THE WARD (2010)

(Spoilers for The Ward can be found throughout. Read with caution.)

Listen, after 2001’s Ghost of Mars, John Carpenter’s previous theatrical feature, we all wanted to love The Ward. We wanted it to be worth the ten-year wait. After all, it was directed by a living legend who has been consistently five years too early for all the concepts he's introduced to the genre. Many of his most heralded films received lukewarm-to-middling reviews at the time of their release, but slowly and steadily began to be recognized for the genius (or just downright fun) little tales of beautiful nastiness that they were. Halloween received ho-hum reviews for several months until a positive one by The Village Voice turned it all around. The Thing, now rightly hailed as a classic and a defining moment in the horror genre – having inspired filmmakers as diverse as Quentin Tarantino, Guillermo Del Toro, Eli Roth, and so many others – was vilified upon its release. Critics called The Thing a porno of violence and accused Carpenter of filling his movie with irredeemable set pieces. David Ansen of Newsweek called it "an example of the New Aesthetic - atrocity for atrocity's sake" while Alan Spencer for Starlog contended that "John Carpenter was never meant to direct science fiction horror movies. He's better suited to direct traffic accidents, train wrecks and public floggings" (IMDB).

Despite his consistent post-Thing filmography, Carpenter openly states that his remake of the Howard Hawks 1951 classic nearly destroyed his career. It forced him on a path to grin and bear safer studio projects before fleeing back into the world of independent filmmaking, thanks to a distribution-only deal with Universal (which resulted in both Prince of Darkness and They Live, both considered among the master’s best).

So, the question remains: How will The Ward be looked upon in ten years from now? Will people’s general indifference and disappointment toward it subside? Will it be elevated and looked at with a new pair of eyes? Well, considering the director’s own and aforementioned Ghosts of Mars is still considered the dung pile most said it was in 2001, the jury can and will be out on that for the next decade.

But here’s the thing about The Ward, people. It ain’t that bad. It really, really isn’t. Yes, the script could have been stronger and a bit more unique. And yeah, it would’ve been nice to have a better twist ending than, “oh, she’s a crazy split personality.” Many negative reviews for the film have pointed to the script as the main reason for the film’s failure. And I will not sit here and try to convince you otherwise. No, the script is not very good. It's a convoluted amalgamation of J-horror, typical slashers, a bit of the ol' torture porn, and psychological thrillers. But I really take offense to the claims that The Ward is point and shoot; uninspired looking and almost TV-movie in scope—that Carpenter’s ever-dependable look and feel were completely absent from the film.

Guys, when I read those claims, I really have to wonder what fucking movie it was you watched.

After the movie’s initial opening, in which we see Amber Heard’s Kristen fleeing through the woods after having burned down a house, we cut to the psychiatric institution where our characters are committed. And the camera slowly pushes down a long hallway, inches off the ground, as background music echoes off the wall. We’re not even five minutes in, people, and it sure feels like a fucking Carpenter movie to me.

Except for the director’s most unheralded movie, In the Mouth of Madness, he’s never made a movie that actually fucked with your mind—that showed you only pieces of the overall puzzle as you sat back and tried to make sense of it all. And that’s precisely what The Ward is: a puzzle, being slowly put together by Kristen. While the destination may be all-too-often traveled, at least the intent is to shock and surprise you.

As to the claims that the film lacks energy and enthusiasm from the director (one report actually had the audacity to claim he was directing the movie from his trailer), I can only point to the impromptu dance the girls share in the common area of the hospital. The sequence is directed with, at first, such an infectious sense of enthusiasm that you can’t help but smile as you see these girls trying to exorcise themselves of all the bad mojo hanging over their heads and just, for once, get some enjoyment out of life; and that’s of course before the scene quickly takes a turn for the worst, showing in brief, nearly-subliminal images the ghoulish face of the ghost that is haunting them all. It’s a new bag of tricks that Carpenter is trying out, and I, for one, welcome the change. Much as I’d like for him to consistently churn out the types of movies that he made in the ‘80s, well…that would be boring after a while, wouldn’t it? Don’t you want to see growth from your filmmakers? Don’t you want to see them leave their comfort zone and try something new (at least, new to them)? That's up for debate. He could announce tomorrow the long-mooted Escape from Earth and people’s boners would shoot through their computer screens, but he tried revisiting Snake Plissken once before, didn’t he? And that didn’t turn out all that great.

