-
Two Cents Film Club: A Conversation on THE CONVERSATION
2¢FC continues its exploration of the late, great actor’s work with the moody 1974 Coppola thriller The Conversation
Two Cents is a Cinapse original column akin to a book club for films. The Cinapse team curates the series and contribute their “two cents” using a maximum of 200-400 words. Guest contributors and comments are encouraged, as are suggestions for future picks. Join us as we share our two cents on films we love, films we are curious about, and films we believe merit some discussion. Would you like to be a guest contributor or programmer for an upcoming Two Cents entry? Simply watch along with us and/or send your pitches or 200-400 word reviews to [email protected].
The Pick: The Conversation (1974)
Gene Hackman was truly one of the greats, and in honor of his life we’re working our way through a sampling of his filmography – from old favorites, to some that we may be catching up with for the first time.
While Hackman was a prolific actor with a huge career that spanned multiple decades, I think in our true heart of hearts, most of us probably closely associate him with the 70s, in which he arguably has his most iconic run with of a string of hard-hitting classics, and collaborations with legendary directors and costars.
The Conversation was written and directed by Francis Ford Coppola, and released at the height of his powers: his followup to The Godfather, and released just months before The Godfather Part II. And while those films are famously approachable and easy to appreciate, The Conversation is heavier and more demanding of its audience, dealing with themes like alienation, guilt, and paranoia, and – as acknowledged by Coppola – drawing inspiration from Michelangelo Antonioni’s Blowup.
The film is also famously one of only five to feature the legendary character actor John Cazale, who died in 1978 at the age of 42. All five were Best Picture nominees; three of them won. The Conversation wasn’t one of the winners, but the competition was stiff – it lost to The Godfather Part II… another Coppola joint which featured Cazale in what’s inarguably his most famous role.
Gene Hackman considered The Conversation to be one of his best performances, and this week the Two Cents Film Club explores why he’s right.
The Team:
Spencer Brickey
Released between The Godfather and The Godfather Part 2, The Conversation, in many ways, has been forgotten in the conversation (ba-dum-tisk) of best films of the ‘70s. For those in the know, though, is the understanding that The Conversation is not only one of the best films from Francis Ford Coppola, but one of the best films of the 1970’s.
A film that dives deeply into loneliness, and the paranoia that it can breed, The Conversation is a film about being so intimately close to someone under the least intimate means. Harry Caul (Gene Hackman) is a quiet, reserved man, protective of his trade secrets, his life experiences, even his birthday. Yet, he excels at extracting information from people, pulling their secrets out of the air, recording them at their most private. He is a man who stutters and stares at the floor when he talks about the loss of love, but comes alive, full of charisma, when discussing the many tools he’s built for surveillance. He is a man who says he fears murder above all else, but when put in a situation to save another, he cowers and runs. He is a man that will rip his apartment down to the studs, destroying iconography of his faith, but won’t touch the one thing he does openly love, his saxophone, even though it is the most obvious place for a wiretap. Harry Caul is not a good man, barely a man at all; he has one purpose, and in that, he is competent above all else.
All of this works, of course, due to Gene Hackman’s performance. Hackman plays against type, his usually charismatic and fiery self disappearing into a shadow of a man. Hackman plays Caul as a nobody, a body filling a suit that moves with the current. His only purpose in this life is surveillance, and he is useless at everything else. It’s a role far outside of his wheelhouse, a role Hackman himself said was incredibly difficult to inhabit, as it went against all his acting instincts to go so muted.
What we get though, through all the compacting of instinct and emotion, is one of Hackman’s finest performances, transcending expectations, and creating an iconic performance in the ‘70s film canon.
Ed Travis
I had given The Conversation a couple of shots before, having understood it to be an American masterpiece that I should appreciate. But I was too young to grasp what the film had to say; had too little life experience. So while I think this was my third time seeing The Conversation, it was the first time the film saw me. Hackman’s Harry Caul is just turning 44 at the start of our tale. I myself just turned 45. What a weird experience to view this art that was locked into place in 1974 but was somehow just waiting for me to catch up to it and get on its level.
I think my perception of the film previously was that it was cold, distant, and analytical. Boy was I wrong. Harry is a tragic figure, often quiet and aloof, certainly distrustful and unwilling to share many of his feelings. But feel he does. Caul is an expert in his field, and deeply private, but he’s profoundly human and cares a lot about the cost that his work brings about for those he surveils. He has no idea how to relate to people, but wants profoundly to be able to connect and trust. Yet as the case he’s working unravels, in spite of his obvious expertise and technical prowess, Harry is duped and suckered continuously, by his peers, his competitors, lovers, and even the subjects of his surveillance. He’s a lost soul, struggling to find any kind of connection with the humans around him who seem to baffle him with their complexity and moral ambiguity. His Catholic roots seem to only have added extra layers of guilt and questioning of his chosen profession.
And this time around, watching The Conversation, the emotional power of the film I’d previously thought clinical really broke through. Whereas I’d struggled to relate to the curt and distrustful Harry Caul, I now viewed him as a tragically bleeding heart desperate to be understood, desperate to find love and understanding, only to be metaphorically snuffed out by a world that doesn’t feel the same moral compunctions that he does. Part of me wants to give Harry Caul a big hug, and the other part of me thinks: Yeah, maybe I am Harry Caul. Maybe we’re all Harry Caul, caught up and morally compromised in a system that demands complicity. Damn, Coppola, take it easy on me, will ya?
Justin Harlan
When it comes to this classic Hackman/Coppola joint, I’d like to keep The Conversation going, as it were. The others who have contributed to this post so far are really tapped in, but something about their analysis really bugs me. I can’t quite seem to track what it is exactly. But I will go on record to say that Hackman is genuinely better than you’ve heard.
Puns aside, I dug this one a good bit and almost entirely because of the late great Harry Call… excuse me, I mean Caul… himself. This is a type of thriller that often leave me bored or, at least, not nearly as “thrilled” as I’d like to be. And, despite being told repeatedly throughout my life by friends, critics, and all type of film lovers that Coppola is the GOAT, I’m very hit or miss on his films.
What Hackman does here, though, is make you care. Without him, it’s hard to believe that Caul would be nearly as captivating a character. There are certainly implicit stakes in the story, but Hackman really puts a face on those stakes, with charisma to spare. With each week of this Hackman watchalong marathon, it becomes more and more undeniable just how amazing an actor this man truly was.
In short, The Conversation deserves all the talk is gets and Hackman’s manner in which he can tap into our very souls is why.
