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Sure, The Last Exorcism has problems. Every film of this type since Blair Witch Project has struggled with providing exposition in a realistic-sounding manner, and they always bring up the same “blah blah turn the camera off” crap. But still, this is so much fun, it’s ridiculous.

A post-Paranormal Activity work merely on the surface, the film exceeds by providing a neat, slow-burn horror mystery that turns in different directions than what you might expect. Unless you expect one amazing exorcism scene, because yeah, that’s here. And where it all heads – I can’t even begin to start giving anything away, but it pulls up one particular horror trope that’s been grossly underutilized for decades, and any movie that plays that card instantly wins me over.

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Anton Corbijn’s The American probably shouldn’t have worked. The main characters are an assassin, a priest, and a prostitute. That sounds ridiculously conventional, which is cause for a little worry – despite some great cinematography, it was the conventional biopic approach of Corbijn’s Control that bogged that feature debut down.

Thankfully, Corbijn appears to have realized that a pretty movie will only get you so far. Alongside fantastic cinematography is heavy atmosphere and light dialogue, with reliance on visuals to tell a streamlined, ambiguous story. There are moments when an actual, traditional plot starts to form, but even then the style is unique enough to not feel worn out. The American can be placed nicely alongside Le Samourai, The Hit, and Limits of Control as an engaging, introspective character study of a genre usually focused on action thrills . . .

It now occurs to me that maybe that style is its own genre in and of itself, which would make The American very conventional in a sense. Maybe using conventions and the lack thereof as an argument centerpiece isn’t the best way to go about things. But anyway . . . hey look, that poster is awesome.

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“For me there are what I call ‘essential’ films: kung-fu, Fred Astaire, porno. ‘Movie’ movies, so to speak. Something like Mad Max with these car collisions or Broadway Melody of 1940 with Fred Astaire. I love Astaire, the most insipid face speaking the most insipid dialogue you will ever hear up there on screen, yet it works beautifully . . .

It is the moving image per se that is the message in these kinds of films, the way that the film simply moves on the screen without asking you questions. ”

-Werner Herzog

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. . .

Holy bejeezus.

Harmony Korine has always struck me as a filmmaker who tries too hard. His work has only ever come off as constant, childish button-pushing, and after watching Trash Humpers, I think what he’s been missing until now is a complete immersion in the universe he was striving for; Gummo still fit into the early 90s American indie landscape, Julien Donkey-Boy was riding the tails of the Dogme movement, and Mister Lonely . . . well, Mister Lonely is the black sheep in the filmography just for being kind of normal.

But Trash Humpers is in a world all its own. Though influence can be traced to Werner Herzog’s Even Dwarfs Started Small, Korine’s brilliant use of VHS transforms this bizarre, bare-bones character study into something otherworldly. It’s much like Brown Bunny, where I can’t help but be impressed with the complete dedication to its unique, audience-dividing style, and it doesn’t necessarily feel like it’s aiming for that divide. The film starts immediately in its groove and never lets up, so the ‘shocks’ become standard quickly enough to shift attention to subtler aspects like the rather beautiful atmosphere shots and the boredom or bewilderment of random background characters, even the Trash Humpers themselves.

Or maybe it does try too hard, and it’s just my undying love of the VHS medium clouding my eyes. Whatever. This won’t work for most folks, much like Korine’s past work hasn’t worked for me, but Trash Humpers’ ability to aim for something completely different and actually be interesting while doing so is a notable achievement.

Trash Humpers screens in Minneapolis this Friday & Saturday at midnight at the Uptown Theatre.

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Why are there no American animation conventions?

I spent the day in St. Louis Park, planning on attending a local anime con. I’ve felt disconnected from that scene for years now, and the post-Naruto fanbase is radically different than the mid-90s landscape I was a part of (and generally more annoying, but I say that as an old curmudgeon), but it was my day off and I thought I’d go check it out. So I walked around the hotel for 15 minutes, felt horribly out-of-place, then went across the street to watch Toy Story 3 instead.

It made me wonder how many from that convention would do the same this weekend. Would the fact that this product wasn’t from an exotic foreign nation rank it as a low priority, despite Hayao Miyazaki’s beloved Totoro even being a side character in the film? I don’t mean to damn anime fandom – there are plenty of (arguably) quality works they’re (arguably) celebrating at that con – but I would think that American animation has been doing well enough lately to have its own focus. And it doesn’t.

We have a vast history of great work, and the only reason I can think of the non-existence of their own cons is that we tend not to aim many animation projects at Mountain Dew-ed 16 year olds. Anime does have a one-up with more slice-of-life and dark philosophical output, but Toy Story 3 explores the fear of abandonment and death in remarkably mature fashion, and come on – Disney, Looney Tunes, Hanna Barbera, Batman, Adult Swim, all those crazy 70s & 80s projects like Dino Riders - there’s enough product to warrant their own celebration outside of a tiny handful of Comic Con panels, right?

