Film Trace: Recent Episodes
Film Trace
Film Trace is a film podcast. In each episode, we trace a new film's journey from conception to production to release.
In episode five of our Manhunt series, we discuss two films very rooted in the 1980s Aesthetic. First up is Michael Mann's neon blue serial killer thriller, Manhunter from 1986 followed by the bombastic and preposterous Schwarzenegger action movie, The Running Man from 1987.
Special Guest: Friend of the show and co-host of the Screen Time: A Quarantine Family Podcast. Brigitte
Manhunter failed to make its money back at the box office when it was released in mid August 1986 on a dumping ground weekend. In the forty years since its release, the film has gained a rather prestigious reputation. The film of course established Hannibal Lecter as a film character. It was also one of the first serial killer movies where the subject matter was treated seriously as opposed to the more ghoulishly depictions often seen in b-movies. The FBI profiler, played by CSI skipper William Petersen, is shown to be slightly depraved, fully troubled, and mostly cold-blooded. Graham was an anti-hero before the term has much cache. Mann's flashy style has aged the best here along with the intertwined psychology of the hunter and hunted. It takes one to know one.
The Running Man (1987) feels like the concept of an action movie. Cearly helmed by a seasoned tv director, the difference between the boob tube and pure cinema may never be more clear than this overly stuffed, rompous, and absurd action thriller. Arnold Schwarzenegger and Richard Dawson are at the Ponderosa Steakhouse eating up every scene in sight. That alone is worth watching. The rest, not so much. The source material, of course a Stephen King novel, is put in the shredder and out comes pastel and neon confetti that lights on fire the moment you touch it. It is a direct ancestor to the Schumacher Batman series, for better or worse.
In episode four of our Manhunt series, we explore two films that veer off the beaten path of their genre linenage. From Japan, Cure (1997), an atmospheric and fatalist horror film that helped launched J-Horror and the concept of elevated horror. From the United States, One False Move (1992), a raw and politically charged on-the-run film that still feels edgy and uncomfortable thirty years after its release.
Special Guest: Good friend of the show, and our resident Japan expert, Harry Brammer
Everyone loves a good villain, especially in a horror film. We might even root for them, see Jason Takes Manhattan. But every so often a horror antagonist comes along that we would like to forget. Mamiya is one of those bad guys. Cure plunges us into the existential dread of modern existence: dull grey concrete mixed with blinding fluorescence, devoid of all natural light and warmth. The film ties together a series of seemingly unrelated murders into one terrifying thread: a unknown force compelling ordinary people to commit unthinkable acts. Director Kiyoshi Kurosawa crafts an oppressive world out of everyday urban life. The conjuring of Mamiya seems so simple and casual until a shock of violence erupts. The film's realism anchors the fantasy to make it believable, and then Kurosawa has us in his hands.
One False Move doesn't have good guys or bad guys.The film opens with unspeakable acts of violence and cruelty committed by our supposed protagonists. In this sense, the film is defiantly postmodern as it brackets out any notion of morality or propriety. Directed by Carl Franklin, it weaves a suspenseful and oddly poignant story of feckless fugitives on the run, crossing paths with a small-town sheriff who yearns for excitement. Here, the manhunt is not just a chase but an exploration of racial tension, broken dreams, and the suffocating weight of the past. The chase builds to a showdown that erupts with a flurry of gunfire, and the finale comes quick. But no answers are given, just lives squandered and lost.
In episode three of our Manhunt series, we delve into two films that helped redefine and revive the genre of pursuit. From South Korea, Memories of Murder (2003), a haunting and postmodern crime drama. From the United States, The Bourne Identity (2002), an adrenaline-fueled yet grounded spy thriller.
Special Guest: the talented John Brooks from the great 1999 Podcast which covers all the films from that seminal year of film.
Crime stories hinge on a denouement of justice. When that justice is denied, the audience is often left in suspended emotional agitation. We want to believe that violent crimes are always solved, and the villainous perpetrators are caught. That order is restored. Yet, reality dictates a much less clear cut finale to crime stories. Memories of Murder explores this ambiguity in its depiction of a real-life serial killer case, where answers are elusive, and the moral certainties dissolve in a haze of bureaucratic stagnation, intellectual flaccidity, and craven dispositions. Director Bong Joon-Ho crafts a deeply unsettling vibe where the boundary between good and evil fades, exposing the futility of the hunt and the flawed nature of those involved.
In contrast, The Bourne Identity is sleek, fast-paced, and decidedly straightforward. This chase movie skips across Europe with the hunter and hunted dichotomy awhirl. Director Doug Liman invokes the stacco precision of a spy thriller but interweaves melodrama with Jason Bourne's fractured psyche. In many ways, Bourne is more indebted to the dutch-angled noir tradition than its most obvious predecessor, James Bond. With its relentless action and tightly wound narrative, the film strips away the nuance of morality found in Memories of Murder while delivering a linear yet captivating tale of survival, deception, and revenge.
In episode two of our Manhunt series, we explore two international films. From South Korea, New World (2013), a topsy-turvy crime drama. From New Zealand, the playful and whimsical, Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016).
Crime dramas have been a staple of cinema since its inception. We find comfort in categorizing characters as good or evil. It provides order in a convoluted world. Actual morality is often murky and challenging to decipher. New World offers a crystal clear reflection of how the world truly operates, rather than a saccharine imagined one. Deep Loyalty and petty betrayal are commonplace, and the lines between good and evil blur, like a spinning merry-go-round.
Taika Waititi's distinctive style is evident throughout Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016). This is both a pleasure and a frustration. While the story of two unlikely companions going on the run in the Kiwi woods is delightful, the narrative often seems to lose its way despite the simplicity of the story. The plot path is clearly laid out, but Waititi can't resist taking detours down every zany spur, leaving little room for emotional resistance and refinement. Nevertheless, it remains an entertaining joy ride with a quaint conclusion.
We kick off a new season of Film Trace exploring Manhunt Movies with Longlegs and Trap.
In this season of Film Trace, we will dive into movies about being hunted or being the hunter. While these hunted vs hunter films span a wide breadth of genres, we start with the most tried and true model, the serial killer thriller.
Longlegs made a huge splash this summer. A true indie made for under 10 million, Longlegs has broken the 100 million dollar mark at the worldwide box office to become the highest-grossing independent film release of the year. This is particularly bizarre for few reasons. One, the marketing campaign budget was tiny. It was a throw back to the Blair Witch Project campaign from 1999: guerrilla, less is more, driven by word of mouth. Two, Oz Perkins is not a huge director, mostly genre and more experimental fare. Three, while elevated horror has a big profile, it tends to not bring home the bacon. Longlegs starts a new chapter for Neon as studio-distributors and the horror genre at large.
