Why Brendan Fraser’s “The Mummy” Is Still The Daddy!

At work we often engage in nonchalant discussions, in an attempt to alleviate the monotony of our day. Conversations of varying triviality. Some concerning the chauvinistic projecting of the hierarchical faculty that operate there. That parade across the warehouse like conquering hero’s. Whose mere presence inspires reverence in those subordinates, humbled by their eminence. We discuss the habitual tribulations of living with our respective partners. Provide sound, gaming recommendations that are heeded with gracious civility, but ultimately ignored. Indulge in eloquent consultations regarding the size, consistency and overall aroma of our respective bowel movements. But cinema is always the fertile ground for stimulating work place discourse. Particularly when you disagree.

It’s wonderful to debate with people that share similar interests, but different perspectives. You learn more about your own reasoning when confronted by an alternative opinion that is as committed as your own. With one such instance, deliberated with a colleague, regarding the legitimate quality of Brendan Fraser’s “The Mummy” movie. A subject that has become an infrequent, yet divisive topic of discussion. Often cited by myself, as barometer for comparative quality. And I say this with genuine sincerity. “Well Citizen Kane was good, but it’s not Brendan Fraser’s The Mummy good”. An equivalence I think “some” of us will agree with. I unironically love this movie. I have an unashamed proclivity fir it that has only endured since I watched this mythical masterpiece back in 99.

Now I’ll admit my preferential regard towards this movie is somewhat skewed by my inflated, nostalgic adolescence. It was after all the first 12 certificate movie I was officially permitted to watch at the cinemas. And there’s a certain wistful cache attached to that. “The Mummy” is energetic, irreverent and fun. With creativity for days. You only have to look at that abominable Tom Cruise excretion that was “The Mummy” remake, remake, to see that they plagiarised that whole sand wall trick from Fraser’s Mummy movie. Bastards! In contrast, evident by the judicious admission of my work colleague, there are a small, dedicated contingent that regard Fraser’s Mummy with less reverence than I believe it deserves. Echoing the divisive critical response it received on it’s initial release.

The individual in question, whose dislike of the movie, is not intended as a grievance to agitate its supporters. Nor a contrarian aversion to its popularity. Just subjective confusion of its venerated acclaim in the public consciousness. This isn’t an irrational or biased evocation, but an informed, judicious opinion. One that I disagree with, but respect. My interpretation of his enmity is that Fraser’s version absconds from its predecessors atmospheric terror, thereby diluting the horror that was the essence of the originals conception. Instead deriving preferred inspiration from movie’s like Indiana Jones. A frequent accusatory comparison by those that believe “The Mummy” is just a poor imitation of Indiana Jones. But when a movie is better than half of that lauded franchise, is that really a legitimate complaint?

Through no fault of its own, other than being awesome, “The Mummy” has attained the rather unfortunate notoriety of being recognised as the “original” Mummy movie. A fallacious ignorance that has only been further compounded by the maligned Tom Cruise abortion. With many modern audiences oblivious to the Boris Karloff classic. Which I think says as much about the the ignorance of cinema goers, as it does about the quality and longevity of Fraser’s iteration. As well as demonstrating my persuasive advocacy for high art, which this most certainly…isn’t. Not really. But it was never intended to be. The filmmakers were cognisant to the fact that they were making something dynamic, absurd and as far removed from the Karloff original they could get, without completely removing its horror organs into canopic jars. Which they dutifully revelled in. And I admire the instinctive acuity for trying something different, when they could quite as easily just done the same again, with updated effects. And I will defend this movie for as long as I live. The sequel on the other hand, well, I don’t think there is a curse severe enough to punish its violation to cinema!

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What do you guys think? What movie would you defend, regardless of it’s reputed quality. Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

“Gerald’s Game” Movie Review.

Gerald’s Game is a Stephan King adaptation, directed by Hill House creator Mike Flanagan. Starring Carla Gugino – another Hill House alumni – as Jessie, who travels to a remote holiday home with her husband Gerald (Bruce Greenwood) in an attempt to revitalise their faltering marriage. Things begin to escalate however when Gerald, now heavily dependent on Viagra to offset his beleaguered masculinity, proposes that they enact a sordid rape fantasy to spice up things in the bedroom, much to Jessie’s reluctance. She eventually accedes to her husbands desires, and while handcuffed to the bed, Gerald suffers a fatal heart-attack. With her hands bound, no leverage to escape nor means of communication, Jessie must devise a plan to prevent fatal dehydration and repel the advances of an all too ravenous hound!

