Missing Reels examines overlooked, unappreciated or unfairly maligned movies. Sometimes these films haven’t been seen by anyone, and sometimes they’ve been seen by everyone… who loathed them. Sometimes they’ve simply been forgotten. But in any case, Missing Reels argues that they deserve to be seen and admired by more people.
When most moviegoers hear the name Peter Jackson, they think of a sprawling fantasy adventure like he delivered with “The Lord of the Rings” and “The Hobbit” trilogies. However, Jackson got his start with low budget works, first with the independently made horror comedy “Bad Taste” (1987) and then with the deeply profane Muppets send-up “Meet the Feebles” (1989). While popular in New Zealand, these were mainly cult films for international audiences who had to purposefully seek out these quirky and raunchy examples of genre by the then-little known Kiwi auteur. His first real brush with international acclaim came with “Dead Alive” in 1992 (also known as “Braindead”), which was a gory zombie flick that included some of the most gruesome, outlandish and hilarious effects seen on film since Sam Raimi’s “Evil Dead 2.” Gorehounds and horror fiends had found a new sensation with Jackson and reveled in the madness he was bringing to their screens and VHS rental stores.
The filmmaker really broke out internationally with “Heavenly Creatures,” his poetic tale of magical realism that centered on the dangerous romance between two (ultimately) murderous teen girls played by a young Kate Winslet and a young Melanie Lynskey. The film garnered acclaim outside of the genre crowd and proved that Jackson was a versatile filmmaker capable not just of incredible sequences (usually involving gore) but also of truly understanding the emotional depths of his characters.
Missing Reels examines overlooked, unappreciated or unfairly maligned movies. Sometimes these films haven’t been seen by anyone, and sometimes they’ve been seen by everyone… who loathed them. Sometimes they’ve simply been forgotten. But in any case, Missing Reels argues that they deserve to be seen and admired by more people.
It will come as a shock to no one that I’m not much of an athlete or sports nut. Sidelined by asthma and an almost comical lack of coordination, I’ve always been an indoor kid who preferred his comic books and movies to getting out in the field and playing a game. And yet, even with that propensity for introversion and solitary activities, there’s one sport that I do follow: football. The season has just begun and already injuries are piling up, with the shadow of chronic traumatic encephalopathy (CTE) looming over the proceedings. Much like football is a battle of strategy and toughness, so too is the dichotomy for passionately loving the sport with the all too real thought that we’re watching men destroy their bodies and lives for our pleasure.
We ask a lot of our athletes, putting their health at risk on the field while maintaining some semblance of “role model” actions off it. But why? And for what? In the end, it’s a moral struggle about expectations, bloodthirsty crowds and entertainment that leaves us all with some serious questions. These questions don’t just extend to the (very real) possibility of CTE but also of performance enhancing drugs (PEDs). If we want our professional sports players to be at their best, then why do we chastise them for taking something that helps them reach that goal we (unfairly) demand?
Missing Reels examines overlooked, unappreciated or unfairly maligned movies. Sometimes these films haven’t been seen by anyone, and sometimes they’ve been seen by everyone… who loathed them. Sometimes they’ve simply been forgotten. But in any case, Missing Reels argues that they deserve to be seen and admired by more people.
With the easy delivery of films via Netflix, Amazon, Hulu and a host of other choices, it’s easy to feel like you’ve seen everything. This feeling can be especially true when looking at mainstream films which have a sameness to them that permeates the medium: the same tropes, the same familiar group of actors, the same story points endemic to the genre. So in order to find something new, something unlike anything you’ve seen before, you should seek out more independent flair, as there’s no focus group to market those.
Although indie films have their own clichés that rise up in waves every few years, depending on which indie darling is making a splash currently and getting studio gigs or selling out at Sundance, there’s still a better chance of finding something unique in the rogue filmmaking of outsiders than possibly what could be made by most studios. And you don’t have to look for the most recent films to find something new or pushing the envelope; there are plenty of undiscovered gems from the past as well. And for those that feel like they’ve seen everything but haven’t watched 1980’s “Forbidden Zone?” Then brother, you ain’t seen nothing yet.
Missing Reels examines overlooked, unappreciated or unfairly maligned movies. Sometimes these films haven’t been seen by anyone, and sometimes they’ve been seen by everyone… who loathed them. Sometimes they’ve simply been forgotten. But in any case, Missing Reels argues that they deserve to be seen and admired by more people.
“You don’t even have to be a fan of the music!” That’s a lie that people often spread about music-centered films. Whether it’s a biopic, a documentary or a concert film, fans of the movie will insist that, in order to like it, viewers don’t even have to like that particular artist’s music. It simply isn’t true. If you don’t like Ray Charles music, then those recording sessions in “Ray” will seem fruitless; if you’re not a fan of The Talking Heads, then “Stop Making Sense” is an interminable bore. No matter how well crafted the film is around those scenes, or how well shot the performances are, if you don’t dig the music on display, you won’t really like what’s happening on screen.
So I won’t repeat that lie here about the music of The Flaming Lips when watching the documentary “The Fearless Freaks.” I will, however, say that there’s a lot more going on here than just the music, which is true of the band itself. The Flaming Lips have always been about the experience, whether it’s their four-disc Zaireeka album played simultaneously, or their freak-out concerts, and the same goes for the documentary which covers their odyssey from crappy punk band to psychedelic musical masters. It helps if you’re already partial to some of their music to enjoy this film, but if not, then hopefully you can enjoy its simple story and arresting images.
Missing Reels examines overlooked, unappreciated or unfairly maligned movies. Sometimes these films haven’t been seen by anyone, and sometimes they’ve been seen by everyone… who loathed them. Sometimes they’ve simply been forgotten. But in any case, Missing Reels argues that they deserve to be seen and admired by more people.
Hong Kong has long been the source of lots of great action, from the Shaw Brothers’ kung fu epics, to John Woo’s ultra-cool crime stories of the ’80s and ’90s. But while many people may think that the action scene has moved on to other parts (mostly Thailand and South Korea, plus a mini-boom of excellent American direct-to-video films like “Universal Soldier: Day of Reckoning” and its ilk), there’s still a lot to offer from the once reigning king of cinematic punches and gunshots. Johnnie To is most famous for his “Election” films, gripping crime dramas about rival gangs and who controls them, but before he made those, he directed a film (with Wai Ka-Fai) that oozes charm, a clever narrative structure and excellent action sequences.
2001’s “Fulltime Killer” is the story of two rival assassins: O (Takashi Sorimachi) is a methodical and utilitarian killer for hire who dispatches his targets with a cold, emotionless disconnect; Lok (Andy Lau) is a flamboyant slayer of men who is inspired by western action flicks and makes each kill an operatic masterpiece of mayhem. O is the top assassin in Asia, given the big paying jobs because he always gets them done and remains steps ahead of Interpol. Lok is sick of living in O’s shadow and decides to target the top dog by first integrating himself into O’s life, then by taking out O’s targets himself, before eventually directly confronting the killer. It’s a blend of the cool of John Woo’s “The Killer,” the tense buddy relationship at the heart of “Hard Boiled,” mixed with the self-reflective skin of a Tarantino bloodbath.