A Beatles documentary? Do we need another Beatles documentary?
I don’t know, do you really need more than one plate on Thanksgiving? I’d say Beatles ’64 is thrilling enough to be pretty damn necessary for anyone even remotely interested in the history of the Fab Four.
David Tedeshi – who served as Martin Scorsese’s editor on both Rolling Thunder Revue and George Harrison: Living in the Material World – takes the director’s chair this time, with Scorcese backing up as producer. Together they showcase incredible BTS footage originally shot by cinéma verité icons David and Albert Maysles. Though the Maysles brothers debuted much of what they shot in their own 1964 documentary “What’s Happening! The Beatles in the U.S.A,” this new Disney + feature includes nearly twenty minutes of never-before-seen clips.
And yes, it is nostalgic gold. Here are John, Paul, George and Ringo, all fresh faced and bursting with humor, energy and naïveté. Caught in the middle of the absolute frenzy that surrounds their first trip to America, they display the boyish charm of enthusiastic tourists eager to experience this long-promised land that’s going wild for their every move.
Well, not everyone is screaming, crying and collecting every piece of Beatle merchandise available (get a load of the guy who still has some unopened Beatle talcum powder!). There are also a few stuffed shirts running kids out of hotel hallways and calling these young pop stars “sick.”
But as enthralling as all these historical snapshots can be, Beatles ’64 finds its own voice in the way it connects past to present with touching context.
“Culture?” We see a young Paul McCartney respond to a reporter. “It’s not culture, it’s a laugh.”
Looking back now six decades later, Sir Paul does acknowledge the cultural shifts that aligned with Beatlemania, not the least of which was a nation mourning JFK’s assassination and utterly desperate for some joy.
Along with the new interviews featuring Paul and Ringo, and some later-in-life comments from John and George, Tedeshi catches up with a few of the teenagers who were there on the front lines of fandom. From writer Jamie Bernstein’s (daughter of Leonard) devotion, to music producer Jack Douglas’s priceless story of his teenage trip to Liverpool, to senior citizens still tearing up about their first Beatles moment so long ago, Beatles ’64 weaves intimate moments from idols and fans alike into a warm and wonderful snapshot of wistful innocence.
Have we examined werewolf movies before? We have, but with at least two brand new, big ticket lycanthrope movies hitting theaters this winter and one badass indie hitting physical this month, we decided to reexamine. Help us welcome The Beast of Walton Streetfilmmaker Dusty Austen to Fright Club to look once again at the best werewolves in cinema.
5. The Wolf of Snow Hollow (2020)
Thunder Road was a pretty fantastic breakout for writer/director/star Jim Cummings. A visionary character study with alternating moments of heart and hilarity, it felt like recognizable pieces molded into something bracingly original.
Now, Cummings feels it’s time to throw in some werewolves.
Cummings is officer John Marshall of the Snow Hollow sheriff’s department. John’s father (Robert Forster, in his final role) is the longtime sheriff of the small ski resort town, but Dad’s reached the age and condition where John feels he’s really the one in charge.
John’s also a recovering alcoholic with a hot temper, a bitter ex-wife and a teen daughter who doesn’t like him much. But when a young ski bunny gets slaughtered near the hot tub under a full moon, suddenly John’s got a much bigger, much bloodier problem.
At its core, The Wold of Snow Hollow is a super deluxe re-write of Thunder Road with werewolves. I call that a bloody good time.
4. The Wolf Man (1941)
For George Waggner’s 1941 classic, Lon Chaney Jr. plays the big, lovable lummox of an American back in his old stomping grounds—some weird amalgamation of European nations.
Sure, the score, the sets, the fog and high drama can feel especially precious. And what self-respecting wolf man goes by the name Larry? But there’s something lovely and tragic about poor, old Larry that helps the film remain compelling after more than sixty years.
