reVIEW (49)

THE BROOD

As I mention elsewhere in the Iguana, I first discovered David Cronenberg via Scanners. Fascinated by anyone who would put an exploding head on the big screen, I played Betamax Detective and quickly immersed myself in two of his earlier films, Rabid and The Brood.
Journeying ever deeper into Cronenbergia, 1983’s Videodrome saw me as a full-fledged citizen, and though the place isn’t quite as disturbing as it once was, I believe I’ll forever be a happy resident.

Dr. Hal Raglan (Oliver Reed), author of The Shape of Rage and head of the Somafree Institute of Psychoplasmics, believes that rage is an emotion which must be externalized so that his patients can properly deal with their psychological problems. And when his theories find their perfect vessel in Nola Carveth (Samantha Eggar), murder and mayhem, Cronenberg style, ensue.

The Brood, David Cronenberg’s fourth feature, explores the idea of will—specifically rage—sublimating into physical form, how pent-up emotions can trigger physiological changes in one’s body. In zeroing in on the troubled marriage between Nola and Frank (Art Hindle), and (through her role-playing sessions with Raglan) Nola’s relationship with her estranged parents (Henry Beckman and Nuala Fitzgerald), Cronenberg also explores how a family’s dysfunction can be passed on from generation to generation, how the scars—physical, psychological, or otherwise—can be handed down from mother to daughter to daughter’s daughter.
(It’s interesting to note that Cronenberg has attributed the inspiration of the film partially to the experience of a painful custody battle with his ex-wife over their daughter Cassandra.)

With an interesting visual echo of Nicholas Roeg’s Don’t Look Now, Cronenberg’s The Brood is a disturbing piece that boasts fine performances from Eggar and Reed.
The film also has import beyond itself, in that it signaled the beginning of a long-term—and extremely fruitful—collaboration with composer Howard Shore.

The Brood is horror with significant subtext, and in light of news of an impending remake, I’d be remiss in not directing you to the real thing.

(The Brood OS courtesy of impawards.com; DVD cover art courtesy of amazon.com.)

(Thanx go out to the J&R Travel Agency, for arranging my renewed access to the Somafree Institute.)

reVIEW (48)
RABID

Before today, I last saw David Cronenberg’s Rabid in the very early ‘80’s, on Beta. Beyond some key moments, my memory of the film had grown terribly fuzzy over the years.
Now, having seen it again after over two and a half decades, I can safely say it’s got the dodgiest acting I’ve seen in a Cronenberg film, and of all of them that I’ve seen, is the one that can benefit tremendously from a responsible redux (certainly more so than either The Brood or Scanners, both reportedly on the remake block).

In Cronenberg’s second feature film, porn star Marilyn Chambers stars as Rose, whose injuries from a motorcycle accident are treated to a revolutionary skin grafting technique by Dr. Daniel Keloid (Howard Ryshpan), whose Keloid Clinic, Inc. happens to be in close proximity to the accident site.
The surgery though will cause Rose to become a carrier for a rabies-like disease, whose vector was a bizarre, Cronenbergian bit that had never before been seen, and actually has also never been seen since, as far as I know.

The most noteworthy aspect of Rabid is quite possibly the fact that this film is the precursor for recent horror fare like Danny Boyle’s 28 Days Later, and, from everything I’ve heard about it, Jaume Balaguero and Paco Plaza’s [REC].
Here, we track the spread of the disease as the narrative follows the characters who have the terrible misfortune of crossing paths with Rose, whose newfound compulsions inadvertently cause the contagion to eventually reach civilized areas.

Scenes of armed security at the mall, and roving garbage trucks assigned to gather the infected and the dead, are just some of the chilling sights Rabid has to offer, scenarios which are arguably more troubling now than when the film was first released in 1977, what, in our post-millennial age of bird flu and SARS.

And, given the sexual trappings Cronenberg surrounds the manner by which Rose inadvertently spreads the disease, Rabid (as with Cronenberg’s debut feature, Shivers) can also be read as an eerily prescient portrait of AIDS.
As timely as Rabid is though, as I mentioned above, the acting leaves a whole lot to be desired. The original score is also rather horrific.* (Howard Shore, why must you still be two films away?)

All told though, Rabid still leaves an impression, in its depiction of the breakdown of civilization in the face of a virulent disease, and the disturbing visual of exactly how Rose spreads the contagion.

