Various

The Definitive Horror Music Collection

(Silva Screen Records; US: 13 Oct 2009; UK: 13 Oct 2009)

 Amazon

 Lala

The best horror films become iconic for several reasons. They offer up monsters or murderers who are insidiously memorable. They provide violence and visions of death that chill the very marrow in your bones. They provide a sense of dread that lingers long under your skin. And they provide nightmare (and daydream) fodder for days to come. They also thrive on the aural aspect of the genre, given over to thunderclaps and banshee shrieks, guttural growls and creaky wooden doors. There’s also the music - eerie, unnerving sounds that shiver the soul while suggesting the creepshow content within. Now Silva Screen Music has put together a four CD, 60 track set of some of the greatest horror (and sci-fi) movie themes of all time. While the title considers this compilation “definitive”, there are definitely some gaps (and gasps…and gaffs) along the way.

Setting itself up to work backwards chronologically, we begin with the rather uninspired selection of 2009 - 2001. There we see such unusual choices as the gorgeous “Eli’s Theme” from the Swedish masterpiece Let the Right One In and the equally sublime “The Labyrinth” from Guillermo Del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth. There’s Sunshine‘s ambient “Adagio in D Minor” and another Danny Boyle selection, “In the House - In a Heartbeat” from the edgy 28 Days Later. But then we have to put up with the syrupy tripe known as Twilight (“Edward at Her Bed (Bella’s Lullaby)”) as well as the oddly out of place cinematic cheerleading of the “Main Theme” for The Mummy Returns. Again, when put up against Drag Me to Hell (“End Titles (Original Version)”) or “This is Going to Hurt” from The Ring, something like “Roar” (From Cloverfield) or “King Kong Suite” (from Peter Jackson’s remake) seems odd.

It’s a sticky situation that remains throughout most of the remaining discs. 1999-1984 will provide glimpses of genius like “Suite” from Hellraiser or “Dance of the Witches” from The Witches of Eastwick alongside more Mummy nonsense (“The Sand Volcano/Love Theme”), a dose of disco-fied drek (the main theme for They Live, not one of John Carpenter’s best), and the thoroughly action-oriented “Prelude/Ripley’s Rescue” from Aliens. Of course, many of the same melodic cues were used when Hellraiser II: Hellbound was conceived, so including that here seems redundant, and both the main theme from Predator and “The Carousel/End Titles” from The Haunting are less than memorable indeed. In fact, when one thinks about the 15 years represented on this CD, of the myriad of horror movies made during this time, the exclusions make the inclusions all the more questionable.

At least the next disc, 1983 - 1977 gets its mostly right. The first eight tracks alone - “Main Theme”: Nightmare on Elm Street; “Bad to the Bone”: Christine, “Main Theme"s from Poltergeist, The Thing, Halloween II and The Fog, “The Gallery”: Dressed to Kill, and “Music for Strings, Percussion, and Celesta” from The Shining all live up to the collection title hype. Even later on, the original Halloween theme, as well as selections from Phantasm, Suspiria, and The Fury, fill out the musical mandates of what makes for memorable horror movie scoring. It almost makes up for the languid elusiveness of “Main Theme/The Storm” from the Frank Langella version of Dracula, or the shockingly silly material used in the sequel to one of the greatest films of all time, The Exorcist (Exorcist II: The Heretic‘s “Regan’s Theme.)

Naturally, the biggest leap comes with the fourth CD. There, instead of traveling back six, fifteen, or eight years, we go from 1976 to 1922 - five and a half decades! There’s just no way any anthology, no matter how smartly put together, can cover over half a century of horror. Indeed, the missing material from some of the best ‘50s schlock is all but absent, as is a great deal of what some would call “classic” fright night selections. Sure, we get Nosferatu (“Overture”), Bride of Frankenstein (“Creation of the Female Monster”), and Dracula (“Main Title/Finale”), and Horrors of the Black Museum is a nice treat. But suddenly we jump to the original Haunting (“The History of Hill House”), Rosemary’s Baby (“Lullaby”) and Taste the Blood of Dracula (“The Young Lovers/ Ride to the Ruined Church”). Granted, you can’t deny the evil majesty of “Tubular Bells”, or “Ave Satan” from The Omen, but instead of expanding the set another couple of discs, covering so much content in such a small dose is disrespectful to the genre and the art of film composition.