Trap had a huge marketing campaign and a big name behind it, M Night Shyamalan. The trailer seemed everywhere in 2024. The release spot was not great, but it still counts as a summer release. So the hopes were high for fans and the studio. It turns out to be a pretty standard M Night movie: fun, odd, and very polarizing. Josh Hartnett makes a major return in this arena thriller with a conspicuous Hitchcockian flair. Where as a Longlegs tries to get by on mostly just vibes, Trap drives forward with a mousetrap plot that feels compellingly contrived. Neither seems to hit the bullseye, but both are well-made and engaging films that provoke discourse.
We conclude our Camp Cinema season with our eighth episode covering Johnny Guitar (1954) and Imitation of Life (1959).
In our finale, we delve into the origins of Camp Cinema in the 1950s, spotlighting Nicholas Ray's flamboyant western Johnny Guitar and Douglas Sirk's melodramatic Imitation of Life. Johnny Guitar subverts the traditional male bravado typical of most westerns by pitting two powerful women against each other. The visual artistry of Ray and his cinematographer, Harry Stradling, reveals the campy essense of the film with a rich palette of canary yellows, baked terra cottas, and deep azures.
Imitation of Life achieves a similar feat, but with emotional resonance rather than visual flair. During our 1950s season, we explored Todd Haynes' commendable Douglas Sirk hommage, Far From Heaven. But nothing compares to the authentic touch of Sirk himself. Sirk masterfully understood cinema's power over an audience, manipulating emotions with precision in Imitation of Life. Its finale is one of the most emotionally explosive moments ever captured on celluloid. Camp manifest is many forms. Here we have two films that seem diametrically opposed in genre, but both use camp to full effect to elicit a deep response.
We continue our Camp Cinema season in our seventh episode covering The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964) and Barbarella (1968)
Special Guest: Manish Mathur, host of the It Pod to Be You, covering romantic comedies from classics to modern hits and everything in between.
French director Jacques Demy embarked on an ambitious project to create a film in which every line was sung. What initially appeared as a gimmicky opera about everyday life evolved into one of the most acclaimed musicals of all time. The film is imbued with vivid color and adorned with enchanting songs, showcasing Demy's profound appreciation for artifice, a hallmark of camp cinema.
In stark contrast to Demy's refined sensibility stands Roger Vadim's audacious science fiction film, Barbarella (1968). Infamous for the wrong reasons, the film features Jane Fonda in the lead role, navigating an incoherent narrative inspired by a French erotic comic. Here, the camp is strikingly naïve, and the collective artistic intentions remain enigmatic and elusive.
We continue our Camp Cinema season in our sixth episode covering The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) and The Day of the Locust (1975).
Special Guest: scholar, artist, author, and curator Marisa C. Hayes of the wonderful Afterimages podcast and book series.
The first film discussed needs no introduction, though Dan and Chris could have used one since the Jim Sharman-directed camp classic was a first-watch for both of them. Enter Marisa to help break down why it perhaps took so many years for two Midwest suburban boys to break through its storied midnight movie status and witness its madcap genius. Then, a hard pivot to John Schlesinger's takedown of the Golden Age of Hollywood in all its messy, over-the-top glory. The proto-Babylon isn't fully self-aware of its turgid and grisly nature, though perhaps that's exactly what defines it as an underrated camp gem, though certainly an oddity that lies on the fringes of canon.
We continue our Camp Cinema season in our fifth episode covering Hairspray (1988)and Xanadu (1980)
Special Guest: Gavin Mevius and Louie Rendon from the great Mixed Reviews podcast
John Waters is the prince of camp. We simply had to choose one of his films for our season on Camp Cinema. The lucky winner was Hairspray. While Waters is known for his deft ability to push the boundaries of taste and propriety, Hairspray spins and shakes upon the line of respectability without overly indulging in taboo. This spry wiliness in tone perhaps what makes it his most potent film.
Xanadu on the other hand would never flirts with respectability or taboo. It exists in some liminal space between imagination and reality. Nothing about Xanadu makes any sense, especially the plot. But there is something a bit magical within this technicolor rumpus. Gene Kelly and Olivia Newton-John bring class and warmth to what could have been a real bad trip. Is Xanadu good? The syntax of that question is nonsensical. Camp is post logic, which is where Xanadu lies.
We continue our Camp Cinema season in our fourth episode covering To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (1995) and Magnolia (1999)
Special Guest: Returning Guest, Rotten Tomato approved film critic, Natasha Alvar from Cultured Vultures
When watching To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, there is an overriding sense of what could have been. Coming out in the mid 1990s, a surprisingly much more open time in American culture, Wong Foo went to number one at the box office. It was a modest hit, but clearly well received by the general public. If this movie was made today, everyone involved would get more death threats than residuals checks. Culture doesn't always move forward, sometimes it backslides.
Magnolia is a controversial pick for Camp Cinema. To me, it is the paradigm of what Susan Sontag called Naive Camp in her 1964 essays Notes on Camp. Magnolia is a manically ambition film with a passionate and serious tone. Paul Thomas Anderson, like Cameron Crowe in Vanilla Sky, strived to reach the artistic heavens, but all he did was take on a tour of the sad and lonely people of the San Fernando Valley. Chris and Natasha offer some good counterpoints to my stance.
We continue our Camp Cinema season in our third episode covering Sugar and Spice (2001)and Vanilla Sky (2002)
Special Guest: Good friend and frequent guest, Molly
The early Aughts was a bizarre time in American culture. The heady surge of the late 90s into Y2K was quicky benzo'd by 9/11 and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Our two selections for the 2000s were written and produced before the big comedown, and they both definitely have a "we can do anything" vibe. Sugar and Spice deftly somersaulted through the byzantine development process at New Line Cinema, who were likely distracted by their massive production of Lord of the Rings trilogy at the time. What could have easily been a teen movie cash-in is a rather spunky, satirical, and fun mess. Does it work? No, but it is sassy enough to not care.
Vanilla Sky is not fun. Here Cameron Crowe's grandiose vision was blinded by his fiery ambition. Coming off his best film, Almost Famous, Crowe decided to tackle a remake of Alejandro Amenábar's 1997 Spanish film Abre Los Ojos. Vanilla Sky does not align with the traditional definition of camp, but it certainly seems to be the bullseye of what Susan Sontag called Naive Camp. It is a film so devoutly serious about something so frivolously stupid.