Pixar just capped off a wonderful series that forever changed the face of animation (with a ridiculously brilliant short film beforehand), and all I just want to see is a hotel full of Pixar cosplayers. Maybe one day . . .

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It’s Metropolis.

On the big screen.

With 25 minutes of new footage.

. . .

I don’t know what else you might need, there.

The Complete Metropolis – Trailer

The (pretty much only) highlight of my very brief time in Edinburgh was wandering aimlessly down an alley and running across what I thought to be a Banksy work, and it was only days later when the realization struck that there’s most likely innumerable street artists in that area of the world who rip his style off daily. So.

Exit Through the Gift Shop starts off as a nice depiction of the world of street art through the eyes of videographer Thierry Guetta, but eventually transforms into a playful evisceration of art culture. While the likes of Banksy and Shepard Fairey are featured prominently, I can’t imagine this being the definitive ‘graffiti’ film that fans might be expecting. However, I’m glad it instead goes the tougher route of exploring what is art, because the results are fascinating.

Exit Through the Gift Shop – Trailer

Read my original M-SPIFF Secret of Kells review HERE.

If you’re of the nostalgic variety, you probably remember the NES video game Battletoads to be wonderful. You are wrong. Sure, the designs were great, but not only were the characters shamelessly jumping on TMNT success, but it was the most irritatingly hard game this side of Contra. The only reason that you may remember a good chunk of the levels is because you were cheating with a Game Genie, as there’s no way in hell anyone ever beat the Turbo Tunnel legitimately.

And then those goddamn snakes. If you level-skipped just over the tunnel, you still had to deal with the pit with those giant, grinning, strangely-colored bastards. Well, if you ever desired to see them get their comeuppance, look no further than this Irish animated gem. Halfway through, the main character has his own Level 6 battle and definitely has every old Battletoads player cheering him on.

Oh yeah . . . also, stunning animation. See it for that too.

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The whole Red Riding trilogy, originally a series of British TV films, is a rather ambitious undertaking that I fear will go criminally under-seen due to both the Minneapolis/St. Paul International Film Festival opening the same weekend and a highly erratic schedule at the Lagoon Cinema. All three deserve to be seen in one five-hour chunk, but if I had to choose one, I’d aim for 1974.

The Red Riding saga takes place in the years 1974, 1980, and 1983, focusing on different aspects surrounding the hunt for a Yorkshire serial killer. 1974 leans toward the investigative journalism side, and director Julian Jarrold’s choice to shoot in gritty 16mm adds insurmountable levels of creepy atmosphere. The story is engaging on its own, as the mere idea of a killer sewing wings into a young girl’s back is downright terrifying, but its the otherworldy look of Yorkshire slums and strange unexplained background details that consistently keep you stunned and off-guard.

1980 and 1983 are also definitely worth a watch, if nothing else but to see how everything ties together, but 1974 stands out both among the pack and pretty much every other film I’ve seen this year.

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There was a time, about five years ago, when it looked like South Korea was having the most exciting film boom in the world. However, it seemed to only last the length between Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance and Sympathy for Lady Vengeance, and Romania and China soon stole away the ‘country to watch’ title. But much like Hong Sang Soo, Bong Joon Ho seemed to be off in his own little corner the whole time, making consistently fantastic films without a care as to when to start and stop making quality work.

I mean, have you seen Memories of Murder? Because you really should. Bong finally gained an international reputation for The Host, but Memories stands alongside Zodiac as the best serial killer film of the last decade. It’s the perfect blend of dark humor and darker thriller which defines South Korean cinema, and Mother is the director’s fantastic stylistic follow-up. When someone creates a ridiculously tense scene based around water bottles, you know it’s something special. Brutal, unpredictable, and at times even hilarious, Mother is the the best South Korean film since that short-lived boom.

Mother – Trailer

Ah, Werner Herzog. You never disappoint.

This infamous collaboration between Herzog and David Lynch is a bit reminiscent of Steven Soderbergh’s Full Frontal and Lynch’s own INLAND EMPIRE. Both involve masters of their craft running wild with video technology, seemingly shooting whatever comes to mind in locations they just happened to have access to. It makes for a rather tangential experience in this case, but nonetheless highly surreal and entertaining.

My Son, My Son plays around with Greek tragedy and cop procedural, kind of, and Herzog has everyone acting in a theatrical style not far off from the hypnosis acting from Heart of Glass. But despite merely an executive producer credit, Lynch’s handiwork can be felt almost as much as Herzog’s. Their styles blend together, the film keeps getting stranger, and Brad Dourif eventually shows up to be awesome.

This is an easy film to dismiss as a nonsensical experiment, and it’s certainly not one of Herzog’s grandest achievements, but sequences in the mountains of Peru, a time tunnel in Montreal, and a park in San Diego where time almost stops make this far more intriguing than most traditional films of any given year.

My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done is currently playing this week in Minneapolis at St. Anthony Main.

My Son, My Son, What Have Ye Done – Trailer