Still, for its many misgivings and missteps, The Definitive Horror Music Collection is a heady hit or miss treat. There’s no getting around the fact that many of these movie moments have become part of the social fabric, that when we hear the discordant notes of the Halloween theme, or the demonic menace of the Hellraiser scores, we can’t help but be whisked back to the seminal scary sequences from each film. Even better, there are some forgotten gems among the more recognizable turns, including the wicked ways of Phantasm and Carpenter’s Village of the Damned update. Still, it would have been nice to hear more Goblin, especially their work for George Romero in Dawn of the Dead, and would it have hurt to include more foreign films. Of the 60 titles presented, we get more TV themes and sci-fi/action film findings than macabre outside the US mainstream (and don’t even mention that lack of B-movie fare from the likes of AIP, Roger Corman, and during the direct to video days, Charles Band).

As a primer for how powerful movie music can be, for a lesson in how certain themes and melodies can instantly bring back memories of a specific filmmaker or film, The Definitive Horror Music Collection is a wonderful if incomplete overview. Sure, we don’t need reminders of Dexter or TV’s Buffy the Vampire Slayer, and the lack of historical context (and Hitchcock, for that matter) could be seen as criminal. Still, for the novice fright fan, new to the genre and desperate for a look at where sound stands in the creation of fear, this is a fascinating compendium. While not quite as authoritative as the label suggests, this is still an excellent scary movie souvenir.

—Bill Gibron

Perhaps no one cared because it was the sixth installment in an already waning franchise. It could be that director Joe Chapelle and writer Daniel Farrands weren’t as noted (or notorious) as cock rock star Rob Zombie. Maybe the notion of revisiting or a remake was more contentious that simply dragging a cash cow out of the cinematic stable for one more mostly unnecessary milking. Whatever it was, it’s amazing that there wasn’t more press generated over the completely cuckoo version of the monster myth generated by Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers. Even today, few find fault with this avant-garde goof. Taking on all aspects of the origin story, from where “The Shape” got his urge to kill to the significantly surreal reasons behind the killings, we wind up with something more insane than anything everyone’s favorite fan whipping boy could come up with.

Of course, many genre lovers haven’t had the chance to see the alternative version of the film, otherwise known as “The Producers Cut”. An infamous bootleg among the scary movie faithful, it stands in significant contrast to the eventual edit, including a wholly different ending that would warp the mind of even the most objective Halloween buff. The film does try to bring the material full circle, giving us a pre-Apatow Paul Rudd as a grown-up (and slightly unhinged) Tommy Doyle - you know, the little boy who Laurie Strode was babysitting the night “he” came home - and the last in a long lineage of biological (and locational) relatives for Myers to pick off. There’s a final beat from the brilliant Donald Pleasence as Dr. Sam Loomis, and a nice call back to the horrific house and town where it all started. 

But the movie really goes bonkers in its attempts to explain Michael’s mania. Just as Zombie got vilified for turning FBI profiler (and later, amateur psychiatrist) in uncovering the mechanics behind a standard serial murderer’s dementia, Chapelle and Farrands dove directly into the deep end when plowing the path to their terror’s psychosis. For the most recent editions of The Shape, familial abuse, bullying, and blood-drenched fatalistic fantasies turned a sad little boy into a fiend. Later, visions of his dead mother, accented by the occasional white horse, brought the drifting adult Michael his continued rage. But in Halloween 6, Myers was none of these things. Instead, he was a pawn picked out by the Celtic pagans known as the Thorn Cult. Their ambiguous aims, which revolve around power, the protection of same, and the use of small boys as a means of achieving their aims, offers human sacrifice, indirect incest, and 180 degree reevaluation of everything we know about the history in Halloween. And no one cared. 

For example, Smith’s Grove is no longer merely the place that housed Michael for all those years before his escape. It was Thorn Central. The Myers home was not only the scene of a horrific crime, but it becomes a central touchstone for both the coven and one of its senior members (who’s always scouting for a new ‘vessel’ to transform). Instead of a well-meaning man of science, Dr. Loomis comes across as a patsy, a blind and narrow-minded shrink who couldn’t see that the basement of the Sanatorium was being used for heretical ancient sacraments. And even worse, Michael himself is no longer the personification of pure evil, the brutish unstoppable fiend who finds purpose in killing. Instead, he is a supernatural sieve, brainwashed (so to speak) to do the cult’s bidding based on the use of runes and the magical manipulation of their various purposes. Toss in a few of the standard slice and dice murders that the slasher film expects, and you’ve got Zombie’s recent updates in an equally baffling nutshell.

So again, why no outcry? Why did fans fail to foam at the mouth when Chapelle and Farrand’s dumped all over the establish Myers mythos to move the series into a wholly weird and slightly wacked out area? After all, Rob Zombie kept things as realistic as possible when it came to death. His Halloween‘s are brutal in their believable, gore-drench fatality. The Curse of Michael Myers has many of its murders handled offscreen, MPAA guidelines demanding such a blood-less approach. And yet everyone dumps on the new films as being “untrue” and “blasphemous” to the original characters and creation. And the invocation of Celtic ritual, pagan symbols, and Rosemary’s Baby like bullspit aren’t? Imagine Jason Voorhees explained away as an extraterrestrial experiment gone awry, or Freddy Krueger as a military project forged to teach children respect. You get the idea.

