Mandy (2018)

September 22, 2018 Jared

It’s no secret among my friends that I am a huge fan of Panos Cosmatos’ previous film, Beyond The Black Rainbow. That being said, I went into Mandy with a lot of hesitance. How could Panos top such a sleeper hit and was his initial success just a case of beginner’s luck? Not to mention the slew of hype surrounding the film had all the wrong signs of something being forced on us as a tailored piece of aesthetica. Beyond The Black Rainbow held a very special place in my heart as one of the few modern genre films capable of delivering the fabled “total package” of music, visuals and cerebral writing. There was a lot to live up to in every department. Could Panos pull off something that matched, let alone exceeded, his previous achievement? Mandy starts off as a dreamy period piece set in the Pacific Northwest. King Crimson’s ‘Starless’ sets the mood as gorgeous landscape shots paint the vastness of the setting. From the get go, the foreshadowing begins in the multitude of details presented. Everything immediately feels intentional, as is Cosmatos’ style. The house covered in windows sets the tone of slow building anxiety; the fragile shelter symbolizing the naivety of safety. This chapter is colored by the innocence of Mandy’s relationship to Nick Cage’s character. Their interactions aren’t the grand stuff of A and E dramas, they’re pictures taken amidst the quiet moments of real love. They live the life so many of us dream of; fucking off to live far away to watch B-movies with the one we cherish. The first act sets us up to develop a real emotional attachment to their relationship, something that I find is increasingly rare in today’s slew of characterless modern horror. The music in this chapter is soft and whimsical, bringing the viewer deeper into the lull of this illusion of security. There are hints of the darkness to come amidst the quiet meandering of clean guitars and hushed synth tones. The second act is when the shadows really start to run. The more lysergic elements of Cosmatos’ style begin to rear their head, slowly churning beneath the surface as the villains are slowly revealed. The more fantastic elements of the film seep in slowly, letting the realms of fantasy and reality blend comfortably together without it feeling too forced. Enter the cult. The horrific elements of Jeremiah, the leader, come from a place that is all too human The intensity of his dialogue when speaking to his underlings paints a vivid picture of a man in control and a mind addled with the poison of power. His yearning for Mandy is so familiar to any of us who have been pined after for simply being “exotic”. To him, she is built up in his own mind beyond her persona. She is romanticized as something rare that needs to be possessed. Through this mechanism, Cosmatos returns to his commentary on masculinity that he began in Beyond the Black Rainbow. Quietly plucked guitars turn to wailing highs and the shriek of feedback as the quiet of Mandy and her lover’s existence is shattered. Cosmatos’ execution of acid visuals blends effortlessly into the horror of Mandy’s abduction. The allusions to the Manson family are pretty immediate once Jeremiah starts sharing his own music with his captive in an effort to create another fanatic. From this point forward, Mandy proves that she is no object to be sought after nor will she be convinced. Jeremiah, like most men, launches into childlike fits upon being denied what he believes so rightly to be his. So as not to reveal too much about the ending of the film, I won’t speak too much on the third act. The music intensifies along with the action in perfect unison, the visuals get even more insane and you delve further into the mind of a man who has been pushed to the absolute limits of his humanity. The ride is intense, enjoyable and engrossing. The only symbol here that I will really touch on is the tiger. Early in the movie, Cage is seen wearing a shirt with a tiger on it. The tiger is a symbol of his passive masculinity. Later in the movie, the tiger is let out of the cage both literally and figuratively by the “chemist”. This is symbolic for LSD’s ability to awaken our innermost self. Cage’s character embraces the primal depths of his masculinity in order to seek revenge but at what cost? As the movie pans out to show the protagonist driving across a massive, otherworldly, landscape we are left to wonder if he has embarked on a permatrip and whether or not he has become exactly like the monsters that he sought out to destroy. Does embracing the depths of our primal capabilities of violence turn us into beasts even when the reason is justifiable? Is Mandy a cross examination of the masculine fantasy of revenge and warranted violence? Is Jeremiah symbolic of religious patriarchy? Is this a world where magic flutes and cursed swords really do exist or is this all the delusion of a group of LSD drenched minds? Only Cosmatos really knows but I’m glad he left so many things for us to ponder while he puts together his next film. Mandy is a movie that I both enjoyed watching, talking about and experiencing. It’s a movie that feels like it’s made with a lot of love by the right people. The fact that Nightbeast makes an appearance and that Cage’s weapon is the ‘F’ from the Celtic Frost logo just drives home the point that Panos Cosmatos is indeed “one of us”. This is even a step up from his previous work, bringing a total package that delves even deeper into his arguments of toxic masculinity and the dangers/benefits of LSD. For any of you who have walked out on the edge of that knife, this is a movie that may hit pretty...

