The Wolf Man (1941) | Directed by George Waggner

3/5
George Waggner’s The Wolf Man used to be my favorite of all of Universal monster movies, but in revisiting this nearly 20 years later, I’m struck by how clunky and disjointed the narrative is. What begins and ends as a tragic story of fathers and sons has an awkward and poorly executed romance subplot shoehorned in (complete with our hero spying on his romantic interest through her bedroom window with a telescope, harassing her at work, and continuing to pursue her after she rebuffs her advances). And the fact that our protagonist’s romantic interest seems uninterested in him until the very end of the film – when she decides she’s willing to run away with him – leaves that part of the narrative feeling flat and lifeless – an invention of the writers rather than a choice that a living, breathing human would make. This shift away from the more intriguing father/son dynamic to a romantic plot that has no real shape or structure is a missed opportunity and dilutes any emotional impact or payoff the film could have achieved. Still, the practical effects are compelling, the woodland sets atmospheric and beautifully shot, and the performance by Claude Rains as the father is magnificent – in fact, it’s the reason I remember the film so fondly all these years later.

Criterion Channel Surfing, Episode 31: The Return of Art-House Horror on Other Streaming Services

Josh is joined once again by Jon Laubinger of the Film Baby Film podcast for a followup to their conversation about “The Return of Art House Horror” – this time looking at horror films on other streaming services. Plus, David Blakeslee of the Criterion Reflections podcast stops by for a conversation about the horror films of 1971.

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Criterion Channel Surfing, Episode 30: The Return of Art-House Horror

Josh is joined once again by Jon Laubinger of the Film Baby Film podcast for “The Return of Art House Horror” – a conversation about horror films that can only be found on the Criterion Channel. Plus, Elana Levin, host of Graphic Policy Radio and frequent contributor to Wrong Reel, stops by to uncover some hidden gems in the recent ’70s horror bundle.

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Entre Nous (1983) | Directed by Diane Kurys

4/5

Diane Kurys’s Entre Nous is a tender, beautifully constructed, and emotionally honest film about the deep friendship between two women in the years following World War II. The plight of women at that time is made evident through little moments from the very beginning (the death of a first husband at a young age, marriage as the only means of escaping a dire situation) and the growing dissatisfaction with the compromises forced by marriage in a patriarchal society is portrayed with sympathy and understanding. The three leading performances are exquisite, and it’s especially impressive to see the ways in which Kurys refuses to paint any of her characters as blameless heroes or easy villains. And the ways Kurys uses simple editing tricks to elide time and link us from one moment to the next feel effortless – almost as if we’re privy to the strands of someone’s memory. It’s a lovely film, and one that has me eager to see more of Kurys’s work.

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Borat Subsequent Moviefilm (2020) | Directed by Jason Woliner

4/5

Jason Woliner’s Borat Subsequent Moviefilm takes the techniques that Sasha Baron Cohen used in the first Borat film to uncover the racism and bigotry in average Americans and applies them to explore the deeply rooted misogyny and sexism across American society. In having the Borat character and his daughter, Tutar (played brilliantly by the incredible Maria Bakalova), navigate the expectations for young women in American society, the film provides cringe-worthy moments in real-life interactions with social media influencers, finishing school instructors, beauticians, and more revealing the depths of American misogyny – including a pastor at a crisis pregnancy center who is more concerned with stopping an abortion than he is in protecting a minor whom he is led to believe is the victim of sexual abuse. On the other hand, we’re also shown glimpses of genuine kindness and empathy, encouraging Tutar to push back against societal expectations. This all gives the film a more coherent focus than expected and provides some lovely moments between Cohen and Bakalova. The films is certainly not for everyone, especially considering just how uncomfortable so much about the film is for the comedy to the structure to the filming techniques. However, it is helpful to have reminders that the sexism and bigotry we have seen come to the surface in Trump’s America have long been baked into our country’s fabric and these sentiments have long been harbored by many of our fellow citizens. And every once in a while, we need a Borat to draw them out.