In fact, one could argue that The Curse of Michael Myers is even worse than Zombie’s efforts when it comes to staying within the series well honed parameters. John Carpenter created the character as a manifestation of our darkest ‘70s fears, a suspense soaked horror that could come from anywhere and was almost impossible to stop. He carried that over into Halloween 2 before abandoning the idea for the thoroughly odd Season of the Witch. Though he didn’t direct the first two sequels, Carpenter proclaimed that he wanted the films to be reflective of the individuals behind the production. In essence, let the artist guide the gruesomeness. But when Part 3 was rejected outright by audiences, Michael was brought back and a whole new foundation was forged. After all, while still human, he was a villain who couldn’t be killed, who was shot, burned, hacked, slashed, entombed, and otherwise chopped up like mince meat. And yet he could always come back, sallow Shatner face intact. Then Part 6 came along and…huh?

It’s no surprise then that, just like Zombie and the recent announcement about Halloween 3D going forward without his participation, everything that The Curse of Michael Myers created was eventually cast aside. Three years later, Halloween H20: 20 Year Later brought things back to the family facets of the original, with Jamie Lee Curtis reprising her star-making turn as Laurie Strode (John Carpenter was also going to direct, but bailed when longtime franchise head Moustapha Akkad refused his asking price). When Halloween II‘s Rick Rosenthal came along to ruin the original’s memory once and for all with his “reality show” take on the material, Zombie’s zoned out update should have been viewed a literal godsend. Argue all you want over its artistic or source material faithfulness, but nothing fudged with the franchise more than Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers. Even in a pimped out Producer’s Cut, this remains the installment that really turned the terror icon on his head. Why no one complained remains a macabre mystery that will probably never be solved.

—Bill Gibron

Where the Wild Things Are

Director: Spike Jonze

Cast: Max Records, Catherine Keener, James Gandolfini, Catherine O'Hara, Chris Cooper, Paul Dano

(Warner Brothers; US theatrical: 16 Oct 2009 (General Release); 2009)

Trailer

Official Site

It will be quite a shock, especially for some parents. Hollywood has homogenized the family film to the point where expectations match artistic aspirations for a competing level of mediocrity. We no longer expect magic, but marketing, no longer believe in the ability of imagination and originality to lift us out of our seat and into a fantasy that only film can manufacture. Instead, it’s all fake finery, CG substituting for any semblance of invention or moviemaking mystery. It’s all an open book, 80 to 90 minutes of sheer time wasting reconfigured into a bunch of anticlimactic pop culture quips and short attention span inspired hyperactivity.

So when something like Where the Wild Things Are comes along, it raises a lot of interesting questions. After all, at its core, it’s a children’s film for those who are no longer young, a work of amazing insight and emotional weight aimed at the schoolyard but much more at home on the psychologist’s couch. It’s been interesting to watch the critical opinions on this long delayed Spike Jonze masterpiece (does that give this writer’s perspective away? Good!). Lines are being drawn, the ‘love it or loathe it’ determination supported by suspect arguments on both sides. Those who hate the handmade homage to the pains of childhood have found it dull, confusing, messy, and lacking author Maurice Sendak’s initial message (whatever that was). Others consider it a classic.

—Bill Gibron

Paranormal Activity

Director: Oren Peli

Cast: Katie Featherston, Micah Sloat, Michael Bayouth

(Paramount; US theatrical: 25 Sep 2009; 2007)

Trailer

Official Site

No one likes getting cheated. It’s a double-edged sword. On the one hand, you hate yourself for being stupid enough, or gullible enough, to overlook some obvious manipulation. You can’t stand the fact that something you should have seen coming 800 miles away somehow tricked you into averting your attention, just so it could steamroll over you with its obviousness. And then there’s the public perception, the knowledge that others around you are falling for this calculated carnival barking, unaware that when they actually walk into the filmic freak show tent, they’re not getting genetic mutations, but pickling jars filled with low rent medical refuse gussied up to resemble two-headed horrors.

Ten years ago, The Blair Witch Project was touted as the most horrifying film ever, a motion picture experience that rivaled then recognized fright night champions as Psycho, The Exorcist, Dawn of the Dead, and The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Initially sold as a feature made out of real found footage (the actors were not allowed to do publicity during its initial festival run in order to further the “they really died” dynamic of the narrative), websites and Sci-Fi Channel specials pushed the boundaries of purposeful PR ballyhoo. By the time the movie arrived in general release during the Summer 1999, audiences were amped to see a compilation of scenes from a failed documentary, the filmmakers finding themselves way over their heads inside a particularly sinister local legend.

