Machete Kills (2013)

If Grindhouse was an experiment in schlocky double-features, 2010’s Machete was the surprise hit lovechild, embraced as an unapologetic love letter to the B-movie genre even as it managed to make itself enjoyable beyond homage.  The sequel Machete Kills is in a weird place – it’s very much in the same tradition as its predecessor, though it suffers a bit from the law of diminishing returns by being a bit overfull of (for lack of a better term) stuff.

Danny Trejo returns as Machete Cortez, now working on the side of the United States to repel cartel incursions.  To avenge the death of his partner, Machete accepts an offer from President Rathcock (Charlie “Carlos Estevez” Sheen) to track down the mad revolutionary Mendez (Demián Bichir), who’s aimed a missile at Washington, D.C.  But Machete quickly becomes embroiled in a larger scheme involving bounty hunters and villainous weapons manufacturer Luther Voz (Mel Gibson).

If you weren’t a fan of Machete, the door’s over there, because Machete Kills is in many ways more of the same.  Trejo does his “Mexploitation” bit as well as he’s always done, growling and lumbering his way through fight scenes that ought to be beyond an actor approaching 70 (yes, he’s 69).  The master deadpan delivery that made “Machete don’t text” part of the vernacular in the original returns here, with more Machete-don’ts to add to the list.  Trejo may not have become an A-lister, but it’s safe to say he’s a real star.

The rest of the cast is rounded out with the requisite number of fun cameos – perhaps even more so, including a few big names all playing the same role through a neat gimmick that never gets old.  Sheen’s role is essentially the same joke over and over again (what if Charlie Sheen were president?), replete with a “winning” reference, but it’s a fun repetition.  Even more fun are Bichir’s Jekyll-and-Hyde by way of Speedy Gonzalez and Gibson’s scenery-devouring archvillain.  Essentially a comic version of the villain from Moonraker, Gibson turns Voz into an exceptionally entertaining figure, managing to sell excessively cheesy moments like his confession that he’s a big Star Wars fan.

I’ve said so many good things about the film, and there are more to say; Michelle Rodriguez returns as taco trucker Shé/Luz, and she gets an opposite number in Amber Heard’s beauty queen secret agent Miss San Antonio.  Plus Jessica Alba returns, plus we get closure on Osiris Amanpour (Tom Savini) from the last film, plus Sofia Vergara, plus... you get the picture.  Machete Kills is a movie bursting at the seams (an apt metaphor, considering the absurd amount of cleavage on display) with high-concept ideas and big-name guest spots that the movie feels a bit too full, to the detriment of some of the film’s more enjoyable elements.  Alba, who’s finally managing to overcome her early years as a talentless pretty face, is shuffled off-screen quickly – a dismissal, one suspects, made in order to insert more of Vergara’s scantily-clad prostitutes (a disappointing move, considering the first Machete film actually passed the Bechdel Test).

It’s not that anything in the movie doesn’t work – although William Sadler’s one-note vigilante sheriff comes close, retreading ground more successfully covered in Machete.  But there’s so much to enjoy in the film that much of it doesn’t get its proper due.  Bichir’s schizophrenic madman does about as much as it ought to, but I can’t be alone in hoping to have seen more of Gibson as Voz – especially since it’s more “campy baddie” than “career implosion” (can we all agree that Mel’s done his penance?).  In many aspects, Machete Kills leaves the audience wanting more, but not in a good way; it’s closer to dropping the mic than leaving on a high note.

Indeed, the note on which the film ends is a curious one.  After having already seen the trailer for Machete Kills Again... in Space! before Machete Kills (another grindhouse-y touch), the film proper’s last act builds to a climax that might come in the next sequel.  This kind of delay is usually a kiss of death (see the insulting way Prometheus pulled a fast one on its audience), but it almost doesn’t matter with Machete Kills, which is more about the fun you have along the way and the big ideas that don’t get fleshed out.  It might even be appropriate in the grindhouse vein if we never see Machete Kills Again... in Space! (and if box office receipts have anything to say, we probably won’t).

So while it’s no Machete, Machete Kills is fun enough to justify its own existence, even if we know Robert Rodriguez is capable of a little bit better.  Now can we please finally get Sin City 2?

Machete Kills is rated R “for strong bloody violence throughout, language and some sexual content.”  There’s as many bloody gunshots, dismemberments, and stabbings as in the last one, though much of it is done in deliberately cheap special effects that might take the sting out of it.  There are hundreds of F-bombs and scatological/anatomical derogations; aside from one woman in bottomless chaps, there’s no nudity, though plenty of women are seen in the skimpiest and gravity-defyingest attire.  And it’s implied one woman sleeps with Machete, though the visual gag is unlikely to offend (heads-up: don’t complain to the manager when you see it).