Austin Vashaw
As these last few weeks have certainly demonstrated, Gene Hackman was a terrific actor with an absolutely huge range. With The Conversation, we get to see a rarer – but no less powerful – kind of performance from him. His Harry Caul, a surveillance spook, is a complex man with a lot of quiet emotions and foibles, both on and beneath the surface. He is awkward, timid, petty, guilt-ridden, and deeply private – or perhaps more accurately, deeply paranoid.
But is it paranoia if it’s true?
This was a first-time watch for me, and I was surprised by how different the film was from the procedural version in my head. The style incorporates dreamlike qualities and atmosphere (including, but not limited to, an actual nightmare) in its storytelling.
It’s worth noting that a pre-fame Harrison Ford is terrific here in a now rare antagonist role, though at the time it followed another in American Graffiti. His next film, set in a galaxy far, far away, would change audience perception forever.
Goodbye to a Great: TWO CENTS Celebrates Gene Hackman
Two films still remain in our titanic selection of some of the late, great Gene Hackman’s biggest and best performances. Feel free to join us in discussing these upcoming entries!
May 12 – Enemy of the State – (Prime Video – 2 hours 12 minutes)
May 19 – The Royal Tenenbaums – (Hulu or Digital Rental / Purchase – 1 hour 50 minutes)
-
In MISSION: IMPOSSIBLE The Enemy Is Always Us
With THE FINAL RECKONING On The Way, There’s One Villain Ethan Hunt Will Never Outrun
“I’m on the same side I’ve always been on. Stay out of my way.” – Dead Reckoning
Ethan Hunt goes rogue. If you needed to condense the plot of any of the famously convoluted Mission: Impossible films down to an elemental form, that’s as tidy a summation as is possible.
Ethan Hunt goes rogue.
He’s a renegade operative on the run from his own country for pretty much the entirety of the original Mission, Ghost Protocol, Rogue Nation, and Dead Reckoning, while in 3 and Fallout he spends the first half of the film on the right side of the law before having to go off reservation for the second half. Even in 2, the only movie in which Ethan Hunt does not go rogue, get disavowed, and become a fugitive from his own government, he still disobeys the direct orders given to him at the outset of his mission, choosing to destroy the central supervirus he’d been commanded to retrieve.
It’s like he’s some kind of…maverick, or something.
Ethan Hunt not being able to order DoorDash without triggering an international manhunt makes more sense when considered in tandem with the Mission franchise’s series long distrust of any and all authority figures and existing systems of governance. James Bond deals with every megalomaniac with a volcano lair, but Ethan Hunt’s adversaries have always pointed more inward.
There’s been a Mission: Impossible movie in every presidential administration going back to Bill Clinton, but regardless of which way the political winds are shifting, the thesis of each film remains unchanged: The enemy is within.
The villain of the first film is an IMF agent who has turned bad in pursuit of profit. The villain of the second film is an IMF agent who has turned bad in pursuit of profit. The villain of the third film is an IMF agent who has turned bad in pursuit of…engaging an arms dealer to orchestrate a false flag operation. (Can you guess which one of these was produced deep in the Bush years?)
Ghost Protocol is the closest the series ever gets to breaking from this pattern, with a villain who is more your typical spy movie madman with nuclear launch codes. But A) this character is noticeably the least interesting antagonist in any Mission movie (if not necessarily the actual worst in overall quality [hi, Dougray]) and 2) the dramatic thrust of Protocol is that Ethan’s efforts to stop this madman are endlessly complicated and thwarted by the same governments that should be supporting him. Because come hell or highwater, Brad Bird’s movie WILL be about how bureaucracies impede genius.
And then there’s the Christopher McQuarrie essayed back-half of the series, a four film saga where suddenly continuity exists and the wildly divergent aesthetics, tones, and conceptions of the main character are shoved together into a singular dramatic statement. Sometimes gracefully, sometimes…not so much.
Just what sort of world does McQuarrie envision surrounding Ethan Hunt? A broken one, quite frankly. In Rogue Nation, Fallout, and Dead Reckoning, the powers that be are utterly corrupted, their every office awash in circular firing squads of self-defeating conspiracies and masterplans. Rogue Nation eventually reveals that British intelligence organized and funded the splinter cell of former agents turned terrorist and then engaged in some more light quadruple-bluff backstabbing to try and cover up having done so.
Fallout brings the CIA’s malfeasance back into play, while Dead Reckoning pulls the scope back far enough to reveal the Director of National Intelligence attempting to curry favor with a homicidal AI to fashion a new world order (things get weird after six movies, what can I tell you).
The villains in the early films were entirely upfront about their mercenary motivations, while the baddies in 3 and Ghost Protocol at least give lip-service to their destruction being for the greater good. The McQuarrie saga’s original main threat, a terrorist sect of former spies now known as The Syndicate, followed the latter approach, claiming to wreak havoc in the name of overthrowing the awful systems that created the need for espionage and dirty dealings.
But by the time you get to Dead Reckoning, the men pulling the strings of the various conspiracies openly mock the idea of having an ideal. The purpose of amassing power isn’t to ‘do’ anything with it, it’s to HAVE it while others don’t. The good fight isn’t just lost, people think you’re an idiot for even trying to fight it.
In such a world, the Ethan Hunt we have come to know becomes the only solution. The more Cruise’s public persona has become uncanny and unknowable, the better suited Ethan Hunt is to his increasing role as not only a superspy, but the stop-gap who will intervene to keep the world on course even after all its leaders forsake their intended purpose.
We can’t trust in anyone or anything, but we can trust in Ethan Hunt (andtomcruise) to always be ready, willing, and able to climb a tall thing he shouldn’t climb or drive a vehicle off a tall thing he shouldn’t drive a vehicle off of if that’s what it takes to save us from our worst selves.
The original Mission: Impossible (which, it is easy to forget, is a nasty piece of work beneath its popcorn bluff) emerged from the same cultural moment that gave us the James Bond relaunch Goldeneye and John Frankenheimer’s masterful Ronin. All three films grapple with what spy-craft becomes in a world where the Cold War has been won, and the question of what happens to the soul-rotted, sociopathic living weapons now left without a war to fight or a cause to kill for.
Since then, the Bond and Mission films have continued to run parallel to one another while weaving similar narrative notions and real world geopolitical threads together (both 2004’s Casino Royale and 2006’s M:I 3 involve a superspy tangling with an international arms dealer engaged with terrorist plots). But while Daniel Craig’s 007 raged against the weary toll of his work, he remained dedicated to queen and country to the (very literal) end.
Ethan Hunt, though?
