1983


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Woody Allen’s Zelig is a hilarious mockumentary from 1983. It is an allegory about conformity, too, and focuses in on the amusing idea that an individual should be so obsessed with conforming and not standing out that he should actually begin to physically transform into other people. The movie is constructed with old-fashioned footage and looks like a vintage documentary, complete with newsreel footage from the 20s and 30s. Allen inserted himself to the footage via blue screen technology and simulated damage to new footage, just like Robert Rodriguez did in Planet Terror last year, to give the film the out-of-date look.

Allen stars as Leonard Zelig, a man who has the ability to change his appearance to that of the people surrounding him. If Zelig is surrounded by overweight people, he will begin to become overweight. If he is amongst doctors, Zelig becomes a doctor. The transition causes him to lack any actual self-identity and, instead, he is dubbed the “human chameleon.” Much is made of this unique condition and he is eventually taken into a psychiatric institution for study. He is studied by Dr. Eudora Fletcher (Mia Farrow), who eventually begins to fall for Zelig.

Fletcher and Zelig’s relationship appear to give Leonard a way out of his constant transformation and he eventually becomes comfortable having his own thoughts, appearances, and opinions. At first, Leonard goes too far in the other direction as he begins to squabble and physically fight with others who think differently than he does. A simple conversation about the weather leads to fisticuffs in a hilarious segment. Eventually, Zelig evens out after an interesting and side-splitting run-in with the Nazis told via archival footage and some incredibly amusing editing.

Zelig is a downright hilarious movie, but it also makes a very compelling point about human nature. Like all of Allen’s work, there is a lot of intricacy beneath the surface. He mines philosophy, psychology, human nature, and literature to make his point. Some critics have considered Zelig to be one of Allen’s “absurd comedies,” but is there anything less absurd than the general point he is making here? The notion that people try to conform and subsequently morph into those they are imitating is not unlike many a cocktail party or public gathering amongst strangers. If several others have read Moby Dick, we don’t want to seem like the odd one out so we feign interest and may even pretend to have read it.

In my view, Zelig is one of Allen’s finest films because he captures the nature of humanity so well. In a crowd, most of us aim to fit in to a preposterous degree. Sporting events feature humans in a display of solidarity by wearing the same colours. Parties feature dress codes. Events feature people that look alike and, for the most part, even sound alike. Is the notion of Leonard Zelig that strange? No, it is not. It is because of normal foundation of Zelig that Allen is able to go one step further and have Leonard become fat, Asian, African American, Scottish, and so on. It’s not that much of a stretch.

The formation of the film is spot-on, too. Allen constructs his film eloquently, delivering a combination of old-fashioned newsreel footage and modern interviews with real people to enlighten us as to times past. We learn about Zelig in the way we would learn about any historical figure of some importance. Patrick Horgan narrates the whole thing with a deadpan seriousness, uttering even the most outlandish lines with a grave tone.

Zelig is a wonderfully funny and surprisingly touching little film. Clocking in at 79 minutes, it’s a short film with staying power. It is not built around one joke, but is rather constructed around the seemingly absurd but rather normal idea that human beings want to conform, sometimes to insane degrees. Allen’s film is a gem, perfecting the mockumentary one year before This is Spinal Tap. Zelig is well worth a look.

9/10

Videodrome

David Cronenberg’s creepy 1983 effort Videodrome is an introspective horror flick with stunning effects and sharp wit. Cronenberg’s movie has cult status and is actually a popular sampling source for industrial music, with samplings from it used in at least 32 individual songs. The most prominently quoted line, “Long live the new flesh,” is used frequently in music and other influences are spread worldwide. The maker of the Japanese horror film Ringu said that he used inspiration from Videodrome to film one of Ringu’s more frightening scenes. Videodrome has also become a popular name for various video stores specializing in cult horror films.

