All posts by Daniel Bokemper

Horror

MaXXXine (2024)

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Add Ti West’s MaXXXine to the list of exploitation flicks Joe Bob Briggs would insist you check out. The much-anticipated, giallo-inspired climax to the X trilogy (2022’s X and Pearl) features voyeuristic knife-fu, car compacter-fu and, of course, stiletto-dick-stomping-fu. Despite the compelling and outrageous boxes it checks, MaXXXine provides a conclusion that — while in many ways incomparable — feels limp in the shadow of its predecessors.

Six years removed from X’s bloodbath, final girl Maxine Minx (Mia Goth, Infinity Pool) vies to move from porn to blockbusters. She’s made a name for herself in Hollywood’s underbelly, but her dreams have quickly outgrown the back alleys, strip clubs and peepshows where she finds herself. She nails an audition for a much-anticipated horror movie, The Puritan II. Unfortunately, a shady, annoying private investigator (Kevin Bacon, Tremors) and a serial killer targeting her closest friends muffles her celebration. Oh, and Pearl haunts her.

It can’t be understated: Each entry in the X trilogy has something to appreciate. X was an excellent homage to classic slashers supported by a phenomenal, dual performance from Goth. Pearl was a fascinating character study that combines the best parts of The Red Shoes and Henry: Portrait of a Serial Killer. MaXXXine, on the other hand, has an undeniably distinct style splattered across a living and breathing (and profusely bleeding) world.

But style alone can’t carry the film. It clearly defines what it’s examining, and the main idea it leans into — “fame’s a killer” and the sharp edge of stardom — yet only touches the surface. It’s like MaXXXine’s afraid to say anything challenging, so it instead opts for the most narratively convenient off-ramp it can scrape for. Similar to what made Nicolas Winding Refn’s The Neon Demon and Alex Garland’s Men lackluster, an uninspired climax rarely earns what those films’ effective first halves vie to accomplish.

That’s not to say MaXXXine is irreparably ruined by its final act. Goth still emerges as the backbone of all three Xs. She has a vast range that, though best showcased in Pearl, remains firing on all cylinders here. And West’s ability to keep dialogue snappy and natural is only exceeded by his talent for shooting captivating and alluring frames. Unfortunately, none of those exceptional traits can mask disappointing ends. It doesn’t matter how many times you punch Kevin Bacon in the face. Sequences pop an audience, but a thoughtful and well-rounded plot gives a flick permeance.

That said, you should still see MaXXXine; at the end of the day, even the weakest of the X trilogy is still far from schlock. True, what it does manage to say about an artist’s meteoric rise doesn’t carry the same weight as Pearl’s showstopping dance into a cruel reality. Still, like virtually all of West’s work, it clearly captures the tone it pursues. It’s just hard not to wish that aesthetic was part of a more realized package. Please don’t tease us like this next time, Ti. Please. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.

Horror

In a Violent Nature (2024)

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While watching any of the 10 Friday the 13th sequels, have you ever wondered how Jason Voorhees conveniently winds up at exactly the right place to impale a promiscuous camper? Chris Nash’s deconstructionist slasher, In a Violent Nature, provides an undeniably poignant answer: He just walks.

Well, he walks after a random camper nabs a necklace that kept the monster buried beneath a charred sawmill. The plot is intentionally bare bones: The killer wanders into town, then finds an iconic mask and weapon before brutally dismembering folks with blood-chilling creativity.

The film rebukes most of the genre’s typical quick cuts and relentless jump scares. Instead, it favors a slow, methodical and over-the-shoulder approach that follows a reanimated serial killer as he slaughters foul-mouthed farmers, angsty campers and a lawman with a narratively convenient legacy. It’d be easy to compare the shifted focus to Scott Glosserman’s Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon, though even that mockumentary falls headfirst into the conventions it tries to critique.

That’s not to suggest In a Violent Nature doesn’t lean on tropes, but it at least juggles and harnesses them in a unique and mostly satisfying way. Its contemplative pace and unflinching cinematography don’t beg questions, but evoke a feeling like David and Nathan Zellner’s Sasquatch Sunset. The film only wanes when it gives into slasher norms — specifically breaking away from the killer’s perspective — in what is presumably an attempt to break up the monotony. And though the frequent, slower sequences sometimes border meandering, they also allow the film’s bloated zombie to float above a swamp of nameless, uninspired killers.

