The Return of Capsule Reviews (Positive Edition)

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The Damned United (d. Tom Hooper) – Hooper’s new film The King’s Speech is currently angling its way towards some Oscars, or so people keep telling me, but his previous film, The Damned United, about the disastrous 44 days Brian Clough (Michael Sheen) spent as the manager of his one-time rival soccer team Leeds United, is sort of an Oscar-bait film in miniature. I don’t mean that as a knock, either, because The Damned United – based on a novel by David Peace, whose work also inspired the Red Riding Trilogy -- is hugely entertaining and satisfying. Sheen’s performance is one for the ages, all Yorkshire ego, brains and anger. In some interesting ways, this film is a sort of English version of The Social Network: smart fellow with a hidden store of arrogance gets snubbed and uses that experience to fuel not only his future success but also his disasters. Though I see I’ve already pretty much said this, Sheen’s work cannot be praised too highly, because while the film is a good one, and he’s surrounded by some prime supporting actors (Timothy Spall, Jim Broadbent, Stephen Graham, and so forth), it’s Sheen’s hysterical and fascinating Brian Clough that elevates this film to the realm of the Endlessly Rewatchable. Michael Sheen, über fucking alles!
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The Tingler (d. William Castle) – Please note the above image. Taken from Castle’s 1959 film The Tingler, it is one of the most striking images from horror movies from that era. The Tingler is probably nobody’s idea of the best of the genre, but almost any time it’s mentioned, the context is Castle’s ridiculous and ingenious gimmick of rigging the seats in the theaters that showed the film with little thingamajigs that would shock the viewer any time the titular creature made some sort of feeble gesture towards violence. But the film – about a scientist (Vincent Price) trying to isolate the tingle one feels in one’s spine when one is scared, ultimately discovering that it’s caused by a nasty-looking electric worm or whatever – is actually a good deal better than the gimmick (which, again, was awesome) would imply. Price gives a fine performance, seeming worldly and kind and natural throughout, but even better, or at least very different, is Philip Coolidge, who plays a movie theater manager whose deaf-mute wife you can see above. His entrance into the film, and ultimate motives, take on different meanings as you go along, but Coolidge never plays the guy as anything other than an aw-shucks, good neighbor sort. It’s kind of weird, actually. As is pretty much the whole film, and right smack in the middle is that bloody bathtub sequence, which is powerful, disturbing stuff created by Castle as a kind of sub-gimmick, a warm up to the literal shocks he had in store. You don’t see showmen like that anymore.
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Rampage (d. William Friedkin) – A film I’d very much like to see on DVD is this one, Friedkin’s low-budget 1987 adaptation of William P. Wood’s thriller about a Richard Chase-like serial killer (a quite unnerving Alex McArthur), whose murders are both horrifying and repulsive, and who is finally brought down by the police and put on trial. The film’s main character is the prosecutor, played by Michael Biehn, who makes the counter-intuitive journey (for Hollywood, anyway) from being anti-death penalty to pro. It’s been quite a while since I’ve seen Rampage, and it wouldn’t shock me to learn that Friedkin stacks the deck in favor of Biehn’s ultimate conversion, and in any case my own views on the subject are nowhere near as confident as they were when I first saw the film. However, there’s something very powerful about the direct, cheap-paperback way in which Friedkin approaches the material, not to mention bracing about an American film not walking the expected path on a controversial topic. Not that any of that matters so much, really, because the film also features, apart from the good work done by McArthur and Biehn, Royce D. Applegate as a man whose entire family, save his son, were slaughtered by the killer, and Friedkin actually follows this man and his boy in the aftermath as they try to get away from it, leave everything, including the horror and anger. This section of the film doesn’t take up a hell of a lot of screen time, but almost no other film would include it at all. Add to that a typically excellent, yet forgotten, score by Ennio Morricone, and yeah, like I said, I really wish this was on DVD.

The Collection Project: The Infinite

.It would be inaccurate to claim that there's much in the way of aesthetic or philosophical overlap with Mean Streets (d. Martin Scorsese) and The Exorcist (d. William Friedkin) beyond the fact that the driving creative force behind each was raised to be pretty damn Catholic. The force behind Mean Streets is obviously Scorsese, and this film, while the most explicitly religious of his works outside of The Last Temptation of Christ, finds him struggling with his church, to the point where his alter ego, Charlie Capa (Harvey Keitel) kicks things off by saying that prayers and gospels are "just words", and that they don't mean anything to him. Meanwhile, in Friedkin's film, the force is not Friedkin -- though the man does a brilliant job -- but rather William Peter Blatty, author of the source novel and the screenplay. Blatty's the force here because it's his faith up there on screen, and he believes in the truth of Catholicism, and of the power of the words that Charlie can no longer use, enough to cover the cast and crew of both films. Where Blatty and Scorsese/Charlie might agree most strongly is in the idea expressed by Charlie at the very beginning of Mean Streets: "You don't make up for your sins in church. You do it in the streets, you do it at home." The concept of making up for your sins at home is one that, in The Exorcist, Blatty positively runs with.

