All posts by Rod Lott

A Viewing Guide to the Pandemic: Depictions of Plague and Pandemic on Film and TV

Here’s what I hate about Richard Scheib’s A Viewing Guide to the Pandemic: Depictions of Plague and Pandemic on Film and TV: I couldn’t buy it when I ran across it while honeymooning in London at summer’s start. There it sat on the shelves of the BFI Southbank theater’s store, yet I had no room left in my luggage. At least not any kind of room that wouldn’t bend the book like Beckham.

Now two months later and home in our not-so-United States, I can report the Headpress-published paperback is a pleasure to read. Chalk up another victory for delayed gratification! (And one that’s less frustrating than the pause-and-squeeze method.)

Not far removed from the COVID-19 hellhole that was 2020, one might consider the subject and think, “Too soon?” (Mind you, those people certainly are not the audience for Headpress’ wares of “unpopular culture.”) But it’s not too soon. Like Goldilocks’ preferences of porridges and pillows, it’s just right. After all, measles is currently making a comeback. Measles!

Virus-borne diseases and resulting quarantines/shutdowns aren’t fun. But A Viewing Guide to the Pandemic sure is, plumbing depths of obscurity and wealth of genre. Although you could reference it like an A-Z guide à la Leonard Maltin (“What’s Scheib say about Ebola Rex vs. Murder Hornets, honey?”), it’s not structured that way, nor by release dates.

Instead, the author weaves his way through themed chapters — some strict, some loose — rooted in reality. Think biowarfare, bird flu, the bubonic plague and assorted historical threats starting with letters other than B. Then he pivots to more fantasy-based flights, from vampire curses and zombie infections to further fictional outbreaks, e.g, The Crazies or Pontypool. In the book’s final section, he looks at COVID-era cinema, where sheltering in place forced creative thinking that didn’t always pay off onscreen.

Whether examining Steven Soderbergh’s all-star Contagion or Charles Band’s hasty Corona Zombies, it’s important to note Scheiber isn’t mocking pandemics. That’s not to say the text is humorless, although fairly subtle; on NBC’s Thirst, a bacteria-soaked telepic from 1998, he notes, “there is some rioting, but this only consists of about a dozen people scrabbling to get water bottles from the back of a truck.” 

2023’s recommended Diseased Cinema covered similar ground, albeit limited to American shores and written by three academics. Scheib admits he’s no expert in that regard, but that’s for the book’s betterment. In fact, his introduction details how terrifying COVID was for him and his companion, both at high risk due to respiratory disorders. That vulnerable decision makes A Viewing Guide to the Pandemic personal — and, therefore, relatable. Stay safe! —Rod Lott

Get it at Headpress.

Cloud (2024)

As teased on these pages, I had a first date in 2017 that proved highly memorable for all the wrong reasons. Professing a love for movies, she asked the last thing I’d liked. My answer was that afternoon’s viewing: Kiyoshi Kurosawa’s mystery-thriller Creepy.

“Wait, a movie from another country? Why would you want to watch that?” asked the shrew.

“Because it’s interesting,” I said.

Unconvinced, she continued to deride my viewing choices — plus my car, clothes, hair and more — as a second daiquiri fully revealed her charcoal briquette of a heart.

Watching Cloud, Kurosawa’s newest, I couldn’t help but wonder what she’d say about it. If I knew which bridge she taunts passing goats from, I might venture to ask. I assume her ever-emboldened response would be even more transparently racist and ignorant.

But enough about that hate-filled person. Cloud is full of people just like her: out only for themselves, consequences to others be damned. The protagonist, if by default, is Ryôsuke (Masaki Suda, 2021’s Cube remake) a low-level factory cog. He and his girlfriend (Kotone Furukawa, 12 Suicidal Teens) long for a new life outside Tokyo, but they want it like they want everything else: the easy way.

His side hustle — and it indeed is a hustle — holds the potential to realize their dream: reselling tech devices, bulk collectibles and designer knock-offs at inflated prices online. After chasing profit by any means necessary, Ryôsuke’s misdeeds catch up to him and negative feedback becomes the least of his worries. As his former mentor (Masataka Kubota, 2010’s 13 Assassins) puts it, “Winning streaks don’t last forever.”

The gifted Kurosawa shows instead of tells. He excels at luring us into a scenario with the barest of details. You may not fully gain your bearings before you’re spellbound in its darkness. Cloud is about how the concept of internet anonymity is just that: a concept, a mirage subject to evaporate in a keystroke. Across a too-protracted third act, it depicts an epic battle without honor or humanity, in which every participant lacks redeeming qualities.

Don’t let metaphors put you off Cloud, as Kurosawa still works under the traditional thriller model. That includes chases, traps and brutal acts of revenge best served cold and set to livestream.

Why would I want to watch that? Because it’s riveting cinema with much on its mind and even more blood on its shirt. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Meatballs Part II (1984)

Are you ready for the summer? Are you ready for the sunshine? If so, sorry — you’re bound to be disappointed by Meatballs Part II.

Although Ivan Reitman’s original is no great shakes, Ken Wiederhorn’s in-name-only sequel is uninspired idiocy — a half-assed, quarter-hearted attempt to lovingly spoof the summer-camp subgenre, as well as the rite of passage itself.

Run by Richard Mulligan (Scavenger Hunt), who deserved better, Camp Sasquatch houses misfits of various school grades for four weeks. The newest counselor-in-training is a bad boy (John Mengatti, Tag: The Assassination Game) only there to avoid reform school. Mulligan grooms the teen — not that way, calm down — to don the boxing gloves for the annual Champ of the Lake competition against the neighboring military-minded Camp Patton.