Plus, I could think of worse ways to spend 90 minutes than watching Danielle Panabaker run around in that Daphne-from-"Scooby-Doo" outfit.

"Mind if I titillate?"

Carpenter, his old age having caught up with him, is no longer the jack-of-all-trades he used to be.  Instead of editing, writing, producing, scoring, and directing, he has, in recent years, opted only to go with the latter, leaving everything else up to his colleagues. And yes, that has changed (not destroyed) the look and feel of his films. But not in any way that makes them less deserving of our attention. They're different, but not inferior. They reflect a Carpenter in his golden age. They reflect a man who doesn't want to entirely throw in the towel, but just wants to make it a little bit easier on himself. He's put in the time, had his battles with studios (Universal) and ego-maniacal actors (Chevy Chase). He's earned the chance to take it easy. If we want to experience a great Carpenter screenplay, there's always Halloween, and if we're jonesing for an iconic score, there is always The Fog.

Speaking of music, Mark Killian's haunting, ethereal, and unusual score for The Ward picks up where Carpenter left off, who'd scored his previous (and probably last) film Ghosts of Mars. But Killian knows what makes Carpenter's music so effective: It's simple, to the point, but ever-present.

If nothing else, The Ward should be considered a potential conduit to getting Carpenter back behind the camera for more features. Apparently (and disappointingly) The Benders has been appropriated by Guillermo Del Toro, man of a thousand announced projects, and I don't know what's going on with Darkchylde, but Carpenter is ready and willing to get back behind the camera, should the circumstances be right.

Lazy script or not, inconsistent or not, The Ward brought our director back to us. For that, I’ll always be grateful.

REVIEW: STRIPPED

I suppose if it had been a bigger hit, or if someone had thought of it, Stripped would have been marketed as "Project X meets Hostel." Because that's pretty much what we have here: "found footage" of a group of horny frat-boy types hauling ass to Vegas for a weekend of debauchery, but finding themselves victimized and stalked by a group of black market organ traffickers.

It is Graham's 21st birthday, and so it's off to Sin City with his BFFs Luke, Cameron, and Tommy. They like to smoke weed and drink booze. They make an awful lot of jokes, some involving puke and some involving mothers. They call each other "fag" and make fun of Twilight. Because, you know, kids.

Along the way they pick up Capri, who crashes the party to hitch a ride so she can meet up with her boyfriend, Jake, who lives in Vegas. Once that happens, drama ensues when it's revealed she once had some kind of romantic tryst with Luke. But the kids quickly get back to their jokes and the social awkwardness is left behind for the time being. After stopping off at a gas station bathroom, they discover a business card promising "women willing to do anything to make you happy." (That means hookers.)  And we have a catalyst!

"Mind if I fornicate?"

The minute we meet out first character, you can immediately tell he, and all his cohorts, are going to be obnoxious and unlikable. That's a huge problem, especially in this genre. For Stripped, it's genuinely hard to tell if this was a conscious choice to make the eventual bloodletting all the more satisfying, or if the desire to make our kids "realistic" and "fun" didn't really work out that way. They fart, talk about fucking constantly, and make references to having sex with babies. (Seriously.) Either way, I don't care about any of these kids, at all.

Stripped, as a "story," takes entirely too long to get going. Except for the rather cheap and brief cuts of debauchery and torture soon to come (foreshadowing, only far less subtle!), the first 40 minutes is nothing but watching handsome and/or pretty young people hang out, high five, test your patience, and hold beer bottles. It is around the 40-minute mark when the kids finally get to the shady, out-of-the-way place where the strippers/hookers hang out.