We continue our Camp Cinema season in our third episode covering Sugar and Spice (2001)and Vanilla Sky (2002)
Special Guest: Good friend and frequent guest, Molly
The early Aughts was a bizarre time in American culture. The heady surge of the late 90s into Y2K was quicky benzo'd by 9/11 and the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq. Our two selections for the 2000s were written and produced before the big comedown, and they both definitely have a "we can do anything" vibe. Sugar and Spice deftly somersaulted through the byzantine development process at New Line Cinema, who were likely distracted by their massive production of Lord of the Rings trilogy at the time. What could have easily been a teen movie cash-in is a rather spunky, satirical, and fun mess. Does it work? No, but it is sassy enough to not care.
Vanilla Sky is not fun. Here Cameron Crowe's grandiose vision was blinded by his fiery ambition. Coming off his best film, Almost Famous, Crowe decided to tackle a remake of Alejandro Amenábar's 1997 Spanish film Abre Los Ojos. Vanilla Sky does not align with the traditional definition of camp, but it certainly seems to be the bullseye of what Susan Sontag called Naive Camp. It is a film so devoutly serious about something so frivolously stupid.
We continue our Camp Cinema season in our second episode covering The Love Witch (2016) and Black Swan (2010)
Special Guest: Filmmakers Emily Gallagher and Austin Elston of Fishtown FIlms
As the dust begins to settle on the 2010s, the topsy turvy decade begins to come into focus. At the start of the decade, Darren Aronofsky released Black Swan (2010) to critical acclaim. I saw it in a packed NYC theater opening weekend. The buzz was palpable. Looking back now, especially post mother! and the rise of peak tv, the trashy and overwrought elements of Black Swan overshadow the great performances and wonderful cinematography, which is why we have selected as our Naive Camp film for this episode.
The Love Witch had a much quieter release in 2016, but it clicked with a small group of film lovers. While filmmaking is mostly a communal art, Anna Biller was so involved with every aspect of The Love Witch that it could only exist because of her. Biller's retro and kitsch style can not obscure the riotous passion for filmmaking and gender theory at the heart of the film. It is so campy that one could argue it is post-camp in that it is both obsessed with artifice and serious at the same time. At the very least, The Love Witch exists mostly in deviance of the ideas presented in Sontag's Notes on Camp.
Welcome to the first episode of Season 13 of Film Trace. In this season, we will explore the notion of Camp in Film. Building off of Susan Sontag's foundational 1964 essay, Notes on Camp, we will explore two films each episode we think demonstrate Sontag's concepts of naive camp and intentional camp.
First off is the financial and critical disaster of Madame Web (2024). We argue this film is a good example of what Sontag would call naive camp: over the top, extravagant, but without much artistic merit. A spectacular failure. The open question with Madame is whether anyone involved thought it should be anything more than a lark inspired by the trashy comic book films of the 1990s.
Countering the cinematic cacophony of Madame Web is the arthouse excess of Pearl. Ti West was given a million dollars by A24 to create a prequel to his 2022 slasher X. The star of that film, Mia Goth, helped write the script and plays the titular Pearl. Boy this one is a doozy. Goth is out there in a place all her own. We think it is a great example of intentional camp: total excess that somehow succeeds in being a good film.
We felt like doing an Oscars show, so we did:
Topics of discussion
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Intro: 2023's Film Trace movies. They stood the test of time, but were they awarded upon release?
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Nominated film most obviously conceived specifically with little gold men in mind?
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Nominated film conceived originally with absolutely no award hopes in mind?
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Nominated director/writer/DP/actor most obviously groomed to one day become an Oscar winner?
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Nominated director/writer/DOP/actor least groomed throughout their career to one day walk to the stage?
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Conclusion: Release the hounds. What 2023 movies do we think will stand the test of time despite receiving zero nominations?
In the eighth and final episode of our Future Wars season, we discuss the sci-fi classic The Day the Earth Stood Still (1951) alongside the b-movie stunner Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956).
Alas we have come to the finale of our Future Wars cycle. It has been a long season with a super-sized eight episode run. Sci-fi is often a real bummer. Most of the movies we covered this season depicted humanity's future as a nightmarish dystopia. Here we trace back the genre to its roots.
The Day the Earth Stood Still established many sci-fi genre conventions while Invasion of the Body Snatchers brilliantly depicted the nebulous unease that took over American domestic life in 1950s. The start of the Cold War did a real number on Americans. The real threat of nuclear annihilation doused the tranquil domesticity of new suburbia in caustic self-doubt and a deep fear of outsiders. But whereas more recent Future War films demonstrated the totalizing destruction of AI, aliens, or ourselves, these films from the 1950s had less fatalistic finales. Perhaps the actual threat of destruction gave them reason to think of an imagined way out.
In the seventh episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss the classic Dr Strangelove (1964) alongside a bizarre artifact from the French New Wave, Alphaville (1965)
Special Guest: Good friend of the show and onscreen performer Harry Brammer, dialing in from Tokyo.
Here we have two masters, Kubrick and Godard, spinning tales of future conflict and war in the mid 1960s. Slipping in their polemics right before the great social upheavals of the decade, these films depict the western world teetering on the edge of breakdown. Kubrick's scolding satire in Strangelove still smolders 60 years later. He depicts the most powerful people in the world, people with the ability to end the human race, as complete and utter buffoons. The accuracy of his portrayal is startling as it has only become more true with time.
Godard's Alphaville is a very different story. Shot for next to nothing in Paris, this ambitious film can't support its own intellectual weight. While some scenes still pop off the screen, it is a trudge to get through despite it merits.
In the sixth episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss the last man on earth romp The Omega Man (1971) as well as the bonkers fever dream that is Zardoz (1974).
Special Guest: Sean Patrick from the great Everyone’s a Critic podcast
The 1970s were a trip. The Omega Man is a zany, over-the-top apocalypse movie that is helmed by maybe the worst possible choice for the role, Charlton Heston. Zardoz is a legendary cult film that makes even less sense now than it did on release. Films about the future mirror their present, and it was crystal clear that the human race was in La La Land in the 1970s. But what could be read as unserious in these movies is more a reflection of our present. We feel locked into a future of degrading democracy, climate, and personal prospects. The absurdity of these films reflects a different time, a time before Reagan, AIDs, and a slowly suffocating planet. Perhaps there is something in the openness and creativity of a film like Zardoz. That maybe, we aren't stuck in an express lane to Cyberpunk 2077, time will tell.
In the fifth episode of our Future Wars cycle, we tackle two giant films from the action sci fi maestro James Cameron: The Terminator (1984) and Aliens (1986).
Special Guest: David Riedel, film critic and co-host of the great Spoilerpiece Theatre podcast.