Of course, none of it was true. The stars sat back and laughed, eventually coming out to prove they were still “alive”, while the websites and TV shows that fed the furor over the reality of the Witch mythos also revealed their fictional foundation. By the time the movie hit video several months later, no one still believed that three kids disappeared in the Massachusetts woods looking for a fabled female devil. Even worse, the movie played like a passing fancy, effective initially before devolving into a Borat like case of overkill. Today, it gets half the respect it once earned. And then there were some, like yours truly, who walked into the cinema with expectations the size of Suspiria, only to have the next 90 minutes play out like a bad case of Blind Man’s Bluff. Indeed, when the final shot settled over the audience that warm July day, a voice in the very back shouted out “Is that it???” Truer words have never been blasted at a blank film screen before.

Now we’re facing a repeat of that ridiculous mega-hype, an artistic situation that threatens to turn this Halloween into another case of huckster hokum. For the last few weeks, Paramount and Dreamworks have been “sneaking” the spook show thriller Paranormal Activity to eager audiences ready to experience “the scariest movie of all time” (hmm…where have we heard that before?). Internet addresses geared specifically toward dread are heavily quoted in said advertisements, suggesting that a new kind of creepshow classic awaits those who dare to enter their local Bijou. Campaigns have requested that fans in places where the movie had yet to open “demand” it be brought to their town, and a recent Twitter/Facebook faced strategy had the studios releasing the movie “wide” if one million people signed up for said strategy.

Apparently, every generation needs one of these experiences to remind them that William Castle and Kroger Babb did it bigger and better half a century ago. Since we no longer live in an era where movies are “roadshowed” (show in selected areas for long engagements before moving on to the next market), it’s hard to build such a potent head of spectacle steam. Word of mouth is now instantaneous, not passed over the backyard fence. Besides, modern crowds just won’t cotton to having actresses dressed like nurses in the lobby, ready to administer “emergency treatment” should a movie patron actually pass out or be “frightened to death”. It’s the old carny con man trick - promise them one thing, deliver something quite different - and in this case, what Paranormal Activity pledges is almost impossible to provide, given the material that makes up the storyline.

We are introduced to a young couple who’ve decided to set up a camera in their bedroom, the better to document the strange goings on that have plagued their restless nights as of late. The woman is convinced that it is a reoccurrence of a “haunting” that happened to her when she was a child. The man is drawn to the possible notoriety and fame that might come from their documenting real live paranormal activity. Over the course of several nights witness strange noises and see unusual sights. By the end, the presence of something far more menacing has made itself known and our subjects are desperate to escape. But as we have learned throughout the course of this frequently unfocused film, rational human thought and the cinematic shell game can’t creatively co-exist. Naturally, logic loses out.

Because of its low budget trappings, so-so performances, and incredibly long slowburn set-up before anything remotely interesting happenings, some will have a hard time with this film. It’s an exercise in anticlimactic bait and switch that prepares for something it never plans of providing. Red herrings abound, from the entire exorcism angle (including mandatory webpage exposition), a psychic who’s too scared to stick around, and a creepy Ouija board sequence that draws some initial intrigue and then is simply tossed aside. The main scenes feature our couple sleeping as unseen footsteps plod along, doors open and close, lights flicker on and off, and other random noises disturb their slumber. There is a definite “seen one, seen them all” vibe to these night terror takes, a sense that given the small scale of the production, this was the best scares that could be achieved.

Others will feel like the riders on a shriek specked rollercoaster, their inexperience and quick ability to lapse into the contrivances of the narrative guaranteeing that the minute something minutely unusual happens, they’ll be losing their liquids in a quasi-cathartic recognition of the movie’s manipulative power. Director Oren Peli suffers from the constant camera movement shtick that more or less renders any attempt at suspense pointless, and the ending feels like a cop-out, an attempt to offer the patient viewer with the kind of slam bang selling point the rest of the movie lacks. Those long schooled in the ways of horror will see most of Paranormal Activity‘s gimmicks quite clearly. For others, this will be there monster movie war story for years to come.

Perhaps the saddest part of all the PR pandering is that we are so easily able to fall for it - AGAIN! It’s as if the Blair Witch never happened. Thirty years ago, people paying to see Last House on the Left were told to remind themselves “It was only a movie.” For many, that advertising tagline was more imaginative than the obvious exploitation effort on the screen. John Carpenter’s Thing was heavily promoted as a “double dare” title around specific adolescent demographics, a splatter showcase so nasty you were basically belittled into taking the potentially nauseating risk. When Witch was hailed as ‘the scariest movie ever’, it was doing so from a place of obvious novelty. Few films had used the POV perspective to tell their tale, and with the surrounding company gag order, many were still convinced the final film was actually real. Today, we see hundred of examples of this style.

