Horror is probably the most difficult genre to tackle as a filmmaker. Young directors find it enticing because of the absolutes; horror will always have an audience. Horror enthusiasts have an unrelenting stamina. If we like a film, we'll follow its inevitable less-than-stellar sequels because we are completists. We'll pay to see the remakes we claim to hate because we know that great original horror films only come along every thirty years or so. Horror directors sometimes abandon canonical denotations established by the master storytellers at an attempt do to something fresh: vampires immune to sunlight, garlic and holy water, zombies that run, werewolves changing their shape at will, etc. Contemporary horror nuances almost always result in failure because the purists refuse to accept these deviances. But the smart filmmaker will take their cue from John Carpenter: do a great deal with very little, keep the homage to a minimum, save the best scares for the final act, make the audience give a damn about the characters, and always trick the audience into suspense by being creative with the boring parts of your film. This is exactly what Ti West did with 2009's The House of The Devil.
West did almost everything correctly. The House of the Devil meanders through the first two acts with what appears to be fluff dialogue and cheap drama, until the viewer realizes that by the second act, they care about the vulnerable Samantha (played like a veteran by the largely unknown Jocelin Donahue) and her smarter-than-the-usual-victim friend, Megan (the convincing Greta Gerwig). And just at that point of realization, West drops a bomb. The first shocking moment doesn’t play out long enough to feel cliché'; it happens quickly enough to stun the viewer and keep their attention. In fact, by the heart of act two, plot becomes incidental, taking a backseat to tension and anticipation.
The second act's strength comes in the form of Eliot Rockett's cinematography and West's canonical direction. Rockett doesn't do anything with the camera which we haven't seen before, but his visual influences are so numerous and sparse, they feel groundbreaking. Act two features prominently the menacing Dean Cundeyesque use of shadow and light which dominated Halloween. Tobe Hooper's classic chainsaw massacre low angles are employed frequently. Much like Kubrick did in The Shining, West takes an enormous space and achieves a claustrophobic atmosphere through tight shots. West directs his actors convincingly. Genuine tension is established between the protagonist and antagonists before anything frightening even takes place, and this makes the frightening parts genuinely chilling. The House of the Devil may be the twenty-first century's first classic horror entry.
West does nod to his influences in more obvious ways. An obligatory four second clip of Night of the Living Dead is thrown in, nodding at both George A. Romero and Rick Rosenthal's Halloween II. Seventies horror veteran, Mary Woronov, has a supporting role; her presence is undeniable and arresting. The trained ear will hear a snippet of dialogue spoken by Scatman Crothers in The Shining, as well as similar music cues from that film. The House of the Devil winks at horror standards like Rosemary's Baby and The Exorcist, but also includes atmospheric reprises from obscure gems like Allison's Birthday and Dead People (aka Messiah of Evil). None of these tributes threaten The House of the Devil's integrity.
The House of the Devil isn't perfect. In fact, its few flaws fall within West's attempt not to stray too far from canon. The film takes place during the early 1980s: not important or essential to any part of this movie. And if West was intent on dropping sound clips of New Wave staples, he should have put up the money for the rights to the original versions of Greg Khin's "The Break-Up Song," and the pathetic sound-alike instrumental version of The Car's "Moving in Stereo" which serves as the title sequence soundtrack. The Fixx's "One Thing Leads To Another" must have been granted at a discount price: it is the only original version of any 80s tune in the film. The title sequence itself is labored. The freeze-frame made-for-television style credit roll cheapens the overall effect and threatens to misinform the viewer that this film might not deliver. Dee Wallace's cameo was as unessential as the throw-away portion of the plot her character presented. But these are small faults.
The House of the Devil is probably the most authentic horror experience one could hope to have in this dreaded age of re-imaginings. But even if cinemaplexes weren't overrun with remakes, The House of the Devil would still stand out as an above average piece, not just in the horror genre, but in the overall realm of film. This film deserved a wide release, and hopefully it will find its audience through video rentals. The House of the Devil is a film to write home about, so see it and spread the word.
.