Ethan Hunt goes rogue.
-
WEIR WATCH: An Introduction and Trip to HOMESDALE
Our summerlong exploration of one of Australia’s finest begins with a gritty little short film about fear, class, and distraction.
Over on Letterboxd, I have a running list that outlines my favorite film that came out every year since I was born. It is an eclectic list to be sure, but one that I think serves as an overall view into my tastes as a film critic. From an auteurist perspective, it is an interesting data point that one three directors show up on the list more than once: Carl Reiner, Spike Lee, and Peter Weir.
Namely, Weir’s films Witness (1985) and Truman Show (1998) are the ones that top out their respective years. When considering these two films, they reflect a few things about Weir’s filmography. They are distinctly different films, but they reflect one of Weir’s great strengths, which is to find central performances that elevate high concepts premises into high-gloss crowd pleasures. They also are both beautiful films, both aesthetically and regarding their deeply empathetic perspective. But they never delve into the sentimental, providing deeply felt observations on human experiences. They are honest, but lovely, films that reflect Weir’s humanistic perspective as a storyteller.
But despite these two and Dead Poets Society, Weir’s filmography was a giant blindspot for me. I couldn’t quite quantify why however; I simply had never sought it out, despite having heard high praise for a large portion of his work.
So this summer I am going to fix that. Starting this week, I am going to be watching in chronological order the full Weir filmography, week by week. My hope is to discover a deeper understanding of Weir as a filmmaker, and perhaps find some new favorites along the way.
This project is split into two distinct parts: Weir Australian New Wave period, and his American films. Fascinatingly, the two acts are almost equal in length: Weir made seven films in Australia, with his last, A Year of Living Dangerously (1982) being considered a paramount classic of the Australian New Wave movement, and then eight films in America, concluding with 2010’s The Way Back. Weir has announced he considers himself retired, meaning that while he is still alive, unless he changes his mind this is an effectively complete filmography.
This split does feel noteworthy not just because of the working conditions and budgets he was working in, but also because Weir’s earlier Australian work feels like a world apart from his later output. His Australian New Waves work, for most of the run, feels esoteric by comparison, playing more with genre as a means of expression. He mainly made horror and thriller films, movies with a sense of impending dread, before closing out this period with two historical epics starring Mel Gibson (Gallopoli and Living Dangerously.)By comparison, looking at Weir’s American output, they are much more populist. While Witness might have the DNA of a genre filmmaker in its bones, it’s still extraordinarily approachable, a crowd pleaser that taps into the visual language of neo-noir but delivers a kinetic movie star performance from Harrison Ford, earning his lone Oscar nomination. Weir also bounces between genres, making melodrama, comedy and historical epics all with the same relish and attention to making fine crafted populist cinema. While his final film The Way Down received warm but not rave praise from critics and less attention commercially, the whole scope of his career is littered with the sort of serious, grown ups-oriented cinema we are increasingly lacking
But before we get to the end of the line, let’s look at the beginning. Like most up-and-coming directors, Weir cut his teeth on several short films, mostly funded by the Australian Experimental Film and Television Fund. While we won’t be covering all of his short films, we are going to examine probably the most significant: Homesdale.
This was the last and by far the longest of Weir’s short films. Similar to his others, it was shot in black and white on 16mm film that was later converted to 35mm for display. This gives the film a slightly distorted, disorienting quality, especially in digital conversion. But rather than working against this distortion, Weir uses it to the full effect as a special effect in Homesdale, offering a scratched out window into a strange alternate Australia.
The titular Homedale in the film is a hunting lodge, where we see several guests visiting, several returning guests, seeking some form of escape. But once there, the staff at Homesdale stretches the attendees past their breaking point. Through a series of disturbing conversations, it becomes clear that the purpose of the hunting lodge is less to experience the outdoors, and more to push the limits of guests’ comfort.
Homesdale is in many ways a difficult film to write about. It is deliberately opaque with its themes and storytelling, a film about people being forced to confront that which makes them most afraid that never quite spells out what exactly is going on. But it is also silly, a comedicaly large exploration of issues surrounding death and aging. While there are aspects of the short film that are unnerving, the overall effect of it is a farce, a broad comedic take on Australian elites, and how they busy themselves to avoid their actual fears of aging and death.
A lot of the themes of Homesdale will pop up in later Weir works; in many ways The Cars That Ate Paris feels like a logical extension of Homesdale’s world view. Those later takes are more thematically nuanced and certainly more aesthetically confident. But there are a lot of the things that will form Weir into the director he is bound to become. The movie’s dialogue, from a script co-written of Weir’s early collaborator Piers Davies, is sharp, but it is the way that the performances from the film’s ensemble cast that give this largely unlikable crew some veritas and empathy.
Like most of Weir’s early short films, Homesdale is a bit difficult to track down. I only found it as a special feature on Picnic at Hanging Rock. And ultimately while it is an interesting entryway into Australia-era Weir, I don’t find it especially crucial. It is more a fascinating glimpse into Weir’s identity as a darkly funny filmmaker, a trait that will become more subtle in his later work, but always lies under the surface.
Next Week: We visit another strange locale as we explore the seething politics of small town life in The Cars That Ate Paris.
-
Dattebayo! A Chat with Naruto: The Symphonic Experience Conductor Heidi Joosten
One of the most iconic anime series of the last few decades has to be Naruto, which exists in the mythic big 4 for fans – alongside the likes of Dragon Ball, One Piece, and Bleach. It’s the familiar Shonen story of a young outcast, Naruto Uzumaki, who lives in a village of ninjas who must overcome the odds and go from being a “cursed” child who was cast aside, to the best warrior in the village, and earn the title of Hokage, or the leader. The OG run, which featured Naruto as a feisty 12 year-old ran for about five years (2002-2007), with a somewhat solid run of about 220 episodes. Given the show’s popularity and weekly slot, it quickly caught up to its source from time to time resulting in a fair amount of filler, but not enough to stop a run that is going on today with a new series following the exploits of Naruto’s son Boruto.
Needless to say with the booming popularity of pop culture musicals and anime in general, Naruto seemed like a perfect candidate for a full orchestra adaptation, and it is currently touring as Naruto: The Symphonic Experience. This two and a half hour event, which will be in my hometown of Philly – May 13th and 14th at the Miller Theater presented by Ensemble Arts Philly, features a montage of iconic scenes from the OG series original 220 episode run, synchronized to a live orchestra performing Toshio Masuda’s original score with all dialog Japanese no less. In anticipation for the event I got to chat with conductor Heidi Joosten as to what fans could expect from the show and what it’s like conducting such events as Barbie: The Concert, Avatar: The Last Airbender In Concert, and Spider-Man: Into The Spiderverse.