Meanwhile, the nerdy counselor (Archie Hahn, Amazon Women on the Moon) tries hard — really, really hard — to get the busty counselor (Misty Rowe, National Lampoon’s Class Reunion) alone for nookie. And, most memorably, an alien that looks like a gray turd is dropped off by his parents’ spaceship for camp. The younger Sasquatch boys hide the E.T. in their cabin and name him Meathead. Soon, Meathead gets stoned, which is the movie’s idea of high comedy.

The product of three writers and Eyes of a Stranger director Wiederhorn, Meatballs Part II suspiciously lacks sauce. It best serves as a time capsule, capturing the moment just before bit players Paul Reubens and John Larroquette saw their dwindling careers rescued — if not supercharged — by, respectively, Pee-wee’s Big Adventure and a four-Emmy run on TV’s Night Court. After being reduced here to a lisping, gay-panic stereotype, Larroquette has to be especially grateful.

Establishing pieces suggest the pic aimed for an Airplane!-style spoof, then prove it fell far short. Even the unmemorable theme song is lazy: “We’ve been waitin’ for the summer to hit the beach / No more apples for the teacher, gonna eat a peach.” Wow, movie, you really went all out to earn that rhyming badge. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

The House of Lost Souls (1989) 

Carla has visions. Of a science-class skeleton rolling around in a wheelchair. Of a monk violently ax-whacking the head of a Buddha statue. Doctors have “a perfectly reasonable explanation: You’re a medium!”

It’s true! Played by Stefania Orsola Garello (2004’s King Arthur), Carla’s one of a few University of Rome geology students heading home after a lengthy stint of field work. One of them looks like God placed his ears on upside down. Landslides and bad weather conspire to close the highway, forcing them to hunker down in an out-of-season hotel — The House of Lost Souls, one might say.

Also staying at the hotel? Chainsaws, bear traps, tarantulas. And activities? Decapitation is definitely on the table. (And in the laundry dryer.) Amenities? Well, a kid says, “Wow, what a meal, kid,” and that’s the best part.

Director Umberto Lenzi (Ghosthouse) builds The House of Lost Souls atop a foundation of the expected gore, but it lacks pizazz. The film was made for Italian TV as one unit of a four-part series, another being Lenzi’s The House of Witchcraft. However, for my tastes, the most fun to be had reside within the other two, The House of Clocks and The Sweet House of Horrors, both constructed by Lucio Fulci, who knew more about being a bad, bad neighbor. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

The Sound (2025)

For 63 years, a mountain known as the Forbidden Wall’s been off-limits to climbers — not that anyone in recorded history reached its peak. Oh, they’ve tried, but never completed the treacherous task. Somewhere along the way, they fell victim to an evil aural presence that drove them insane enough to unhook their gear and take the Nestea plunge.

Now, the tribal council in charge of the sacred chunk of rock has voted to allow half a dozen of the world’s greatest climbers to give it a go. This time, it’s personal — at least for chill dude-bro Sean (Marc Hills, Blood, Beach, Betrayal): His gramps was the last to attempt the climb. You’ll repeatedly hear this story — and more! — in the exposition dump that constitutes the first 25 minutes of The Sound

The expedition’s boss is our antagonist. We know this because his name is Colton. Played by Nicholas Baroudi (The Hating Game), Colton arrives like he’s Alec Baldwin in Glengarry Glen Ross, spouting such tuff-boss speech as, “I’m the boss, end of story. Don’t like it, there’s the door, I got 30 other people ready to take your spot.” (I’m paraphrasing, barely.)

We also meet the tribal chief (Wayne Charles Baker, Pathfinder), whose character is so stock, it could make soup. (Sample condescending dialogue: “The ravens told me you were out for a walk.”) The chief gives Sean a bonus task: “Seal that evil in forever.” Replies Sean, “What am I supposed to do? I’m just a rock climber.” Well, dumbo, for starters, you’re the one going up there.

As Jerzy Skolimowski did with 1978’s The Shout, sophomore writer/director Brendan Devane (The Canyonlands) faces a peculiar creative dilemma: When your story hinges on a sound that kills, how do you represent that for your audience? Or do you at all, leaving it to their imagination? 

Not crafting a picture of nuances, of course Devane gives sound to, well, the sound. It’s a hodgepodge of voices and feedback and assorted auditory racket — nothing special or all that menacing. But sound design is the least of the film’s troubles. I mean, what do you think will become of the guy named Lucky? (Should you be waffling, would it help if I mentioned he’s not white?)

Although giving speaking parts to real-life pro climbers (like Alex Honnold of the Oscar-winning doc Free Solo) is a nice, respectful gesture on Devane’s part, these remarkable athletes aren’t remotely skilled as actors. His decision to center the movie around Hills is almost as baffling; as Sean, the guy has presence — but one best described as “sleepy.”

Then again, Hills is asked to breathe life into dialogue that wouldn’t take spark with strike-anywhere matches. Take, for example, Sean’s mid-cliff convo with fellow climber Kristin (Rachel Finninger, Monstrous) after the acoustic from Abaddon again rears its fury:

Shaun: “I felt it in my head. Which means it can be in anyone’s head. It can be in your head.”
Kristin: “Are you, you know, you?”
Shaun: “That’s what I’m afraid of.” 

Of all the script’s figurative missteps, the biggest and most brainless is what happens — or who pops up, really — in the finale. It’s so wrongheaded, I’m tempted to reveal it, yet mere words wouldn’t do the jaw-dropper justice.

And popping up elsewhere in cameos, thirtysomething’s David Clennon and Tenacious D’s Kyle Gass appear via FaceTime. On the bright side, The Sound features some great photography when it’s not obviously on a set. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.