11/7/10
7/31/10
Interception: Christopher Nolan Challenges the Concept of Post-Postmodernism with Inception, Restoring Purity to the Art of Generation X
Much like the cinema of the Hollywood renaissance circa 1960 - 1980, Christopher Nolan's Inception is the product of an idea which provokes critical thinking. As I watched the film, I was completely absorbed in the ideas presented, and found myself formulating relevant ideas about Generation X and the ironical enigma of Post-Postmodernism. Nolan borrows heavily from the cinema which inspired my generation to want to watch films, make films, write screenplays, or write about screenplays and films. He doesn't do this in the overtly conscious exploitation of great films the way over-glorified hacks like Tarantino do. I found myself picking up on the movies that influenced Nolan's film because I love them as much as he does, not because entire scenes were lifted as an in-joke. Nothing is reincarnated wholesale; there are hints and nods to a few instantly recognizable sights and sounds, and while I normally find this distracting, I find it brilliant because this is what Inception is about; the idea that ideas are inspired by ideas which were inspired by ideas that came before them. This may sound oversimplified, but it is the degrees of separation by which those ideas are intriguing. With Inception, Nolan challenges the concept of Post-Postmodernism while restoring purity to the art which inspired Generation X.
Generation X is a term which is loosely thrown about to identify the so-called slackers begat by the Baby Boomers. I say so-called, because this artistically ambitious group of artists is responsible for some of the most popular items in pop culture today: The Simpson's, Family Guy, Robot Chicken, and just about every program on the Cartoon Channel's Adult Swim. Demographically, Generation X refers to the generation following the Boomers (Stephy), born roughly between the years of 1961 and 1981 (Trend Report). Only 46 million strong, we Americans identified as Gen Xers find ourselves "sandwiched between 80 million Baby Boomers and 78 million Millennials" (Stephy). Commercially and artistically, we are squashed between a hard rock and a digital army. We are largely identified by the art which inspires us and the art we create: Grunge music and satirical adult cartoons are prime examples (Ulrich and Harris). Because such a small portion of us make up the commercial market, Generation X is largely ignored by the marketers (Stephy). When studios green light projects, they do not have Generation X in mind, unless it is to steal the art we hold dearly and repackage it for Generation Y in the form of remakes. Consider recent cinematic trends; in the past decade or so, there have been remakes or reboots of franchises which are sacred pieces of our childhoods, perhaps most significantly, the Halloween and Friday the 13th franchises. Some find it easy to dismiss the cultural significance and artistic merit of these serials, but they are a huge part of my generation's artistic subconscious; these films inspire us. Right now, there are at the very least 75 Hollywood remakes in the works, many of which were originally released during the years that demographically comprise the era of Generation X (Brew). It is the wholesale robbery of the X Generation's artifacts that contribute to the idea of the nameless era of Post-Postmodernism.
To understand what Post-Postmodernism is exactly, one must consider the ideas and concepts which precede it; Modernism: the idea that great art will be remembered forever and guarantee the artist immortal acclaim, Post Modernism: loss of the faith in the previous idea and the prediction that popular culture would endlessly recycle itself. Each definitive artistic period is usually marked by a major world event: Modernism is the product of twentieth century technology and World War I. Post Modernism is marked by the dropping of Atom Bombs on Japan. It is my belief that future historians will mark the birth of Post-Postmodernism with 9/11. The Post-Modernists are correct to an extent about their predictions of recycling culture. During the 1970's, the 1950's were popularized in the entertainment media; films like American Graffiti and Grease, and television programs such as Happy Days were popular with audiences. In the 1980's, there were Woodstock revivals. The 1990's ushered in the second age of the bell bottom and programs like That 70s Show. Considering this, Post-Postmodernism is a perfect name for an era which recycles pop culture wholesale, not just finding inspiration from the past, but reinventing the past for present day audiences. There is a beautiful ironic ring to Post-Postmodernism: an era which lacks the creativity to define itself with an original tag. Christopher Nolan challenges this redundancy by creating one of the few genuinely original films of post-millennial cinema. Much like the characters in his screenplay, Nolan delves into the collective subconscious of Generation X for inspiration and creation.
Nolan, born in 1970, is not the first filmmaker of his generation to challenge the marketing strategies of studio executives who seek to pillage and repackage the art of Generation X. Eli Roth's Cabin Fever is a direct nod to film's like Wes Craven's Last House on the Left (several pieces of the score for Craven's film are audible in Cabin Fever) and Sam Raimi's Evil Dead. Given the nature of Roth's filmmaking, it is not surprising that Quinton Tarantino financed Roth's Hostel pictures; Roth's cinematic borrowing is a little heavy handed. Adam Green's Hatchet bore the tagline "Old school American Horror," and borrowed heavily from the Friday the 13th Franchise (which borrowed heavily from Mario Bava's Twitch of the Death Nerve, a clear illustration of ideas inspired by ideas). And while Roth's and Green's films feel a little labored, even counterfeit, Scott Glosserman's Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon is a brilliantly written and directed homage to 80's slasher cinema. Though Roth's films found some commercial appeal, Christopher Nolan is the first of his generation to create a piece of art that resonates across the generations from the boomers to the millennials without blatant cinematic theft. By not remaking or re-imagining, Nolan restores some purity to these films instead of violating and exploiting their integrity.