In a real sense, this film was the answer to a formula, an alchemy that printed money. The Chaney name, Bela Lugosi co-stars, and we pit a sympathetic beast against some ancient European evil. But it’s much more pointed than it seems. The evil is purely German, gypsies sense it and yet can do nothing but fall victim to it, and it is an evil with the power to turn an otherwise good man—say, your average German man—into a soulless killing machine.
3. Dog Soldiers (2002)
Wry humor, impenetrable accents, a true sense of isolation, and blood by the gallon help separate Neil Marshall’s (The Descent) Dog Soldiers from legions of other wolfmen tales.
Marshall creates a familiarly tense feeling, brilliantly straddling monster movie and war movie. A platoon is dropped into an enormous forest for a military exercise. There’s a surprise attack. The remaining soldiers hunker down in an isolated cabin to mend, figure out WTF, and strategize for survival.
This is like any good genre pic where a battalion is trapped behind enemy lines – just as vivid, bloody and intense. Who’s gone soft? Who will risk what to save a buddy? How to outsmart the enemy? But the enemies this time are giant, hairy, hungry monsters. Woo hoo!
Though the rubber suits – shown fairly minimally and with some flair – do lessen the film’s horrific impact, solid writing, dark humor, and a good deal of ripping and tearing energize this blast of a lycanthropic Alamo.
2. Ginger Snaps (2000)
Sisters Ginger and Bridget, outcasts in the wasteland of Canadian suburbia, cling to each other, and reject/loathe high school (a feeling that high school in general returns).
On the evening of Ginger’s first period, she’s bitten by a werewolf. Writer Karen Walton cares not for subtlety: the curse, get it? It turns out, lycanthropy makes for a pretty vivid metaphor for puberty. This turn of events proves especially provocative and appropriate for a film that upends many mainstay female cliches.
Walton’s wickedly humorous script stays in your face with the metaphors, successfully building an entire film on clever turns of phrase, puns and analogies, stirring up the kind of hysteria that surrounds puberty, sex, reputations, body hair and one’s own helplessness to these very elements. It’s as insightful a high school horror film as you’ll find, peppered equally with dark humor and gore.
1. An American Werewolf in London (1981)
Director John Landis blends horror, humor and a little romance with cutting edge (at the time) special effects to tell the tale of a handsome American tourist David (David Naughton) doomed to turn into a Pepper – I mean a werewolf – at the next full moon.
Two American college kids (Naughton and Griffin Dunne), riding in the back of a pickup full of sheep, backpacking across the moors, talk about girls and look for a place to duck out of the rain.
Aah, a pub – The Slaughtered Lamb – that’ll do!
The scene in the pub is awesome, as is the scene that follows, where the boys are stalked across the foggy moors. Creepy foreboding leading to real terror, this first act grabs you and the stage is set for a sly and scary escapade. The wolf looks cool, the sound design is fantastically horrifying, and Landis’s brightly subversive humor has never had a better showcase.
Two years ago, documentarian and adventurer Alex Harz explored the culture and fascination surrounding Mt. Everest with The Quest: Nepal. Then earlier this year, he detailed his own Everest climb with 360-degree virtual reality treatment via the short film The Quest: Everest VR.
Now, Harz combines the two for The Quest: Everest, his earnest and committed video diary that is full of heart and conviction, if a bit lacking in cinematic pull.
Harz’s intention to honor the Nepalese people is informative and commendable, and much of his footage on the mountain itself is sufficiently majestic. Harz’s voiceover narration and directing choices are not quite as strong, ultimately keeping the film grounded in facts and declarations instead of reaching the rarified air of true tension, awe and wonder.
Ridley Scott knows how to stage an epic. At 87, he’s lost none of his flair with massive battles on land or sea, nor with the brutal intimacy of hand-to-hand combat. And he still knows how to cast a movie.
His narrative skills have taken a step back, but his eye has rarely been sharper.
It’s been 24 years since Scott’s Oscar-bedecked Gladiator cemented its position as the best sword-and-sandal film, but in the age of Caesars, only 14 years have passed. Scott opens Gladiator II with a lovely animated sequence honoring the fallen Maximus, as well as many of the filmmaker’s most iconic images.