No one will think Paranormal Activity is real. Even though it’s being sold that way (the film opens with the studio thanking the San Diego Police Department), it is an obvious ruse. The script doesn’t try to sound true to life. Instead, it follows the same haunted house elements that exasperate audiences who want the victims to wise up and get the Hell out of harms way. It’s funny to watch the studio sell it as a “group” experience, the hope being that by seeing it with a whole bunch of potential marks, a few of their jitters will rub off on you. Odd that they don’t use the same strategy for comedies or dramas (see “Precious” with someone whose shoulder you can cry on…). So the hyperbole’s been turned up to 11, pundit after macabre know-it-all arguing that William Friedkin’s Oscar nominated look at demonic possession is a fair comparison to this low rent clap trap. Right.

Of course, opinions are just judgments based on personal and collective outlook. But in a genre that’s more mocked than embraced, that sees so many shoddy examples of same that studios now longer screen them for cocksure critical cynics, Paranormal Activity is bucking the trend. It’s still being sold as a Mount Everest of eerie when its probably a Pike’s Peak of unfulfilled possibilities. Like the old cliché claims - fool me once, shame on me, fool me twice, shame on you. With the rare exception of the Spanish sensation [REC] , which actually used the fact that a patron actually soiled themselves watching the brilliant zombie effort, expectations rarely lead to realizations (it’s a great film - seek it out on DVD). Paranormal Activity will be the cause du jour for the next few weeks until Award Season proper kicks in. By the time Santa is sliding down the chimney, it will be in the same place The Blair Witch Project was post-release. Here’s betting that 10 years from now, something else will come along to render this cheat chuckle worthy. Until then, as Public Enemy would argue, don’t believe the hype.

—Bill Gibron

Maybe Maxim readers don’t go to the movies. Perhaps horror, no matter how “hot” the monster, is still an isolated demographical given. It could be that Diablo Cody has shot her literary wad already, proving that Juno might just have been the cinematic equivalent of Dexy’s Midnight Runner’s “Come On, Eileen”. Or maybe it’s about time to admit what has been all but painfully true to anyone who thinks with their brain and not some other organ - Megan Fox is merely ordinary. She’s far from a great beauty and clearly a less than significant movie “star”. Having an F-me face and an F-you body does not an accomplished actress make, and with her exceptionally mediocre onscreen resume, why anyone celebrates said below-averageness is astonishing.

What, exactly, makes Megan Fox special? Her seven-eighths whore, one-eighth air biscuit persona clearly stirs the overindulged loins of geek/jock/middle-aged prevert nation, and a media recognizing exactly where the disposable cash lies in this limp economy, has jumped on said bandwagon like a fair-weather sports fan. But popularity is not perspective. If it was, the Pet Rock would be a PS3. Ms. Fox may have some inherent quality that fails to fully come across on a camera, an innate kindness or depth than disappears once the blaring lights of lime hit her mannequin like mug. And when gauged against dozens of other far more fetching performers, she’s nothing but an animated Real Doll.

Revoke this critic’s membership in the male gender if you must, but there’s hasn’t been this much unmitigated hoopla surrounding a subpar product since Apple announced the arrival of the horrid handheld Newton. Somewhere, in her self-imposed exile, Phoebe Cates is laughing her equally touted ‘80s tush off. Fox hasn’t proven anything by being the slightly less mechanical eye candy in the hot and cold Transformers films, was equally weak playing basically herself in the absolutely awful How to Lose Friends and Alienate People, and proved this weekend that she can’t open a modest, made to order movie like Jennifer’s Body. Indeed, despite a massive publicity campaign that had every hack website with a horror-based nomenclature declaring its brilliance, the supposedly most beautiful woman in the world could barely drum up double digit box office. Sorry, sweetie, but $6.7 million doesn’t cut it in wannabe A-list territory.

But is it really Fox’s fault? Is her blank persona and centerfold ambiguity really the reason why people failed to flock to this faux fright funny business? Reviewers have been extremely harsh on the Fempire’s CEO for her self-indulgent and conscious screenplay, many suggesting it plays like Diablo Cody parodying a Diablo Cody script. Others point to the flop sweat still streaming off director Karyn Kusama’s career. In a strange sort of cinematic synchronicity, the Girlfight helmer took a true super beauty, Charlize Theron, and almost destroyed her commercial credibility with the groan-inducing live action adaptation of MTV fave Aeon Flux. So with two seeming strikes against it Jennifer’s Body had to have a solid lead to help lift it over some possible problems. It certainly didn’t need Ms. Fox’s inert charms to further undermine the material.