With madman like Michael Bay whoring around for formula pictures to rehash, one is reminded of the Post Modernists' conclusion of great art being forgotten as the culture recycles itself. Bay's production company Platinum Dunes has produced some of the most dreadful remakes to date. Dunes' re-imaginings of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Amityville Horror are uninspired examples of mass-marketed drabness. And I shudder to think that one day there will be a generation believing that Rob Zombie created a picture called Halloween. With all of the recent studio remakes, I often wonder if anyone appreciates the artistic merit of the originals. Nolan does. His avid handling of the source material which inspires him is delicately balanced with the originality of his screenplay. Maybe I can shout out a few films where his ideas came from, but I'm a pop culture nerd. The average movie-goer will most likely not be distracted by the source of Nolan's ideas.
Much like Nolan's characters in Inception, when I feel the collective consciousness of my generation being raped, my subconscious goes into attack and defense mode. As much as I hate to admit it, there are films I've already decided not to like before allowing the re-imagining to make its way into my memory. But I feel my apprehensiveness is justified. Everything I love about screenwriting and film gets reinvented or removed. I'm not much of a television viewer, but the few shows I did fall in love with: Carnivale and Jericho to name some, both created by Gen Xers, were cancelled after two seasons. Jericho, a program largely inspired by a little television film from 1983 called The Day After: a film which horrified Gen Xers with the idea that we would all perish in a nuclear holocaust, didn't stand much of a chance. The cultural significance of The Day After is astonishing: it has been credited by some historians for single handedly ending the cold war. With only 46 million to tune in and another 160 million to not tune in to Jericho, CBS pulled the plug. And the entire film industry has all but pulled the plug on Generation X. Now that a director like Christopher Nolan has gained some credibility, there is hope that studios will look to the past for fresh ideas without the intent to repackage.
In April 2010, Platinum Dunes released its re-imagining of Wes Craven's A Nightmare on Elm Street. A fan who drew comparisons about the two versions wrote "If you want to disregard my comparisons to the original films and simply take this one for what it is, a brainless slasher flick, it still fails" (imdb.com). Yet, Dunes' target crowd, the Y Generation, continue to pack theaters on opening night to witness the mediocre products Michael Bay and company continue to deliver. As I watched Nolan's Inception, I found myself thinking about the original Nightmare directed by Wes Craven. Thematically, both films deal with the concept of dreams and a perpetrator who infiltrates them to exploit the dreamer. Nolan borrowed stylistically from Craven as well. There is a scene in Inception in which Joseph Gordon-Levitt's character must physically face of with the subconscious of the dreamer whose dream he has helped violate. Gordon-Levitt's character engages this protective subconscious in a violent struggle; he and the attacker seem to defy gravity as they assault each other over the floor, walls, and ceiling of the hotel room. This scene directly correlates to a scene in Craven's Nightmare in which the character Tina, played by Amanda Wyss, meets her demise as she attempts to battle the dream invading Freddy Krueger (watch the full scene at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UP1vv0wWp4 ). The scene Nolan shot is not lifted completely from Craven, it is rather Cravenesque, and most audiences will not make the connection, therefore not distracting them from Nolan's fresh idea which is inspired by Craven. Whereas Post-Postmodernism might suggest that Craven's work will only be remembered through its re-imagining, Nolan pays homage to Craven's original art without violating or exploiting it. Perhaps there is still room for originality in post-millennial cinema; or, perhaps better yet, filmmakers like Nolan will redefine what the age of Post-Postmodernism will be.
The Post Modern period also saw its share of remakes. In 1976, Dino De Laurentiis promised audiences the most exciting motion picture experience for all times with the remake of King Kong, which he produced (Bahrenburg). There is a considerable difference between the re-imaginings of the PM era and the PPM era: the difference being, De Laurentiis' remake of Kong makes a statement. Yes, the film does follow the formula of the 1970's action/disaster genre, but there are highly symbolic elements to the film which De Laurentiis hired John Guillermin to direct. Whereas the original film was centered around a Hollywood film crew looking for an exotic location to shoot a picture, the 1976 production spins a tale about an oil company named Petrox (how wonderfully ironic) looking to hone in on the secret location of a treasure trove of undiscovered oil. This film was released as America was barely recovering from the effect of the 1970s energy crisis. Thematically, the film touched on concepts such as non-renewable energy sources, environmental and conservation issues, and the fact that Kong climbed the World Trade Center instead of the iconic Empire State Building is noteworthy. Both the 1933 and 1976 versions of Kong are icons of their artistic time periolds: the Empire State Building being a symbol of stregnth without limitation and technological progress, and the World Trade Center symbolizing questionable economic stability and global power by means of currency. Whereas the ending of the 1933 film concludes on a positive note because Kong, seen as an invader of modern society, was defeated, the 1976 version ends on a sour note: the exploited endangered ape dies tragically atop a symbol of greed. In retrospect, the scene where Kong knocks a military helicoptor into the side of the WTC, making the coptor explode, is chilling.