Oddly, it is around the 45-minute mark where director J.M.R. Luna abandons the found footage aesthetic altogether and begins to shoot the film traditionally, which is jarring, to say the least. There is an attempt to maintain the style using surveillance cameras (which make no sense existing in an incredibly illegal and murderous operation), but all this does is make the brief, traditionally-shot sequences stick out all the more. Adding to this confusion is they seem to have used the same camera for every shot - the "found footage" amateur stuff as well as the real-movie, traditional stuff. So, take your established inconsistency, add this newer confusion, and you have Stripped: the feature film that dares you to figure out what's happening.

And finally, it is around the 50-minute mark when anything the least bit resembling a horror film finally begins to occur. This in a 75-minute film.

There is absolutely no attempt at coherence in Stripped. Although it's plainly established there is only ever one camera in use for most of the trip, suddenly, when it's essential to the plot, Capri randomly has her own camera. And speaking of, there's absolutely no reason, once Capri attempts to find her friends in a seedy whore house and becomes understandably scared, that she would hold her camera out at arm's length and film her own face as she walks around - especially when it's been established the filmmakers are willing to switch perspective to  traditional shooting, which easily could have been employed here. The most damning aspect to this is that Capri clearly has a camera - speaks directly into it at one point, like a diary - but then when she walks by in a "surveillance camera" shot, is obviously not holding a camera. This doesn't happen just once, but repeatedly.

I mean, what the fuck?

Honestly, there isn't much I can say about Stripped that's positive. The acting is decent, but only because it's not hard to get a bunch of kids to act obnoxious and silly. The girls were pretty and the boys were handsome. Everything shot was in frame and in focus. The strippers showed off their cleavage and sometimes their goods (if you're into that sort of thing). When the kids are killed and harvested (spoiler?), smile in relief, because it means the end is coming. 

I mean...that's it.

Look, if you always wanted to see the guys from "Jackass" get sliced up to rock/rap, all mixed with a lot of nudity, AND a scene where a naked boy fist-fights a crazy surgeon, now's your chance. Normally I'd feel guilty trashing a film this bad, but I don't this time. Maybe because this isn't even really a film. To call it such is an insult to filmmakers actually trying.

REVIEW: SNOW SHARK

I am speechless.

I am without speech.

Years ago, I saw an incredibly low budget looking trailer for a film called Snow Shark. Being the avid bad shark movie enthusiast that I am, I looked upon the trailer with glee, assuming it was just a joke.

"Ha ha! No way that's real!" etc.

Flash forward to the semi-present and I happen to catch wind of Snow Shark's impending video release.

"Ha ha! They sure are keeping that joke going!" I say to myself.

Then I'm sent a press release threatening to send me a complimentary copy.

"Ha ha! Let's do it!" I said.

And now, 80 minutes later, I don't even know what to say. What I can say...is that it was no joke. Snow Shark is a thing. A REAL thing. 

What's it about, you ask? Seriously? Is the title not enough?

Go ahead, I'll await here:

In 1999, a team of animal biologists investigating a rash of wildlife killings disappeared in the lonely woods near a small town. Years later, a local resident claims to have killed a prehistoric carnivorous creature living in the snow. Now, someone – or something – is making lunch of the locals.  

As curiosity-seekers and crypto zoologists descend on the small town, drawn by the legend of the Snow Shark, Mark - sole survivor of an earlier attack - leads an armed and dangerous posse into a deadly battle. 

Dive into Snow Shark, the outrageous and spine-tingling tale of the world’s greatest predator, frozen for thousands of years, freed by an earthquake, and really, really hungry.   

Reviewing a film like this is a tough order because it's clearly stupid. Everyone involved in the production knows it's stupid. Even the director knows it's stupid. The acting is...not great. The effects are...less...not great. And when I say effects, I mean a shark's fin being towed across a field by a truck, and a surplus of Final Cut Pro digital blood. 

