[.REC] 2 (2009)

It's been over a year since my review of [REC], and I have to admit that I was completely stoked when I heard that the sequel premiered at last year’s Venice International Film Festival.

Let's face it. Hollywood has had quite the draught when it comes to good horror movies, and I have steadily come to rely on Europe and Asia for my daily requirement of monsters and evil.

I hoped that Balagueró and Plaza would come through with another winner and for the most part, they did. However I'd be lying if I told you that things were as fun this time around as they were in 2007

The action in [REC]2 picks up immediately after the first film. Balagueró and Plaza chose to keep the "camera is the window for the audience" gimmick from the first movie, but have implemented it a bit more cleverly this time around.

Instead of one camera vantage point, the audience sees everything from the tactical cameras mounted onto the helmets of a Grupo Especial de Operaciones task force sent in to accompany a Ministry of Health official investigating the macabre events concerning a mysterious outbreak of an unknown virus in the apartment complex in Barcelona.

In true Shaw Brothers fashion, Balagueró and Plaza spill the plotline fairly early so that the bleeding and dying portion of your feature film can begin in earnest. The task force quickly discovers that the "official" is actually a high ranking official working for the Vatican and that the "infected" are not infected.

They are the playthings of a demonic force.

As if this weren't bad enough, the father of the iconic little girl zombie from the first movie shows up and manages to sneak into the building with the help of three of the most annoying teenagers in all of moviedom.

Couple that with the most unlikely cameo you could ever think of (which sadly telegraphs the ending of the movie) and you have a pretty entertaining way to burn off about ninety minutes.

While I enjoyed the plot progression of this movie and honestly believe that it is one of the stronger horror sequels ever made, I have to admit that I was a little disappointed.

The confirmation that the force at work is indeed a demon sorta kills the novelty of the first film. I love the "bait and switch" concept of Night of the Living Dead vs. The Exorcist that [REC] introduced. It really does buck the trend of the umpteen zombie virus movies that horror vets have watched since the seventies, and it was a concept that really flew over the heads of the people that made Quarantine, the film that we Americans got instead of [REC].

Quarantine lost the chance to differentiate itself from Zack Snyder's Dead retreads or the 28 Days Later films when it abandoned the supernatural angle and it became just another zombie virus movie trying to do things that other zombie virus movies did much better.

The rubber stamping of the diabolical is somewhat offputting, but you have to believe that Balagueró and Plaza had to pull the trigger on this sooner or later. If they didn't, they'd run the risk of their vision blending into the background of a zombie horror film niche whose entries are as numerous as the legions of undead we see on the screen.

The fairly short runtime worked to the advantage of [REC] but it doesn't really do as much justice for the sequel. The ideas for the last few segments of the film in which we find out that a shadowy gateway to the netherworld is forming in the attic of the building are dumped right in your lap without a lot of explanation and the previous cameo I mentioned pretty much tells you in advance what is going to happen.

I think that perhaps another fifteen minutes of runtime would've made all the difference in the world and while I still appreciate Balagueró and Plaza's determination to do more with less, the closing moments of [REC]2 probably would've been even more memorable if there had been more money in the budget for a decent visual effects guy.

Overall, I like this movie quite a bit but if things continue to progress on their current course and the final[REC] film follows through with its threat spill out of its current set piece in a tidal wave of blood and nightmares, then it is going to need a slightly larger runtime and a much larger budget in order to conclude the series in a satisfying manner.

Pontypool (2009)

Canada is not a country known for its filmmakers, and so it’s with a small amount of pride that I declare two of my favourite working directors to be Canadian. The first, David Cronenberg, is internationally renowned, so he hardly needs any extra word of mouth. The second, Bruce McDonald, is certainly less well-known. Cronenberg wears his influences on his sleeve; the effect of Marshall McLuhan and Philip K. Dick is relatively clear, especially on his earlier work, and the fact that he’s translated Burroughs to the screen gives some indication of his interests. However--and though taking a different tact--McDonald seems to have similar interests, and in his last few films has similarly tried to get across the idea that “the medium is the message.” This is evident in his use of the documentary form in Hard Core Logo and his deconstruction of the image (and linear time) in The Tracey Fragments. Now, in Pontypool, McDonald turns his focus to language itself. And he does so with zombies. Bravo.


OK, so perhaps that might give the indication that McDonald is an overly cerebral director. He isn’t (at least, not in any pejorative sense). HCL, The Tracey Fragments, and Pontypool are all very accessible films--perhaps more accessible than all but the latest of Cronenberg’s films--and one of the major detracting factors surrounding Pontypool is the fact that every reviewer feels the need to talk about how “smart” it is. Rather, the film is “clever”; you don’t actually learn anything about language, and names like Barthes are bandied about without any weight put behind them. The premise is far more interesting than most zombie films, though, and so sets the film apart.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Pontypool is the story of morning DJ Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie), a grizzled veteran DJ who apparently lost his job in the big city for being too controversial (I think) and so has been banished to the sticks (in this case, the small, unincorporated Ontario village of Pontypool). Stuck with Mazzy in the bunker-like basement of the abandoned church--Pontypool’s makeshift radio station--are his producer, Sydney Briar (Lisa Houle) and their technician, Laurel Ann (Georgina Reilly), recently returned from Afghanistan. The film never leaves these three characters, and cameras remain--almost exclusively--within the radio station for the duration of the film.


