Long Weekend: My lack of attention to detail really screwed me up on this one. I had intended to download Colin Eggleston’s original version, but I ended up with Jamie Blanks’ 2008 remake starring James Caviezel and Claudia Karvan. A lot of folks seemed to have called for the new guy’s head since the original is apparently unfuckwitable (read: not to be fucked with). Well, to be honest, the new version of Long Weekend is pretty stupid. In fact, the cheesy and contrived lounge music (again, Blanks) that accompanies the majestic imagery of the national parks in Victoria serve as a fair warning for what was ahead. Despite having a rather interesting premise, Long Weekend falters hither and thither before falling flat on its face. I would have been cool with the “See this is what happens when you screw with Mother Nature” nonsense, if she had put up a better fight.
Just imagine, the friggin natural world – in all her brutality and splendor – wants to mess with a thirty-something dude and this is how she does it – a mother eagle claws at his eyes, ants bite him in the ass, a dugong stalks him really slowly and large waves interrupt his surfing; sounds like a teenage comedy starring Eugene Levy as the only actor with an ounce of dignity within a 100 metre radius, doesn’t it?
On the dimly-lit side, some of the scenes sporadically seem beautiful and all, but nothing that can overwhelm the mediocrity that otherwise permeates the screen. Of course, now I really want to watch Eggleston’s original. I’d be amazed if the story was any less sillier, but I do wonder if the new wave surrealism of 1970s Australian cinema offers fair compensation.
As for the acting, ah yes the acting….actors Caviezal and Karvan paint about seventy different expressions of fear, paranoia and annoyance on their faces, the pet dog does its fair share of sniffing dead animals and running around circles, and the dugong goes through at least four visible mood changes, including one that can only be referred to as an extreme case of rigor mortis. I hope the dugong was fairly compensated. Its zombie impersonation could have only been rivaled by Keanu Reeves in Walk In The Clouds; and only one of them was required to act like one.
Black Water: Australian eco horror enthusiasts (about six, by last count) have been grappling with the question of which one turned out to be a better flick – Rogue or Black Water? Two tough-as-nails boat trip films that pit a bunch of wussies against vicious crocodiles in the serene backwaters of Australia. I really really enjoyed Rogue and had it as the best movie about a cranky croc ever. Black Water comes close, but for me, it falters where Rogue had nailed it perfectly – character development. I just didn’t care what happened to any of the three characters in Black Water. See, in Rogue, I jumped up whenever one of the characters escaped the gnarly jaws of the crocodile and I guess I could have thanked the director Greg Mclean for that. He showed great finesse in offering us tidbits about the men and women in peril so that we, the audience, give a crap when the crocodile goes after them.
In Black Water, director David Nerlrich seems to have spent so much time drenching the mangrove swamps of Northern Australia in warm, ghostly light that he could have forgotten that there three people out there trying to survive the horror that effortlessly glides through them.
Then again, I can see why some people prefer this one over Rogue. Some don’t like the dramatization of an eco crisis; me, well I’m a sucker for it (the more ruthless, the better). Of course, if I am ever stuck in the backwaters with a psychopathic reptile looking to make lunch out of me and a chance to be heroic offers itself up for grabs, I’ll say “no thank you…I’d rather live”.
Life’s more Black Water than Rogue. That explains my preference, as well. Dam I almost forgot. Brad Oxenbould of Comedy Inc makes a cameo appearance. Cool.
Razorback: Russell Mulcahy 1984 moody creature feature makes pretensions about it being more than just a film that chronicles the exploits of a crazy-ass feral pig. The pretensions work tremendously well because the director has passed some on to the cinematographer Dean Semler, who makes the desolate landscape of Mad Max look like a fertile meadow. The grim, esoteric sceneries bring goosebumps and neck hair stimulators to the party and seriously enhance the experience of watching a taut thriller. As for the killer pig, well it is a bizarre and scary sight, but nothing that most B-list directors couldn’t emulate given today’s technology; for a film made during the early Eighties, the production is fantastic.
Apparently the Peter Brennan novel on which Razorback was based apparently has another storyline going through it – one with diamond smugglers and whatnot. Thankfully, director Russell Mulcahy came to terms the film’s selling point (killer pig on the loose) and did a fine job not making a mockery of it.
Jaws Shmaws, King Kong, Sing Song… Razorback is the true creature classic, folks.
Storm Warning: To paraphrase an old joke,
Knock Knock
Who’s There?
The guy who directed the remake of Lost Weekend
Rogue: Already reviewed here
Wolf Creek: Already reviewed here
Odd Fellows Rest 