And then we land on the film’s present-day African coast, a battle with a Roman navy led by Acacius (Pedro Pascal), a nation subdued, and a grieving widower (Paul Mescal) claimed as prisoner of war.
But we know he’s no ordinary prisoner.
For the next 2+ hours, Scott toys with “echoes through eternity” as he undermines much of the rebellious political nature of his original in favor of a returning king parable. That, a few wobbly accents, a couple of narrative dead spots, and a really poor decision involving sharks weaken the sequel.
But a good gladiator can’t be stopped, and Mescal is a really good gladiator. Russell Crow layered righteous rage with tenderness. Mescal replaces that tenderness with a vulnerability that only makes the rage more unruly. A touch of mischievous good humor humanizes the character and compels attention.
As does Denzel Washington. I dare you to take your eyes off him. Vain but wise, calculating and saucy, Washington’s Macrinus proves a much more complicated foe than the original’s wholly dishonorable, incestuous crybaby Commodus. But the simplicity of good v evil clarified Gladiator’s appeal. Macrinus is harder to hate.
Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger supply the syphilitic excess this go-round as twin Emperors Geta and Caracalla. Connie Nielsen returns, regal as ever, though no more skilled at staging coups. The balance of the cast is uniformly solid if not entirely memorable.
Gladiator II delivers an often exhilarating, mainly gorgeous spectacle populated by enigmatic characters performed admirably. It does not live up to Gladiator. But what could?
Even if you’re only a little familiar with Wicked musical, you might know how part one of the long-awaited film adaptation is going to end. Yes, the closer reaches goosebump level, but director Jon M. Chu and some impeccable casting keeps all 2 hours and 40 minutes flying pretty high.
2021’s In the Heights proved Chu knew his way around a musical sequence, and the first hour of Wicked finds Chu honoring the material’s stage roots while bringing movement, space and cinematic flair to the introductory numbers.
“The Wizard and I” uses a changing color palette to underscore Elphaba Thropp’s (Cynthia Erivo) hopes for what her time at Oz’s Shiz University could bring. “What Is This Feeling?” begins growing the scale of production and choreography as Elphaba’s introverted, studious nature clashes with the humorous, self absorbent style of roommate Galinda Upland (Ariana Grande). And Chu utilizes all the stylized spaces in “Elphie” and “Glinda’s” dorm room to bring soundtrack favorite “Popular” to life with zest and mischief.
Prince Fiyero (Jonathan Baily) arrives to turn Glinda’s head, Shiz’s Dean of Sorcery (Michelle Yeoh, customarily terrific) takes a special interest in Elphaba’s supernatural potential, and an invitation from the Wizard comes just as the threats to Oz’s talking animal population grow more dire.
Grande gives Glinda’s vanity a charm that is somehow inviting and often quite funny, while Erivo brings a level of tortured longing to Elphaba that makes her journey all the more resonate. The two leads – who often sang live during production – have the pipes to bring their own brand of magic, and they share a wonderful on screen chemistry that anchors the film.
Even with the winning moments in Wicked‘s first act, there’s a feeling of unrealized potential, that Chu is holding back. But once we get to the Emerald City, the film – much like the “Wicked Witch” – comes into its own.
“One Short Day” ushers in a grand use of scale and color, and Chu makes sure our time spent at home with the Wizard (a perfectly slippery Jeff Goldblum) is eye-popping at nearly every turn. Stellar production design and CGI effects combine for some fantastic world building, and this change of setting is also when screenwriters Winnie Holzman and Dana Fox get the payoff from their time spent exploring the social commentary found in Gregory Maquire’s source novel.
Elphaba’s eyes are opened to the Wizard’s plan for her, and the newly urgent themes of gaslighting and misuse of power push her and Glinda to the brink. Chu gives Elphaba’s character-defining choice the showcase both it and Erivo deserve, propelling “Defying Gravity” to become the show-stopping finale you hoped it would be.