Monday at the Movies - February 25, 2013

Welcome to this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.”  This week, two films that (spoiler warning) should have been better.

The Grey (2012) – Somewhere between The Phantom Menace and Taken, Liam Neeson turned into a proper action hero to the point where he literally ran The A-Team.  Neeson rapidly developed a steady fanbase ready to follow him into any vehicle.  And the premise of The Grey, as initially marketed, is as tempting as any the man could possibly have accepted; the original trailers billed the film as, essentially, “Taken with wolves.”  “Come see Liam Neeson punch wolves,” the trailers promised, but when I finally caught up to the movie I got something entirely different – a somber character study of a suicidal survivalist up against a natural embodiment of death.  Neeson stars as the leader of a group of plane crash survivors who trek through the tundra in search of rescue, while a pack of wolves threatens their journey.  I try not to criticize a movie for being something other than what I was expecting (indeed, defying expectations is often a good thing), but The Grey was a bit misleading, promising a confrontation we never actually get.  Neeson is characteristically compelling as John Ottway, again toting a bag of skills akin to those he possessed in Taken, and his morose voiceover sells the narration, a filmic technique I often resist for telling and not showing.  Unfortunately, though, the film’s big antagonist – the wolf pack – never really looks convincing; I’m sure it’s a preemptive strike against animal cruelty folks, but the wolves are often stationary or shot in tight close-up, never giving them a proper sense of menace – or motion.  At the end of the day, Neeson turns in great work, per usual, but the film is certainly something other than what you’ve been led to believe.

Hobo with a Shotgun (2011) – Grindhouse, what have ye wrought?  Once upon a time, there was a clear distinction between movies and rubbish, but after Robert Rodriguez and Quentin Tarantino did a loving riff on the B-movie genre, the lesson learned seems to have inspired tasteless filmmakers to call their work “homage” and expect to get away with it.  Hobo with a Shotgun (itself originally a Grindhouse trailer) stars Rutger Hauer, grizzly as ever, as the titular residentially-challenged vigilante who aims to reclaim the streets “one shell at a time.”  While the film claims to be a tribute to the low-budget exploitation films of the 70s and 80s, what it really amounts to is a bloody mess of a thing, oversaturated beyond visual comprehension and unrelenting in its pointless violence.  Hobo with a Shotgun never reaches past its title, never dodges the generic clichés that dominate the script, never even surprises; the film is deliberately cheap and overly juvenile, teenaged Tarantino let loose in a warehouse full of fake gore with none of the wit or self-awareness from either Planet Terror or Death Proof – or even Machete, the other Grindhouse trailer-cum-feature.  Hobo with a Shotgun substitutes fun for bloodlust, assuming that the audience will delight in the director’s mania for dismemberment; on this account, perhaps they succeed, because a base feeling of revulsion is the only human emotion (not counting boredom) that the film managed to elicit.  Maybe I’m taking this too seriously; maybe I’m just too old for this.  But there’s little that’s earnest about Hobo with a Shotgun, and it’s a colossally unwatchable beast.

That does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.” We’ll see you here next week!

Monday at the Movies - December 3, 2012

Welcome to Week Forty-Three of “Monday at the Movies.”  This week, in anticipation of Django Unchained we’re finishing up the last two Quentin Tarantino movies that haven’t been reviewed on the site; as we did with our Christopher Nolan retrospective, links are provided to the reviews of the other films, in order of release.

Reservoir Dogs (1992)

Pulp Fiction (1994)

Jackie Brown (1997) – I’ve long considered this my least favorite Quentin Tarantino movie, in part because it’s the least flashy in his oeuvre.  But as I get older I’m looking at the film differently, and I think it’s actually one of his better films because of its aesthetic restraint.  Adapted from an Elmore Leonard novel (the only entry in Tarantino’s filmography not based on an original screenplay), Jackie Brown stars Pam Grier as the eponymous stewardess who schemes with bail bondsman Max Cherry (Robert Forster) and the ATF to take down kingpin Ordell Robbie (Samuel L. Jackson).  The three leads are all in fine form – Grier is believable as the kick-ass protagonist, Forster plays romantic but subdued, and Jackson is pitch-perfect as the villain – but the highlight here is how well Tarantino makes his homage to the blaxploitation genre without being consumed by it.  Tarantino has had a difficult relationship with homage, with some “loving references” feeling a lot like plagiarism (the burial of The Bride in Kill Bill, Vol. 2, for example), but here he seems tapped into the feeling of a blaxploitation movie (and even, with Grier and Sid Haig, some of the familiar faces) without sacrificing watchability for self-indulgence.  The film is smart and spirited, witty without being too wild.  The smaller parts from the ensemble cast – which includes Robert DeNiro, Bridget Fonda, and Michael Keaton – make this movie feel quite full, but it’s a fullness that gives the film depth and relevance.  Rather than exist just as an homage, Jackie Brown is one of Tarantino’s more accomplished films, perhaps out of place in an otherwise exhaustively exuberant catalogue, but at the same time perhaps the most mature (in sensibility, not in rating) of his films.