James Cameron is a master filmmaker. This two film run in the mid 1980s is iconic, legendary, and ground-breaking. When we think of this cycle's theme, Future Wars, we are ultimately thinking of Cameron and his oeuvre. The status of Terminator and Aliens is well-established, but it is interesting to look back at the actual films themselves instead of the cultural miasma surrounding them. Peeking behind the curtain is risky. A film that seemed powerful and important can easily be defrocked by time and an ever-changing collective consciousness. Terminator and Aliens have defied this normal cycle of art criticism. If anything, their power and status has been consistently reified decade and decade since their release. Perhaps if anything, the greatness of these films makes us mourn the loss of Cameron to the technical three ring circus of Avatar. What could have been becomes palpable when imbibing the tech noir vibes of Terminator or sweaty machismo of Aliens.
In the fourth episode of our Future Wars cycle, we explore two late 90s classic, The Matrix (1999) and Starship Trooper (1997).
Special Guest: Evan Crean, film critic and co-host of the great Spoilerpiece Theatre podcast.
Here we have two films with diametrically opposed authorial voices. The Matrix is self-serious, pointelty intellectual, and so cool that it borders on frigid sterility. Starship Troopers is a polemic anti-fascist satire that mirrors Baywatch more than it does Aliens. Nearing its 25th anniversary, The Matrix has been rightfully deemed classic cinema. Starship Troopers,on the other hand, remains on the fringes due to its multiplicitous and duplicitous nature.
Intention seems to hold an enhanced importance in the longevity of a film's reputation. While The Matrix can easily be called pretentious, it hasn't lost its potency over the last two decades. In many ways and despite its middling sequels, The Matrix has risen to a new level of respect in the 21st century. Not for its accuracy in depicting the future, but rather for its ability to capture the dissociating effects of technology on our everyday lives. Starship Troopers has sadly begun to fade. For those of us in on the joke, the political reality we have lived through has lessen the bite of the punchline and satire. It also calls into question the effectiveness of red-nosed satire, lighting up the social commentary in every scene. When Verhoeven is perhaps murkier with intentions like in the reclaimed masterpiece Showgirls, his wit and delightful skewering of America feels heavier and more accurate. In Troopers, the daytime tv look is perhaps too much of a veneer on a devolving society surging towards fascism.
In the third episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss Spielberg's bad guy alien film, War of The Worlds along side the bleak and desolate Cormac McCarthy adaptation, The Road.
Special Guest: Film critic and co-host of Spoilerpiece Theatre and The Slashers, Megan Kearns.
The world doesn't end with a whimper. It ends with loud alien tripods and a nuclear winter. Spielberg had already made two alien films before War of the Worlds, Close Encounters of the Third Kind (1977)and E.T. the Extra-Terrestrial (1982). This was his chance to live out his boyhood dream of blowing stuff up on camera by displaying a not so friendly side of Non-Human Intelligence. War of the Worlds is a marvelous spectacle that most action and sci-fi lovers will enjoy. Spielberg is having so much fun pulverising the world that it is easy to miss the underweight story that ends too abruptly. The Road is not fun. The Road is brutal and awful. The viewer feels like they are staggering alongside the father and son with untread shoes and ripped rags for clothing that flutter in the frigid winds of a wasteland. Cormac McCarthy saw the end times being way worse than we could ever imagine. The film at least captures his unique nightmare even if it misses the deeper meaning within the novel.
In the second episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss with George Miller's gonzo-apocalypto in Mad Max: Fury Road alongside the low budget middle-brow of The Purge.
Special Guest: Tommy Thevenet from the fantastic Haven't Scene It: A Movie Podcast
As we dip a little further into the last decade, our Future War cycle begins to take shape with the genius Mad Max massively outshining the sophomoric drivel of The Purge. Mad Max: Fury Road was stranded in development hell for over a decade. Geo-political upheaval, once in a century flooding, and skeptical studio execs conspired to keep it out of the theaters, but George Miller and his motley crew found a way to make it happen. The film is crazy in the best possible way. Unbelievable visuals and stunt work, a bizzaro grab bag of eccentric characters, and pure adrenaline. It is cinema magic. Geo-political upheaval, once in a century flooding, and skeptical studio execs conspired to keep it out of the theaters, but George Miller and his motley crew found a way to make it happen. The film is crazy in the best possible way. Unbelievable visuals and stunt work, a bizzaro grab bag of eccentric characters, and pure adrenaline. It is cinema magic. The Purge on the other hand was successful only as a concept. The execution leaves so much to be desired. Despite spawning many sequels over the last decade, this Blumhouse thinkpiece has next to no meat on the bones.
In the first episode of our Future Wars cycle, we discuss the new Gareth Edwards sci-fi epic, The Creator, and Denis Villeneuve's recent attempt of adapting Dune onto film.
Our Future Wars cycle is focused on how the conflicts of tomorrow were depicted in the past. Over this 8 episode series, we will review 16 films spanning from the 1950s through today that attempted to predict how mankind might find itself at odds with the world and itself.
The first episode covers the 2020s with The Creator and Dune. Gareth Edwards gained famed after toiling away as a video editor at the BBC with Monsters, a shoestring sci-fi film. Edwards was immediately called up to the majors to helm two blockbuster budgets with Godzilla (2014) and Rogue One (2016). The results were decidedly mixed, and Gareth found himself longing for a simpler way to shoot a big movie. The Creator looks like a very well done 200 million dollar film, but it only cost 80. Technical achievements aside, the story attempts to unravel the very present day conflict of Artificial Intelligence and what role it should play in our lives.
Dune is a great counter film to The Creator as both films tackle a large scale war of tomorrow, but the approaches are diametrically opposed. The world created by Edwards feels warm, lived in, and extremely perilous. Dune, locked into the imagined worlds of Frank Herbert's book, is depicted by Denis Villeneuve as cold, spartan, and fateful. The Creator feels entrapped in the present, and Dune feels entombed by the past.
In the final episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we cover two classics, Cool Hand Luke and Rebel Without a Cause.
We have come to the end of our 1950s cycle, and we are struggling to find a thread that weaves through all of these films. The films we covered all use the 1950s in different ways: set dressing, pastiche base layer, dreamscape, hommage, coming of age background. Each film is a creative outcome of the lived reality of its source decade. Cool Hand Luke feels like a New Hollywood film. It is filled with rebellion and American Existentialism. Rebel Without a Cause, the only film we selected that was made in the 1950s, feels vibrant and raw. Its messiness a sign of authenticity. Perhaps one theme that reoccurred through these films is one of rebellion. Rebellion against some amorphous authority: moral, masculine, or otherwise. Indeed, the 1950s has always been seen as a decade of normalcy and Pax Americana. Each of these films counter examines the assumptions we have collectively made about the years of peace and plenty.
The next season of Film Trace is coming soon: Future Wars.
In the sixth episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we discuss Peter Bogdanovich's coming of age story, The Last Picture Show (1971), along with the Lenny Bruce bio pic, Lenny, directed by theater great Bob Fosse.