Visual stimuli only accounts for part of the motion picture experience. In the age of surround sound, the auditory component of a motion picture plays an important role. The 1976 remake of King Kong was met with mixed responses from critics, but most of them agreed that John Barry's musical score was noteworthy. Between the years 1962 and 1987, Barry is credited as a musical contributor to twelve James Bond films, making him a significant influence on future composers from the X Generation (Waaktaar). The Bond series is as iconic as the story of King Kong, making Barry a pop culture icon in the shadows; Gen Xers may not know him by name, but his music provided tension and beauty to the visuals we encountered during our youths. Although Barry's score did not receive an Academy Award nomination for Kong (by 1976 Barry was already a five time winner), the record album of the film's soundtrack sold considerably well. My memory of Barry's score is of an eight track tape, an endless loop which both mystified and terrified me. Being familiar with Barry's soundtrack, I detected traces of his work, particularly from King Kong, in Hans Zimmer's compositions for Inception. Barry's style of expressionism is evident in Zimmer's score. Being on the cusp of Generation X, it is conceivable that Zimmer, either consciously or subconsciously, drew upon Barry for inspiration. The most obvious connections to Kong's soundtrack can be heard whenever a beach appears in Inception. (Listen to a suite of Barry's score at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HpxPW_SB6iQ). Further proof of Barry's influence on the composers of Generation X was discovered by another film buff who illustrates the similarity's of Barry's Kong score to James Horner's score for James Cameron's Avatar (hear the illustration at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTHRFhUtko0&feature=related). This also loosely ties Nolan's film to Cameron's.
Audibly as well as visually, Inception is linked to the art which inspired Generation X, and the art created by Generation X. As fully explained, Inception is separated from the 1976 version of King Kong audibly by one degree. Jericho, a television program conceived and produced by Gen Xers, is separated from Inception by one degree in casting. Inception is separated from Wes Craven by three separate degrees, thematically and visually, and the other through casting. The Halloween and Friday the 13th franchises are separated from the film by two degrees in concepts and casting, and again by a third degree in which they were used as the springboard for another Wes Craven picture.
These degrees of separation came to me a few nights before I saw Inception. I was re-watching the first season of Jericho. In the middle of the first season, a character by the name of Victor Miller is introduced. I don't know how I didn't catch this in my first viewing of the series, but Victor Miller is the name of the man who wrote the original script for Friday the 13th (1980). Friday the 13th was given a lackluster makeover in 2009, but the writers of Jericho, being from the X generation, took their inspiration from the original film. I was fairly sure that it was no coincidence, and when Victor Miller spoke his first lines in Jericho, I was certain that connections were being made to the films my generation grew up with. Miller's first words are, "They're coming, they're coming." These are the words uttered by the first victim in Tommy Wallace's Halloween III: Season of the Witch. I recognized the dialogue immediately because Adam Donshik, the actor portraying Miller, spoke the lines verbatim from Wallace's Season of the Witch script with the same cadence and tone as the character from SOTW. This was a revelation to me, because I realized that someone is remembering these original works of art in spite of them being part of the Post Modern film canon. I'd watched Jericho during its original run on CBS, and somehow there was another huge nod to the Halloween franchise that I missed; the homage is painfully obvious. After the opening scenes of each episode, as the word Jericho appears on the screen, the first eight notes of the Halloween theme are played in the same 5/4 time signature (listen to the Jericho opening theme at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzePUWIKZbc). This is an unmistakable homage to the John Carpenter film. Jericho's link to Inception takes place in an important climactic scene. As DiCaprio's character finally makes his way through U.S. Customs, the attendant who handles his passport is played by Michael Gaston, who had a major role in Jericho. Upon recognizing Gaston in Inception, I began to see this web of connection.
