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By Cole Smithey
‘The Reaping’
Movie Trailer
“The Reaping” is a would-be horror
movie that defies its own anemic
logic. The screenwriters set the
story in the “Deep South” as the
only place in the country where
a population might embrace the
plagues of Exodus to the extent
of killing its own children. A
river turns to blood in the fictitious
small-town of Haven, La., where
creepy schoolteacher Doug Blackwell
(David Morrissey) calls upon professional
miracle debunker Katherine Winter
(Hillary Swank) to visit and explain
the strange occurrence. An abandoned
little blonde girl/devil doll
named Loren (AnnaSophia Robb)
runs aimlessly through the area’s
swampy back woods after being
blamed by townsfolk for the death
of a boy at the river’s edge before
it turned crimson red.
Katherine suffered a crisis
of faith after her husband and
daughter were murdered in Sudan
while the family was there on
a religious mission, yet constant
flashbacks to that chapter of
her past provide no insight to
the story at hand. The filmmakers
furnish a gratuitous “Exorcist”
allusion in the guise of Father
Costigan (Stephen Rea) whose photos
of Katherine with her family in
Sudan spontaneously combust to
form an upside-down sickle when
placed together. Rea, who has
given the kiss of death to as
many films as have endured his
graceless presence, serves an
irrelevant subplot that never
pays off. To this end, the whole
film is made up of detached episodes
interspersed with raining frogs,
lice, maggots, dying cows, people
breaking out with boils, locusts
and the murder of children — although
the screenwriters inexplicably
play this tenth plague climax
as something that the locals have
participated in for years. For
audience members not keeping count,
the picture waffles on the Bible’s
plagues of raining rocks and constant
darkness. I took it as a show
of mercy, considering how long
the movie already seems.
A crucial plot-point is lifted
from “Rosemary’s Baby” when Doug
takes advantage of hosting Katherine
and her ineffectual sidekick Ben
(Idris Elba) in the shelter of
his moss and mold-covered gothic
mansion. On a night when Ben is
away, Doug drugs Katherine and
rapes her, although it’s never
concretely divulged whether the
event is a nightmare or an actual
violation. As such, director Stephen
Hopkins (“The Life and Death of
Peter Sellers”) commits an irresponsible
narrative act that negates all
significance, save for the sequel
that the situation indicates at
the film’s denouement.
The Oscars that Hillary Swank
won for “Boys Don’t Cry” and “Million
Dollar Baby” do not acknowledge
her severely limited acting range.
Swank had the good fortune of
giving two strong performances
in two good movies, but has tread
water through every other role
she’s played — the worst being
her wayward period piece “The
Affair of the Necklace.” Here,
as in her miscast roles in “Insomnia”
and “The Black Dahlia,” Swank
is nothing more than an obedient
prop being positioned in front
of the camera where she visibly
seeks approval. The antithesis
of a Cate Blanchett type of actress,
Swank defaults to presenting,
rather than representing, characters
she doesn’t understand. Her instinct
is always to play emotion over
intellect. It’s a recipe for failure
when the source material is mediocre
at best. That isn’t to say that
the text for “The Reaping” is
anything other than an insulting
piece of unintelligible hackwork.
In a movie with no purpose beyond
small-scale grotesque spectacle,
I can only imagine its purpose
as a cinematic waiting room for
the end of the world where the
guy in charge isn’t capable of
counting to 10. CV
By Cole Smithey
‘Grindhouse’
Movie Trailer
The palpable cinematic elation
and hip vibe that wafts from “Grindhouse”
is more than contagious; it’s
stupefying. In their overzealous
double bill homage to the cheap
grungy urban cinemas of yore,
that featured an ever-changing
orgy of back-to-back exploitation
B-movies, Quentin Tarantino and
Robert Rodriguez have created
an unparalleled irreverent concoction
of dueling films: “Planet Terror”
and “Death Proof.” Loving attention
is given to recreating the grindhouse
experience of damaged film stock,
melting celluloid, missing reels
and trashy trailers that distorted
the experience of watching something
like 1974’s “Dirty Mary and Crazy
Larry” coupled with “The Texas
Chainsaw Massacre” beside an audience
of snoozing bums and pot-smoking
teenagers. Rarely did the movies
live up to the promise of their
tantalizing posters and outrageous
tag lines, but the experiences
were nonetheless unforgettable.