Special Guest: Andrea G, co-founder of filmchisme, X: @alifebydreaming
The 1950s has never been known as a gritty decade. We wanted to find films that demonstrated some of the hidden realities of the Eisenhower years. The Last Picture Show and Lenny both muck up the shiny image of Post War America. Bogdanovich's dusty tale of rural Texas shows us that even small town life is filled with contradiction, tragedy, and sorrow. Fosse's portrayal of Lenny Bruce never leaves the gutter. Both are vibrant films that give us an alternative glimpse into a decade too often encased in a plastic cover.
Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.
In the fifth episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we discuss the 1980s hidden gem Desert Hearts and the highly lauded Diner.
Special Guest: Friend and frequent guest, Molly, who led us both to the existential oasis that is Desert Hearts
We often try to choose two films that create a discourse between them, but here I think it is safe to say both films are talking past each other. Desert Hearts was an impossible film that was made through sheer will and determination. Donna Deitch raised 1.5 million to make the film mostly via individual stock sales to investors. Unheard of back then and today. The film itself exudes that deep poetic desire. Diner, on the other hand, feels ramshackle and blase. Despite its high stature amongst film critics, the movie plays like a playboy who has had one too many, slipping and sliding through life as if no consequence could cut the wrong way. These two films are about the same decade, but they are about completely different worlds.
Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.
In the fourth episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we cover the 1990s neo-noir LA Confidential along side the coming of age tale in This Boy's Life.
We dive into two different worlds of the 1950s: the glam and seedy glitz of Los Angeles vs the cold and wet solitude of rural Washington. LA Confidential won high praise upon its release in the fall of 1997. It's stature has not faded much in the 25 years since. This Boy's Life had a muted release Easter weekend of 1993, and it seems to have gone missing since then. While LA Confidential uses the 1950s as a way to doll up the actors and scenery, it's satirical wit is focused mostly on the city itself and less on the time period. LA is notoriously born of bad blood, and the film never lets us forget that. This Boy's Life has much more simple and intimate story of triumph over an overbearing authority. It's matinee sappiness covers up a base coat of 1950s misogyny and patriarchy it attempts to critique.
Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.
In the third episode of our Set in the 1950s cycle, we compare two hommages to the post war decade: Todd Haynes' Far from Heaven and Frank Darabont's The Majestic.
Special guests: Brian Eggert from Deep Focus Reviews, Rotten Tomato Approved and frequent KARE 11 guest film critic
What started out as a random pairing of two 1950s period pieces from the early Aughts became a rather interesting juxtaposition on the potency and fugility of worshiping art from the past. Far From Heaven was born from a love and respect for Douglas Sirk's fifties melodramas, and The Majestic has Frank Darabont donning his best Capra impression. While both films have inherited riches from the past, their contemporary narratives tend to sizzle instead of sparkle. Far From Heaven is beautifully shot and acted with an intricate and immaculate product design. But we wonder if there is anything happening beyond a Sirk lovefest. The Majestic has a prefab Americana store of redemption that is instantly gripping. But while the trim looks polished and proper, the rooms feel empty. Both films demonstrate how hommage can result is both a dissonant feedback loop as well as an illuminating ouroboros.
Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.
In the second episode of our cycle Set in the 1950s, we look at two auteurs who swing for the fences with Terrence Malick's Tree of Life (2011) and Paul Thomas Anderson's The Master (2012).
Special guests and friends of the show Molly and Ryan join us to discuss what happens when Malick and Anderson get the creative freedom and financing to direct the movie they always wanted to make. Tree of Life kicked off a recent prolific period for the ever reclusive Malick. He originally had the idea for Life back in the late 1970s while working on his masterful Days of Heaven. Then he disappeared for twenty years. Similarly, Anderson had been ruminating on the root idea behind The Master for many years before he was able to finally make it happen.
Both directors go all in, and the final results vary widely depending on the viewer's willingness to go along with them.
Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.
In the first episode of our new cycle Set in the 1950s, we take a look at Wes Anderson's new film, Asteroid City (2023).
Both Chris and I are devout Wes Anderson fans, and covering Asteroid City was really the impetus for this cycle's theme. As we have traversed this cycle, we are seeing how the 1950s setting can be used in a variety of ways with varying degrees of historical richness. Wes, quite predictably, uses the Eisenhower years as mostly set dressing for his story of grief and isolation out in the red desert. Of course the film looks gorgeous and is filled to the brim with exquisite detail, but the film does deviate significantly from the typical Anderson film. Here the meta impulse is greatly indulged with a play running intertwined within the main narrative. The film has become quite divisive even amongst Wes Anderson aficionados.
A great counterpoint to Asteroid City is Steven Spielberg's autobiographical The Fabelmans (2022). Both works are about directors turning the lens inwards. Whereas Anderson deconstructs his own style and voice into a kaleidoscope of detail and paratexts, Spielberg lends his own story a hyperrealism he often evoked in his most classic work. Both films are honest reflections.
Note: This podcast was recorded and produced during the 2023 WGA and SAG-AFTRA strike. Without the labor of writers and actors currently on strike, Asteroid City and The Fabelmans would not exist. Support the artists who make the art you love.
The sixth and finale film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Richard Brooks' true crime magnum opus, In Cold Blood (1967).
Often overlooked by the infamy of its origin source, In Cold Blood enormous value as a film: the beautiful and stark cinematography of Conrad Hall (who went on to shoot Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid and Road to Perdition), the unsettling and rapturous performances of leads Robert Blake and Scott Wilson, the surgical plotting and execution of Richard Brooks. It sits snugly inbetween the post-war studio system and the auteur anarchism of the 1970s. Despite these creative high marks, In Cold Blood could be a thesis statement for this cycle: exploitation and true life film are inseparable. The moral weight of retelling this grisly murder of a family by two drifters is too much for the film, even with its progressive anti-death penalty ideology. But we find interest and discourse in the cracks and fissures of great art. Perfection in film would be a negation of the medium.
For our chaser film, we trace the lineage of true crime back to Compulsion (1959), a mess of a film that is salvaged by wonderful performances from Orson Welles, Diane Varsi, Dean Stockwell, and the truly creepy Bradford Dillman.
The fifth film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Sidney Lumet's provocative bank heister, Dog Day Afternoon (1975).
Special Guest: Good friend of the show and dedicated film nerd, Riley.