Nolan's homage to Wes Craven's A Nightmare of Elm Street is clear and simple, but Inception is also linked to Craven through the character of Robert Fischer Jr., the man whose dream is being intruded upon in Nolan's Inception. Fischer is played by Cillian Murphy; Murphy also starred in the film Red Eye: a motion picture directed by Wes Craven. Wes Craven also directed the Scream trilogy in which Halloween is heavily borrowed from thematically. There are a number of lines spoken in Scream which come directly from Carpenter's original Halloween script, and several characters in Scream are named after characters from Halloween. Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street are also heavily referenced in Scream. Inception is tied to Halloween through Jericho, and Halloween is tied to Scream; Wes Craven directed Scream as well. Friday the 13th is tied to Inception through Jericho, and Scream by way of Craven. Craven also cast Skeet Ulrich as a major character in Scream. Ulrich was also the star of CBS' Jericho; these roles being separated by almost a decade, and over two artistic periods.
The significance of these degrees of separation is this: perhaps the Post Modernists weren't entirely right, and perhaps there is hope that Post-Postmodernism will be a completely different animal than the era that precedes it. In fact, a few years down the road when post-millennial art is re-examined by the critics and historians, Post-Postmodernism might not be Post-Postmodernism at all. Maybe it will be tagged with something much more original. And if Nolan can prove that the Post Modernists were not entirely correct, then maybe there is some room for originality in Hollywood. Great films will always influence future great directors, but as long as re-imaginings are a box office draw, these great films are in danger of being forgotten due to the makeovers Hollywood loves to give to a previously successful but dead franchise. If directors like Nolan can produce original art which attracts interest across the generational divide, Generation X might actually have something original to look forward to.
Bibliography
Bahrenburg. The Making of King Kong. 1976. Print.
Brew, Simon. "75 Movie Remakes and Reboots Currently in the Works - Den of Geek." Den of Geek - Cult TV, Movies, Games & Comics Reviewed, Discussed & Appreciated - Den of Geek. 28 Mar. 2010. Web. 30 July 2010..
Broad, Forging A. Economic Mobility Project: Ensuring the American Dream Is Kept Alive. Web. 30 July 2010.
"Demographics / Population Trends." Alliance Trends - Home Page. Web. 30 July 2010..
Epstein, Mikhail. "The Place of Postmodernism in Postmodernity." The Focusing Institute. Web. 30 July 2010..
"Friday the 13th (1980/I)." The Internet Movie Database (IMDb). Web. 30 July 2010.
"Halloween (1978)." The Internet Movie Database (IMDb). Web. 30 July 2010.
"Halloween III: Season of the Witch (1982)." The Internet Movie Database (IMDb). Web. 30 July 2010.
"IMDb Search." The Internet Movie Database (IMDb). Web. 30 July 2010..
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"James Bond's Greatest Hits." Interview by Pal Waaktaar. UK North One Television. London, 2006. Television.
""Jericho" (2006)." The Internet Movie Database (IMDb). Web. 30 July 2010.
"A Nightmare on Elm Street (2010)." The Internet Movie Database (IMDb). Web. 30 July 2010.
Stephy, M. J. "Gen-X: The Ignored Generation? - TIME." Breaking News, Analysis, Politics, Blogs, News Photos, Video, Tech Reviews - TIME.com. 16 Apr. 2008. Web. 30 July 2010..
Ulrich, John McAllister. "GenXegesis: Essays on Alternative ..." Google Books. Web. 30 July 2010..
"YouTube - Avatar Score by James Horner and King Kong 1976 Score by John Barry Similarity." YouTube - Broadcast Yourself. 27 Dec. 2009. Web. 30 July 2010..
"YouTube - KING KONG (1976) Soundtrack Score Suite (John Barry)." YouTube - Broadcast Yourself. 13 Feb. 2010. Web. 30 July 2010..
Generation X is a term which is loosely thrown about to identify the so-called slackers begat by the Baby Boomers. I say so-called, because this artistically ambitious group of artists is responsible for some of the most popular items in pop culture today: The Simpson's, Family Guy, Robot Chicken, and just about every program on the Cartoon Channel's Adult Swim. Demographically, Generation X refers to the generation following the Boomers (Stephy), born roughly between the years of 1961 and 1981 (Trend Report). Only 46 million strong, we Americans identified as Gen Xers find ourselves "sandwiched between 80 million Baby Boomers and 78 million Millennials" (Stephy). Commercially and artistically, we are squashed between a hard rock and a digital army. We are largely identified by the art which inspires us and the art we create: Grunge music and satirical adult cartoons are prime examples (Ulrich and Harris). Because such a small portion of us make up the commercial market, Generation X is largely ignored by the marketers (Stephy). When studios green light projects, they do not have Generation X in mind, unless it is to steal the art we hold dearly and repackage it for Generation Y in the form of remakes. Consider recent cinematic trends; in the past decade or so, there have been remakes or reboots of franchises which are sacred pieces of our childhoods, perhaps most significantly, the Halloween and Friday the 13th franchises. Some find it easy to dismiss the cultural significance and artistic merit of these serials, but they are a huge part of my generation's artistic subconscious; these films inspire us. Right now, there are at the very least 75 Hollywood remakes in the works, many of which were originally released during the years that demographically comprise the era of Generation X (Brew). It is the wholesale robbery of the X Generation's artifacts that contribute to the idea of the nameless era of Post-Postmodernism.
