'R Xmas (2002)

The biggest compliment I can pay this film is to say that I didn't despise it. That's bigger praise than you'd think, since this film comes from none other than Abel Ferrara -- the man who, until this film, was my pick for World's Worst Living Director. (That award has since transferred to talent-free Woody-wannabe Eric Schaffer.) I've never had a problem with Ferrara's intellectual pretensions, honestly. It's just he elucidates them in films that are nonsensical, pushy, unpleasant and aggravatingly, well, pretentious. (I still have nightmares about New Rose Hotel.) But here he's managed to take his trademark obsessions with guilt and redemption and harness them to an actual plot -- you know, a series of setpieces that have a logical progression. In doing so, he's made his best film (and perhaps his only watchable one, though I haven't seen King of New York) since his attention-getting breakthrough Ms. 45. I won't say much about the actual plot, since seeing the film cold might be even more effective, but it works for what Ferrara wants to get across. And in the moments where he threatens to wander, he's anchored by a fiery performance by Drea de Matteo, who alone makes the film worth seeing. It's -- dare I say it? -- too short, and it flames out with a non-ending, but it's a promising step. For the first time in my life, I'm anxious to see what Ferrara's got next.

Grade: B

Can Hieronymus Merkin Ever Forget Mercy Humppe and Find True Happiness? (1969)

Even weirder and more laborious than that title would suggest, this is the notorious vanity project that snuffed Anthony Newley's career quicker than you can say Trampolena Whambang. It's mostly an overstuffed, underthought disaster that muddles along like a bizarro-world Fellini, filled with indifferent acting and juvenile writing and way, way too much George Jessel (five seconds would be too much, honestly) and more pretension and navel-gazing than you could shake a dick at. And yet, I find something curiously irresistible about it. I was a lot of things during this movie. I was confused, stunned, put off, irritated, resigned, quizzical. But I was never bored. And aside from the insufferable Jessel segments, I was never openly hostile. There's just something undefineable about this film, the same sort of thing that makes you wanna hug a mangy dog or take home a beat-up raggedy old stuffed toy. Maybe it's the sheer balls of brass Newley shows in making what is quite obviously going to be his undoing. Maybe it's the cheerful, incongruous musical numbers. Maybe it's the occasional filmic signal from Newley that screams, "I know this film will slaughter my career, but dammit I had to make it but geez, all the same I'll never work in this town again." Maybe it's just the film's loopy, go-for-broke spirit. Maybe this film tickled the same nerve that Freddy Got Fingered hit upon. Except that, for all its disgusting humor and childish mindset, Freddy might also be balls-out brilliant. I can't cut this film the same slack, simply because it's more introspective and less entertaining. Ultimately, it's a occasionally interesting curiosity. But I can't say I'd change the channel if I happened to stumble across it on cable. And the score really is quite catchy. (Although having Joan Collins try and sing was a bad idea.)

Grade: C+

$la$her$ (2002)

Shot-on-video horror flick has an irresistible premise: The latest game show craze in Japan is like a volunteer-happy version of The Running Man, a show wherein six contestants try to survive running through a maze whilst being pursued by three vicious serial killers. Essentially all that's required for this film to succeed is to avoid fucking up that surefire idea, and thankfully writer-director Maurice Devereaux keeps things moving nicely. There's some fun black humor, some nasty gore, a couple o' neat plot twists and not-bad acting, considering the film is A) Canadian and B) non-union. Bonus points go to Devereaux for adopting an all-in-one-take style for extra verisimilitude, and more bonus points go to him for hiding his edits well enough to make that ballsy gamble work.

Grade: B

The Candy Snatchers (1973)

Praise be to Greywizard from The Unknown Movies -- without him, I never would have seen this wonderfully grimy (and criminally obscure) exercise in drive-in sleaze. The film kicks off with three villainous hoods kidnapping a girl named Candy off the street with the intent of getting a ransom out of her father (hence the title). Ladies and gentlemen, these three are your most sympathetic adult characters. The drama in the film comes from the gradual botching of their plans as the world around them turns out to be even more vicious and cruel than them. In its criminal milieu and its disgusted stance on humanity, the film seems a cousin to Mario Bava's great 'lost' film Rabid Dogs, especially in its grim ending, wherein the film's cynicism curdles into full-blown nihilism. Needless to say, this ain't feelgood entertainment, but it still packs a lurid kick. Fans of '70s shock cinema should make an effort to find this one.

Grade: B+

Up to His Ears (1965)

Fun French adventure flick with Jean-Paul Belmondo's depressed millionaire playboy encountering one damn thing after another after he signs a life-insurance policy and asks his best friend to kill him. At times, it seems to be a study in cinematic perpetual motion -- the danger keeps coming and the bullets keep flying and Belmondo keeps narrowly escaping death and running into Ursula Andress (hot as always, by the by) and generally having an exhausting time of it all. It does push things a little longer than they really should have gone (past the point of excitement overload; for a comparative experience, see Die Another Day), but it's a hoot and a holler the majority of the time.

Grade: B