On this particular cold morning, the denizens of Pontypool have begun, without warning, to turn upon each other. Moving with typically zombie-ish, shambling steps, and (typically) hungering for human flesh, the people of Pontypool have seemingly entered the realm of the undead. Not so, instructs McDonald. These are not zombies. These are “conversationalists.” We, the viewers, soon learn that everyone has been infected by a sort of virus, not unlike the unfortunate people in the 28 Days Later films. This virus is not airborne, however, nor is it an infection of the blood; no, in Pontypool, language itself has become infected.

The victim of the language-virus suffers a few short symptoms before going full-blown zombie. Primarily, the victim begins to stumble on, and repeat, a word, a specific word. Repeating it over and over again, the victim finally becomes enraged, and lashes out. Since the virus passes through language, Mazzy (and his radio show) are quite probably the Typhoid Marys of the village.


Pontypool is low-budget filmmaking the best sense of the word; that is to say, the film in no way looks cheap, and the acting (save for one actor--you’ll know who when you see it) is all pretty great, especially McHattie, who’s always on the ball. No, Pontypool is low-budget in that it has only a handful of a cast and only one real location. Rather than being strapped by these limitations, McDonald is able to ramp up the claustrophobia. Indeed, about half of the films 90-minute running time has passed before we even see one of the zombies. McDonald keeps our interest by giving us repeated radio-updates from people outside--in particular the weather man, Ken Loney, who is the first on the scene--and by letting us share in the unease of the radio station employees, rather than dazzling us with special effects or jump-type scares. In this way the viewer feels a building sense of dread--one that, sadly, begins to ebb as soon as the outside world finally does come into the radio station.

Pontypool is a great little film, and while it has its share of weaknesses, it stands as one of the better horror films of recent years, and a nice change from the recent zombie-fair we’ve been fed. It’s definitely worth a watch, for fans of the genre, and it’s enough to keep me interested in McDonald’s two upcoming sequels.

Hot Wax Zombies on Wheels (1999)

PLOT:

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A body waxing business opens in a seaside California town, run by the evil, cape-wearing Yvonne (Gwen Somers). Apparently, a side effect of the waxing is becoming a mindless, sex-crazed zombie, which starts cutting into the business of lingerie store owner Sharon (Jill Miller) and barbers Mick (Jon Briddell) and Sven (Trevor Lovell). After Mick visits the waxing salon, it's up to Sharon and Sven to travel to Beverly Hills and stop Yvonne's maniacal plot to take over the world (or at least California).

PLOT:

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Hot Wax Zombies On Wheels is a pitiful entry into the already bloated horror/comedy field, and will elicit groans from the audience for both the juvenile humour on display (often in the form of wacky sound effects) as well as the technical ineptness that fills every frame. It's the film version of a wacky morning radio show, and the result is simply annoying when it's not flat out boring.

It's difficult to not be hard on a film which obviously had the resources, meager though they appear, to be better than it is. While the acting is amateurish, the production values are fine in a straight-to-video soft-core porn kind of way. It's the lame script and often incomprehensible plot which really drag things down, as well as a director who seems to honestly think fart noises and Bennie Hill-style sped up film are the height of comedy.

On the commentary, Jill Miller mentions a scene where her character is simply having a conversation but appears to be staring into space. She's right to question it, as the choice is both bizarre and distracting and, despite some awkward explanation from director Michael Roush, seems indicitive of the problems with the film as a whole. The best low budget films turn their obvious liabilities into strengths, while this one seems to desperately be trying to convince the audience that obvious errors or weaknesses are on purpose.

It also makes the usual error of spending it's (scant 80 minute) running time winking at the audience in recognition of its badness. From the lurid, drive-in title to the hammy acting from the leads, it's obvious that nobody is meant to take this material seriously, but it serves only to push away those who might be lured in by the title. There are no zombies here, only people wandering around mumbling about getting rid of "pesky body hair". Gore is completely non-existent, and the only real exploitative element is the copious amounts of nudity. However, even that is ineptly included as the director shot most of the scenes after the fact, tacking them in randomly throughout.

Miller gives a competent performance as the lead, and while the execution of the plot is pitiful, there's no doubt that it's at least original. In fact, in more capable hands a similar plot might have been massaged into a decent satirical horror film. The few gags that do work in this film work in spite of the direction, often because of the efforts of an obviously game cast.

The film is presented by Pathfinder Home Entertainment in a perfectly watchable full-screen transfer. Most of the film was shot in a single house, and though the settings are generally bland they look fine on the DVD.