To understand what Post-Postmodernism is exactly, one must consider the ideas and concepts which precede it; Modernism: the idea that great art will be remembered forever and guarantee the artist immortal acclaim, Post Modernism: loss of the faith in the previous idea and the prediction that popular culture would endlessly recycle itself. Each definitive artistic period is usually marked by a major world event: Modernism is the product of twentieth century technology and World War I. Post Modernism is marked by the dropping of Atom Bombs on Japan. It is my belief that future historians will mark the birth of Post-Postmodernism with 9/11. The Post-Modernists are correct to an extent about their predictions of recycling culture. During the 1970's, the 1950's were popularized in the entertainment media; films like American Graffiti and Grease, and television programs such as Happy Days were popular with audiences. In the 1980's, there were Woodstock revivals. The 1990's ushered in the second age of the bell bottom and programs like That 70s Show. Considering this, Post-Postmodernism is a perfect name for an era which recycles pop culture wholesale, not just finding inspiration from the past, but reinventing the past for present day audiences. There is a beautiful ironic ring to Post-Postmodernism: an era which lacks the creativity to define itself with an original tag. Christopher Nolan challenges this redundancy by creating one of the few genuinely original films of post-millennial cinema. Much like the characters in his screenplay, Nolan delves into the collective subconscious of Generation X for inspiration and creation.
Nolan, born in 1970, is not the first filmmaker of his generation to challenge the marketing strategies of studio executives who seek to pillage and repackage the art of Generation X. Eli Roth's Cabin Fever is a direct nod to film's like Wes Craven's Last House on the Left (several pieces of the score for Craven's film are audible in Cabin Fever) and Sam Raimi's Evil Dead. Given the nature of Roth's filmmaking, it is not surprising that Quinton Tarantino financed Roth's Hostel pictures; Roth's cinematic borrowing is a little heavy handed. Adam Green's Hatchet bore the tagline "Old school American Horror," and borrowed heavily from the Friday the 13th Franchise (which borrowed heavily from Mario Bava's Twitch of the Death Nerve, a clear illustration of ideas inspired by ideas). And while Roth's and Green's films feel a little labored, even counterfeit, Scott Glosserman's Behind the Mask: The Rise of Leslie Vernon is a brilliantly written and directed homage to 80's slasher cinema. Though Roth's films found some commercial appeal, Christopher Nolan is the first of his generation to create a piece of art that resonates across the generations from the boomers to the millennials without blatant cinematic theft. By not remaking or re-imagining, Nolan restores some purity to these films instead of violating and exploiting their integrity.
With madman like Michael Bay whoring around for formula pictures to rehash, one is reminded of the Post Modernists' conclusion of great art being forgotten as the culture recycles itself. Bay's production company Platinum Dunes has produced some of the most dreadful remakes to date. Dunes' re-imaginings of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre and The Amityville Horror are uninspired examples of mass-marketed drabness. And I shudder to think that one day there will be a generation believing that Rob Zombie created a picture called Halloween. With all of the recent studio remakes, I often wonder if anyone appreciates the artistic merit of the originals. Nolan does. His avid handling of the source material which inspires him is delicately balanced with the originality of his screenplay. Maybe I can shout out a few films where his ideas came from, but I'm a pop culture nerd. The average movie-goer will most likely not be distracted by the source of Nolan's ideas.
Much like Nolan's characters in Inception, when I feel the collective consciousness of my generation being raped, my subconscious goes into attack and defense mode. As much as I hate to admit it, there are films I've already decided not to like before allowing the re-imagining to make its way into my memory. But I feel my apprehensiveness is justified. Everything I love about screenwriting and film gets reinvented or removed. I'm not much of a television viewer, but the few shows I did fall in love with: Carnivale and Jericho to name some, both created by Gen Xers, were cancelled after two seasons. Jericho, a program largely inspired by a little television film from 1983 called The Day After: a film which horrified Gen Xers with the idea that we would all perish in a nuclear holocaust, didn't stand much of a chance. The cultural significance of The Day After is astonishing: it has been credited by some historians for single handedly ending the cold war. With only 46 million to tune in and another 160 million to not tune in to Jericho, CBS pulled the plug. And the entire film industry has all but pulled the plug on Generation X. Now that a director like Christopher Nolan has gained some credibility, there is hope that studios will look to the past for fresh ideas without the intent to repackage.
