Atari: Game Over (2014)

atarigameoverIn 1982, nearly every kid with an Atari 2600 had one white-hot, new cartridge atop his or her Christmas or Hanukkah list: E.T.: The Extra-Terrestrial. By Dec. 26, I’m guessing they collectively experienced beggars’ remorse, because less than a year later, in September 1983, some 4 million units were dumped in the landfill of the small New Mexico town of Alamogordo.

Or were they?

In the three decades since, the unceremonious mass burial of pop culture’s “worst video game of all time” has been shrouded in enough mystery to morph into urban legend. In the hour-and-some-change documentary Atari: Game Over, director Zak Penn — screenwriter of such Marvel movies as The Incredible Hulk, Elektra and X-Men: The Last Stand — literally goes digging for the truth.

atarigameover1In doing so, we get scoops of gossipy bits (and bytes) from Atari’s heyday in the early 1980s — a workplace of pot, booze, Jacuzzis and, every now and then, games that changed the world one rumpus room at a time. Their blocks-and-bricks graphics are laughable by today’s standards (although I still prefer them to modern games), but they were — and this is no overstatement — revolutionary.

One of those Atari 2600 programmers, Howard Warshaw, pushed the boundaries of game design further with such titles as Yars’ Revenge, Raiders of the Lost Ark and then the aforementioned E.T. Although ambitious in scope and intent, the cartridge proved a crushing disappointment with the public, thanks to a mix of corporate greed, Warshaw’s hubris and an impossibly compressed development schedule that made for maddening game play. What it did not do, contrary to public belief, is kill Atari.

With no shortage of self-deprecating humor, Penn’s Xbox-funded doc aims to rewrite passages of incorrect history and reverse the scorn that has hounded Warshaw ever since. In giving Warshaw a platform, Penn grants his film an emotional center as warm and winning as E.T.’s heartlight. Who would expect that watching grown men sift through trash could make for gripping viewing? That it does is but one reason Game Over simply cannot lose. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

Digging Up the Marrow (2014)

diggingmarrowHaving paid homage to old-school slashers with the Hatchet trilogy, writer/director Adam Green tries a far more contemporary style of horror on for size: the mockumentary.

Playing himself to an assumedly exaggerated degree — one not far from the character he plays on his Holliston cable-television series, which is to say they reside on the same map point — Green documents his dealings with William Dekker (Ray Wise, TV’s Twin Peaks), who not only claims monsters exist, but that he can deliver undeniable proof. Amusement grows to amazement as Green — accompanying Dekker on nocturnal trips to Rocky Pointe Natural Park — begins to believe the truth is out there … right in front of his smirking face.

diggingmarrow1Remarkably, Digging Up the Marrow is what the Hatchets were not: scary. Genuinely freak-me-out scary. (Making this all the more rare: how purposely humorous much of the film is.) The monsters may be fleeting, but the appearances they make are frighteningly memorable. That may not be the case if someone else had designed them other than Alex Pardee. His work was foreign to me before this film, but the supremely gifted artist must be known well enough in some circles to merit equal billing with Green atop the poster. The placement is deserved.

From years of observation and study, Dekker has catalogued the creatures extensively, giving them names (like Vance) and knowing their quirks (“They like pancakes”). Sharing these tidbits deadpan is where Wise’s casting proves pitch-perfect. Without someone that solid an actor, who can straddle the beam of crazed yet likable, Digging Up the Marrow would be a pointless endeavor. Luckily, like Green’s 2010 thriller, Frozen, it shows his talents extend far beyond depicting ultrarealistic gushes of blood. —Rod Lott

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Death Dimension (1978)

deathdimensionFollowing the previous year’s Black Samurai, a post-Enter the Dragon Jim Kelly re-teamed with schlock director Al Adamson to go all 007 with Death Dimension. They were off by at least six points.

Kelly’s police detective lives by the credo, “The name of the game is Save Your Ass.” His captain (George Lazenby, the one-and-done James Bond from On Her Majesty’s Secret Service) assigns him the case of The Pig (Harold Sakata, aka Goldfinger’s Odd Job), a crime lord looking to sell a “freeze bomb” to any country willing to shell out $30 million. The scientific weapon turns anything within an immediate radius to absolute zero; under an Adamson budget, this is depicted by throwing fake snow within the frame.

deathdimension1Although Adamson was behind the camera, he was not responsible for the screenplay. That batch of incoherence can be blamed on Death Dimension’s own producer, Harry Hope, the man who unleashed a real weapon in 1972: the unwatchable Doomsday Machine. While Death Dimension shares that sci-fi turkey’s whiff of inadequacy, it emerges superior — comparatively speaking, of course — thanks to The Pig keeping a pet turtle, a pet madam (Terry Moore, 1949’s Mighty Joe Young) and a pet giant horny toad, which he threatens will “bite your tit.”