This is Fox’s eighth year as a ‘professional’. She got her start, of all places, with Mary-Kate and Ashley Olson in one of the twins patented direct to video cash machines, Holiday in the Sun. She then parlayed that success into a long running stint on the surreal Swedish sudser Ocean Ave. (don’t worry - we hadn’t heard of it either). Then came an uncredited turn in Michael Bay’s Bad Boys II, a couple of one shot sitcom stints, a pretty hefty part in the Linsday Lohan mess Confessions of a Teen Age Drama Queen, and 37 episodes of the ABC laugher Hope & Faith. Yet it was a bunch of battling alien robots with magical mutation powers that put her on the map, Bay remembering the carnal Cupie Doll from the Will Smith/Martin Lawrence cop rocker. The rest, as they say, is slo-mo close-up of her ruby red lips (slightly parted) history.

A billion magazines and soured cheesecake photos later and the whole planet is agog. While there is no accounting for taste (beauty remains in the eye of the beholder, no matter how much the TV and tabloids try to tell us differently), it’s clear that Fox is another in a long line of hollow honeys that’s use publicity over performance to achieve her a certain level of stardom. Hollywood does indeed have a history of such questionably attractive anomalies. People poo-poo’ed Jayne Mansfield as a sorry, second-class Marilyn Monroe (she was a decent lowbrow onscreen comedienne, however) while the ‘60s shoveled all kinds of pert pin-ups on the raging hormones of an underage audience. Some were actually incredibly talented - Rachel Welch - while others -Joey Heatherton - seemed famous just for being that - famous. 

Fox clearly falls into the latter category, a commodity constantly presold without a great deal of actual interest or purpose. If she were really this smoking too-hot-to-handle superstar, if she were everything the PR machine makes her out to be, Jennifer’s Body would have put a double barreled smackdown on its less than hefty competition (including an incomprehensibly bad Jennifer Aniston RomCom and the second week of Tyler Perry’s fire and brimstone branding). While fifth place is not last, it’s also not the spot reserved for someone who is constantly touted as something far above average. Yet it’s clear that, outside of the hoopla, she’s just about that. Even her overall Rotten Tomatoes (46%)/Metacritic (47%) suggests a C- ranking. 

Maybe decades from now, when clearer heads prevail, Fox will be viewed through the far more discerning eye that comes with temporal clarity. Her manufactured splendor and sleaze-skank-saint schizophrenia will be measured alongside her many (or nonexistent) accomplishments and a true evaluation can be made. If history is any indication, she’ll be filed away as a flash in the pan, a TMZ-style starlet statistic, a where-are-they-now trivia question, or a well-respected actress who reinvented herself to avoid the constant claims of “talentless floozy.” Granted, there’s still a lot of grandstanding and backhanded bandwagoning going on, and with the big budget comic book adaptation of Jonah Hex in the works, Fox remains poised to be a People magazine mainstay until long after John and Kate become fame whore flameouts. Still, as this weekend proves, it’s gonna take a lot more than attention to get this plasticine pariah to be anything other than a debateable dreamboat. 

—Bill Gibron

Jerry Lewis remains an elusive cinematic figure. For most, he’s a joke, the punchline to a slam on the foolish French, or the kooky caricature of a nerd screeching “HEY LAAAAADY!” at the top of their nasal voice. Others have a more proper perspective, recognizing both his work with former partner Dean Martin (they remain the biggest phenomenon and unquantifiable gold standard in the now dead art of night club entertainment) and his tireless efforts on behalf of muscular dystrophy (summed up by this weekend’s telethon). But when it comes to film, especially those he’s personally written and directed, he stays a fool, a jester as jerk de-evovling the artform into nothing more than senseless silly slapstick. It doesn’t matter that Lewis authored one of the standard textbooks on the craft (The Total Film-Maker, 1971), or conceived technical innovations that revolutionized the production process.

Few see that he’s actually a bridge between the old fashioned chuckles of Hollywood’s Golden Era and the more experimental, existential humor of the post-modern period. Instead, he seems forever fated to be the dopey dude who takes the pratfall and pulls his face like putty – that’s all. Sadly, such a sentiment diminishes a great deal of very good work. While it’s true that Lewis lacks contextual sophistication – especially when it comes to subject matter and storyline – he is a procedural and visionary marvel. Thanks to a famous collaboration with Warner Brothers animator turned director Frank Tashlin (who’s really the aesthetic lynchpin for the look of most Lewis films) and his own turns in the creator’s chair, we can witness the rise, fall, and unjust dismissal of an amazing artist.