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Both films came out in 1973, which is a coincidence not worth making a hell of a lot from, but this was the post-"Is God Dead?" era (which we're still in, as far as I can tell). That 1966 Time Magazine article found its definitive film just two years later, when Roman Polanski made Rosemary's Baby (from Ira Levin's 1967 novel, to which Polanski was slavishly faithful, so more credit to Levin), which is, of course, like The Exorcist, a horror film. Prior to writing The Exorcist, Blatty was primarily known as a comic novelist (John Goldfarb, Please Come Home!, Which Way to Mecca, Jack?) and screenwriter (A Shot in the Dark). The fact that this life-long practicing Catholic found the best expression not only of his sincere faith, but of his belief in mankind's essential decency, in a particularly shocking and transgressive horror story is, I'm going to say, interesting.

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But that's what The Exorcist is, however many people wish to psychoanalyze Blatty and Friedkin by claiming the film is really about man's (small "m") fear of female puberty and sexuality. By which I don't mean that Regan McNeil's (Linda Blair) age and gender were chosen by throwing darts at a board, but this reading of the film seems to not only want to treat the film's ending as meaningless or abitrary, but to pretend that Father Damien Karras (Jason Miller) and Father Merrin (Max von Sydow) have no function in the story at all. The still-shocking obscenities in The Exorcist are meant to show the corruption not only of Regan's innocence, but the natural growth that her puberty is bringing forth, as well. Blatty and Friedkin don't see her pending womanhood as terrifying -- they view the unnatural exploitation of it by the demon as terrifying.

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And, in any case, those obscenities are not, finally, the point. The point -- if you want to boil the film down this small -- is the religious words and rituals that Charlie Capa in Mean Streets no longer finds meaningful. Because in The Exorcist they sure as shit have meaning, and it's Father Karras's realization of this, and the drive to perform the ultimate good that results in this realization, that is the point. (It's worth noting, by the way, that it was a fear of Blatty's intentions being misread that led him to construct the new edit of The Exorcist that hit theaters about ten years ago, a decision which, while I'm sympathetic to Blatty's motives, has to count as one of the worst director's cuts (well, producer and writer's cut, in this case) of a great film I've ever encountered.)

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Sacrifice at the level practiced by Karras at the end of The Exorcist is not something that Charlie Capa has in him. He doesn't even have it within him to go as far as the details of his story might require of him (as a Catholic, at least), which is a good deal less than is asked of Karras. As Christ figures go, Charlie is an interesting one. He doesn't even manage to die, for one thing, but he also is one of the few who actually, almost, sort of literally fancies himself as a Christ figure, or at least a Francis of Assisi figure. His problem, or one of them, is that the Church holds no power for him anymore. He can say the words, he can hear them, he can understand what they mean, and he can even wish they held the power for him they once did, but he knows how little impact they have in day-to-day life. If he doesn't have the backbone to be Karras, he also doesn't have a demon like Pazuzu up in his face, removing all doubt and ambiguity.

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Where Karras had a possessed girl named Regan to protect, Charlie has Johnny Boy (Robert De Niro) and Teresa (Amy Robinson). Johnny and Teresa are cousins; Johnny is Charlie's best friend, and Teresa is Charlie's lover. Charlie and Johnny are both low-level gangsters, and Johnny owes three thousand dollars to...oh, let's just go ahead and call them money lenders. Johnny never pays up, and his arrogant, reckless attitude about his situation taints Charlie by association, but Charlie still believes it's his role -- specifically as a Catholic -- to protect him. It's also his duty to protect Teresa, who has not only also been tainted by her connection to Johnny, but is sneered at throughout the neighborhood because she's epileptic. Though she hardly fits the literal definition, Teresa would represent the "lame" of the Bible that Jesus cared for. As for Johnny, I don't know off-hand what term the authors of the Bible used in place of "stupid asshole", but I'm sure there's something in there for him, too.

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The problem is, for all his big talk ("I'm doing my best, Lord"), Charlie isn't actually willing to do that much for these people. He's cagey about his relationship with Teresa, and doesn't defend her when his uncle runs her down. And speaking of which, Johnny frequently points out to Charlie that if he'd just speak to that same uncle, who has the power to quash Johnny's debt, all this would be over. But because Charlie is working to open his own restaurant with his uncle's help, and because his uncle despises Johnny, Charlie won't do it.

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Charlie does small things. He gives Johnny a few bucks to put towards his debt, or -- for the common good this time -- apologizes to a cleaning woman Teresa has just been rude to. Beyond that, though, he has very little to offer. Sacrifice is beyond him. True suffering for the betterment of anybody is something he cannot bring upon himself. How many of us can? But it's still interesting to see Charlie testing his ability to deal with Hellfire -- which he does view as a potential fate -- by sticking his fingers over open flames, only to pull them back immediately, and then watch Father Karras hurl himself through a window, his shattered body tumbling to a rest on M Street. Charlie believes, or at least hopes, he can be a better person, one who walks in Christ's footsteps, but he never really tries very hard. Since the words in church lost their power, it became easier for him to ignore the little evils around him, like Michael (Richard Romanus), the friend to whom Johnny owes his money, or even the little evils of a guy like Johnny himself. Karras had a big evil to face and snap him around, but Charlie could have gotten there, too, in his own way, if he'd only looked a little closer, and tried a little harder.

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