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Criss Cross (1949) | Directed by Robert Siodmak

4.5/5
Robert Siodmak’s Criss Cross is a gripping noir – dark, tragic, and fatalistic. Burt Lancaster’s performance is exquisite – like so much of his work during this period – and it’s incredibly satisfying to see his character drawn deeper and deeper into the plot’s darkest recesses due to his own stubbornness, pride, and misguided impulses toward heroism. It’s nice to see the all-too-often sexist trope of the femme fatale reframed by providing reasons throughout for that character’s apparent selfishness. The twists and turns of the plot are delicious, and the heist at the center of the film is absolutely stunning. Siodmak definitely knows how to shoot noir – the rich black-and-white photography, the gorgeous compositions, brilliant use of light and shadow – all of it works together to create such a rich and potent atmosphere that hangs over the film from the first frame to the last. I could have done without the extended flashback and voiceover narration, but that’s a minor complaint in such a fantastic film.

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Criterion Channel Surfing, Episode 29: October 2020 New and Expiring Titles

Josh is joined by Jon Laubinger of the Film Baby Film podcast to discuss the Criterion Channel’s new and expiring titles for the month of October. Plus, Michael Hutchins stops by to check in on the state of Criterion’s digital library.

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Hocus Pocus (1993) | Directed by Kenny Ortega

1.5/5
Kenny Ortega’s Hocus Pocus is a tonally inconsistent, narrative mess that relies on childhood nostalgia in order to gloss over its more problematic elements and technical deficiencies. There are vestiges of the darker and more serious, teenage version of this film before it went through countless revisions and became the goofy comedy it is now – leading to strangely incongruent tonal shifts that careen from slapstick comedy in one moment to the gruesome and macabre in the next, all punctuated by sexual comedy that is wildly out-of-place in a children’s film. It also doesn’t help that Ortega shoots the entire film with a flat, ’90s-television banality that only amplifies the paint-by-numbers story beats and the insufferable blandness of our child “hero.” But even worse, the film traffics in horribly sexist tropes, and the “save yourself” ethos embraced by the children toward the end feels very emblematic of the worst aspects of American individualism. I will say that Sarah Jessica Parker is outstanding – it’s too bad the rest of the film isn’t up to snuff.

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The Mummy (1932) | Directed by Karl Freund

4/5
Karl Freund’s The Mummy is a haunting, atmospheric classic of horror that I’ve always undervalued when thinking about the original Universal monster movies. But upon rewatch, I love the layers Freund and his writers work in for us to unpack in the film’s exploration of colonization, gender, and identity. The film sets up archetypal and traditional masculine heroes to fight the titular monster, but they’re all completely ineffectual and ill-equipped to face-off against their supernatural foe – the traditional Dudley Do-Right is little better than a puppy dog, and the professor’s knowledge may help them know what they’re facing, but it does nothing to protect them. The film’s true hero is a biracial woman who exists as both colonized and colonizer. And it’s only through the embrace of her dual identity, through her appeal to an ancient goddess, that the monster is defeated. Freund takes limited effects and creates an eerie, haunting atmosphere through his effective use of cross-cutting, camera movement, and skilled performers. There are so many intriguing layers to unpack here – even as the film is more problematic in the way it handles issues of race and ethnicity. It’s always a pleasure to discover that a film you saw years ago is even better than you remembered, and The Mummy is one that I will undoubtedly return to Halloween after Halloween.

Mother (1996) | Directed by Albert Brooks

4.5/5
Albert Brooks’s Mother begins by making you think you’re watching the story of a middle-aged writer learning to cope with his overbearing mother, but by the time of the movie ends, Brooks has so quietly and subtly shifted our perspective that we barely realize until the credits roll we’ve been meant to identify with the mother all along. It’s an incredible magic trick of narrative storytelling and a stroke of genius that subverts our expectations for these male, mid-life crisis comedies and turns so many of the genres sexist tropes on their head. As is so often the case, Brooks allows himself to play a character who thinks he’s the smartest and most self-enlightened person in the room – but by the end we see just how shallow, selfish, and deluded he really is. It’s a delightful comedy that, like so much of Brooks’s work, has much more going on than its surface would lead you to believe.