We begin by ignoring his first two solo efforts – the oddly dark The Delicate Delinquent (nothing more than a Martin and Lewis project gone sour) and the military farce The Sad Sack (good, but not quite there). After that, we can trace his talent, his tenacity, and his tendency toward self-indulgence. Hopefully, this will paint a better, more believable portrait of Jerry Lewis, an image beyond the frog-mouthed braying and the pantomime typewriter routines. For all his flaws, his hubris and his ego, the man could really make movies. The proof lies in the following list of legitimate cinematic statements, starting with:

Rock-a-Bye Baby (1958) (with director Frank Tashlin)
For many this stands as the first ‘legitimate’ Jerry Lewis film. It’s not a leftover from his partnership with Martin, and marks the moment when Tashlin’s cartoon conceit steps in. It becomes the standard for most of the comedian’s work for the next two decades. While sappy and saccharine, it’s also the start of greater things to come.

The Geisha Boy (1958) (with director Frank Tashlin)
While far from politically correct (watch out for lots of slant eyed Asian awkwardness) and hitting, again, on the “Lewis with a foundling” formula that would guide his initial output, this otherwise ordinary film represents something miserable, not memorable.

The Bellboy (1960)
After the routine returns of Don’t Give Up the Ship and Visit to a Small Planet, Lewis was looking for a way to express himself without the interference of studio stooges who didn’t understand his style. In the meantime, Paramount wanted to save his upcoming Cinderfella for the Fall. So during a nightclub appearance in Miami, he made an agreement with the studio to create this on the fly homage to silent slapstick comedy. It became Lewis’s breakthrough. It also marks the introduction of ‘video assist’ – the use of video playback to allow a director to test how a scene plays and how the compositions work. Yes, Lewis is credited for creating the now-obligatory tool.

Cinderfella (1960) (with director Frank Tashlin)
Tashlin’s take on the classic fairytale is so weepy and maudlin that it’s hard to believe that anyone thought it would be a sizeable hit. But because of his stature as a legitimate solo superstar (eclipsing his previous partner many times over), Lewis’s career in front of the camera was now secured. His next effort would establish his prowess behind the lens as well.

The Ladies Man (1961)
It remains a monumental achievement in set design and art direction. Throwing his weight around as a box office behemoth, Lewis demanded and received an entire Paramount soundstage to create what is, essentially, an entire four story house complete with grand concourse, spiral staircases, open walled bedrooms, and an old fashioned elevator running up the side. It was a massive masterpiece of a playset, and Lewis made the most of it. Visually, Man is amazing. Unfortunately, the comedy is a tad forced, relying more on small moments than the epic environment created.

The Errand Boy (1961)
As a love letter to the studio that stood by him, Lewis made this simplistic silliness. Standing as one of his true classic comedies, this skewering of Hollywood hubris in combination with the filmmaker’s fleet footed physical shtick resulted in a creative combination that would underscore his next few films. Tinsel Town never took such a well-intentioned tweaking.

It’$ Only Money (1962) (with director Frank Tashlin)
Relatively forgotten, even among Lewis fans, this oddball detective farce – Lewis is a TV repairman and alongside a shifty private dick, get caught up in the search for a rich family’s missing heir – is one of the funnyman’s forgotten gems. Tashlin really amplifies his anarchic style, and Lewis looses himself in the relatively low key role. Instead of playing to the audience, he’s playing FOR them.

The Nutty Professor (1963)
Without a doubt, this stands as one of comedy’s major cinematic milestones. By riffing on his relationship with ex-partner Martin (who Buddy Love is obviously mirrored after) and putting to use every kind of cleverness imaginable, we get a wonderful whirlwind of dopiness and deftness. Lewis actually plays CHARACTERS here, not just weird variations of his own stick boy persona, and the emotional underpinning of the relationship with Stella Purdy is heartfelt and very human. Granted, this satiric Jekyll and Hyde has its slack sequences, but if you wonder what keeps Lewis part of the motion picture equation, even four decades later, this fantastic film is the answer.

Who’s Minding the Store? (1963) (with director Frank Tashlin)
After Professor, another go round with Tashlin seemed like a step backward. Still, Store is fun, using the premise (Lewis is a clerk put through the ringer by an owner who doesn’t want him marrying her daughter) to explore some major spectacle set pieces. It’s hit or miss, but there’s more to love than loathe in the end. 

The Patsy (1964)
Often cited as one of Lewis’s more cynical films, this droll look at celebrity and the shallowness of fame is, in reality, on par with Professor as a certifiable sensation. A dynamite combination of silent film gags, pop culture spoof (see Ed Sullivan mock himself!), and insightful evisceration into the cult of personality, it’s a brilliant, brazen farce.