In April 2010, Platinum Dunes released its re-imagining of Wes Craven's A Nightmare on Elm Street. A fan who drew comparisons about the two versions wrote "If you want to disregard my comparisons to the original films and simply take this one for what it is, a brainless slasher flick, it still fails" (imdb.com). Yet, Dunes' target crowd, the Y Generation, continue to pack theaters on opening night to witness the mediocre products Michael Bay and company continue to deliver. As I watched Nolan's Inception, I found myself thinking about the original Nightmare directed by Wes Craven. Thematically, both films deal with the concept of dreams and a perpetrator who infiltrates them to exploit the dreamer. Nolan borrowed stylistically from Craven as well. There is a scene in Inception in which Joseph Gordon-Levitt's character must physically face of with the subconscious of the dreamer whose dream he has helped violate. Gordon-Levitt's character engages this protective subconscious in a violent struggle; he and the attacker seem to defy gravity as they assault each other over the floor, walls, and ceiling of the hotel room. This scene directly correlates to a scene in Craven's Nightmare in which the character Tina, played by Amanda Wyss, meets her demise as she attempts to battle the dream invading Freddy Krueger (watch the full scene at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7UP1vv0wWp4 ). The scene Nolan shot is not lifted completely from Craven, it is rather Cravenesque, and most audiences will not make the connection, therefore not distracting them from Nolan's fresh idea which is inspired by Craven. Whereas Post-Postmodernism might suggest that Craven's work will only be remembered through its re-imagining, Nolan pays homage to Craven's original art without violating or exploiting it. Perhaps there is still room for originality in post-millennial cinema; or, perhaps better yet, filmmakers like Nolan will redefine what the age of Post-Postmodernism will be.
The Post Modern period also saw its share of remakes. In 1976, Dino De Laurentiis promised audiences the most exciting motion picture experience for all times with the remake of King Kong, which he produced (Bahrenburg). There is a considerable difference between the re-imaginings of the PM era and the PPM era: the difference being, De Laurentiis' remake of Kong makes a statement. Yes, the film does follow the formula of the 1970's action/disaster genre, but there are highly symbolic elements to the film which De Laurentiis hired John Guillermin to direct. Whereas the original film was centered around a Hollywood film crew looking for an exotic location to shoot a picture, the 1976 production spins a tale about an oil company named Petrox (how wonderfully ironic) looking to hone in on the secret location of a treasure trove of undiscovered oil. This film was released as America was barely recovering from the effect of the 1970s energy crisis. Thematically, the film touched on concepts such as non-renewable energy sources, environmental and conservation issues, and the fact that Kong climbed the World Trade Center instead of the iconic Empire State Building is noteworthy. Both the 1933 and 1976 versions of Kong are icons of their artistic time periolds: the Empire State Building being a symbol of stregnth without limitation and technological progress, and the World Trade Center symbolizing questionable economic stability and global power by means of currency. Whereas the ending of the 1933 film concludes on a positive note because Kong, seen as an invader of modern society, was defeated, the 1976 version ends on a sour note: the exploited endangered ape dies tragically atop a symbol of greed. In retrospect, the scene where Kong knocks a military helicoptor into the side of the WTC, making the coptor explode, is chilling.
Visual stimuli only accounts for part of the motion picture experience. In the age of surround sound, the auditory component of a motion picture plays an important role. The 1976 remake of King Kong was met with mixed responses from critics, but most of them agreed that John Barry's musical score was noteworthy. Between the years 1962 and 1987, Barry is credited as a musical contributor to twelve James Bond films, making him a significant influence on future composers from the X Generation (Waaktaar). The Bond series is as iconic as the story of King Kong, making Barry a pop culture icon in the shadows; Gen Xers may not know him by name, but his music provided tension and beauty to the visuals we encountered during our youths. Although Barry's score did not receive an Academy Award nomination for Kong (by 1976 Barry was already a five time winner), the record album of the film's soundtrack sold considerably well. My memory of Barry's score is of an eight track tape, an endless loop which both mystified and terrified me. Being familiar with Barry's soundtrack, I detected traces of his work, particularly from King Kong, in Hans Zimmer's compositions for Inception. Barry's style of expressionism is evident in Zimmer's score. Being on the cusp of Generation X, it is conceivable that Zimmer, either consciously or subconsciously, drew upon Barry for inspiration. The most obvious connections to Kong's soundtrack can be heard whenever a beach appears in Inception. (Listen to a suite of Barry's score at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HpxPW_SB6iQ). Further proof of Barry's influence on the composers of Generation X was discovered by another film buff who illustrates the similarity's of Barry's Kong score to James Horner's score for James Cameron's Avatar (hear the illustration at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTHRFhUtko0&feature=related). This also loosely ties Nolan's film to Cameron's.
