|Where can a dead man go
The question with an answer only dead men know . . .
“Don’t expect any favors out of life, but . . . enjoy the hell out of ‘em if they ever happen to come your way . . . sometimes that is the thing that reminds you what makes life worth living.”
There’s a motto in there, somewhere. A philosophy. A means of surviving—if not thriving. At the very least, a peripatetique‘s creed in the making.
At this point, though, all of you form-freaks out there are busy scratching your heads wondering how that aphorism-in-gestation has anything to do with this entry’s title . . . come on, admit it, you are. Also puzzling through how favors and expectations have anything to do with the shots of the heavens or the lyrics from a Nickel Creek ditty. Well, brace up: it gets even less scrutable than that . . .
‘Cause flying Business Class gratis from LAX to Narita figures in. As does Serena Williams.
Care to find out how? Whether you do or don’t, here’s how it all goes . . .
Imagine you’re a tween or a teen in suburban America. The walls shake with the sound of band practice in the family garage. Except that it’s your mother practicing, not you! Rockin’ Moms came to SXSW to show that mothers can kick out the jams, too. Rockin’ Moms founder Tiffany Petrossi, Mydols guitarist Judy Davids and 3 Kisses frontwoman Tish Meeks talk about the joys and challenges of being musicians and moms. Davids is also the author of Rock Star Mommy, published by Citadel, whose parent company is also this humble vidblogger’s employer.—Robin Cook
Alternet calls it “YouTube for smart people” and that’s kind of what Big Think is. Their music section isn’t very extensive yet but there are a number of interesting posts there, including composer John Haribson on overcoming writer’s block, Wyclef Jean on hip-hop stereotypes and Moby on advice for young artists. Plus there’s DIY threads on which rock bands are best and if Paul is really dead. I hope they keep developing the site though I also hope that they don’t think they have to restrict themselves to a small group of ‘experts.
Splatter offers its own unique brand of cinematic satisfaction. When done correctly, within the context of a tightly scripted narrative, it looses most of its geek show sensation. In turn, it forms the basis for some ballistic shivers, an all guts and no glory groove on our most primal of fears. Thanks to the so-called ‘torture porn’ genre however (blamed for everything from the death of movie macabre to the demoralization of society), blood has gotten a bad name. Film snobs now view gore as a motion picture pariah, the equivalent of toilet humor in comedy or the disease of the week in drama. The latest foreign fright film, Inside, may just change that onerous opinion.
It’s been five months since a car accident took Sarah’s husband, and while the external scars have healed, the internal pain is very, very real. Still, the couple’s unborn child remains safely in her womb, and with Christmas just around the corner, things are looking up. The doctors are ready to deliver and it should be a happy time for the former photo journalist. But instead, she is swept up in memories of the past and an unending depression - that is, until a mysterious woman shows up at her house. Unable to recognize who she is, Sarah calls the police. The threat grows real. Sarah is all alone. Without warning, the slaughter begins.
There is a clear connection to the joys of motherhood and the physical brutality of the process on display here. Both Sarah and the woman after her baby are desperate to hold onto the life such procreation provides. Death is then suspended right alongside, illustrating in the same personally intrusive manner a stunning juxtaposition. While Inside is not the first film to explore the link between parenthood and dread, biology and the blood-soaked, Bustillo and Maury have made the logical leap into Grand Guignol glorification - and the results are as repugnant as they are dazzling. Fans of films featuring a certain Mr. Voorhees while wonder why Hollywood has been so ‘anemic’ when it comes to this kind of iconic terror tale. The answer is literally splashed across the screen.
We gratuity-loving gorehounds really do need to rejoice. This is the kind of film where faces are blown off, limbs are pierced and prodded, and bodies are violated with an imaginative mayhem one associates with a Savini or a Bottin. The link to the previously mentioned Italian maestros is also obvious, especially in how Inside‘s filmmakers add arterial spray to the most stylized or mundane situation. The use of a single setting is also crucial to the film’s success. Instead of moving us around the Paris suburb, turning the craven cat and mouse into some sort of failed action adventure, Bustillo and Maury keep the killing to one house - actually, one internal hallway from bedroom to living room. Such a logistical limit really ratchets up the tension while remaining totally rational and real.
And the acting definitely needs to be mentioned. Alysson Paradis has the kind of dour, dejected expression that has us hating her almost immediately. While we understand her post-accident misery, it grows grating…that is, until the slashing. It’s a genius move by Bustillo (who helmed the screenplay). By lulling us into a sense of complacency, by making us almost hate our heroine, it turns the slice and dice into something meaningful. The violence elevates our emotional responses, changing and challenging our perspective. By the third act, when Sarah has suffered beyond all rational means, we get the impression of a battle well fought, a victim about to be victorious. It’s the ultimate conquest. Yet as with all slasher films, that’s not the final beat.
On the other end of the performance spectrum is Béatrice Dalle, who becomes an instant classic movie monster with her turn as ‘the woman’ (she is listed as La Femme in the credits). Unrelenting in her pursuit, heartless in the way she meters out jagged blade justice, she’s reminiscent of Lucy Butler, the memorable psycho from the Chris Carter series Millennium. But Dalle is much more maniacal. With a gap-toothed smile that seems to symbolize the bubbling dementia in her mind, she toys with Sarah, saving her most disturbing murder moves for the ancillary bystanders who come to her rescue. Even better, when given the chance to end the pain, to stop the suffering of all involved, she drags it out, hoping to instill the kind of torment in her prey that she’s felt ever since…sorry, no spoilers here.
All of this was planned out purposefully by Bustillo and Maury. In the only substantive bonus of the DVD, the duo speak openly about trying to find a property that would address old school horror ideals while bringing forward a new sense of fright. The omnipresent offal was merely a means of achieving a very tasty and terrifying ends. It is also clear that the artistic ambitions the directors tried to achieve required a great deal of technical expertise. The behind the scenes footage included as part of the Q&A indicates as much. Together, the vision matches with the mechanics to produce a satisfying scarefest.
Indeed, horror geeks waiting for the next great gore flick will literally foam over Inside. It provides a level of vileness that few recent films have even tried to achieve while adding enough aesthetic support to keep everything from overflowing into offensiveness. It is not a movie for the squeamish. Even fans of the funkiest splatter rampages will see something here unexpected and disturbing. Let’s hope that Alexandre Bustillo and Julien Maury don’t wind up taking the same path to Tinsel Town talentlessness as Ils‘s David Moreau and Xavier Palud. Their remake of The Eye was painful to say the least. Inside‘s creative team deserves much, much better. Their film is a claret covered sensation.