Looking at your body of work it seems like films and pop culture have long been part of the equation. Did you always want to be a conductor and when did you find this niche that combines these two passions?
So both my parents are conductors. They were music teachers that retired into professorships and everyone in my family at one point picked up a baton, so I think I was destined to do it at some point. But both of my degrees are in composition, I started writing when I was really young and really followed that passion through my degrees. But I’ve always had an interest in musical theater and so music directing and musical theater is something that has naturally been a huge part of that. You end up becoming a conductor. And I’ve just been very fortunate to be able to work in that vein and I love it very, very much.
I just attended the Sailor Moon musical recently and what surprised me the most was it was as much an Anime convention as it was a Broadway show, what surprised you the most when you start tackling these more niche genres and properties?
I mean, I think of the things that have surprised me the most, especially when you get under the hood of the music that accompanies a live picture or, like a television show or a film is just how nuanced and how rich all of this music really is. So, when we’re able to shine a spotlight on it, specifically with these concerts that are live to picture. It’s a really rare experience to be able to focus in on this music, create it live every single night and just bring it to life in a whole new way for fans that have been with this material for three days to 20 years.
Now unlike Sailor Moon, which was a Japanese production, this is an American production. You’ve conducted Barbie: The Concert, Avatar: The Last Airbender In Concert, and Spider-Man: Into The Spiderverse can you shed some light on how this production differs from some of your western productions?
For this particular show, the dialogue is all in Japanese and the songs that we’re singing as a part of it are sung in the original Japanese. So we are honoring the tradition as well as we can when it comes to keeping the languages as a part of it. We aren’t doing the English dub, we are doing the original Japanese. Even along those lines, we have the traditional Japanese instruments such as the Shakuhachi, which is the Japanese flute, the Shamisen, which is like a Japanese lute, sort of like a guitar, but along those lines, we also have American western rock and roll instruments. It is a rock and roll concert. We’ve got a bass guitar, drums, a horn section, a string section, reeds. It is just meant to be a live concert experience.
So you’re going to be covering the openings and and and closings as well as the score?
Some of it, yes. The material that we’re covering in this particular concert happens to cover the first 220 episodes of Naruto, and there are over 700 episodes. So, the producers that designed this particular concert had to be picky. We obviously can’t cover all of it, but I think we did a pretty great job and at least put it together as much of it as we could in a 2 and a 1/2 hour experience.
In preparation did you do any research and by research I mean watch the OG run of Naruto?
I watched some of it, yes. My brother-in-law has seen all of it, so he sat me down and walked me through all that I needed to see to be sure that I knew where everything was coming from when we were telling this particular story.
But even in that sense, with this concert, even if you haven’t seen Naruto, from the start of the experience through the end of it, you get a solid idea of the beats of the 220 episodes that we’ve covered. So, for example, my parents came to the Milwaukee show and they understood what was going on. We may not hit every single detail, but there’s enough that you’re getting the through line story.
Were you an anime fan before taking on the property?
You know, I may be slow coming, but I am becoming a fan. My first experience with you know, anime inspired was when I worked on Avatar last fall, which I came to when I was in grad school. So I understand the art form. I recognized it as being incredibly beautiful, but I’m coming to it now. When I get to One Piece everyone will know. (Laughs)
Oh goodness, I am even too intimidated to start that one. That makes Naruto look like a light novel.
So you’ve worked on over 125 different productions. Everything from Barbie: The Live Concert, which I sadly missed, to the musical of American psycho. What would be your dream property to do a symphonic experience if you just got a blank check?
So like my bucket list item as a conductor, which already has been created, but it’s like hitting the market this fall is How to Train your Dragon.
I love it so very much.
Conductors and ninjas both use their hands to summon something, Naruto summons a sexy clone of himself and you summon an orchestra to play music. What’s something ninja’s can’t do that conductors can that might surprise people?
I often describe conducting as having the best seat in the house, because I just get to watch all of these world-class musicians who are my friends do their thing night in, night out; and make incredible music. The conductor’s responsibility is to help shape all of that, but also have a bird’s eye view of how it all gets put together. So, for me, it very much feels like a coach of a football team. Not only are you putting it all together and making sure you’ve got everything in place to play defence against whatever you need to play defense against, but also making sure that people aren’t getting injured. You’re making sure that as we’re looking at things we’re always keeping a fresh pair of eyes on it, because this particular tour, especially, you know, we’re in a different city every night.
We were in Reading, Pennsylvania last night. I’m talking to you right now from Washington, DC. We don’t really get a whole lot of time to get super used to the theaters that we’re playing in, because we have a different theater every day and we have the greatest crew in the world just setting us up and taking us down every single night in these theaters. From a conductor perspective it’s how can I best be helpful? How can I best be helpful in navigating, making sure that every single night, not only are we having a great show but we’re having fun?
Finally, like you mentioned before Naruto has been going for over 20 years, why do you think people are showing up and still discovering this property? Why do you think it resonates so much with its fans?
You know the story is timeless. The lessons that are taught are timeless, it’s such an effective medium to get the messaging out that we’re finding this is becoming cross-generational. You know, some people that have watched it are now introducing it to their children. So we have people of all different ages coming to the show and on top of that, the participation culture that comes with anime, comes with cosplay, that comes with Comicon, is so welcomed in our concerts that I think that has a lot to do with it.
The name of the show is Naruto: The Symphonic Experience, but it is not a stuffy orchestra concert. If you’re seeing something on screen that makes you excited, we want you to cheer, we want you to laugh, we want you to cry with us. Have a great time and participate. Come and live your best life with this series that previously you were only able to watch in your living room. Now we’re bringing it to you live where you get to experience it with 1500 people.
That communal aspect is something that’s really special and it’s something you don’t appreciate until you’re there in that group of people and it’s a shared experience. It’s great.
Agreed.
-
Reb00t: THIRTEEN GHOSTS Is A Lot Of Great Makeup Effects, And Not Much Else.
The remake of the ’60s William Castle film is a bit of a dud, with a confusing plot and wooden performances, but is slightly redeemed through its top tier monster makeup effects.
Welcome to Reb00t! A series where I dig deep through the 2000’s to find all the horror remakes that we were inundated with over that weirdly bleak decade. Sometimes they’ll be good, sometimes they’ll be terrible, sometimes they’ll be great. In a few, rare times, they’ll be better than the original! These are all my personal views, obviously, so feel free to tell me I’m insane in the comments.