Lest we forget, Death Dimension also boasts star power in Kelly, a real-deal martial artist whose smile radiates actual charm. Yet having charm does not equal exercising good judgment in choosing scripts. In the end, Kelly takes down an airplane with a couple of shots from a hand pistol. Then, to celebrate, he performs a flying kick toward the camera, and Adamson, in his finest visual flourish not involving his wife Regina Carrol’s bosom, freezes the image. Absolute zero, indeed! —Rod Lott

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Unfriended (2015)

unfriended Despite its incredible simplicity, Unfriended is a tough film to review. Its characters are utterly vapid, hateful, spoiled, self-centered, despicable young people. But isn’t that its point?

The entirety of its story unfolds on the Mac laptop screen of high schooler Blaire (Shelley Hennig, Ouija), beginning with a conversation between her and her boyfriend, Mitch (Moses Jacob Storm), via webcam. (Were this section extended to feature-length, I’d be tempted to call it The Blaire Mitch Project.) Soon, they’re joined by three or four friends of varying superficiality, and the longest group Skype in cinema history begins. May its record never be shattered.

unfriended1With Facebook, Gmail, Spotify, iMessage and Chatroulette serving as subplots, Unfriended keeps Blaire’s trackpad finger busy when an anonymous, unwanted icon gloms on to their call. Never heard, the presumed hacker claims to be Laura Barns (Heather Sossaman, 10.0 Earthquake), which would be NBD except the girl died the year before. In fact, she committed suicide on school grounds after a video of her drunk to the point of soiling herself earned her instant YouTube infamy … and a barrage of cyberbullying.

Now Laura wants revenge on those responsible. #andthentherewerenone

How could a dead student possibly wreak online havoc? Simple: Unfriended comes from Jason Blum, producer of Paranormal Activity, Insidious, Sinister and other evil-spirit horror movies more enjoyable than this one. It is not without welcome bursts of humor, mostly in its ironic song choices, but if watching entitled assholes bicker before an icon-strewn desktop for about 80 minutes sounds like fun, do log on.

But if watching entitled assholes bicker before an icon-strewn desktop for about 80 minutes sounds like torture … well, give Unfriended a shot anyway, because it seems to make a subversive statement about social media technically making us anti-social by bringing out the worst in us. It is a shame that members of its core audience may be too shallow to grasp its stance or in denial.

Directed by USSR-born Levan Gabriadze and originally intended as an MTV premiere, Unfriended is not scary in the slightest, but at least it’s different … until the microbudgeted copycats flood the torrent sites, that is. —Rod Lott

The Dread of Difference: Gender and the Horror Film — Second Edition

dreaddifferenceWhen Aliens was days away from hitting theaters in the summer of 1986, I distinctly remember reading a piece about it in Rolling Stone. In particular, I recall a reference to the original Alien’s Nostromo ship designed as vaginal, while the creature was a phallus.

How this oddball kernel of film theory snuck in such a mainstream mag escapes me, but it struck me as odd: something I had never thought about before and something that has stuck with me ever since. I was pleased to see the subject merits its own chapter — plus half of another among a full 23 — in the University of Texas Press’ second-edition release of The Dread of Difference: Gender and the Horror Film, edited by Barry Keith Grant.

In “Genre, Gender and the Aliens Trilogy,” Thomas Doherty pegs the aforementioned Nostromo’s design as “‘abstract genital’, a style that is alternately penile and uterine, all sharp tumescent shafts, vaginal entrances, and fallopian interiors.” In later interpreting all three of the major creatures as a dick, he may be reading a bit too much into it, but it’s fascinating to consider nonetheless. (But no, Mr. Doherty, Sigourney Weaver was not nominated for a Best Supporting Actress Oscar for the 1979 classic.) Elsewhere, Barbara Creed’s “Horror and the Monstrous-Feminine” also discusses Alien, to illustrate how the horror film presents female genitalia as objects of both “dread and fascination.” In space, no one can hear you scream about vagina dentata.

As you would imagine, Lianne McLarty has a field day examining all the sexual imagery running (and dripping) rampant in the work David Cronenberg, in “‘Beyond the Veil of Flesh’: Cronenberg and the Disembodiment of Horror.”

The Dread of Difference has more than the act of copulation on its cerebrum. Grant’s own essay (cleverly titled “Taking Back the Night of the Living Dead”) casts light on the feminist stance of George A. Romero’s films; Lucy Fisher outlines how Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby heralded both “the birth of horror and the horror of birth in the modern cinema”; and Shelley Stamp presents an excellent reading of Carrie (which adorned the cover of Dread’s 1996 first edition) in that Brian De Palma’s shocker endorses the views of Piper Laurie’s crazy-mom character — a position I’ve certainly never considered.

Puberty, family, AIDS, affairs, homosexuality — The Dread of Difference covers a lot of ground. From Cat People and lesbian vampires to slashers and torture porn, many types of fright flicks are thrust under the academic microscope as well. Naturally, these essays are highly intelligent, yet also highly readable, and because of that, the book comes highly recommended. It’s a fantastic, meaty-thick collection as is, but also a good gateway for cinephiles who haven’t yet dared make the leap into reading film criticism, as opposed to the mere “movie review.” There’s nothing frightening about wanting to absorb highbrow talk of a genre generally derided as lowbrow. —Rod Lott

Get it at Amazon.

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