In the nearly thirty years since the Wicked novel kick-started our interest in “reimagining villains,’ the device has already grown pretty stale. Part one of the film version reminds us why we were captivated in the first place, and how satisfying a move from stage to screen can be.
You can’t outrun grief. You can’t hide from grief. It lurks and waits for an inopportune time to pounce. In director and co-writer Tyler Chipman’s melancholic psycho-horror feature debut The Shade, grief is physically embodied as a pale creature haunting a family.
Ryan (Chris Galust) witnessed his father’s suicide at a young age. It’s not just his father’s tragic death that haunts him; he also saw a darkness that surrounded his father, portrayed by shadowy, robed figures that were also there to bear witness.
Flash forward to the present and Ryan is a college student who suffers from a severe anxiety disorder. He returns to his depressing hometown to help take care of his younger brother James (Sam Duncan) and help his mom Renee (Laura Benanti). To complicate matters, his trouble-making older brother Jason (Dylan McTee) also returns home and he’s dealing with some serious personal demons. This sounds like typical family drama fare, but Ryan sees a pale monster (credited as the Harpy) lurking around his older brother, portending an unfortunate fate like his father’s.
The Shade wears its metaphors on its sleeves. It is clearly about grief, depression, suicide, and the burden of mental illness in families, and the film mines these themes to varying degrees of success.
“Grief monsters” aren’t new in the genre, we’ve seen them before in The Babadook, The Night House, A Ghost Story, and even 1973’s Don’t Look Now. The Shade seeks to distinguish itself from these other titles through its use of the Harpy—a creepy, feminine figure that it does not hide, and for good reason. The makeup and f/x are excellent. The unsettling creature slinks, stares, and instills dread. There are no real jump scares. The horror comes from this creature and the inevitability that tragedy may only ever be an arm’s length away.
The performances across the board are quite good here. Galust has the heaviest load to lift as Ryan battles anger, guilt, fear, and debilitating anxiety. He manages to share these struggles effectively without going over the top in his performance.
The film is a slow burn—probably too slow a burn for its own good. We get plenty of time with the characters, but the narrative is light on any events or tension that would help hold interest for the two-hour plus runtime. The ending also lacks the emotional punch we have come to expect from a grief monster story and you may be surprised when the credits pop up.
Chipman and his team have crafted an admirable debut with The Shade. The cinematography is quite good throughout, especially with all of the nighttime and low light scenes. I’m definitely interested in whatever they might do next.
In 2019, filmmaker Jayro Bustamante traced a history of state-sanctioned horrors exacted on Guatemalan women with his superb supernatural tale, La Llorona. With his follow up, he mines far more current history to uncover troublingly similar horrors.
Rita is a fairy tale told from the perspective of the titular 13-year-old (Giuliana Santa Cruz). As Rita tells us in the beginning, her story—like any fairy tale—is true, but it didn’t happen exactly this way. Remanded to a state-run institution for girls, Rita describes the palace she believed would be her sanctuary, but it was run by ogres and witches.
The girls in the shelter are divided into cliques, each with its own costume. The fairies are very young; the dogs are wild and muzzled; bunnies are pregnant. There are also princesses and star lights. Rita is an angel.
It’s one way in which Bustamante—like the world at large—defiles images of innocence linked with girlhood. But the filmmaker never veers from his protagonist’s perspective, and to her, the inmates are mystical creatures, each type with its own power, each transcendent no matter the evil.
The young cast, exclusively newcomers, impresses with every character’s unseasoned choice, every child’s brutish and childlike reaction. Their wisdom feels unforced, never the product of a screenwriter needing to provide exposition. Santa Cruz is stoic, her character interior, while Alejandra Vásquez’s Bebé is charmingly blunt, Ángela Quevedo’s Sulmy is tenderly optimistic and Isabel Aidana’s La Terca is protective and gruff.