This week we’re diving into 2001’s Thir13en Ghosts!
Will it be as rad as I remember after my first viewing as a preteen? Or as mediocre as I remember watching it in college? Little bit of column A, a little bit of column B.
Thir13en Ghosts (Last time I’m spelling it like that) is a remake of the 1960’s William Castle picture, 13 Ghosts. For those who don’t know William Castle, or his overall effect on the horror genre, Castle was specifically known for his “event” films; he would routinely produce films that would have some sort of physical gag or showpiece that would be presented in the actual theater. He had electric shocks installed into theater seats and actors planted in the audience for his film The Tingler, and had a skeleton on a wire hover above the audience for The House On Haunted Hill. (This won’t be the last time I discuss William Castle; there’s a reason why many of the remakes of this era came from a production company called “Dark Castle”).
13 Ghosts was no different. The big technological selling point to get butts in seats was 3D. Each of the 13 ghosts would have their time to shine in the 3rd dimension, reaching out to the audience with their ghostly appendages. It was a hell of a gag at the time, and played like gangbusters to a sold out crowd.
But, how is it as a film? Kinda terrible! The real thing on display here is the tech, so story takes a pretty distant back seat. This is essentially 90 minutes of “oh, here comes the next ghost! Get those 3D goggles on, kids!”. Its still fun enough in a crowd, but it’s barely a film when actually watched with intent.
So, 41 years later, released 6 weeks after 9/11, Thirteen Ghosts hits the scene, with an updated color palette, and all the era’s trappings. So, is it any good?
Kinda! There’s a whole lot of stuff that does not work here, even carrying over some of the issues of the original, but it is also a pretty rad showcase of make-up effects that don’t really exist anymore in the digital world.
Thirteen Ghosts follows the same basic structure as the original; a young family inherits a house filled with 12 ghosts, all of them intent on making a 13th. What the 2001 remake adds to the plot is convoluted, to say the least. There is now an evil scientist/ghost hunter uncle ( F. Murray Abraham) who collected said 12 ghosts in his insane, Lament Configuration looking mansion, all in the service of powering a clock designed by the devil. If that sounds both cool and confusing, that’s about right! We’re never really given any sort of explanation to why he is building said clock, and what he intends to do with it, beyond just “human advancement”. It all looks real cool, but makes absolutely zero sense.
What this also inherits from the original, unfortunately, is the blank slate of a family. Even with a tragic backstory and Tony Shalhoub playing the patriarch, everyone is kinda just there, no deeper emotions or characterization beyond “look at how cool this house is” and “ghosts? Are you crazy?!”. Even with the whole dead mom angle, which is admittedly explored pretty uniquely here with the whole “Ghost Number 4” thing, it never plays for anything than a trope for the family, as they try to survive her loss in word alone.
The kids (played by Alec Roberts and every boy in ‘99 crush Shannon Elizabeth) are such nonentities here, that they straight up disappear for almost the entirety of the 2nd act, and you know what? Good chance you won’t even realize it until they show back up in the last 5 minutes.
Honestly, the only characters that do work here are side characters. F Murray Abraham is having a lot of fun playing a narcissistic evil scientist, Matthew Lillard dials up his twitchiness to 1000 as a cracked out psychic, and Embeth Davidtz shows up as a Ghost Rights Activist who is the only capable and efficient person in group (which is why it both sucks and is real weird when she does the double cross).
There’s a lot that doesn’t work here, of course, but what does work? The vibe, man; The vibe. If you’re anything like me, the very specific mood of these late ’90s, early ‘00s films hit like crack. Everything is dark and sinister, with most of the locations looking like the set of a Marilyn Manson video. There’s a very, very specific type of edge to these films, something like “Nu-Metal Horror”, that honestly only lasted for like 3 or 4 years, before the horror of 9/11 shifted the genre from dark but edgy to dark and mean.
What makes that look work, especially here, is the makeup effects. Like the original, the real star of the show isn’t the plot or characters; it’s the effects! And Thirteen Ghosts really brings the thunder with its ghost designs. Each of the 12 ghosts are incredibly unique in their look, each of them pulled from different nightmares. Everyone will have their favorites, from the Hellraiser inspired spiked and studded “The Hammer”, to the zombified gargantuan convict “The Juggernaut”, to the tortured, cage wearing witch “The Jackal”, or the upsetting mix and match of the “The Dire Mother & The Great Child”. My favorite is honestly “The First Born Son”, aka the boy with the arrow in his head. To this day, I find him creepy as all hell, how he just appears in the background, staring, with his tomahawk and bloodied arrow headdress.
Listen, is this good? No, not really. It’s structured to showcase the ghosts, but really only 2 or 3 of them ever get any screen time, and the central family is just a dud. There are definitely moments of where the film comes alive, especially in the few moments where it really dives into the lore, but for the most part, it’s a bit of a slog.
For those who grew up watching it, I think there is still enough meat on the bone for an entertaining evening. For those who haven’t, I’d put this under either “for completionists only” or “great to have on in the background, but not good for a dedicated watch”.
-
The Accountant 2: Cuter Than You’d Expect!
Affleck and Berenthal are back in THE ACCOUNTANT 2, which, beyond being a great action film, is a hell of a lot warmer and earnest than you’d ever guess!
The Accountant was always a bit of an odd duck. Released in 2016, the entire “superhuman autism” angle always felt more like an SNL gag than an actual movie. As a film, it’s fine, following Christian Wolff (Ben Affleck), CPA and Assassin extraordinaire, as he starts to uncover a dark secret at a robotics company. The twists and turns are fun, but it’s a bit overly serious, and doesn’t really bring much to the table, action wise (doesn’t help that The Equalizer essentially did the “autistic assassin” thing 2 years earlier, without being explicit about it).
All of this is to say it was definitely surprising to learn that we were getting The Accountant 2 nearly a decade later. Many of the same players are back, including an expanded role for Jon Berenthal, who plays Affleck’s brother. So, how does this deadly CPA fair in the 2020s?
I’m happy to say that this is not only a whole hell of a lot of fun, but also much cuter than you’d ever expect it to be!
This time, Christian is enlisted by Treasury Agent Marybeth Medina (Cynthia Addai-Robinson) to help her find the people that killed her old boss, and help solve his last case. Affleck does so through plenty of shooting, ass kicking and autistic ticks. While not as consistent with the ass kicking as its predecessor (most of the action is in the final 3rd), what The Accountant 2 focuses on is the twists and turns of its story. While some elements are a bit overwrought and on the nose (there’s a whole bit where Affleck keeps repeating what one victim said, “I don’t have kids”, just to come to the conclusion that “the children must be in danger!”), the central mystery actually kept me guessing throughout, with the final reveal being a genuine “oh, wait, what?” moment for me.