Despite that, Snow Shark is irresistibly watchable. To watch Snow Shark is to watch an ambulance driven by a bear crash into an IHOP, which then explodes into tiny pieces of confetti shaped like middle fingers. You have never seen anything like it before, and you never will again - that is unless writer/director Sam Qualiana has a sequel in mind: Snow Shark 2: Winter is Chumming.

In Snow Shark, no one is safe. Not cryptozoologists, not fake Suicide Girls, not Santa Claus. All become shark meat, and all die gloriously.

I suppose in any review of any shark film, I have to use the J word. It's unavoidable. So let's get it out of the way.

Jaws.

Allow me to enhance:

Snow Shark is no Jaws. It is no Jaws 2. It is not even that fake Jaws 5 which remains unreleased in 99% of the universe. I feel a little weird even bringing up Jaws in the same breath as Snow Shark. It's like mentioning W.S. Maugham in a review for the latest book by that British witch who wrote all that housewife bondage Twilight fan fiction you see on the shelves at Target next to Glenn Beck and Dora the Explorer. Because the two are so disparate that not even Batman's Tumbler shooting miles from one ramp to another with a tow line could connect them.

I bring up Jaws, however, because like that landmark film, Snow Shark DOES feature: a sheriff, a biologist, a crusty shark hunter, and a mayor who refuses to do anything about his particular problem until Snow Shark swims up and bites him right on the snowsuit. (The ass part.) Oh, and shark deaths. Plenty of those.

"Mind if I masticate?"

Are there "jokes" in Snow Shark?

Not really.

Is the entire film Snow Shark a joke?

I think so. But I really have no idea.

"Promise me you'll kill that snow shark if it's the last thing you ever do!" one sister of a victim sobs.

"The demon has no soul! It only keeps me alive to feed off my pain!" another character shouts.

Hmm...

No. Still not sure.

There is no winking and/or nudging to be seen. Dear God, they are taking this seriously.

Oh, wait - someone just ordered a Cutty Shark. Does that count?

In a film with this kind of budget, which was clearly limited, am I allowed to bring up things like...the shark head we sometimes see is clearly superimposed over the snow from which it's supposed to be unearthing? Or, can I point out the handful of outdoor scenes which boast canned "windy" noises, but whose trees and brush in the background remain still and undisturbed?

How about the fact that there's a fucking real-life, honest-to-gosh shark that fucking lives in snow? Shallow, shallow snow?

There's no such thing as a "review" for Snow Shark. Not anywhere. You might think there is, but there's not. Instead, it's the scattered ramblings of someone trying to comprehend what it is they just witnessed.

How about this? I watched Snow Shark. I am still alive. I laughed quite a bit. I still cannot play the piano.

Image may not actually be from Snow Shark.

Snow Shark is terrible and amazing all at the same time. It is Hulk Hogan punching you in the face, screaming his shirt off, but then buying you a brand new car. It is eating a slice of pizza, finding a bloody band-aid inside, but your waitress, Katy Perry, giving you an apology blowjob.

Show Shark is an amalgamation of everything I adore and abhor about low budget horror.

It simply just...is.

Experience it for yourself when it hits video February 19.

UNSUNG HORRORS: THE FIRST POWER

Every once in a while, a genuinely great horror movie—one that would rightfully be considered a classic, had it gotten more exposure and love at the box office—makes an appearance. It comes, no one notices, and it goes. But movies like this are important. They need to be treasured and remembered. If intelligent, original horror is supported, then that's what we'll begin to receive, in droves. We need to make these movies a part of the legendary genre we hold so dear. Because these are the unsung horrors. These are the movies that should have been successful, but were instead ignored. They should be rightfully praised for the freshness and intelligence and craft that they have contributed to our genre.

So, better late than never, we’re going to celebrate them now… one at a time.