Dog Day Afternoon is certainly a film you hear about before you ever see it. The film has had a stellar reputation since its release in the mid 1970s. It is considered one of Sidney Lumet's most important and best films. As we approach the film's 50th anniversary, we reappraised both what is on the screen and what happened in real life, not all of which is easy to reconcile with the aura of prestige surrounding the film. As we explore about how true life overlaps with fiction, Dog Day Afternoon becomes hornet's nest of contradiction, exploitation, and high art craftsmanship. Featuring stellar performances from Al Pacino and John Cazale, we face the question that always arises when great stories are told about terrible people: can we separate art from reality?
For our chaser film, we reclaim a lost 70s classic, Straight Time. Dripping in 70s malaise and alienation, Dustin Hoffman plays a man on the edge of all things prudent.
The fourth film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is David Cronenberg's deep trip twin thriller, Dead Ringers (1988).
Special Guest: Rob from the awesome Smoke & Mirrors Podcast
David Cronenberg was evicted from his home after his early film, Shivers, sent shockwaves through the Toronto intelligentsia. Cronenberg has always been an outsider with a deft ability to contort himself into the good graces of the monied class over his now fifty year career. Dead Ringers is one of his most grounded works but it is also one of his most confounding. The film closely follows the journalistic essays written about the life and death of twins Stewart and Cyril Marcus. As Cronenberg himself said, “The art of The Fly was to make the fantasy absolutely real, whereas the challenge here was to make the realistic seem fantastic.” But by the end, even Jeremy Irons' spectacular performance can't quite conjure the truth that lies between the tragedy of these twin brothers.
For our chaser film, we dissect Wes Craven's ballsy attempt to adapt a notorious account of real life zombies in Haiti, The Serpent and the Rainbow (1988).
The third film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Terry Gilliam's visual extravaganza, Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas (1998).
Special Guest: The crew from There Are Too Many Movies podcast - Chris Collins, Josh Rodriguez, and Alex Wilshin.
Hunter S. Thompson was the paradigm of Stranger Than Fiction journalism. He helped create the entire genre of creative nonfiction by telling the world what he saw we his own two eyes instead of assuming some fake omniscient third person perspective, also known as "reporting." Terry Gilliam saddled up with Johnny Depp and Benicio del Toro to bravely attempt an adaptation of Thompson's classic work of gonzo. It fails spectacularly, but the film is absolutely a high mark in visual experimentation. Not for nothing, Gilliam captures altered perception in a way never done before or since. It's too bad the film mostly misses the moral and political polemics underneath the book's narcotic blatherings.
For our chaser film, we travel to the fourth dimensions with Peter Jackson's wonderfully macabre Heavenly Creatures (1994).
The second film in our Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Nicolas Winding Refn's left field take on bio pics, 2008's Bronson.
Special Guest: Katey Stoetzel is co-founder and TV Editor for InBetweenDrafts. She hosts the “House of the Dragon After Show” podcast and can be read on various other places like Inverse and Screen Speck.
Refn's conspicuous filmmaking style lends itself well to the crazy and violent life of Charles Bronson aka Britain's "most violent prisoner." Shot as a performance art piece rather than a narrative film, Bronson was certainly a calling card for both Refn and the magnificent lead performance of Tom Hardy. Looking back on the film some fifteen years later, the boldness feels oversaturated and worn, like an overly compressed mp3. It blasts loud, but the dynamic range is so blown out that little emotional timbre is left. Especially troubling is the tightrope Refn chooses to snap in two instead of traverse. Refn claims he is making a movie about man he knows nothing about. Charles Bronson is a real person who did very awful things to real people. Refn gives us a barometer with which to measure the level of exploitation that true life films can conjure. Here lies the bottom.
For our chaser film, we lounge with Tom Hanks and Steven Spielberg in 2004's The Terminal, a comfy mid-aughts dramedy filled with max schmaltz and min edge.
The first film in our new Stranger Than Fiction cycle is Elizabeth Bank's gonzo misfire, Cocaine Bear (2023).
Elizabeth Banks is an almost household name who likes to stay busy as an actor, producer, film director, and now gameshow host. While prolific, the quality of her output has been uneven. Her 2019 film Charlie's Angels spectacularly bombed, and Banks, always the press whisperer, jumped on the grenade and blamed sexism. Here she returns to the director's chair for a loosely true concept about a bear who eats a lot of cocaine. Clearly a joke by people who are too well connected to truly fail, Cocaine Bear is tonal salmagundi: black comedy, creature feature, coming of age, postmodern pastiche. None of it really lands beyond the basic concept of bear being turnt up on coke. Considering the large production budget and the talented people involved, the final result is an embarrassment.
For our chaser film, we discuss The Bling Ring, Sofia Coppola's blasé docudrama of young thieves obsessed with celebrity consumption. Despite its glassy surface, Coppola suggests a deeper abyss lies below.
The sixth and final film in our Risqué Romance cycle is Luca Guadagnino's meatlovers romance, Bones and All (2022).
Coming off his break out art-house hit Call Me by Your Name (2017) and his wonderfully bizarre remake of Suspiria (2018), Luca Guadagnino rejoined with white hot Timothée Chalamet to adapt this young adult novel about the ills of eating human flesh. The book, a vegan polemic, is translated here by Luca with his normal grace, poise, and naturalism. Joining Chalamet is the splendid performance of Taylor Russell as the two young lovers crisscross the eastern half of the US. Also strangely a 1980s period piece, Bones and All becomes a gumbo of genre, style, and tone. It doesn't really work, but there is a joy in the experience of trying to make sense of it all. Mark Rylance shows up to piss off Chris and for me to fall in love again.
For our chaser film, we reconnect with Her (2013), a techno-romance that captured the thirty something zeitgeist of the late Obama years as we became soulmates with our iPhones.
We decided to do an end of the year show for 2022. Life has been hectic so we haven't been able to post on our normal schedule, and we have a longer break coming up before Season 10 of Film Trace kicks off. So we decided to do a one-off show to give the people what they want: Drama!
Chris and Dan present the top five behind the scenes dramas in film for 2022. The goal of our show is to tell the listener the story of how a film came to be. Sometimes everything goes right, and we get Top Gun: Maverick. Sometimes it doesn't go right and we get Morbius. The successes are fun to talk about but the abject failures are truly delicious.
Join us as we trace the lives of five films that face planted in 2022.
The fifth film in our Risqué Romance cycle is Ang Lee's western romance, Brokeback Mountain (2005)
Special Guest: Amanda Jane Stern - writer, actor, and producer from New York City. She wrote, produced, and starred in the new erotic thriller Perfectly Good Moment, soon to be playing at a film festival near you!