What elevates The Accountant 2, though, even over its predecessor, is the relationship between Affleck’s Christian and Berenthal’s Brax. Both Berenthal and Affleck bounce off each other perfectly, taking on a natural sibling relationship, with deep shades of the “buddy cop” archetype. Brax is continuously befuddled by Christian’s ways, while Affleck plays a great deadpan straight man to his frustrations. Why it works is because there is never any true animosity between the two; Brax just wants to be closer to his brother, and Christian wants to find a way to let him in. It’s a relationship built on love, so even when they are squabbling, it’s all in good fun.
As a perfect illustration, there is a sequence about halfway through where the brothers visit a honkey-tonk bar together. The scenes opens with them arguing about Christians inability to talk to women, leading into a goofy as all hell (in a good way) square dancing scene, before ending on a freeze frame right out of a Burt Reynolds film. The scene has zero effect on the plot, and exists almost as a vignette, but is something that made The Accountant 2 a pretty great time, and something that modern cinema seems to be sorely missing; sometimes, the plot doesn’t need to be advanced. Sometimes, we just want to watch these characters hang out and get into trouble with each other. It’s called character development, and it’s why this was much better than it had any right to be.
To those that might have been a bit put off by the original films “mental illness as a super power” plot point, though, you might find this no better on that front, if not a little worse. Joining Christian in his journey is a group of autistic children that act as a network of hackers. Like Christian, they are presented as somewhat supernatural in their abilities, able to hack into any system in the world with ease, all of them working out of a small New England school that has some Xavier’s School For Gifted Youngsters vibes. There is also a wild “traumatic brain injury turns you into a super soldier” plot line that, again, is bonkers and right on the line of potentially being problematic. I personally found most of this all so goofy as to be comical, but, not being a part of that marginalized group, I could understand someone finding it all a bit tone deaf.
With the release (and success) of Den Of Thieves 2 earlier this year, it seems we may be entering a new era of buddy cop films, and The Accountant 2 is very much a part of that genre. I’m not surprised I liked this; action films with guns are exactly my wheelhouse. What I am surprised by is how absolutely charmed I was by this. Be it the way Berenthal mockingly copies an annoyed Affleck, or the way Affleck says “Braxton” after Berenthal throws out his sunblock, or the way that, after an intense gunfight, this literally ends on a “save the cat” moment. The Accountant 2 is earnest, cute, and fun as hell. Not exactly what I was expecting from my action cinema in 2025, but a much welcomed reprieve. -
THE SHROUDS: We Control The Dead, and the Dead Control Us
David Cronenberg’s latest film is a pointedly messy meditation on grief, voyeurism, and control from beyond the grave
Stills courtesy of Sideshow and Janus Films. The worlds of David Cronenberg walk a scalpel’s edge between repulsion and obsession, uniquely delving into themes of doubles, death, and transformations that are both deeply emotional and starkly physical in their pursuit of something deeper and profoundly impactful. Although they may appear glossy and distant, Cronenberg’s films uncover rich layers of humor, anger, paranoia, grief, and more–if we are open to engaging with these unsettling topics with the same fascination exhibited by Cronenberg and his characters.
His latest, The Shrouds, is no exception. Its lead, Karsh (Vincent Cassel), is a dead ringer for Cronenberg himself–here an inventor who live-streams the corpse decomposition process for grieving loved ones using high-tech burial shrouds. Still mourning the loss of his wife Becca (Diane Kruger), Karsh attempts to provide others with what he desperately seeks himself: by voyeuristically observing her biological dissolution, he hopes his grief will suffer the same diminishing fate. When Karsh’s cemetery is brutally vandalized on the eve of his tech’s worldwide expansion, he descends into a rabbit hole of medical conspiracy, international intrigue, and crippling paranoia.
Much like most of the Canadian auteur’s work, The Shrouds unsettlingly blends the sleekness of contemporary aesthetics with the raw, chaotic essence of the natural world. Karsh’s shrouds (here, bluntly called GraveTech) are technological marvels, showcasing designs worthy of backing firm Saint Laurent, and capable of 8K resolution scans that ensure every decaying stomach cavity and protruding bone is captured in meticulous detail. Time-lapses depicting Becca’s corpse at various stages of decomposition act as idle screensavers on Karsh’s desktop. Despite Karsh’s polished appearance, his dentist observes that his teeth are literally decaying due to grief. Regardless of the outward appearance, any tranquility that Karsh and others seek in their neat, Apple-esque order is disrupted by the gruesome decay that rebelliously and mercilessly seeps through. Like Cronenberg’s previous film, Crimes of the Future, a central tension lies in how long we can impose such cosmetic control on our bodies or the world we live in before we surrender to the natural order of things.
The Shrouds, though, make this incredibly personal, if not autobiographical – it’s directly inspired by the tragic death of Cronenberg’s wife and longtime collaborator, Carolyn, in 2017. The director’s longstanding fascination with doppelgängers and the contradictions they hold is searingly augmented here, as Cronenberg’s own double in Cassel seeks to keep his wife tethered to the world of the living via a Siri-like AI bot of Becca, Hunny (complete with Memoji-like art). Becca, naturally, also has an identical twin in Kruger’s third role in the film, Terry – a surgeon turned dog groomer who finds arousal in Karsh’s deepening conspiracy theories. Kruger is fascinating in her three roles, and The Shrouds’ fascination with her is even more so; despite being three distinct characters, Cronenberg keeps each at a distance that is both alienating and intimate, as if we, like Karsh, should grow to blur these characters into the same person emotionally. As a whole, Karsh’s treatment of Becca/Terry/Hunny reveals how The Shrouds’ central tensions exist between the dead and the living left behind; how, in their absence, we try to manufacture new, servile life for them, whether in the form of perpetually viewing their corpse or in virtual avatars modeled after them – all at our demand, with no agency but our own. This should result in the solace that Cassel’s Karsh craves, yet despite his creature comforts at the cost of the dead, Karsh appears just as lifeless and vacant as the corpses he puts on camera.