Kill Bill, Vol. 1 (2003)

Kill Bill, Vol. 2 (2004)

Death Proof (2007) – Tarantino recently noted that he wants Death Proof to be regarded as his worst film, which prompted me to revisit it.  Originally part of the double-feature experiment Grindhouse with Robert Rodriguez’s Planet Terror, Death Proof stars Kurt Russell as Stuntman Mike, a serial murderer who victimizes two groups of women with his invincible stunt car.  The first group (including Sydney Poitier and Vanessa Ferlito) succumbs to Mike’s car and the objectifying male gaze of the camera; this is Tarantino at his most exploitive, and it seems that the lusty way he films these women is less an homage to the genre of female revenge film and more a personal fetish given celluloid life.  Though Russell is better and more badass in this first half, the problematic treatment of women borders on deplorable.  The second half attempts to redeem these sins, with another group of women (including Rosario Dawson, stuntwoman Zoë Bell as herself, and Tracie Thoms, who’s like a cross between Wanda Sykes and Samuel L. Jackson) taking on the task of revenge.  This group is more fun, in part because we spend more time with them and know them better, but that attention leaves Russell by the wayside, giving the film a very uneven feeling.  Tarantino’s dialogue is punchy, but everyone talks like everyone else.  The result is a film that on the surface is peppy and poppy in the “grindhouse” tradition, but if you look deeper the film is fraught with problems – of representation, of balance, of identity.  I enjoyed the film enthusiastically as a high schooler, but age has somewhat cooled me on this movie; if it ends up being the worst Tarantino film, I can live with that.

Inglourious Basterds (2009)

Be sure to check back later this month for a full review of Django Unchained, but for now that does it for this week’s edition of “Monday at the Movies.”  Between finals week and The Dark Knight Rises on DVD tomorrow, I’m gonna be pretty busy, but next Monday we’ll have a look at a few movies that wrestle with sanity (opportune timing for those of us going crazy for finals).

Machete (2010)

Attention Alexandre Aja and the rest of the crew who owe penance (or at least a partial refund) for Piranha 3D: Robert Rodriguez's Machete is how you do a B-movie.

Straight from the Grindhouse trailer, Danny Trejo leads one of the most eclectic casts in Hollywood history as federale-turned-day-laborer Machete Cortez, who immigrates illegally to the United States after his family is murdered by Mexican drug lord Torrez (Steven Seagal). Once stateside, Machete is hired by Michael Booth (Jeff Fahey) to kill border reformer Senator John McLaughlin (Robert DeNiro). Double-crossed, Machete allies himself with immigration officer Sartana (Jessica Alba), taco vendor Luz (Michelle Rodriguez), and his brother/priest Padre (Cheech Marin) to avenge himself on the men who betrayed him. The ensemble cast also includes wild child April (Lindsay Lohan), bounty hunter Osiris (Tom Savini), and minuteman vigilante Von Jackson (Don Johnson).

Like all of Rodriguez's best work, Machete is brutally violent and equally brutally fun, ignoring the laws of physics in favor of scenes that are so breathtakingly cool that you'll find it tough to swallow your popcorn for all the raucous guffawing you'll be issuing. Rodriguez finally turns the leading man reins over to Danny Trejo, who proves himself adroit at being more than meancing window dressing on the sidelines of films like Once Upon a Time in Mexico. Having cut his teeth in Rodriguez films, Trejo is a perfect fit for the off-the-wall sensibility that governs the film, delivering lines like "Machete don't text" with a deadpan humor that belies a recognition of the film's own campy nature. It's here that (and I'll try not to do this too frequently in the course of this review) Machete succeeds where Piranha 3D failed - by carrying itself off without mugging vigorously for camp appeal, Machete is a true homage to B-movies precisely because it keeps its tongue - and not its entire mouth - in cheek.

With Trejo as the star of the film, second billing really ought to go to the trademark Rodriguez style of relentlessly accelerated action, which comes out here in full force. There are moments when a plot about illegal immigration and a heavyhanded political statement (heavyhanded only because it's never given time to develop beyond a rapid boil), but these are mere placeholders to allow for a little downtime between high octane action pieces like Machete's escape from a hospital using only a bonesaw and an enemy's intestines. With characteristically improbable violence - such as one character, stabbed through the gut, delivering a nihilist monologue - surrounding delightfully hammy dialogue ("God has mercy; I don't"), Machete is a winner for knowing that delicate balance between entertainment value and legitimate dramatic style.