* It’s interesting to note that Ivan Reitman—yes, that Ivan Reitman—is an executive producer on Rabid, as well as Music Supervisor. (He also served in similar capacities on Shivers.)

Parting shot: Reviews of other Cronenberg films can be found in the Archive.

(Rabid DVD cover art courtesy of amazon.co.uk.)

(Thanx must go out to Jeb, for making this reunion with Rose possible.)

EASTERN PROMISES (Review)

EASTERN PROMISES
(Review)

I have two all-time favorite directors. One is David Lynch. The other is another namesake of mine, David Cronenberg.

My first exposure to Cronenberg’s virulent brand of cinema was in the now vanished (and still sorely missed) Magallanes Theater. The film was Scanners. Enraptured by visions of exploding heads, and aided by the magick of the Betamax, I subsequently sought out this man’s earlier work, and was further mesmerized by Rabid and The Brood.

Moving forward, his became a name I vigilantly kept an eye out for...

Cronenberg’s latest, Eastern Promises, sees him team up once again with his A History of Violence star, Viggo Mortensen.

It’s an excellent and controlled morality tale involving a young English midwife, Anna (Naomi Watts), who crosses paths with the Russian Mafia when she comes into possession of a diary belonging to an under-aged girl who died while giving birth to a baby.

Like A History of Violence before it, Eastern Promises observes the shuddering impact that occurs when the world of crime collides with ordinary, everyday life, and perhaps even more tragically, with the dream of an ordinary, everyday life.
Like Violence, it also boasts some very impressive performances.

Aside from Watts and Mortensen, Armin Mueller-Stahl and Vincent Cassel also grace the screen, as father and son, Semyon and Kirill. (A tattooed Mortensen plays Kirill’s driver, Nikolai.)
Considering the accents involved in this one, the performances here are arguably even better than those in Violence. One has to acknowledge the fascinating display of thespian prowess when an Australian plays an Englishwoman, and an American, a Frenchman, and a German, all play Russians, and you wouldn’t know it by listening to them.*

Granted, the plot isn’t terribly complicated, but what Steven Knight‘s script manages to do is to lay down some very interesting characters, with complexities that are skillfully tapped into by Cronenberg and his brilliant cast.
Cronenberg also brings in frequent collaborators Howard Shore on music, and cinematographer extraordinaire Peter Suschitzky, to make Eastern Promises an even more fulfilling viewing experience.

Yes, there are no Mugwumps or Brundleflies or video assassins here. Not any longer. Cronenberg has apparently left behind his days as the so-called King of Venereal Horror.

As evidenced by A History of Violence, and now, Eastern Promises, his characters no longer find themselves in extraordinary circumstances. These days, we’ll have to settle for extreme instead.

Despite the grounding in the more mundane aspects of existence though, current Cronenberg cinema continues to be riveting and absorbing, and still displays textured performances that draw the audience in, and seduce them to stay, despite instinctive feelings of revulsion towards the on-screen action.
The spell he weaves today is still as potent and all-encompassing as it was in 1977, when a porn star’s armpit became a vector for disease, or in 1979, when Samantha Eggar externalized her rage into murderous dwarves, or in 1981, when a man’s head exploded in full Technicolor glory, and a 13-year-old boy became a life-long devotee.
Yes, Cronenbergia may no longer be as bizarre as it once was, but it’s still a brilliant place to visit.

* Well, technically, Watts was born in England, then raised in Australia, thus, her Australian accent.
And perhaps ironically—given his role in Eastern Promises as a displaced Russian living in England—Mueller-Stahl was born in Tilsit, in East Prussia, Germany, which was annexed by the Soviet Union in 1945, and populated by Russian citizens once the original German residents had either evacuated or been expelled.
Tilsit is now Sovetsk, Russia.

Parting shot: Aside from the 3 Golden Globe nominations (Best Motion Picture Drama, Best Actor in a Motion Picture Drama for Viggo Mortensen, and Best Score for Howard Shore), Eastern Promises has also been recognized by the Broadcast Film Critics Association, who gave a nod to Mortensen for Best Actor.
Check out the 2008 Golden Globe nominees I’m excited about in Afterthoughts (33) in the Archive.

(Eastern Promises OS courtesy of impawards.com.)