Here, the movies go far beyond
anything you could imagine. It’s
all about the pay-offs, and there
are many.
The auteur directors share a
proclivity for pulling out all
the stops, and while Tarantino
is famous for his take-no-prisoners
approach, it’s Rodriguez who pushes
the limits of how many gross-out
gags he can squeeze into every
frame. Inspired by movies like
“Zombie” and “Dawn of the Dead,”
Rodriguez’s “Planet Terror” leads
off the set as a zombie thriller
born of toxic green vapors released
from a Texas military base. Cherry
(Rose McGowan — “The Black Dahlia”)
quits her go-go dancer job before
running into her former beau Wray
(Freddy Rodriguez) at a local
barbecue roadhouse. Already, wedded
doctors William (Josh Brolin)
and Dakota (Marley Shelton) have
been overrun with sicko patients
(read: zombies).
Tarantino appears briefly in
“Planet” as a recently infected
sadistic soldier who takes Candy
prisoner in the lower depths of
the army base, and attempts to
rape her with his less than kosher
member. Wikipedia might discover
a new definition for the term
over-the-top from this groan-inducing
scene alone. Ravenous movie fans
will appreciate cameos from Maveen
Andrews (“Lost”), Michael Biehn
(“Aliens”) and makeup artist Tom
Savini (“Dawn of the Dead”) who
gets his ring finger bitten off
before he’s tossed upside-down
against the broadside of a police
cruiser.
An intermission between the
movies comes complete with a restaurant
spot featuring glimpses of remarkably
unappetizing food. Edgar Wright
(“Shaun of the Dead”), Eli Roth
(“Hostel”), Rob Zombie (“The Devil’s
Rejects”) and Robert Rodriguez
each directed their own faux movie
trailers with titles like “Werewolf
Women of the SS” and “Thanksgiving”
to elaborate on the ’70s era mood
of raunchy low-budget movie-going.
“Death Proof,” the fifth film
of Tarantino’s deliberate career,
draws on Richard C. Sarafian’s
“Vanishing Point” and H.B. Halicki’s
“Gone In 60 Seconds” as much as
it does from the director’s personal
predilection for slasher films
and hot girls talking like splintered
versions of himself. Stuntman
Mike (Kurt Russell) quietly invades
Austin’s real-life Guero’s Taco
Bar where a cluster of badass
gal-pals (Sydney Poitier, Jordan
Ladd and Vanessa Ferlito) get
their weed and drink on in preparation
for a weekend getaway. A nasty
scar on Stuntman Mike’s face foreshadows
events when he agrees to give
lone hippie-chick Pam (also played
by Rose McGowan) a ride home,
but abruptly changes character
once she gets in the passenger
bucket of his skull-emblazoned
“death proof” stunt car. What
follows is the most horrific car
crash ever intentionally committed
to film.
Real-life New Zealand stuntwoman
Zoe Bell (Uma Thurman’s stunt
double in “Kill Bill”) shows off
her best daredevil skills in a
car chase unlike anything you’ve
ever seen before. The result is
a white-knuckle experience that
validates the stretches of goofy
dialogue-heavy scenes that came
before. In “Death Proof” alone,
Tarantino gives more roles to
female actors than three Hollywood
films put together. Say what you
will about Tarantino’s functional
embrace of the n-word in his characters’
ever-spicy dialogue, this do-it-all
writer/director/cinematographer
knows how to up the stakes on
bad girls with fast cars. CV
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