I feel a critical obligation not to reveal the further twists of The Shrouds’ descent into conspiracy thriller. Still, it conflicts with the sentiment that one of the most humorous and successful aspects of The Shrouds is how its intrigue devolves into such shaggy-dog meaninglessness. If this film’s for anyone besides Cronenberg devotees, even more niche fans of David Robert Mitchell’s Under the Silver Lake will appreciate how The Shrouds spins its wheels in search of deeper meaning in its paranoid ravings. The film has understandably drawn bemused scrutiny from audiences since its Cannes debut last year; the deeper Karsh buries himself in the mysteries surrounding the physical vandalism of his cemetery, or the suspected biological/political vandalism of Becca’s corpse via strange postmortem bone growths, the slipperier The Shrouds becomes. The fascination we’re invited to indulge in threatens to extend into thematic overreach, widening the existing gulf between audience and auteur.
But the real meat of The Shrouds lies in who that comfort is for–in pacifying grief, in solving a mystery, in achieving closure at all–and how those who offer said closure can weaponize it. We don’t quite realize how immersed we are in Karsh’s grief until we’re forced to keep pace with it. He searches for clarity in his relationship with Becca, both during her life and after her death, as the intimacy they once shared diminishes, transferring instead to her doctor. Cronenberg explores a painful, admittedly selfish jealousy that is rarely acknowledged when a partner passes away: how medical professionals can become more emotionally and physically connected to our loved ones in palliative care than we can offer. In The Shrouds, with every passing procedure, they grow to “possess” our loved ones both emotionally and physically; leave it to Cronenberg to craft a film about, of all things, medical cuckoldry. Ultimately, it’s fitting that Karsh, in his grief, channels these feelings into a baffling conspiracy. Instead of confronting and overcoming his sorrow, he perceives that a more concrete antagonist is the architect of his anguish, one lurking just beyond his all-seeing gaze.
It’s a messy as fuck metaphor that only metastasizes in complexity and confusion as The Shrouds goes on–but it nevertheless rings true thanks to the vulnerable insights of its creator.
The Shrouds is now playing in theaters courtesy of Sideshow and Janus Films.
-
UNTIL DAWN Feels Like A Long Lost Dark Castle Film, And I’m Here For It!
David F Sandberg’s new film, Until Dawn, Based On The 2015 Game, Feels Like Something Pulled From 2004, In All The Best Ways.
Video Game films are the new hot ticket. The continued success of Mario, Sonic, and now Minecraft have given us a glimpse into what will be the new hottest IPs moving forward. Looking to jump on that bandwagon, Sony has thrown their own IP into the ring with Until Dawn. Based on the 2015 branching narrative survival horror game (read; interactive digital movie) of the same name, Until Dawn is one of the few modern video game adaptations aimed at adult viewers.
So, the question is; is it any good? Lucky for you, Until Dawn beats the video game curse* and is a damn good time at the movies!
Now, to get this out of the way up top; Until Dawn is really related to the 2015 game in name only. The plot is a completely new one; 5 friends travel the backroads in search of the missing sister of Clover (Ella Rubin). In their search, they are caught in a bad storm, and hunker down in an old, abandoned bed & breakfast. Once the sun sets, though, they quickly find themselves fighting off all kinds of evil nastiness, usually dying within a few minutes of their encounter. Then, the clock winds back, and they restart the night, a new foe searching for them, their only means of escape being surviving until dawn.
It’s a familiar setup, for sure; part Cabin in The Woods part Groundhogs Day (even though, strangely, the film dead stops to make sure to explain that, no, it’s not like Groundhogs Day). But, constantly changing elements in the nights and in the friends’ relationship keep the encounters feeling fresh, even as we continuously re-live the same night, over and over.
Those constant nightly changes are where Until Dawn and director David F. Sandberg (Lights Out, Annabelle Creations) really shines. Each night, a new type of horror attacks the friends, always keeping them, and us, on our toes. There ends up being a lot of space for possibilities, such as masked killers (the closest this comes to being like the game), demonic possession, kaiju creatures, and even explosive worm larvae (a genuinely great, and unexpected, kill scene).
What really works best for Until Dawn, for me, is its overall aesthetic and tone. From start to finish, this feels like something pulled directly from the early ‘00 era, specifically the Platinum Dunes/Dark Castle style. Everything is dark and brooding, the world looking sinister night or day. If I had to pinpoint it even further (being an expert on that era of horror), I’d say this specifically has the vibe of the House of Wax remake. As someone who grew up on those films, it is both pretty awesome seeing horror look like that again, but also a bit existentially terrifying realizing this film is emulating a film from 20 years ago.
Where the film wavers a bit in quality, though, is in some of the relationship politics. There’s a whole bit in the 2nd act where there is this focus on “never leave a friend behind”. Perfectly fine, sure, but it leads into this real weird out of character moment, where one of them is essentially sacrificed due to proposing a different plan of escape? It really comes out of nowhere, and is never really brought up again, even though the whole group survives like another 10 nights together. It also has a real abrupt ending; when the credits started to roll, I was genuinely caught off guard.
If the above seems nitpicky, it’s because that’s really all I have that’s critical about Until Dawn. It feels like a horror film built out of my memories of childhood horror favorites, so this just checked off all my boxes pretty easily. Sure, it is in no way like the game, but, the game is also just a 10-hour interactive movie; I’ve already seen that, I’m excited to have seen something new.
Either catch it in theaters now, or make sure to make time for it next Halloween; it’s a perfect addition to the season’s festivities!
*The quality curse isn’t lifted until the genre gets its The Dark Knight.
-
THE SURFER Gives Audiences One of Nicolas Cage’s Best Performance in Years
For the unnamed central character played by Oscar winner Nicolas Cage in director Lorcan Finnegan’s (Nocebo, Vivarium, Without Name) latest film, The Surfer, nostalgia doubles as prison and poison. Despite the obvious signifiers and markers of material success and class status, including a new Lexus, a state-of-the-art smartphone, and a bespoke linen suit, Cage’s Australian-born, American-raised character wants nothing more than to repurchase the beachfront property once owned by his family and take his teen son (Finn Little) surfing.
Almost immediately, however, surfing becomes a near-unobtainable pleasure, blocked by local bully-boys and their men’s rights leader, Scally (Julian McMahon), an overturned, self-styled guru born to generational wealth with an entitled, prickish attitude to match. While Scully and his crew keep the beach clear of non-locals, using a combination of threats, intimidation, and violence, Cage’s character unwittingly slips into the kind of all-encompassing existential rut that would give Samuel Beckett (Waiting for Godot) pause: To leave the parking adjoining the beach would mean to accept not just a temporary defeat, but at least in the surfer’s irrational mind, a permanent one.