I’ve always personally enjoyed character driven stories that rely on situational misfortune. A narrative centred in one specific location, that is elevated on the performance of its actors. In this case espousing the absurd premise of a women trapped on her bed in a remote country retreat, held captive by her own mind rather than an intruder. Its very reminiscent of Stephen King’s much vaunted adaptation of “Misery”. Depicting a similar sense of foreboding hopelessness that makes you wonder just how is this person intended to escape? Gerald’s Game executes this with meticulous precision, setting up moments that seem conspicuously obvious, though you’re not sure why. A glass of water placed upon a shelf. A price tag from a negligee casually discarded onto a bed-side cabinet. Little details that on the surface seem trivial, but have greater significance as the story develops. As well as convey Jessie’s inherent capacity to improvise and survive.

It’s such an unusual, as well as humiliating situation to find yourself confined to. A situation only compounded by the sense of isolation and dissolution expedited by her fragmented mind. A mind that begins to conjure hallucinations, manifesting as a pragmatic version of herself and an agnostic depiction of her husband. A duel psychosis competing for her desire to survive. Dealing with an impossible situation, as she clings to her sanity as well as her life. Staving off the figurative and literal presence of Death. With the smug posturing of her deceased husband mocking her attempts at escape. His body decaying by the bed as flesh is torn from his corpse by the lingering appetite of a feral dog, that’s beginning to crave fresher meat.

Because the setting is so minimalist, Gerald’s Game, though cinematic, is also very theatrical. I can see this being performed on a stage, far removed from the commercialised pomposity of the West End or Broadway. And though the explicit scene’s are gratuitous, they’re sparse. With it’s visceral intensity tempered by the far more disturbing abuse Jessie suffered as a child. Memories that have been exposed and must now also be confronted.

Stephan King as an author is someone I’m rather ambivalent too. As much as I respect his craft, it’s the adaptations of his works I find most compelling. The Shining, Shawshank’s and Misery’s may go down as some of the more distinguished adaptations, but “Gerald’s Game” might be his most modest. And certainly another illustration of Mike Flanagan’s exemplary direction of horror.

Can Netflix Finally Make A Good Resident Evil Adaptation?

The Resident Evil movie “franchise” has been an insufferable blight on series for years. It’s abject failure to adapt what is a reasonably simple concept about execrable pharmaceutical company using its influence to engineer biological monstrosities, in it’s elaborately constructed laboratories concealed beneath opulant mansions, isolated mountain facilities and underneath active cities is painfully apparent. Well perhaps it isn’t that simple of a story, but just how Paul W S Anderson derived such convoluted notions from an already incredulous conceit is the real failure. The baffling commercial success of these cinematic abortions has impeded any adaptation with any substantial association with the source material, fans are want. But with the conclusion of Resident Evil: The “Possible, but probably not” Final Chapter, the incomprehensible “fifth” Milla Jovavich helmed sequel, its timely absence presents ever more profitable opportunities for a Resident Evil series worthy of its prestigious heritage. Yet leaked information seems to suggest that the new Netflix series won’t be a simple derivation of either the games or the films.

The brief synopsis accidentally published by Netflix, that has since been deleted, suggests a alternative tangent in the Resident Evil mythology:

“The town of Clearfield, MD has long stood in the shadow of three seemingly unrelated behemoths – the Umbrella Corporation, the decommissioned Greenwood Asylum, and Washington, D.C. Today, 26 years after the discovery of the T-Virus, secrets held by the three will start to be revealed at the first signs of outbreak.”

Though this succinct summary doesn’t reveal too much insight, it does seem to refute the long established lore that the T-Virus originating infection was Raccoon City, or more accurately the mansion in the Arklay mountains. Perhaps Umbrella were using patients at the Greenwood Asylum as test subjects for their egregious experiments? Or perhaps its simply one of many. Though there’s ample room for interpretation in any adaptation, it does seem that this Netflix series will neglect prominent characters from the game. Considering the way in which the movies dismally misused the primary cast perhaps their omission is a necessary sacrifice. But there’s enough existing material there to create and generate fan interest, while appealing to those unfamiliar with the series.

