Please to remember the 5th of November,
the gunpowder treason and plot,
I know of no reason why the gunpowder treason
should ever be forgot.
It’s November 5th, and in Great Britain, it’s time to roll out the sparklers, hot dogs, and burning effigies. For those unfamiliar, November 5th traditionally celebrates the capture of the villainous (and Catholic) Guy Fawkes and his crew mere minutes before they blew up the House of Lords with King James in situ, over 400 years ago. As a foreign import to these fair isles, Bonfire Night has always held a strange fascination. What was this peculiar celebration, which took precedence over Halloween, where small children gathered with their glowing wands and unhealthy snacks in the shadow of a large, flaming ‘Guy’?
“Cuckoo!” is a 7-minute short film from the Netherlands directed by Jörgen Scholtens, who co-wrote with Jörgen Van Weeren. It’s a surreal piece about a tiny man (Frank Lammers) who lives in a cuckoo clock with his even tinier cat. He’s responsible for popping out on the hour, but one day things go wrong and lead to a cascade failure. It’s an absurd piece about routine, and it has a good production design involving old technologies. It’s a bittersweet story that works.
With it was bundled Kratt, an Estonian feature written and directed by Rasmus Merivoo. In 2017 I loved November, a film about the superstitions of a small Estonian village in the 18th century; one of those superstitions was the Kratt, a monstrous servant you could get the Devil to bring to life to do your will. The Kratt needs to always be doing work, or it’ll turn violently against its masters. To be clear, this film is nothing like November, which was a downbeat arthouse fantasy; this Kratt is an oddball comedy-satire, mixing straight-faced gags with moments of outright gore. Still, I was interested in seeing another spin on the Kratt story, not least because of the different tone this movie promised.
Kratt takes place in the present day, when a couple of young kids, Mia and Kevin (Nora and Harri Merivoo, the director’s real-life children) are left with their grandmother (Mari Lill) in a small village somewhere in Estonia. The kids are unimpressed with farm life, and when they find out about the legend of the Kratt they think they have a solution. Things, of course, go wrong. Their quest to build the Kratt and the consequences of their actions unfold against the background of village life and its controversies, which include protestors trying to prevent deforestation and a middle-aged politician (Ivo Uukkivi) caught up in corruption and playing both sides.
As “the season” came to a close for another year, so did my 31-day binge of all manner of scary movies. I had been saving Night Teeth on Netflix for Sunday afternoon before the official trick-or-treat hours kicked off. I wasn’t expecting much so I was prepared to bail on it and watch something more traditional. Instead, what I got was a very pleasant surprise.
The premise shown in the trailer is what first got my attention. I love a good vampire tale, especially when it has a unique spin (like Midnight Mass). Night Teeth tells the story of Bennie, an aspiring young musician from East L.A. (played by Jorge Lendeborg Jr. – Spiderman: Far from Home) who takes his brother’s limo shift to earn some extra cash. He winds up hosting two swanky young ladies on what looks to be an all-night party hop. What he doesn’t know is that the two are vampire assassins sent by their boss to wipe out his rival, blood-sucking gang leaders in a bid to take over Los Angeles.
Satoshi Kon was one of the great geniuses of anime. Born in 1963, in his twenties he worked briefly in manga, then became an assistant to Katsuhiro Otomo, scripting a segment in the anthology film Memories. The first movie of his own was Perfect Blue, in 1997, a suspense story about an actress pursued by a stalker. It blurs the line between real and unreal, which would become a hallmark of Kon’s later work — as with his next film, 2002’s Millennium Actress, in which documentarians investigate the life story of a retired actress. Tokyo Godfathers, from 2003, is a more straightforward look at three street people in Tokyo who find an abandoned baby; Kon followed it with Paranoia Agent, a 13-episode anime about a mysterious series of street assaults. His final completed film was Paprika, in 2006, another film examining the fragmented nature of identity and dreams, this time based on a science-fiction novel about a dream terrorist. Kon was at work on another movie, to be called Dreaming Machine, when he was diagnosed in 2010 with pancreatic cancer, dying later that year at age 46.
It’s tragic for anyone to die that young, and the tragedy’s compounded by the greatness of Kon’s cinematic achievements in his relatively brief life. Every one of his films can be described as a masterpiece, and his influence spread far beyond anime even to mainstream Hollywood filmmakers. This year a new documentary about Kon played the Fantasia Film Festival (whose prize for top animated feature of the year is named for Kon). Satoshi Kon: The Illusionist is an 82-minute examination of Kon’s work from Pascal-Alex Vincent, and it’s a solid introduction to his achievements.
This is the second article in an occasional series called either Now Streaming or Not Streaming, depending on the availability of the television shows or films I’ll be discussing. In addition to discussing the works, I’ll also note the availability of the works. The series also ties into an issue of the Hugo Award winning fanzine Journey Planet I’ve recently published which has appreciations of more than thirty television series that were cancelled within two seasons.
Sometimes a show’s cancellation is, at least in part, the result of the coincidental similarity with another show. On September 18, 2006, Studio 60 on the Sunset Strip, an hour long drama built around the production of a weekly comedy sketch show, debuted on NBC. Three weeks later, on October 11, NBC debuted 30 Rock, an half-hour long comedy built around the production of a weekly comedy sketch show. While 30 Rock ran for seven seasons and 138 episodes, Studio 60 only lasted a single series and 22 episodes.