So he stays (and stays), repeatedly calling his mortgage broker and bank lender, hoping to scrounge up an extra $100K to close the deal on his former home. That home, overlooking the beach and filled with hazy, long-ago memories of a once stable home life, exists firmly in the past, but for the surfer, his former home seems to have a magical, even talismanic nature: Repurchase the family home and reconnect with his estranged son and soon-to-be ex-wife.
For Cage’s character, however, even as the goal retreats into the distance, his stubbornness gets the better of him. He refuses to leave and in refusing to leave, subjects himself to all manner of degradations, both at the hands of Scully and his feral cult and through time and the elements, the loss of those aforementioned signifiers and markers of material success and class status: His phone dies, his wallet disappears, followed by his car, then his jacket and shoes. Sunbaked and sunburned, the surfer turns into a reflection of the bum he encountered in the film’s opening moments.
By turns a deftly written, cringe-inducing descent into the central character’s psychological disintegration, an exploration, if not an outright dissection, of masculinity in all its toxic forms, and the dissolution of the unstable line between subjective and objective reality, The Surfer not only exceeds expectations, especially for Cage’s variable, late-career choices, but as a ceaselessly engaging example of a man-in-crisis sub-genre as well-directed as it is acted and written.
Working from an original screenplay written by Thomas Martin (Prime Target, White Widow, Ripper Street), Finnegan relies heavily on a self-conscious mix of old-school filming techniques, heightening the surfer’s increasing isolation from the world and people around him through long camera lenses, fast, ‘70s-style zooms, and repeated shots of Australian wildlife, the last to suggest the surfer’s unwanted devolution into a primal state of nature, one where Hobbesian one-against-all colors every interaction between the surfer and the locals.
Of course, direction and writing mean almost nothing without the performances to support and/or elevate both. In that respect, Cage more than delivers, reining in the usual excesses that have often led to criticism, justified and unjustified alike. Over the course of The Surfer’s running time, the title character spectacularly unravels in classic Cage fashion, fighting a losing battle against the humiliation, contempt, and ostracism levied in his general direction. Cage, however, gives him just enough layering and nuance to make his self-created predicament a deeply sympathetic one. It’s also one of Cage’s best performances in years.
The Surfer opens theatrically in North America on Friday, May 2nd, via Roadside Attractions.
-
Enlist With The New STRIPES 4k To Keep The World Safe For Democracy…And Meet Girls.
STRIPES, The comedy classic from Ivan Reitman, comes to 4k in both a theatrical and extended cut!
“Today’s army needs men of courage… honesty… integrity… ambition. Instead, they got John Winger”, and, today, you can get Stripes on 4k!
Released in 1981, Stripes follows two down-on-their-luck losers, John (Bill Murray) and Russell (Harold Ramis), who decide to enlist in the Army. What ensues is a classic ‘80s blue collar comedy, as the two privates slack their way through basic training, and then across the Soviet Union in an experimental tank.
Stripes is an interesting time capsule, in many different ways. It was Ivan Reitman’s 2nd comedic feature as a director. After spending most of the ‘70s directing exploitation films and producing David Cronenberg’s early films, Reitman turned his eye towards comedy. Stripes very much feels like a testing ground for Ghostbusters; following blue collar nitwits who joke their way through serious situations.
Stripes isn’t as tight as Ghostbusters, for sure. Its structure is real weird, feeling like two films stitched together in the center, with the 2nd half, when they go to Italy, feeling like a sequel to the first half (it’s also missing the coked-out paranoid conspiracy brain of Aykroyd that Ghostbusters had).
Stripes is also a pretty classic example of the comedy style of the era. Just like its contemporaries, like Animal House and Porky’s and about a hundred others, Stripes is built on two things; jokes and boobs. More than a few times the film dead stops to give us some full frontal nudity. Sometimes it makes sense in the context of the scene, like the guys going out to a bikini mud wrestling club. Other times, it’s just a cutaway to the captain watching a group of co-eds in the shower from a telescope. For those who grew up watching these, with friends and sometimes awkwardly with fathers, there is a weird type of nostalgia there. For others, it might be a bit jarring.
One of the most interesting things I find about Stripes, though, is the era it was made in in regards to the military. There was a real small amount of time there, from like ‘78 to ‘83, where the US military was fair game for mockery. Vietnam was an absolute quagmire, and by ‘78, the immediate painful memories had begun to fade, and a generation of new comedians (too young for the draft) had come up through, looking to give a good rib poking to Uncle Sam. Stripes is a perfect example; Bill Murray runs circles around his drill sergeant, Sgt. Hulka (Warren Oates; really sucks he died in ‘82, feels like he was on the edge of being a recurring actor in this era of comedy), the upper command is presented as naive idiots, And the entire squadron are easily able to get away with everything and anything.
The army of Stripes is a joke that everyone is kind of embarrassed by, what with their rigid rules and expectations. Underneath it all, though, I think there is a bit of shame; shame at what we had done to ourselves in Vietnam, and a wanting to regain some pride, even if it is in mockery of the old ways. Murray illustrates it best in his speech: “We’re Americans, you know what that means? That means that our forefathers were kicked out of every decent country in the world. We are the wretched refuse. We’re the underdog. We’re mutts! Here’s proof: his nose is cold! But there’s no animal that’s more faithful, that’s more loyal, more loveable than the mutt.”
Specs:
Stripes has never looked better, with this pristine 4k that still retains the grit of the original print, making sure that New York, Camp Arnold, and Europe all have that same look. The sound is also fantastic, thanks to the Dolby Atmos (I could very much feel it during “Rubberband Man” when they first walk in the mud wrestling club, the beats reverberating off my teeth!).
This release also includes the extended version, that restores 18 minutes of footage, also presented in 4k. It’s not just a few extended scenes here and there; there are whole scenes added back in, making for a totally different movie.
If you’re looking for even more features, the 4k disc also includes a two part on-camera reunion between Bill Murray and Ivan Reitman (“40 Years Of Stripes With Bill & Ivan”), as well as a theatrical trailer. On the Blu disc, you can also find a commentary with Ivan Reitman and Dan Goldberg, 11 additional deleted and extended scenes, a 1983 Cut-For-TV version of the film, and the Stars and Stripes Documentary.
…
Stripes has kind of fallen between the cracks when it comes to popular comedies of the early ‘80s. Sandwiched between behemoths like Animal House, CaddyShack and Ghostbusters, Stripes has become viewed as a bit of comedic scratch pad, as some of the best from the era seem to be working out their comedic personas here. But, for those who look fondly back on this era of comedy, Stripes is an absolute trip worth the ride.