Machete is also remarkable in that it manages to assemble the strangest cast of actors and actresses - and make them all fit together like jigsaw pieces in a movie that shouldn't work but does. There's no question that some of these people can act - Robert DeNiro and Don Johnson have more than proven themselves, and Jeff Fahey is always a hoot (between this, Planet Terror, and his turn on Lost) - but Rodriguez finds a place for Jessica Alba and Lindsay Lohan, who are, shall we say, significantly less talented. The strangest thing is that Steven Seagal even manages to fit into the movie, despite being entirely one-note and bogged down with personal baggage and a history of parody as long as my grocery list. This is less a credit to the cast than it is to Rodriguez, although I must give a hearty handshake to the cast for not appearing too cool for the room; we know DeNiro is practically slumming to do a movie directed by the mind that brought us The Adventures of Sharkboy and Lavagirl, but at least he's a good sport about it and steps into the spirit of things (which is to say, larger than life in very broad strokes) fairly quickly.

Notice that I've not made claims to the film being a "great" film. That's because it's not. Nor does it pretend to be. What Machete professes to be is exactly what you'll find underneath the wrapper - another of Rodriguez's "Mexploitation" films, made on the cheap but with an earnestness that excuses the meager budget and dazzles the eye with a cast who's interested in having as much fun on this playground of a picture. If you're willing to leave your disbelief at home (merely suspending it probably won't do), Machete will be as much fun as you're looking for. If nothing else, it's far and away the B-movie of the year. (Nice try, Piranha 3D.)
Machete is rated a hard "R for strong bloody violence throughout, language, some sexual content and nudity." Blood flies everywhere and everywhen, with knife fights and a few spats of gunfire dominating the action of the movie. F-bombs pepper the dialogue like a tangy mole sauce, and Machete (spoiler warning?) lands in bed with pretty much every woman in the film, resulting in some toplessness and rear nudity in three scenes.

Planet Terror (2007)

Director Robert Rodriguez has never been known for high cinema; indeed, most of his movies pride themselves on being ridiculously over-the-top and purely for entertainment value. Planet Terror (originally paired with Quentin Tarantino's Death Proof in the 2007 commercial disaster Grindhouse) is no different, with the exception of being the best of the unique genre of "trash film."

That's not to say that the movie is trash; it's an homage to the trash films of the 70s. Rodriguez's love of garbage culture really shows here, but I'm not sure he realizes that he's doing those movies one better.

Planet Terror is, in a way, the zombie movie to end all zombie movies (in fact, if I never have to see another "...of the Dead" movie at the box office, it'll be too soon). When Lt. Muldoon (Bruce Willis) and his men unleash a concentrated nerve gas on a small Texas town, a few distinct characters struggle for survival - former go-go dancer Cherry Darling (the absolutely stunning Rose McGowan), who's short one leg; the mysterious El Wray (Freddy Rodriguez - no relation), who's too good with a loaded gun; Sheriff Hague (Michael Biehn), who's after his brother JT's (spot-on Jeff Fahey) barbecue recipe; and Dr. Dakota Block (Marley Shelton), who's just managed to escape from her villainous husband Doc Block (Josh Brolin, who's better here than he is in No Country for Old Men).

Though the plot is clear and crisp, you'll probably be paying more attention to the intentionally grungy visuals, the strikingly hysterical dialogue, and the flashbulb-photographic memorable images. The entire film is digitally "enhanced" with scuffs, scratches, and pops on the screen, so it looks as though you're watching a degraded film reel. That sounds like an annoying effect, but its execution is nothing short of mood-setting brilliance.

Rodriguez, who always writes his own screenplays (with the exception, of course, of Sin City), is at the top of his game with this one. Planet Terror is fast-paced, action-packed, and funnier than a Jim Gaffigan marathon (okay, maybe not that funny, but you get the picture). A lot of the humor comes from the intentionally corny dialogue, with lines like "I'm gonna eat your brains... and gain your knowledge!" and "It's go-go, not cry-cry" among the many that have entered my own personal vocabulary.

Then there's the iconic image of Cherry Darling, her leg replaced with a machine gun. We return to that old Godard-ism that "All you need for a movie is a gun and a girl." Somehow, I doubt this is what Godard had in mind when he delivered that famous aphorism, but darned if it isn't a fulfillment of that theory! Ignoring the impossibility of the physics involved in Cherry shooting her leg, there's just something damned cool about her. Points to Rodriguez for a brilliantly cool shot where Cherry, after decimating an army of zombies, blows the smoke from her gun-leg's barrel and later dons a pair of tinted sunglasses with a tremendous explosion behind her. Phew... cool.

High cinema it ain't, but Planet Terror is most certainly one of the most entertaining movies of 2007. A wild ride from start to finish, the most fun I've had at a movie since I-can't-remember-when, Planet Terror is one of those movies that tries so hard to be liked - and succeeds.