A couple years earlier, a similar situation happened when Joan of Arcadia debuted on CBS on September 26, 2003. It ran for two seasons and told the story of a woman who was given tasks to perform by God. Six months later, on March 12, 2004, Fox aired the first episode of Wonderfalls, a story about a woman who hears voices giving her tasks to perform. After airing the first four episodes out of order, Fox cancelled the show. Fortunately, one of the executive producers, Tim Minear, had experience with Fox (he had worked on Firefly), and they had plotted the series to complete a story arc within the 13 episodes initially ordered. The full run aired on Canada’s Vision TV six months after it was cancelled in the United States, where viewers had to wait until the DVD set was released in early 2005 with all the ‘sodes in the correct order.
So, what is Wonderfalls and why is it so Wonderful? …
So… it’s about freaking time we have one of these, right?
Having already demonstrated impressive editing chops with Dominion (co-edited with Zelda Knight), Oghenechovwe Donald Ekpeki has created an even greater anthology with this Year’s Best, distilling twenty-nine stories into one of the most cohesive anthologies I’ve ever read. Common threads make this feel like so much more than just a “here’s who we think are the top authors” sort of Year’s Best. We’re being shown part of what African SF is saying right now, and honestly, we should feel lucky to be given this insight.
Midnight (미드나이트, Mi-deu-nai-teu) is a suspense thriller from Korea that revolves around Kyung-mi (Ki-joo Jin), a young deaf woman who, one night on her way to meet her mother (Hae-yeon Kil), comes across a grievously wounded woman named So-jung (Kim Hye-Yoon). So-jung’s been attacked by a maniacal serial killer, Do-sik (Wi Ha-Joon, Squid Game), who now sees Kyung-mi and selects her as his next victim. Meanwhile, So-jung’s frantic brother (Park Hoon) is desperately trying to find his sister. Whether he’ll be able to help the women is unclear; Do-sik’s crafty, daring, and manipulative. But Kyung-mi’s resourceful herself.
Writter-director Oh-Seung Kwon presents a Hitchcockian story in which an unsuspecting and basically innocent person finds themself isolated from society by a scheming, ruthless murderer. There are scenes with security officers that demonstrate how adept Do-sik is at using the system and turning it against itself; there’s no help for Kyung-mi from that quarter. Involving the police, or indeed any outside source, just gives Do-sik more tools to use.
The film unfolds over the course of a single night, not quite in real time, and the lack of any major temporal jumping-forward emphasises the remorselessness of events. If things are sometimes convenient for the plot, as can be the case in Hitchcockian thrillers, then having everything take place in one stretch of time helps: Do-sik doesn’t need to come up with permanent con games, he just needs to keep people busy and set things up so he can do what he wants. The background of night in a big city works as well; the cityscapes are mostly empty, streets unpopulated. I don’t know how much of a part budget concerns played in the lack of extras, but it’s effective in building the sense of isolation. There’s nobody to help, nobody to see violence play out. Only quiet houses and deserted streets.
Hong Kong directors King Hu and Chang Cheh had revived the wuxia, or chivalrous hero genre for the modern era in the late Sixties, dominating Asian box offices until Bruce Lee burst on the scene in 1971 with his weaponless kung fu films set in contemporary times. The biggest Hong Kong studios, Shaw Brothers, Golden Harvest, and Seasonal films, all began churning out kung fu thrillers as fast as they could. Historical wuxia movies were eclipsed during the kung fu boom, but the studios kept making them, and following the trend of the times they increasingly included unarmed action sequences amid the sword, spear, and axe fights. And as the martial arts bar was raised, the action kept getting faster.
I’ve generally been reviewing one movie a day as I work through my experience of the 2021 Fantasia Film Festival, but today I’m doing something a little different. One of the movies available on-demand this year was a reworked version of Junk Head, which I reviewed when it played Fantasia in 2017. Another movie at this year’s festival was Mad God, the brainchild of veteran special-effects man Phil Tippett (who worked on the original Star Wars trilogy, Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom, Robocop, and a lot of other things). Both are works of stop-motion wizardry; both involve stories of explorers from a realm above descending into a world of darkness and pain. And both have religious themes in mind. I decided to watch the new edit of Junk Head, follow it with Mad God, and then write about the first movie briefly as a way to in to the second.
Junk Head is fundamentally the same movie as it was in 2017, and much of what I wrote then still applies. It’s the creation of Takahide Hori, who wrote and directed and edited and did the cinematography and the animation, and it’s a science-fiction story with elements of horror. In the far future, human beings live atop skyscrapers like gods but are threatened by a plague. One human descends into the lower levels of the world, long since abandoned to mutated clones, seeking the secret to defeat the illness. Things do not go as planned.
Ernest Hemmingway is attributed with the quote: “It is easy to write. Just sit in front of your typewriter and bleed.” Whether he said it or not is open to some debate, but there’s no doubt the sentiment is shared among most, if not all, writers. For me, the blood from my seven opening words pours directly from my sense of self. This is the first time I have referred to myself as a writer, as I have nothing published, though my first novel has received some surprisingly supportive editorial feedback. ‘Writer’ is a title I wear uncomfortably, as do a great deal of us who remain without a writing credit, I would suppose.
It’s the final two words in that sentence, however, that really strike home. Long Covid. I fear these two words are beginning to define who I am, as a writer and as a person. I’ll spare you the implausible story of my battle with the Dreaded Virus, and try my best to focus on what I have become in the aftermath.