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WITCHFINDER GENERAL (1968)

July 10, 2018 Jared

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Review

“Men sometimes have strange motives for the things they do.” Michael Reeves’ Witchfinder General fits nicely into the 1968 catalog of counterculture films like 2001: A Space Odyssey, Night of the Living Dead, Rosemary’s Baby, and Psych-Out that were excessive in imagery and transgressions but massive with ideas and sharp social criticism. George Romero’s Night of the Living Dead, for example, was a gruesome piece showing zombies feasting on human flesh but commented on a number of things in America from race relations to the violence in Vietnam. Likewise, Roman Polanski’s Rosemary’s Baby portrayed demon rape and satanic cults as metaphors for women’s rights, religious ritualism, and bodily autonomy. Taking place in the 17th century and focusing on religious superstition, Reeves’ Witchfinder General thus seemed to be worlds away from the social and political issues present in 1968 – a year rife with revolution all over the globe – but is there a connection? Ronald Bassett, a British novelist, served as the foundation for Reeves’ movie when he wrote the book of the same name in 1966. The book features a fictionalized version of real life witch-hunter Matthew Hopkins who carried out nefarious operations in East Anglia (Eastern England) from 1644 to 1647 during the English Civil War. The back of the book even featured a warning to readers: “not for those with delicate stomachs” – an obvious caution that would be repeated with the film two years later. Basset’s novel was picked up on impulse before publication by Tigon chief executive Tony Tenser who believed its potential for a film adaptation. Co-produced by American International Pictures (AIP) and Tigon British Film Productions (who were in direct competition with Amicus Productions and Hammer Film) the film treatment was given a budget of £100,000 (considered low then) and offered to 24 year old rising director Michael Reeves who would overdose and die the next year robbing the cinematic world of his talent. Reeves’ film treatment was met with enthusiastic praise from Tenser, however, there were problems to be had with choosing the film’s star. Reeves wrote the script and role of Matthew Hopkins with Donald Pleasence firmly in mind. With the insistence (and funding) of AIP, who produced a number of Roger Corman pictures, Pleasance was dropped and replaced with Vincent Price who they believed would be more villainous given his acting repertoire and thespian experience. This abrupt change would lead to turmoil between Reeves and Price. The script was returned twice by the British Board of Film Censors (BBFC) who described the film as “a study in sadism in which every detail of cruelty and suffering is lovingly dwelt on…”. To “reduce the offensiveness” of the film, the description also had an extensive list of the following scene cuts: John Stearne, Hopkins’ right hand man, having his eyeballs smashed in by a woman’s thumbs; extended death spasms of executed witch suspects; a battle scene featuring a decapitation; Hopkins being gratuitously beaten, partially drowned, and hanged. It’s amazing to think what audiences would observe two years later in Mark of the Devil by Michael Armstrong. Filming wrapped up on schedule but probably could have finished quicker if not for the frequent clashes between Price and Reeves with one heated exchange involving Price exclaiming “I’ve made 84 movies, how many have you made?” to which Reeves retorted with “two good ones!” AIP expected Witchfinder General to be a lowbrow, minor hit and instead hoped to cash-in quickly and use it as a tax write-off. Prior to its release, the BBFC cut two minutes of what they deemed “excesses in sadistic brutality” with Reeves eventually refusing to make any further cuts. The film’s premiere was naturally met with controversy with many viewers being repulsed, nauseated, and frightened by its sadism although appreciation for it grew with time. The film, retitled The Conqueror Worm in the United States to capitalize off the success of Corman’s Poe adaptations, was re-cut with an introduction read by Price. Known to audiences for his campy theater acting, Price delivers arguably one of his best and most serious performances – cold, straight-forward, calculated, mean, and ultimately sadistic. Ian Ogilvy, childhood friend of Reeves, is competent as Richard Marshall, the tragic hero who is overcome with bloodlust upon learning Hopkins’ rape of and accusations against his fiancee. The film’s story moves fluidly aided greatly by music of Paul Ferris (who makes a cameo as the distraught husband in the beginning watching his wife being burned). The cinematography and landscapes are gorgeous showcasing English countrysides hardly seen in British films before that time. Reeves’ attention to detail in regards to set pieces and costumes are admirable given the budget constraints. Most important is the meticulous direction of Reeves – precise, meaningful, and never shying away from its gruesome imagery. At times, Witchfinder General plays like a documentary of the superstitious 17th century. While a large part of the story is fictionalized, it’s tough not to argue that these atrocities, prejudiced views, and gross injustices did take place, and still do, in some way whether it’s in the seedy underbelly of a rich, suburban neighborhood or a decrepit back alley of an inner city. It goes without saying that Witchfinder General is a mean film and while some have argued that it revels in its sadism, Reeves’ film is instead no worse than the exploitative nightly news of that time showing race riots, African Americans being sprayed by fire hoses and attacked by police dogs, burning Vietnamese villages, displaced and dead Vietnamese civilians, and a death count of American soldiers rising every day. The film also touches upon the ideas of tradition against the old guard versus the enlightened and youthful vanguard. In the 17th century world, religious superstition and witch hunts reigned supreme which were no different than the post-war 1950s United States government blacklisting suspected communists, stamping “IN GOD WE TRUST” on currency, and inserting the words “UNDER GOD” in the Pledge of Allegiance. Matthew Hopkins, who freely abuses...

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