Mortal Engines. Christian Rivers. 2018.

What an insane spectacle!

This is apparently based on a sci-fi er fantasy series I’m totally unfamiliar with. It’s a real nimble adaptation, though: It doesn’t seem like an adapted work. Everything’s so… visual.

Unfortunately, much of those visuals are steampunk. Eww! Steampunk! The only steampunky thing I can abide is Girl Genius. Which I initially thought was what the filmmakers were aping.

It makes no sense, though. On any level, from the micro to the macro, on a scene by scene basis to the overall movie. Even for the microest of micro:

Aren’t you going to end up on the North Pole then?

But who cares! Thing blow up! Cities roll around! Everybody’s Mad Maxing it to the max!

Which brings me to the odd feeling that everything in this movie is a rip-off i mean reference I mean homage to something else. It’s got a Terry Gilliam vibe to the architecture, the Phil Foglio vibe to the insane machines, and even things like the name of the major monster: It’s called the Shrike, which a similar biomechanical monster in Dan Simmons’ books was named.

That the plot doesn’t make much sense, and the only way of plot development the writers have are people meeting each other accidentally, being in the right place accidentally, or just happening onto something accidentally, kinda really helps with the viewing experience. You can only sit there, gaping, at the spectacle.

It’s great! So stupid!

Le rayon vert. Éric Rohmer. 1986.

Shifting gears after watching a number of Cronenberg movies. And, wow, I’m glad I have a clutch on this thing. It’s difficult to imagine directors being more different than Cronenberg and Rohmer.

So this is a movie of chatty characters portrayed by amateur actors improvising (I think) as usual with Rohmer, and filmed in a bright sunny France.

I love the way that it’s really quite unclear what the movie is even about until one third through… and then it turns out that it’s about loneliness.

It’s brilliant. Marie Rivière is fantastic as the lead, the cinematography is so on point. The conversations are super real, shifting from fascinating to excruciating at the drop of a hat.

Videodrome. David Cronenberg. 1983.

OK, with Videodrome, Cronenberg is finally really Cronenberg: His previous movies had their moments, but with this one, I think he finally achieved what he was going for. The claustrophobic growing horror is maintained in a masterful way.

As usual, he’s casting somebody who’s basically the same body type as himself in the main part, but this time he’s gone for somebody who is basically his doppelganger (i.e., James Woods), which makes it tempting to read this movie as a thought experiment and an exploration of Cronenberg’s career: “What would happen is this gross shit I’m making is tainting the real world” or “what if this weird shit I’m watching is actually real”.

I saw this back in the 80s, but I didn’t remember that it was this good. There’s no superfluous scene; there’s no flab: It’s all horrifyingly arresting.