Audibly as well as visually, Inception is linked to the art which inspired Generation X, and the art created by Generation X. As fully explained, Inception is separated from the 1976 version of King Kong audibly by one degree. Jericho, a television program conceived and produced by Gen Xers, is separated from Inception by one degree in casting. Inception is separated from Wes Craven by three separate degrees, thematically and visually, and the other through casting. The Halloween and Friday the 13th franchises are separated from the film by two degrees in concepts and casting, and again by a third degree in which they were used as the springboard for another Wes Craven picture.
These degrees of separation came to me a few nights before I saw Inception. I was re-watching the first season of Jericho. In the middle of the first season, a character by the name of Victor Miller is introduced. I don't know how I didn't catch this in my first viewing of the series, but Victor Miller is the name of the man who wrote the original script for Friday the 13th (1980). Friday the 13th was given a lackluster makeover in 2009, but the writers of Jericho, being from the X generation, took their inspiration from the original film. I was fairly sure that it was no coincidence, and when Victor Miller spoke his first lines in Jericho, I was certain that connections were being made to the films my generation grew up with. Miller's first words are, "They're coming, they're coming." These are the words uttered by the first victim in Tommy Wallace's Halloween III: Season of the Witch. I recognized the dialogue immediately because Adam Donshik, the actor portraying Miller, spoke the lines verbatim from Wallace's Season of the Witch script with the same cadence and tone as the character from SOTW. This was a revelation to me, because I realized that someone is remembering these original works of art in spite of them being part of the Post Modern film canon. I'd watched Jericho during its original run on CBS, and somehow there was another huge nod to the Halloween franchise that I missed; the homage is painfully obvious. After the opening scenes of each episode, as the word Jericho appears on the screen, the first eight notes of the Halloween theme are played in the same 5/4 time signature (listen to the Jericho opening theme at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RzePUWIKZbc). This is an unmistakable homage to the John Carpenter film. Jericho's link to Inception takes place in an important climactic scene. As DiCaprio's character finally makes his way through U.S. Customs, the attendant who handles his passport is played by Michael Gaston, who had a major role in Jericho. Upon recognizing Gaston in Inception, I began to see this web of connection.
Nolan's homage to Wes Craven's A Nightmare of Elm Street is clear and simple, but Inception is also linked to Craven through the character of Robert Fischer Jr., the man whose dream is being intruded upon in Nolan's Inception. Fischer is played by Cillian Murphy; Murphy also starred in the film Red Eye: a motion picture directed by Wes Craven. Wes Craven also directed the Scream trilogy in which Halloween is heavily borrowed from thematically. There are a number of lines spoken in Scream which come directly from Carpenter's original Halloween script, and several characters in Scream are named after characters from Halloween. Friday the 13th and A Nightmare on Elm Street are also heavily referenced in Scream. Inception is tied to Halloween through Jericho, and Halloween is tied to Scream; Wes Craven directed Scream as well. Friday the 13th is tied to Inception through Jericho, and Scream by way of Craven. Craven also cast Skeet Ulrich as a major character in Scream. Ulrich was also the star of CBS' Jericho; these roles being separated by almost a decade, and over two artistic periods.
The significance of these degrees of separation is this: perhaps the Post Modernists weren't entirely right, and perhaps there is hope that Post-Postmodernism will be a completely different animal than the era that precedes it. In fact, a few years down the road when post-millennial art is re-examined by the critics and historians, Post-Postmodernism might not be Post-Postmodernism at all. Maybe it will be tagged with something much more original. And if Nolan can prove that the Post Modernists were not entirely correct, then maybe there is some room for originality in Hollywood. Great films will always influence future great directors, but as long as re-imaginings are a box office draw, these great films are in danger of being forgotten due to the makeovers Hollywood loves to give to a previously successful but dead franchise. If directors like Nolan can produce original art which attracts interest across the generational divide, Generation X might actually have something original to look forward to.
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