Dir. Robert Resnikoff

1990

Orion Pictures

United States

I struggled with whether or not to include this particular entry of Unsung Horrors for a long time. It’s a movie that I have unashamedly loved since I was very young (as it was one that used to run near-constantly on what eventually became the CW). The reason I struggled with it is because no one ever talks about it. Not critics, not horror sites, and not even like-minded, casual film geeks. It’s almost like a phantom – some forgotten tome from the very early '90s that may have gotten lost in the so-called listless decade in which people seem to think nothing notable in the horror genre was released. Because of that, it’s hard to gauge if The First Power needs to be defended (It Ain’t That Bad) or rightfully praised (Unsung Horrors). But then there’s another problem. I have no objectivity because I’ve been watching this thing since before my ability to detect quality over something I merely like was refined. (And there is a difference between liking a film and said film actually being good.) So, is The First Power a good movie? I honestly can’t say. It does, after all, star Lou Diamond Phillips, who somewhere after Young Guns became kind of a walking punch line. And it does contain immortal serial killers, psychics, and cats eating pizza.

In the interest of remaining optimistic, I think it’s fair to include it here. Those who disagree can sound off below.

Lou Diamond Phillips plays Russell Logan, a Los Angeles detective who specializes in tracking serial killers. His latest target is Patrick Channing, aka The Pentagram Killer (Jeff Kober, most recently of “Sons of Anarchy” fame). He likes to kidnap girls and carve pentagrams on their bodies while wearing his creepy face mask and saying prayers in reverse. A routine stake-out in hopes of capturing Channing ends with the attack of a female detective, and Logan pursues the killer, getting stabbed like crazy town in the process and left severely injured. Still, Channing is arrested and put to death for his crimes.

Time passes, Logan recovers from his wounds, and everyone celebrates Channing's demise, including Logan. But then he receives a phone call from the mysterious woman who has been assisting all along with the investigation. Turns out Logan has gone back on his word, breaking the agreement that had been forged between them – she would continue providing Logan with information to help catch Channing only if he promised that he would be taken alive, and would not be put to death. (Oops.) Turns out, Channing’s reign of terror is only just beginning. With his spirit freed from his corporeal body, Channing now has the uncanny ability to body jump from host to host and cause all manner of havoc.

Tess Seaton (Tracy Griffith, of Sleepaway Camp 3!) plays a psychic (aka the mysterious woman) who makes a damn good living as such. Logan hunts Tess down after the body of that female detective who had been earlier attacked by Channing is found covered in Channing-style knife graffiti. At first assuming Tess must be in on it, Logan begins to slowly believe in the “other” world that allows such things as the psychic powers Tess possesses, or the abilities that allow Channing to do what he is doing.  

Along for the ride (for better or worse) is Logan’s partner, Ollie Franklin (probably the most popular and recognizable character actor of all time, Mykelti Williamson, responsible for Bubba in Forrest Gump, among many, many others). His screen time is unfortunately limited, but he manages to slip in at least one "kiss my black ass," which I believe was a requirement in every cop procedural movie featuring a black actor made during the 1990s.

I love The First Power, first and foremost and above all else, because it’s eerie.  It’s a combination of several horror staples – serial killers, the supernatural, and religious mythos.  It combines all of these in a (heh, I was about to say believable) clever manner and they work well enough together that they become believable (in a strictly cinematic sense). But it's also well aware of itself, and writer/director Robert Resnikoff is wise to inject a bit of humor into the story, both in dialogue and in circumstances. It's an interesting juxtaposition in that The First Power can be pretty grisly, eerie, and dark. But then it will take a break and let Logan or Tess or even Channing say or do something ridiculous that will let the air out of the powder keg a bit to settle things down. The use of humor is slight, but appreciated...until the third act, in which Channing possesses another character and goes ape shit inside Logan's car as he and Tess try to make a break for it. In this scene the puns fly fast and furious, and Channing goes from being a murderous, demonic killer to a huge pain in the ass.

Incidentally, this scene ends in a wicked car crash.