When Brokeback came out in the mid-Aughts, it was supported by effuse buzz and whispered homophonic jokes. This was not unlike the release of The Crying Game in the early 90s. Both films were from smaller studios and gained traction due to their misperceived salaciousness. Looking back on Brokeback, the film's reputation is bizarre and totally ill-fitting. The film is a quiet and slow mediation on how love blossoms quickly but then withers for decades only to constantly reemerge through turned soil, like a perennial bud. Its loss to Crash at the 2006 Oscars for Best Picture feels more and more criminal with every passing year. Brokeback Mountain is one of Ang Lee's enduring masterpieces alongside Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon.
For our chaser film, we reexamine the 2002 film Secretary, which felt like a slight curiosity on release but plays totally differently now. Very much a hidden gem.
The fourth film in our Risqué Romance cycle is Lana and Lily Wachowski's debut film, Bound (1996).
Like the Wachowskis' more successful and canonical sophomore effort, The Matrix, Bound both works wonderfully on its own as a playful lesbian-centered noir and as a challenge to the WWII-era subgenre, as well as modern crime films writ large, to reconsider and deconstruct masculinity and femininity alike. Essentially a chamber drama with Hong Kong action-inspired flair, its lead performances from the still-underrated Jennifer Tilly and Gina Gershon leap off the screen with ferocity while also retaining a delicate sense of intimacy. The supporting cast, including reliable Wachowski mainstay Joe Pantoliano and a magnetically maniacal turn from Christopher Meloni, fleshes out the film's ahead-of-its-time graphic novel pulp sensibility too. The whole affair comes off as not just risqué but downright revolutionary.
For our chaser film, we discuss the trashy erotic thriller Poison Ivy (1992). Directed by exploitation master Roger Corman protégé Katt Shea and largely a footnote of the decade's offerings, its queer undertones and Lolita riffing merit discussion, not to mention the fact that it somehow spawned three direct-to-video sequels.
Dan is off this episode, but joining Chris in his absence is the insightful and talented freelance film writer and frequent Little White Lies contributor Lillian Crawford.
The third film in our Risqué Romance cycle is the small yet delightful, Valley Girl (1983).
Valley Girl, the paradigm of an indie film, transcended its own means of production to become an oddly dismissed 80s mall romcom. As one reviewer aptly stated, the influence of Valley Girl was so massive that it's hard to watch it without feeling a sense of deja vu. Helmed by Martha Coolidge, who went on to direct the classic Real Genius and to become the president of the DGA, Valley Girl features Nicolas Cage in his breakout lead role. Coolidge placated the indie studio's grindhouse expectations while at the same time deftly producing one of the more authentic 1980s romance films.
For our chaser film, we explore My Beautiful Laundrette (1985), a homosexual love story that plays down any risque notions. Written by a playwright, this gem of Britain's Channel 4 glows brightly despite its three decades of age.
The second film in our Risqué Romance cycle is Terrence Malick's debut film, Badlands (1973)
Loosely based on the real-life murdering spree committed by Charles Starkweather and Caril Ann Fugate in the late 1950s, Badlands quickly steers clear of true crime tropes and traditional story structure. While Terrence Malick is at his least idiosyncratic here, the vibe and flow of the film are resolutely unique and unexpected. Perhaps the strange pacing and narrative focus should have been expected from a Hollywood outsider who nearly got his Ph.D. studying the existential philosophy of Martin Heidegger. The fully colored lens through which Malick displays the violent journey of Kit and Holly (Martin Sheen and Sissy Spacek) has not been drained of its vibrancy despite being fifty years old. The film shows how fame can easily dislocate the guttural horror of violence, a sophisticated message that has only strengthened over the decades.
For our chaser film, we discuss the twee-influence of Harold and Maude (1971). The gender roles are reversed in this March-December romance, and we debate how this alteration affects the whimsy that props up this pitch-black comedy.
The first film in our Risqué Romance cycle is Stanley Kubrick's infamous Lolita (1962).
We start out this new season by tiptoeing through the minefield that is Lolita, a notorious film adaptation of the even more notorious novel by Vladimir Nabokov. It is hard to fathom that housewives and bankers were reading Lolita on the subway in the 1950s, but that is how popular this novel was during the Eisenhower years. This classic unfilmable novel is bizarrely translated by Kubrick, which greatly aggravates the problematic nature of the story. Chris and I debate whether we could even call this a romance film.
For our chaser film, we discuss an often-overlooked kitchen sink drama from England, A Taste of Honey (1961). Where Lolita stumbles all over the place trying to say something profound, Honey says it with the smallest of glances and touches.
The sixth and final film in our Absurdist Action cycle is Seijun Suzuki's masterpiece, Branded to Kill (1967) When we decided to do Absurdist Action as the theme of this cycle, we both struggled to find a starting point. Over-the-top action movies were the lingua franca of 1980s American cinema, and we had dozens of Reagan-era films to choose from as an origin. But as we tried to trace the theme back further, things became quite murky: Kung Fu, James Bond, Micheal Cimino, heist movies, cop movies, military shoot 'em ups. Chris wisely choose this yakuza B movie as our starting point, and it rings incredibly true to the theme. The undercurrent that connects Bullet Train to Bad Boys to 48 Hrs can be seen clearly in Seijun Suzuki's surrealist gonzo hitman film. Branded to Kill was shot in 25 days and edited in the three days before it was released. It was a factory film. The studio hated it and fired Suzuki. It was mostly unseen outside of Japan until the late 1990s when it was released on home video. Branded To Kill is a fever dream that runs solely on poetic logic. It is definitely absurd, and intoxicatingly provocative. Explicit sex, epic violence, and free verse plotting make this the missing link of Absurdist Action films. For our chaser film, we beat back the current of modern cinema to explore Beat the Devil (1953), a lark from John Huston and Truman Capote that became kitsch for the coastal elite set.
The fifth film in our Absurdist Action cycle is Michael Cimino's wonderful debut, Thunderbolt and Lightfoot. Special Guest: Daniel Malone from the great ‘You Talkin’ to Me?’ film podcast Michael Cimino will forever be a mystery. He seemingly appeared out of nowhere with Thunderbolt and Lightfoot in 1974 after winning favor with Clint Eastwood by punching up the script for his Dirty Harry flick Magnum Force. Cimino followed up his debut with The Deer Hunter (1978), arguably a masterpiece. He then came crashing down with the infamous Heaven's Gate (1980), arguably another masterpiece that was saddled with a supernova budget and an anathematic critical response. Within a single decade of working in Hollywood, Michael Cimino became a notorious and beguiling legend. Thunderbolt is a finely chiseled yet indecipherable clue to the persistent enigma of Cimino. Here the men are resolutely stoic yet desperate for connection, the landscape is brutal but intoxicatingly gorgeous, and America is both wide open and falling apart at the seams. For our chaser film, we scope out The Hot Rock (1972), an ensemble heist movie that juggles folly, irony, and low stakes.