In dissecting slashers, however, the flick also must lean into them. This means campy dialogue runs rampant. At times, it works to cast historically poor lighting in a different light, sort of like the ineffable chirps of some finches before they’re snagged by a bird-eating spider. A particularly egregious campfire scene almost squanders this effect, as the film spends a bit too long removed from its subject for the sake of dumping some ultimately unnecessary exposition. It’s as though Nash didn’t trust his premise, fearing it would veer into Skinamarink territory and bore the audience. While he might be right, leaning into the gory nature doc vibe a bit more could’ve help the film garner a little more permeance.

Some small stumbles aside, In a Violent Nature still manages to carve a path that should intrigue even those less inclined to slashers. Its clinical approach to kills paired with a genuinely haunting ending makes it a clear frontrunner (or maybe “frontwalker”) for the best horror film of 2024. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.

Action

Monkey Man (2024)

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Those less familiar with the source material for David Lowery’s The Green Knight might’ve been surprised by that decidedly nonviolent fantasy flick. And you wouldn’t be alone. Maybe the role even left its lead, Dev Patel, somewhat hungry for a more straightforward revenge tale. All he would need to do is write, direct and produce it himself.

Enter Monkey Man, Patel’s directorial debut that offers a frenetic and brutal film that stabs, slices and punches past a mob of John Wick imitators. (Yes, even you, The Beekeeper.)

That’s not to say Monkey Man is devoid of meaning, either. No, it doesn’t uproot the genre in the same way as Park Chan-wook’s Oldboy or Michael Sarnoski’s Pig. It does, however, give us a thriller as drenched in Indian culture, politics and mythology as it is by blood and dismembered limbs.

Set in the fictional city of Yatana, Kid (Patel) lives in poverty. He makes a “living” donning a monkey mask and intentionally losing boxing (but also kind of pro wrestling) matches. Kid saves what little money he can with the plans of killing a twisted police chief, Rana (Sikandar Kher), and an equally corrupt religious leader, Baba (Makarand Deshpande). Years prior, Rana murdered Kid’s mother and burned down his hometown under Baba’s direction to expand the figure’s holy empire. By killing these two and every goon at their disposal, Kid seeks to tear out of the heart of Yatana’s criminal underground.

Granted, it can sometimes be difficult to discern some of Monkey Man’s basic plot detail, given its constantly moving and whiplash-inducing cinematography. The technique works exceedingly well where it matters most (e.g., fight scenes and urban B-roll), but distracts from key dialogue. Granted, Monkey Man is a film filled with necessary compromises to work around stolen camera shots and, of course, Patel’s broken hand.

These setbacks could account for much of Monkey Man’s shortcomings, and more often than not, they don’t interrupt the action at hand. What truly hurts the film are formulaic character motivations and grossly repetitive framing. (Take a shot every time the camera follows a character to the ground like an ax splitting wood and you’d black out before the film’s second act.)

Again, it’s hard to hold these issues too much against the film knowing how much of a beast it was to make. Still, one could easily wonder how much more memorable Monkey Man could be if it exercised even slightly more restraint, especially when it comes to the few dialogue-driven scenes.

Granted, most of us didn’t show up for the talking. The film thrives with its low-to-the ground, drag-out fights. A attempted assassination in a bathroom quickly followed by a confrontation with an ax-wielding brothel owner are among Monkey Man’s most riveting sequences. Similarly, the movie’s final two fight scenes offer an equally gory as it is satisfying conclusion, even though the cinematography loses a bit of its luster by that point.

Other than a notch in what we’ll hopefully cascade into a storied career for Patel, Monkey Man doesn’t pack a lot of a staying power. At the very least, however, it’s far from a boring or uninspired revenge thriller. Perhaps a sequel could suture some of the film’s more apparent gashes and give its protagonist a bit more depth. (Hopefully Patel’s hand will have fully healed by then, too.) —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.

Documentary

Mad Props (2024)

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Aside from the script, performers and digital effects, movies are an amalgam of stuff we find lying around. The alien from John Carpenter and Dan O’Bannon’s Dark Star was just a painted beach ball with rubber feet attached. The crew of James Cameron’s Aliens double-dipped into their gear and used Steadicam arms to create the Colonial Marines’ M56 Smartguns. And the walls of the Nostromo from Ridley Scott’s original Alien featured a coffee grinder. (Granted, the space truckers probably just need a decent cup of joe every few million miles.)

Props — regardless of what they’re made of — give movies life. Tulsa banker Tom Biolchini, the subject of Juan Pablo Reinoso’s documentary Mad Props, seeks to preserve that life and celebrate props for what they ultimately are: art.