Full disclosure: The First Power is not perfect, is nowhere near it, and at times severely stretches the concept of disbelief. After all, what are you supposed to do when the killer rips a ceiling fan off the wall, separates it from its wires and power source, and still manages to turn the damn thing on and pursue our characters, anyway? Or how are you supposed to react when the climax of the film, which takes place in a sewer, involves a gigantic vat of acid that’s there for some reason?

Because The First Power wants you to be be thrilled as well as have fun. As "no shit" as it may sound, The First Power knows it's a movie. ("No shit!") It exists entirely within the world of cinema, and so tropes we've come to easily accept in more traditional cop-hunting-a-killer movies are gleefully included here, like the hard-drinking loose-cannon detective, the killer with a gimmick, and the out-of-nowhere love interest. But that's all okay, because it works just fine.

There is no better scene in the film that more aptly sets the tone than the one which takes place in the third act. Sister Marguerite, a minor character vital to the conflict, has a deep seated knowledge and obsession with the world of cults and devil worship, so much that she is chided and considered an outcast at her convent. Logan begs for her help and Sister Marguerite soberly agrees. For Logan's reference, she recites the three powers (backwards for some reason): the third power is the ability to possess other human beings; the second power is the ability to tell the future; and the first power is resurrection. Marguerite believes the Devil himself has granted Channing the first power, and only one thing will stop him. She goes to a cabinet and retrieves an ancient looking crucifix. She holds it, almost as if in awe...and then this happens:

"Mind if I ventilate?"

And the reason I say this is a perfect summation is because The First Power is not here to make you think. It's not here to stoically depict a battle of good and evil a la The Omen. It's not here to test your faith like The Exorcist. It's not here to present you with a existential battle for the soul. The First Power wants to fucking stab the killer to death with a God knife.

And I am totally fine with that.

Appropriately, this snippet from Vincent Canby’s New York Times review made me laugh, even though it’s knocking the very movie I am praising:

The action is fairly constant and some of the special effects are good, but the whole thing is seriously stupid. A rational thought is as fatal to this movie as the crucifix (which hides a knife) is to the changeable Patrick Channing.

To really enjoy what's at the core of The First Power, you’re supposed to push all that aforementioned cheese aside and remember the really eerie moments instead, like when Channing, being pursued through a church after having taken over the body of a priest, stands on top of the benediction table at the altar and mocks the Christ crucifixion; or his chilling reiteration of “see you around, buddy boy” at several key moments; or even the incredibly impressive (and very real) stunt in which a man jumps five stories off a building, lands on his feet on solid concrete, and then walks away – all in one shot.

Lou Diamond Phillips turns in a very Lou Diamond Phillips performance. The actor has always been good, but beyond La Bamba, he’s never really been a part of any film responsible for critical acclaim. And like many other actors of his ilk, a few poor choices and a few stinkers at the box office left him with a near non-career, relegated to small indie productions or direct-to-video oddities (like another underrated little yarn called Route 666, about – wait for it – ghost/zombie prison chain-gang road workers).

Plus his wife left him for another woman, and that just has to suck.

Still, I like LDP as an actor, and it’d be nice to see him getting a bit more exposure. Some A-list actors deserve to disappear into obscurity (looking at you, LaBeouf) whereas others deserve to be rescued from it. All LDP needs is a Tarantino or Nolan-esque revival to grant the man the resurgence he deserves.

In The First Power, he is luckily playing a cinematic cop, for if this were real life, he would be the worst cop ever: he drinks, he can barely fight, he forces civilians on deadly car chases. He breaks into the homes of persons of interest, no warrant on-hand. He even has a shoebox of explosives just sitting around his apartment, filled with grenades, wires, and all kinds of boomy things. "A buddy on the bomb squad gave me this stuff for a rainy day," he explains, like this is the most normal and ethical thing in the world.

But who cares, right? God knife.

Jeff Kober as Patrick Channing is a big damn creep. He looks creepy, sounds creepy, and plays a very convincing deviant murderer. Somewhere in the world he is saying, “hey, thanks!” His isn't a career I've necessarily followed over the years, but after seeing him pop up in episodes of "The X-Files" and "The Shield," I always say, "Hey, it's that guy!"