Videodrome is the film Andy Warhol referred to as the “A Clockwork Orange for the 1980s.” It is a highly surreal movie, packed with several allegorical visions of terror and absurd violence. Cronenberg’s movies all tend to venture into territory that few inhabited at the time and Videodrome was certainly no exception. He has constructed a story with depth and irony, creating a cautionary tale about influences, morals, and the tricks the mind can play. Cronenberg’s screenplay is tagged with witticisms and ironic punch-lines, setting the piece above the standard of typical horror fare.

James Woods stars as Max Renn, the president of a sleazy UHF television station. CIVIC-TV, which Cronenberg modeled after CITY-TV, is notorious for envelop-pushing television that includes soft-core pornography and hardcore violence. Renn is always on the lookout for something more and always wants to up the ante on the content his channel provides. His insatiable thirst leads him to a colleague who has stumbled upon something that should be just the thing for Renn’s ascending appetite for destruction. A sadistic television program called “Videodrome” is shown and Renn falls in love instantly. The show is received through CIVIC-TV’s pirated satellite transmissions and, through the grainy footage, Renn can see people being tortured and killed. His quest to find the author of this material becomes his obsession.

While on a television talk show to discuss the violence and sexuality on his television station, Renn runs in to radio psychotherapist Nicki Brand, played by Blondie’s Debbie Harry. Brand is actually a sadomasochist and revels in the violence that Renn brings to the table. Their relationship wanders the spiral of sex and violence. Renn soon begins to see his life spin more and more out of control as hallucinations and the rantings of media prophet Brian O’Blivion become infused in his brain. Soon, Renn’s obsession with the violence and sexuality of “Videodrome” blur the lines of reality and the truth behind the television transmission is discovered with brutal results.

Videodrome is a key production in the career of David Cronenberg. Its representation of the theme of technology overtaking human morality and reality would be pivotal in the creation of other Cronenberg works and would be the first full embodiment of a theme he only tinkered with in previous films. Before this movie, Cronenberg was more concerned with medical experimentation, primarily, and how the creation of supposed advances could cause the demons to break through from within. His themes always focused on progress, of course, but the manifestation of the thesis began to take significant shape with Videodrome. Cronenberg affirms the idea that horror is about confrontation and his films all contain elements of his characters confronting themselves. The horror is certainly prompted by outside occurrences, but its manifestation is almost always internal. Cronenberg’s horror never comes from a foreign planet or from some sort of external, shadowy threat.

Videodrome is a visceral experience. There are scenes which have stunning visual impact, such as the scene in which Renn’s stomach turns into a sort of fleshy videocassette slot. The imagery and its allegorical implications are absolutely flabbergasting. With a Cronenberg film, the mangling and distorting of the body is almost always a theme worth exploring. The horror internalizes itself, as in Videodrome, and mangles flesh. Cronenberg’s obsession with the elements of pathology and pleasure – more importantly their connection – is what makes Videodrome such an impressive piece.

Videodrome is not for the faint of heart. It is a visual treat, doubtlessly, but the imagery can be considered disturbing by those not familiar with Cronenberg’s work or his mind. Scenes are not particularly gory, but the mutations manifest themselves in particularly disturbing ways. In my opinion, this use of visual style to illustrate how the body functions to process information and to absorb technology is staggering in its implication. It is fitting that I should place this review directly after Poltergeist, as its exploration of the cathode-ray beam from television is deeper and more compelling.

Nobody else could have made this film like David Cronenberg. His direction is risky, bold, and visceral. The performances back his every move, especially that of Debbie Harry. Harry is stunning here and she brings a smouldering sensuality that offsets the sudden violent impulses of Woods’ Renn. Woods is a great character actor and his performance in Videodrome is likely among his best. He inhabits the character and lives through the mutations in his flesh, creating some daunting moments that seem to wallow in their own sense of trouble.

Videodrome is a fascinating film. It is broad in its allegorical sense, with several glimpses into the future philosophical ideologies that lesser films like The Matrix would attempt to discuss. Videodrome works even better in today’s modern era of technology because Cronenberg’s assertions ring truer and truer than ever. Technology has grabbed hold and, for some, it does live within. Cronenberg’s Videodrome is an eerie reminder of this.