Though it doesn’t seem like this were ever in question, you probably don’t hear much appreciation for visual and technical designers not named Tom Savini, Phil Tippett or Ray Harryhausen. We love their work, true, but maybe we tend to give directors like Guillermo del Toro and Peter Jackson credit that’s at least partially due to their prop artists.

That compulsion to find and recognize those masters makes Mad Props more endearing than it otherwise could be. Because let’s be real: Watching a hugely successful banker drop hundreds of thousands of dollars on the Holy Grail from Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade isn’t exactly relatable. (Especially when you consider the didactic of that flick was how you shouldn’t obsess over one-of-a-kind treasures — Indy’s dad even shed a tear over it!)

If a wildly prohibitive hobby were all there was to Mad Props, it would frankly be a detached, insufferable trudge of a doc. Fortunately, the film makes a point to profile not just those who collect props, but the people who make and curate them, too. Biolchini has an infectious enthusiasm about this craft.

And while you could make the argument someone who collects a certain thing would want said thing to be recognized as art because that would likely inflate its value, that’s not quite how it would work since these items already command such a steep price. It seems Biolchini genuinely wants to preserve them in an era when less props are taking a physical form at all.

The behind-the-scenes stories Mad Props covers, like the nightmare that was the Goro suit from 1995’s Mortal Kombat, perfectly captures how much effort special effects demand even for just a few minutes’ worth of footage. A giddy Robert Englund recounting the many gloves of Freddy Krueger helps, too.

Mad Props really only wanes with the auction coverage. It just isn’t very interesting and does little to convey appreciation for film. In fact, the documentary finds meaning the further it drifts from the hobby and more into curation and prop production. It also helps that the doc is incredibly easy to watch. At its heart, it’s a light profile of movies and fans who love them. Like, a lot. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.

Action

The Beekeeper (2024)

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Between moonlighting as a smuggler, hitman, mercenary, peasant turned warrior and Megalodon-killing marine biologist, any of the machismo-brimmed hats Jason Statham has worn shouldn’t surprise us. In Suicide Squad director David Ayer’s The Beekeeper, however, he dawns a mask. (At least for the first six minutes.) Regardless, the film’s initial impression as a Great Value John Wick doesn’t work against it, instead amplifying its gun-toting buzz.

The film follows Adam Clay (Statham), a physically imposing beekeeper who rents a shed from his elderly neighbor, Eloise (Phylicia Rashad, Creed). One night, a phishing scam — secretly run by Derek Danforth (Josh Hutcherson, Five Nights at Freddy’s), the god of insufferable tech bros — drains Eloise’s savings and a community trust account, spurring her to suicide.

Clay discovers her body right before Verona Parker (Emmy Raver-Lampman, Netflix’s The Umbrella Academy), an FBI agent and Eloise’s daughter. After tense introductions, Clay contacts “the Beekeepers,” a secret organization he retired from that specializes in keeping the peace with a lot of guns. Clay obtains an address for an assuming office in Massachusetts, and the body count starts rising.

As you could imagine, not a lot happens under The Beekeeper’s hood — and that’s the beauty of it. Beyond the recurring use of the phrase “protect the hive” and the increasingly concerned looks of Jeremy Irons (Justice League), what a Beekeeper actually does is never explained. Though arguably oversimplified, the lack of a monolithic organization like the Continental, Kingsman or Expendables keeps the action’s focus exactly where it needs to be: on Statham.

Unfortunately, effectively dumbing down the secret society angle also means The Beekeeper noticeably lacks substance when its lead wanders off-screen. Most of the banter between Parker and her partner falls flat, as if their wit is the only thing preventing the movie from diving headfirst into a vat of ridiculous honey. The action’s set pieces emerge through an equally uninspired formula:

  1. Clay kills the bad guy(s).
  2. Bigger bad guy(s) called in to retaliate.
  3. Clay kills them, too.
  4. Repeat approximately five times.

That being said, how we get to the shootouts and explosions isn’t nearly as important as how they’re orchestrated. Fortunately, The Beekeeper finds Statham in peak, stoic form. Even if the violence lacks any permanence, it’s still a joy to see Clay outmaneuver a minigun or take out a team of commandos with some ratchet straps and an elevator.

The Beekeeper doesn’t offer much more than B-roll for an inevitable Statham documentary, but it doesn’t really need anything more than that. It’s not like The Transporter or Crank franchises offer substantially different experiences, yet they still persist as (vaguely) quintessential 2000s action flicks. Between this and The Meg, we could be closing in on the twilight of Statham’s generously prolific career. Check The Beekeeper out, and don’t stop bee-lieving in its star. —Daniel Bokemper

Get it at Amazon.