuse. Fifteen years later, Lucie (Mylène Jampanoï) tracks down the family she thinks is responsible and kills them with a shotgun. She calls Anna (Morjana Alaoui) over to the house for help, and there is some question as to whether or not Lucie found the right house. Anna is horrified, but loves her friend so much that she is willing to help clean up the murder scene. At the same time, there seems to be a demonic girl appearing at random and slashing away at Lucie’s skin, which had happened to her before when she was in the mental hospital.

To delve any further into the plot than I already have would be a disservice to anyone who hasn’t already seen this movie. I will say this, though: Just when you think you’ve got things figured out, “Martyrs” cleverly changes gears twice. The last of the three acts is the most brutal, but also the most brilliant. It is also the reason why “Martyrs” is the only movie that has ever made me lose sleep the night after I first watched it. This is the section of the movie that packs the biggest emotional wallop.

There is disturbing imagery aplenty to be found here. But this does not qualify it for the nonsensical title of “torture porn.” This is not like “Saw” or “Hostel,” both of which feature graphic violence which seems to have been filmed in such a way as to highlight the violence, to make the audience call for more. In “Martyrs,” the violence is never championed, is in many ways de-sexualized rather than sexualized, and exists to make you feel everything the main characters are feeling.

I look forward to future projects from the mind of Pascal Laugier. 2012’s “The Tall Man” (starring Jessica Biel) is another one that, like “Martyrs,” critiques the current state of the horror genre by messing with the audience’s expectations based on their knowledge of “the formula.” Moroccan-born actress Morjana Alaoui is to be commended also. Her performance as Anna presents a character possessing both tremendous will and incredible selflessness. Then there is the soundtrack. It is my belief that, the more beautiful score a horror movie has, the more horrific the story will be. The score IS quite lovely. The track “Revelations” is eerily reminiscent of the main theme to “28 Days Later.” You know you’re in trouble when the band that records the soundtrack goes by the name of Seppuku Paradigm!

From the time of its release in 2008, “Martyrs” has been a very polarizing film. If you do make the decision to watch “Martyrs,” you will either marvel at the filmmakers’ imagination, or you will loathe your experience and think the creative team is quite mad. But you cannot “love” this movie. There is nothing remotely fun about it. You experience a movie like “Martyrs.” You survive it.