The Disorderly Orderly (1964) (with director Frank Tashlin)
For his last film with Tashlin, Lewis resorts to stereotyping – that is, merely playing a version of the klutzy character he perfected in The Bellboy and The Errand Boy. Still, Disorderly is a surreal bit of insanity. It’s a cookie-cutter confection that only wants to entertain. And it definitely does so in small, sublime doses.

The Family Jewels (1965)
Marking the end of an era in more ways than one, this unfunny flop would represent the last time Lewis worked within such a cartoonish carelessness. Playing seven separate roles (the film focuses on a butler – Lewis – looking to place an orphaned girl with one of six specious Uncles – again, all Lewis). Some may marvel at the extensive use of split screen, and the attempt to distinguish the ridiculous relatives by outrageous make-up and costume conceits, but by going back to the days of fostering wee ones, Lewis seemed to suggest that he needed such a crutch to remain relevant.

Three on a Couch (1966)
Attempting to make the leap into more ‘adult oriented fare’, many feel Lewis succeeded with this sincere psychobabble. Again playing multiple roles (the plot has the clown wooing the man-hating patients of his psychiatrist fiancé so the pair can vacation in Paris), we get the battle of the sexes circa the swinging ‘60s. Unfortunately, the envelope pushing concepts of gender politics and free love are nowhere to be found. In many ways, this film’s view of relationships is so conservative it would make ‘50s suburbanites smile.

The Big Mouth (1967)
Here it is - the last straw in the lumbering Lewis legacy. After the failure of two films made without his direct input – the sci-fi stupidity of Way…Way Out! and the British bunk Don’t Raise the Bridge, Lower the River – Lewis retook the reigns of his motion picture product. The result was this horrendous, mean-spirited mess. Overstuffed with stereotypes (including more mandatory Oriental awfulness) and painfully unfunny, it signaled the final nail on the comedian’s almost closed creative coffin.

Which Way to the Front? (1970)
After once again failing to connect both as an actor (in the mediocre Hook, Line and Sinker) and director for hire (the Peter Lawford,/Sammy Davis Jr. vehicle One More Time), Lewis was desperate to revive his cinematic fortunes. With such war-oriented comedies as The Russians are Coming, The Russians are Coming and Start the Revolution Without Me creating significant buzz, Lewis jumped into the genre with both feet. The plot involved a rich army reject desperate to battle Hitler’s Nazi nogoodniks, and there’s a lot of attempted anarchy here. Most of the movie is inert, however.

Hardly Working (1980)
After his attempt at a semi-serious Holocaust drama was sidetracked by funding issues and a creative concern for the actual material (more on this in a moment), Lewis left filmmaking. He claimed he was angered when he saw one of his films playing on a double bill with the then popular porn film Deep Throat, and announced he was no longer “in tune” with the crass concerns of the industry. After a decade out of the moviemaking limelight, Lewis released this ‘comeback’ effort, a collection of cobbled together vignettes centering on a schlub who just can’t stay employed. Varying wildly between good and grating, the result was deemed a dud by a savvier motion picture marketplace. Lewis again blamed everyone but himself, and regrouped. He still had one more aged Ace up his sleeve.

Cracking Up (1983)
Though he would spend the rest of his career playing character parts (and quite well – his work in both Martin Scorsese’s King of Comedy and the TV series Wiseguy were performance epiphanies), Lewis longed to be a big screen buffoon once again. Hoping to avoid the flaws of Working, he brought in old script collaborator Bill Richmond (who had worked with the actor on several of his seminal hits). The result was a weirdly uneven effort that still manages to be uproariously funny. Though he was about as old as the material he was mining, Lewis proved that no one understood this kind of craziness better than he. Sadly, physical limitations and demographic denial prevented any further films.

The Day the Clown Cried (Unfinished)
For a long time, this rumored fiasco acted as an artistic albatross around Lewis’s neck – and with good reason. As Roberto Benigni proved with his painfully insulting Holocaust comedy Life is Beautiful, some subjects can’t stand up to dimwitted dopiness. Clearly, the killing of six million Jews by Hitler during World War II is one of them. Still, Lewis believed he had stumbled onto something substantive when he discovered Joan O’Brien’s novel about an imprisoned clown employed by the Nazi’s to entertain little children as they were sent off to the gas chambers. True, there is a queasy quality of tastelessness when matched up against Lewis’s love of all things overdone and overbroad, but it’s quite possible that he could have pulled this off. Naturally, those who’ve seen a rough cut have argued for its awfulness, but if a stunted Italian gimmick can get audiences to appreciate his jesting snuff stuff, why couldn’t Lewis? Sadly, it appears this will merely remain fodder for further mythologizing, nothing more. 

—Bill Gibron