8/10

The King of Comedy

Martin Scorsese brings us the delightfully dark and comic The King of Comedy from 1983. The film is a deep and dark journey through the mind of a fame-obsessed wannabe, using the entertainment business as a metaphor for the choices we make and pulling an awe-inspiring performance out of Robert De Niro. The film takes a close look at the entertainment industry and the obsession of crazed fans, too, drawing us in with rich characters and engaging dialogue.

Robert De Niro stars as Rupert Pupkin, a stage-door autograph hound and an aspiring stand-up comic. He has obsessive ambition in terms of wanting to be famous and doesn’t want to slog it out with the rest of the comics at comedy clubs or do things the hard way. No, dear Pupkin wants success and he wants it instantaneously by appearing on the popular late night talk show of his era, hosted by Jerry Langford (Jerry Lewis). Pupkin hangs out with the crowd behind the Jerry Langford Show and hopes for his chance to get to talk to Langford. Eventually, a chance meeting comes to pass and Pupkin believes that his career is really on its way because of some encouraging but generic words from Langford.

Pupkin chases these words and uses them like ammunition for the weapon that is his life, putting enormous effort into chasing down Langford again to secure his spot on the Jerry Langford Show but never practicing his material or working on the nuances of his craft. Instead, Pupkin spends his time lining up a relationship with a high school acquaintance and hanging out with a stalker (Sandra Bernhard) obsessed with Langford’s every move. Eventually, things go from bad to worse for Pupkin and he begins to lose his grip on the situation. Desperately, he turns to Masha (Bernhard) and they hatch a plot to kidnap Langford and get Pupkin on the Jerry Langford Show by force.

The plot unravels, naturally, and Pupkin is eventually brought down by the fuzz, but not before he can do his act on the Jerry Langford Show. The routine is mediocre and actually garners some laughs, but all Pupkin does is essentially tell his life story. The greatness of the scene is that the true horrors of Pupkin’s life, including child abuse and an account of the kidnapping of Langford, cause the audience to laugh hysterically. Pupkin is an overnight sensation and becomes even more of a celebrity when it turns out that he actually did do what he said. The film closes with a brilliant montage of Pupkin’s release from prison and the fame that catches up to him as a result: he is booked on several shows, he releases a tell-all book and he becomes what he wanted to become all along.

The treat here is De Niro, as he transforms himself into this comedian and this obsessed man with such a calm awkward bravado that it’s absolutely hypnotic. He’s almost unrecognizable in the role, as my wife didn’t figure out until the end credits that Pupkin was De Niro (no jokes please). De Niro is offbeat, deranged and yet oddly likable. Half the time he is a victim of the cruel entertainment industry, the other half of the time he is a man that doesn’t know when to shut up and leave people alone. The awkwardness and the persistence is admirable at first as a man chasing his dream, but he crosses the line with such delicacy and purposeful intent that he makes Pupkin’s ludicrous actions inherently believable.

Lewis and Bernhard are also great in their respective roles, with a chilling scene involving the kidnapping being a highlight of their on-screen relationship. Bernhard’s “madness-from-the-outset” performance is a high-wire act of sheer chaos and it is done perfectly. Lewis’ calm celebrity is also good. Scorsese pulls the best out of the performances and out of the beautifully written BAFTA award-winning Paul Zimmerman script.

All in all, The King of Comedy is a brilliant dark comedy about the choices we make and about the things people give up in order to be famous, even for fifteen minutes. As De Niro’s Pupkin puts it: “Better to be king for a night than a schmuck for a lifetime”. With The King of Comedy, one wonders who won out in the end and how Pupkin’s journey will end. Will there be another obsessive fan to take his place? Will Pupkin better understand celebrity or will he cope poorly? The engaging thing about Scorsese’s work here is that there is so much potential for these characters to continue and to engage in life. What if Pupkin ever appeared on the Jerry Langford Show again? It truly does weave some remarkable possibilities through its maddening tale of celebrity obsession, choices and lunacy. It is a great, haunting film.

8/10