No one’s fully dimensional, but fairy tale characters never are. Bustamante’s dialog blends childlike inexperience with tragic notes of experience in ways that feel right at home in this polluted playground.
Because Bustamante’s film never leaves the grimy physical reality of Rita’s world, Rita leans closer to Issa Lopéz’s Tigers Are Not Afraid than del Toro’s Pan’s Labyrinth, but all three recognize the toll of systemic oppression on the most vulnerable and powerless.
Rita, though it barely qualifies as true horror, is a tough watch, especially because it is based on true events. It’s moving and debilitating at the same time, but it’s a beautiful and powerful work.
In 1987, J. Michael Muro unleashed a colorful, sloppy bit of nastiness in bottles labeled Tenafly Viper. Street Trash was unlike anything you’d seen, sort of fearlessly nasty and endlessly goopy, in a way that rejected the notion of a remake.
Wisely, Ryan Kruger (Fried Barry) doesn’t remake it. His new film Street Trash is a sequel of sorts, set in present-day Cape Town. He retains the underdog spirit of the original, injecting it with equal parts irreverence and social commentary.
A repugnant, hateful, spray-tanned dictator in the pocket of billionaires has caused a boom in the population of homeless due to his one-sided economic policies. To clean up the streets so rich people don’t have to see the unhoused left behind by their greed, the politician gleefully greenlights the use of a new agent derived from the old Viper.
If you’ve seen Muro’s original, you know what happens to the poor sods sprayed by the politician’s drones. If you have not, it’s tough to describe, but it is brightly colored and highly viscous.
We tag along with a little band of buddies living on the street and trying to survive. Many alums of Kruger’s lunatic 2020 gem Fried Barryjoin this party, including ringleader Ronald (Sean Cameron Michael), 2-Bit (Fried Barry himself, Gary Green), Society (Jonathan Pienaar), Chef (Joe Vaz), and Kruger himself as the voice of the possibly imaginary and very horny blue gremlin, Reggie.
Muro sprinkles nods to the original throughout, although I do miss that toilet scene. The acting is sometimes fun, sometimes bad. The writing is also not great. But nobody looking for Shakespeare ever tuned into a movie where street people turn the tables on the 1% and melt them down into vibrant puddles of goo.
The film splashes vibrantly colored innards across the scene with abandon and delivers a message we can all get behind. This gooey mess may just be the healing balm we need right now.
One fateful day at work in St. Petersburg, Russia, engineer Henry (James McDougall) finds himself in a very bad situation. Armed men enter the office where he works, take Henry and his co-workers hostage, and cart them off to a labor camp. Not exactly the kind of workplace surprise that anyone wants to have to deal with.
The captors say that everyone will be released if their company is willing to pay a ransom for them, but that’s of little concern to Henry. The more pressing concern is whether or not he can survive the camp itself. Between the grueling labor, harsh weather, violent guards, and violent campmates, this is not an environment in which one thrives. Luckily for Henry, the higher-ups need his engineering skills to repair some equipment, which gains him access to an office. What lies within that office? Keys!
After being talked into a desperate escape plan by some fellow prisoners, Henry steals said keys, allowing them to escape their confines, grab some weapons & supplies, and break out of the camp. Of course, as one of his compatriots puts it, they have now traded the prison of the gulag for the prison of the wilderness. In addition to being chased by their captors, this ragtag group must brave the terrain, the weather, and each other if they want to regain their freedom. Making matters worse, Henry isn’t exactly built for this kind of endeavor, be it physically or emotionally.
Director/co-writer Derek Barnes and star/co-writer James McDougall have put together a solid right-down-the middle survival thriller in Whiteout. There aren’t too many surprises to be had, so don’t go into it expecting to have the subgenre’s wheel reinvented. Still, there are enough moments of sharp intensity for it to be of worth to survival thriller fans. If you fall into that category, you may find something to love here. If not, Whiteout won’t move the needle for you much, but it will still entertain.