The DVD features a Commentary with director Michael Roush, actress Jill Miller, actress Catherine Brewton, and actor and producer Bill Blum. It's good natured, featuring some fun stories from the cast, but everyone involved seems to be under the impression that the film is better than it actually is. Miller states at one point that she interprets the film as a feminist statement, and I may have missed the last twenty minutes from the constant eye-rolling caused by this remark.

Also included are cast and crew bios, as well as a short photo gallery.

If you're a fan of the genre, you've seen many filmmakers do much better with much less available to them. Hot Wax Zombies On Wheels is not fun, not scary, not entertaining, not gory, and not worth the time of anyone who might think of picking it up based on the title.

[.REC] (2007)

When it comes to horror films, I've always been a big fan of the "found footage" subgenre. Whether it be Cannibal Holocaust or Cloverfield, there is something inherently sinister about a piece of work that is fundamentally fictional, yet by viewing events in the actual first person instead of the omnipotent first person found in conventional cinema, our wilful suspension of disbelief is immediately challenged.

If we're eyewitnesses, then the terrible events unfolding right before our eyes must be true, correct?

The "found footage" film gives us a snapshot in time. It casts aside conventional cinematic mechanics such as character development because we're dropped in the middle of real people living real life. Do we honestly need life stories, detailed expositions, or flowery soliloquies to help us find spritual linkages with our fellow man? Isn't the merest measure of human compassion enough?

The individuals around us are not cardboard cutouts nor are they metaphors.

They are wives, husbands, mothers, fathers, daughters, sons, friends, family.. everyone..

And then all at once, something indescribably brutal happens to them..

And maybe, just maybe..

We are next..

In [.REC], we're transported to a fire station located somewhere in Barcelona, Spain. In no time flat, we meet perky and pixie cute telejournalist, Ángela Vidal (Manuela Velasco), and her trusty cameraman, Pablo (co-director, Paco Plaza). We never get to see Pablo's face but his role is arguably the most important one in the film as Pablo serves as the eyes and ears of the audience.

Ángela is the anchorperson for a serio-documentary series entitled "While You Slept": a television program focusing on the various social services that keep things running while we're all in bed.

Immediately we can tell that poor Ángela is frustrated not only with this particular assignment, but perhaps with her job in general. Being the hostess for a humdrum public affairs program that no one is awake to watch doesn't exactly put you on the fast track to fame and fortune. Professional to a fault, Ángela does her best to spice her report up but nothing seems to work. There are limits to the amount of excitement you can add to a story if absolutely nothing is going on.

As fate would have it, the fire station receives a call and the team Ángela is assigned to follow heads off to respond to a medical emergency at a small apartment building.

Apparently the tenants there are concerned about an elderly woman that suddenly erupted into a fit of screaming and then fell ominously silent. As the investigation progresses, the tension mounts towards a fever pitch and once the dying starts, the safety catch and all bets are officially off.

There is something both courageous and wicked in the way that Jaume Balagueró and Paco Plaza generate scares.

Unlike the continuous dropping of the f-bomb and hysterical shrieking that passed for plot progression during the lengthy downtime segments of The Blair Witch Project, [.REC] gives up just enough information to answer some of the questions in your head and generate other questions.

However, before you have time to process this information you're once again on the edge of your seat at the mercy of the durability of Pablo's camera.

If Pablo can't see, then neither can you.

Terrible still is the overwhelming, "George Romero zombie virus"-inspired notion that no one is safe. Everyone (and I do mean everyone) is either potential victim or a potential monster.

At a shade over ninety minutes, the narrative and the action in [.REC] are kept so tight that they threaten to lash out; not totally unlike the creatures lurking in the shadows.

However, the pacing of [.REC] is also somewhat problematic. Balagueró and Plaza blatantly shotgun a couple of plot holes and a highly puzzling, genre-busting story development right by you and they know that because of the nature of the "found footage" subgenre, you're forced to accept whatever you're offered as undeniable fact.

After all, the camera doesn't lie, does it?

[.REC] is without a doubt the most frightening film I've seen since The Descent and like The Descent, I can easily overlook a minor flaw or two in celebration of what this movie represents. Someone somewhere still loves the horror genre enough to continue to crank out quality fright fests, and I will eternally be a happy camper as long as the scares keep on coming.

It shouldn't surprise anyone that Hollywood has already gotten their hooks into this. On October the tenth, Screen Gems will release the Jennifer Carpenter vehicle, Quarantine, which I've gathered is a near shot-for-shot remake of [.REC].

One suspects that the overproduced Tinseltown translation probably won't generate the gut-level reactions that [.REC] does, but secretly I hope that Quarantine is successful if only to kill the perpetuation of the sin that is the complete lack of a DVD or theatrical release of [.REC] here in North America.

[.REC] deserves a bigger audience and wider acclaim. If Quarantine is a necessary step to achieve that goal, then so be it.