Writer/director Robert Resnikoff has nearly no career to speak of beyond this. Funny, being that the The First Power doubled its budget during its theatrical run (according to IMDB). Even the biggest turkeys lead to more work for their directors, so long as the money rolled in (see Michael Bay’s entire career). But The First Power is Resnikoff’s sole feature credit as a director, and one of four where he served as writer. That’s kind of a damn shame, for the skills he showed behind the camera for this particular film would definitely have led me into seeking out more of his genre work. He stages several thrilling sequences, including the aforementioned church scene, or the horse-led stagecoach race through the city streets. Special mention must be made of the scene in which the body of a detective is discovered crucified and hung impossibly high off the ground under a bridge. The shot begins in a car-propelled push through a dark tunnel and ends with a sweeping shot to the mangled cop, and it's an effective introduction to the madness Channing will wreak upon those who tried to stop him the first time. Like action director John McTiernan, Resnikoff likes to shoot the eerier focal points of his scene from the protagonists' point of view. We, the audience, don't have the kind of omniscient view that we often do; instead, we see what Logan sees, or Tess sees. Some of creepiest things we see Channing do are shot very far off; one would think that might subdue the power of whatever nasty or fucked-up thing Channing's doing, but, very much the opposite. And given the kind of John Carpenter's The Thing-type identity paranoia that's present here, that's definitely an appropriate choice.

Speaking of Carpenter, composer Stewart Copeland turns in a nice subdued version of a Carpenter score, borrowing the style, but choosing to let the music complement a scene instead of assault the audience's senses with it. Additionally, the sea of demonic whispering and laughter that washes across various scenes featuring Channing are incredibly unnerving and effective, especially when layered over the previously mentioned scene of Channing's mock crucifixion.

The First Power is the best definition of “turn your mind off” entertainment that I can think of. It doesn’t demand all that much of you, and thematically, there’s not all that much going on. For a movie about God and the Devil, it doesn't have much to say about either, other than: God good, Devil bad. But thrilling it is, creepy it is, and you’ll never be bored. Blood flies (as do homeless women), and not everyone makes it out alive.

The end of the film teases a sequel, and it’s one I would have enthusiastically watched. Unfortunately it never happened – likely because Robert Resnikoff got on a rocket ship and blasted off to space after finishing this film, as he never made another feature,

To close, I say again: The First Power is an enjoyable film. Is it good? I honestly don’t know. I’d argue that Friday the 13th: Part VII–The New Blood is a good film because I loved it when I was eight years old, and that love has been grandfathered into my more particular adulthood. When it comes to childhood titles, my meter is probably way way off.

Unsurprisingly, the no-frills MGM DVD is out of print, but Scorpion Releasing has done a fine Blu-ray release for this title, even inviting back Phillips and Kober to recollect on the shoot. (Both seem enthusiastic about their involvement, but in different ways.) Give it a watch and see what you think – I’d be curious how first-time viewers react.

See you around, buddy boy.

REVIEW: ELEVATOR

Based on a story by John Steinbeck, Alfred Hitchcock’s Lifeboat (1944) was one of the first to confine a cast of people to one location and base its entire forward plot on dialogue only. Beyond the obvious, there is no “conflict” other than what is born from the characters’ exchanges. The more these stranded men and women converse, the more they unearth about themselves, and the more their true natures are revealed. 12 Angry Men would come along thirteen years later, mine that concept, and become one of the most famous and well-regarded “bunch of people confined to one place” films of all time. It is a tough job to craft such a concept – something based entirely on dialogue – but it’s come back in a big way the last ten years with varying success. Buried, with Ryan Reynolds, was mostly well received in the horror community, while Saw was an irritating heavy-handed morality tale. Lastly, we have Devil, a laughable tale of people trapped in an elevator with the prince of darkness himself.