Personally if this series is attempting to distance itself from the games or at least not directly correlate with the there elaborate narrative, then perhaps delving into the founding and conception of the Umbrella Corporation would be a more congenial idea? Exploring the origins of its sadistic founders; Oswell E. Spencer, Edward Ashford and Dr. James Marcus, as well as understanding the intention of their clandestine operations into the manufacturing of genetically engineered viruses, as well as providing some justification for their dubious research. Personally that’s far more interesting than government conspiracies, evil pharmaceutical companies or even zombies.

Humans, especially insane ones, are often more monstrous than genetically altered beast.

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What would you want from a Resident Evil adaptation? Let me know in the comments below. Cheers.

I’m Sorry World, But I Don’t Like Princess Mononoke.

As I await the animated début of Anna and her ethereal friend Marnie in Studio Ghibli’s “When Marnie Was There”, an adaptation of the decidedly English tale by writer Joan G Robinson, I thought I’d reflect on a past Ghibli movie that has seemingly captivated audiences to the point that it is now considered the progeny of modern animation: “Princess Mononoke”. Regarded as a profound feat of Japanese animation, seemingly professed as the most significant oeuvre for the illustrious Japanese studio, Princes Mononoke is now exempt from any appraisal that isn’t influenced by flagrant leniency or flattering its own cajoled hubris. Now that isn’t to suggest that I don’t like the movie, quite the contrary there is much capricious resplendence to admire. The visualizations are of the purest sentiment derived from a child’s perspective, denoting all the interpretive fraternity of a child’s abstract perception of the world bolstered by the imaginative tolerance of innocence that is seldom retained by the perfunctory of maturity. It still amazes me that Hayao Miyazaki can project the purity of youth with cultivated objectivity. His portrayal of resilient, independent females are as effusive here as they have been in any Ghibli movie, accorded the statutory vulnerability and femininity without it perceived as the clinical misogynistic rhetoric that has been a corrosive blemish for cinematic fidelity for an obstinate amount of time.

It has a clear and concise message, one that has world-wide academic significance that has likely encouraged students to submit dissertations regarding the negative effect our civilisation is having on climate and our depleted woodlands. You can’t help but respect the licentious provocations of its characters. The illustration of a feudal militia and its colloquial acolytes presented as envoys of destruction, are behaviour appendices that are just as applicable in today’s society. And it isn’t just the desecration of expansive thickets or the rise of suburban structures that is the symbolism of Japanese culture and indicative of its rapid technological growth that Miyazaki utilises so well, but also the divine undertones. There is something romantic about the suggestion that these verdant pastures are protected by an ethereal custodian. That the absence of spiritual overseers will have inherent repercussions for the environmental inhabitants, many of whom are spirits themselves. The notion that there could be a spiritualised migration of natural entities due to the forcible intervention of humanity is such a deep concept for an animation film. So how can a surmise replete with such positivity be in any way negative? You can’t argue the moralistic integrity, and there was a poignant resonance that’s undeniably transgressive, but it hardly lapsed into subtlety.

There’s a wizened mythology that is riveting and you can’t deflect the allegorical refinement it conveys, but the ideologies are frankly heavy-handed. The colonised enmity depicted here feels more like a pithily dramatic instances in a fictitious documentary, rather than an entertaining story lavished with undertones of philosophical ordinance. Perhaps that’s my problem with it; its stoic tendencies make for incredibly piteous imagery but a monotonous narrative, or…..I don’t know. It’s difficult to accurately placate why I don’t place Princess Mononoke on a plinth lavished in rose petals, that have fallen of their own volition of course. Perhaps thematically it was a little too overt in its sophistry of environmental deformation. Maybe it was the extensive and grotesque depiction of animal malice orchestrated by man and demonic possession alike. Personally though, I just didn’t enjoy the experience, even after 3 singular sessions over the course of many differing years. Now I’m sure that will go down like inflated possum testicles (alas Pom Poko), but this was an admission that needed to be said. Many of you will dispute my brazen assertions, which you have every right to. I don’t have to watch it again, in fact I can simply console myself with other great movies like Blade Runner, The Dark Night and The Godfather. Films I like. Well, when I say like……well, see above. Again, sorry!

Is there a film/book/game that you have never understood receives such universal acclaim? Let me her you suggestions. Cheers.