And now we have Elevator, the newest film to try its hand at this one-location concept. More Lifeboat than Devil, a bunch of Wall Street workers find themselves prisoners of their malfunctioning elevator while on their way to an after-hours reception. Among them are Don and his news reporter girlfriend, Maureen; Celine, Don’s pregnant co-worker; Henry Barton, the president and CEO of the company, along with his granddaughter; George Axlerod, another employee as well as “comedian” of the night’s event; and Jane Redding, an investor. Through unfortunate happenstance, the elevator becomes trapped in between floors. And not soon after, it’s revealed that one of them has a bomb strapped to their chest.

And the games begin.

"Mind if I irritate?"

A concept like Elevator really relies solely on the story it’s telling. With cameras trapped along with our cast, what director Stig Svendsen can accomplish stylistically is severely limited. He has nothing to propel his film except the skeleton of the story, and his actors. While the performances are competent, and the story is engaging and never boring, once the “big reveal” is made, it never becomes thrilling or pulse pounding. It never gives you that “on the edge of your seat” moment when you can feel the danger our characters are in. With a bomb quite literally ticking down, what’s supposed to make the viewer more and more nervous never really gets past “sucks for them.”

Elevator really wants to be a condemnation on American culture. The problem is it doesn't know where to start, and when it finally does, it doesn’t go far enough. Early in the film, after the elevator comes to a dead halt, comedian George eyes Mohammed, the security specialist of the building, with great suspicion. Mohammed, after all, is Iranian, and to us ‘mericans, all Iranians = bad. But the problem with this subplot is that beyond just trying to make George look like a complete prick, the movie does nothing with it. There is no lesson learned. There is no redemption for Mohammad’s lineage or George’s close-minded point of view. There's no chance for Mohammed to prove himself in George's eyes, nor does George ever have to rely on Mohammed for anything that would alter his point of view. Besides being played for tension-breaking comedic effect, nothing ever comes of it. Nor does anything come from Maureen’s decision to stream the events occurring within their elevator car (she’s a reporter, remember), which to us seems completely inappropriate and offensive, but would most likely occur in real life. Though she, too, is facing certain death, she holds her phone at arm’s length. I suppose by film’s conclusion, when it appears that our characters are beyond salvation, Maureen realizes that she’s just as expendable as the folks she’s been filming both inside that elevator and outside it during her whole career, but again, not enough is done with it. She never has her moment where she finally feels what it's like to be on the other end of the camera. And let's face it, it’s hard enough to get one person to believably realize the error of their way during a film’s climax, but trying to force half-a-dozen people to do the same, while admirable, just doesn’t have the kind of pay-off the filmmakers are going for. Too much time is spent setting them all up, but none of them are ever brought to a satisfying conclusion.

Speaking of no pay-off, the not-so-shocking revelation that (spoiler) Don happens to be the father of Celine’s baby, is completely wasted within the events of the film. What should have been shocking enough to warrant at least a ten-minute diatribe between Don, Maureen, and Celine is literally over in seconds. Celine looks embarrassed, Maureen cries and looks horrified, and Don looks kind of guilty. But it’s so soon forgotten and never mentioned again that you wonder why the filmmakers bothered to include it. Maureen never says one nasty thing to Celine, nor does Celine ever attempt to apologize. It doesn’t create any tension. You could have removed that mini-twist and the rest of the film, as presented, would have gone on seamlessly.

The only real morality-tale weight comes from the twist that (again, spoiler), Jane Redding is the one who has the bomb strapped to her chest. For you see, it was after her husband received very poor investment advice from Henry Barton’s company and lost everything that he killed himself. And Jane has come to reap revenge upon the company that destroyed her life. It’s an interesting act of domestic terrorism inspired once again by American greed and selfishness. But it also has the subtlety of a nuclear explosion.

Elevator is a decent time waster. No one will ever call it their favorite film, but nor will they call it a terrible one. It’s vanilla ice cream. It’s white bread. You won’t regret having watched it, but it’s one you’ll wish had contained a little more zest. 

Although someone does pee in a purse. So...there's that.