The fourth film in our Absurdist Action cycle is Walter Hill's buddy cop paradigm, 48 Hours. Special Guest: Ryan Hendricks, friend of the show and Hollyweird insider The buddy cop movie would not exist without 48 Hours. Ironically, the buddies involved aren't both cops. Third pick Eddie Murphy has his breakout role here playing a convict put on temporary release for forty-eight hours to help track down a cop killer. Nick Nolte is a grizzled detective tasked with wrangling Murphy as they criss-cross a sleazy 1980s San Francisco. Time perhaps has not been kind to 48 Hours. The incessant side quest of Murphy looking for "trim" and the blatant racism highlight the inescapable and ignominious realities of late 20th century America. For our chaser film, we go the distance with Midnight Run (1988), an oddly underappreciated showcase for Charles Grodin and a stoic De Niro.
The third film in our Absurdist Action cycle is Michael Bay's debut, the paradigm of absurd action movies, Bad Boys. Special Guest: Harry Mackin from the fantastic Trylove Podcast. Bayhem has its own origin story. Shot with a small budget and jerry-rigged script, Michael Bay exploded into the multiplex with this longshot buddy cop movie. Originally meant as a vehicle for SNL all-rounders, Dana Carvey and Jon Lovitz, Bad Boys was saved by the snappy and kinetic duo of Martin Lawerence and Will Smith. Michael Bay planted his flag in modern cinema here with a brute-force style. He may have single-handily reduced the average shot length of action movies to below three seconds. For our chaser film, we shift to Hong Kong for The Legend of Drunken Master aka Drunken Master II (1994). Harry helps us with our kung-fu history, and we reminisce about the lost art of physical fight scenes.
The second film in our Absurdist Action cycle is Edgar Wright's iconic action comedy, Hot Fuzz. If Edgar Wright is an auteur, then Hot Fuzz could easily be his calling card. This hyper-rewatchable UK export plays dual roles as both a great action movie as well as a meticulous satire of action movies past. Here we get textbook Wright: ping pong dialogue, spastic quick cuts, bite-size montages, brilliant soundtracking, joke per cut quotas, and indigenous English humour. It is the high point of the Cornetto Trilogy and perhaps is rivaled only by Scott Pilgrim as Wright's best film. For our chaser film, we visit In Bruges (2008) to decipher the allegory within the pitch black lilt of Martin McDonagh's Irish comedy.
A New Cycle Begins! The first film in our Absurdist Action cycle is the rock 'em sock 'em 2022 release, Bullet Train. The action comedy is a delicate balance. Too much comedy and the stakes feel too low. Too little and the tone becomes muddled. Bullet Train attempts to walk this fine line and stumbles into an abyss of tedium right from the start. Brad Pitt is a loosey-goosey hitman who is tasked with finding a briefcase amongst other assassins aboard a high-speed train in Japan. Former stuntman, David Leitch, takes the helm and the results are decidedly mixed. While some sequences sparkle with visual pizzazz and charm, much of the incessant bombast falls flat and the final result is a drowsy affair. For our chaser film, we revisit the highly successful 21 Jump Street (2012), the early 2010s Lord and Miller requel calling card.
The sixth and last film in our Existential Thriller cycle is Alfred Hitchcock's farewell to London, the macabre and dissociated Frenzy. Upon release, Frenzy was widely seen as a return to form for Hitchcock, but it has developed a rather odd reputation since its release fifty years ago. This gritty serial killer romp through Covent Garden has been cited as a forerunner to the bleaker side of thrillers we have seen in spades over the last three decades. But as we unpeel the layers, a more insidious ideology quickly becomes apparent. The misogyny is deafening, and the dim view of humanity soaks deeper than cynicism. Hitchcock was an angry man near the end of his life, and Frenzy is his rage-filled swan song. For our chaser film, we survey Wait Until Dark (1967), a pulpy psychological thriller starring Audrey Hepburn with a career-best performance from a young Alan Arkin.
The fifth film in our Existential Thriller cycle is William Friedkin's grim and precise Sorcerer (1977). Released in the shadow of Star Wars and Friedkin's own masterpiece, The Exorcist, this bizarre down-and-out adventure film was a total financial failure. Critics didn't much like it either. But time has a funny way of shuffling the deck, and Sorcerer has found itself with a lucky draw. Film critics, nerds, and aficionados have reclaimed Sorcerer as a lost masterpiece. But some at Film Trace are skeptical. Is the Letterboxd set being hyperbolic or was Friedkin's fatalistic road trip movie really a high mark of the auteur golden age? For our chaser film, we transverse the wobbly Deathtrap (1982) and try to plot its bewildering narrative convulsions. Special Guest: The Mikes from Forgotten Cinema, a podcast for forgotten films that deserve a second chance.
The fourth film in our Existential Thriller cycle is Neil Jordan's infamous 1992 political enigma, The Crying Game (1992). A film's notoriety can easily mute or distort what is actually on the screen. The Crying Game is an interesting and rich movie that was unfortunately overwhelmed by its own infamy. The film's US distributor, Miramax, decided to start a sly whisper campaign to create controversy surrounding a plot twist in the film. The hush-hush angle worked wonders and the film became a smash hit in America. The popularity of the film along with Miramax's carnival barker campaign masked Neil Jordan's layered and fiery script as well as the immense and historic performance of Jaye Davidson. The film deserves a deep reconsideration outside the cultural confines of the atavistic early 90s. For our chaser film, we untangle the narrative tendrils of David Mamet's oft-passed-by House of Games (1987). Special Guest: Natasha Alvar, film editor at Cultured Vultures and Rotten-Tomato Approved film critic.
The third film in our new Existential Thrillers cycle is David Fincher's Norcal mindbender, The Game (1997) David Fincher is one the most powerful and popular auteurs working in film and tv today. We revisit what has strangely and wrongly become one of his minor works. Fincher teamed up with Micheal Douglas in the pre-Fight Club days to concoct this highly entertaining yet perplexing thriller. The audience is effectively thrust into the chaos unfolding around the protagonist as his palatial life begins to crumble. By the end, it feels like you have been on a theme park ride, or rather, you have been taken for a ride. The much scoffed-at ending perfectly fits the kaleidoscopic tone of the proceeding ninety minutes. This is genre work gone mad. For our chaser film, we regrettably reexamine Christopher Nolan's Insomnia (2002). What an absolute trudge of a film. Thankfully our broteur whisperer, Molly, helps us decipher this broodfest. Special Guests: Great friend of the show Molly is back!
The second film in our new Existential Thrillers cycle is Tony Gilroy's aughtie classic, Michael Clayton (2007). On paper, Michael Clayton probably seems like a taut legal thriller played to the middle-aged set, a John Grisham movie with the latest A-Listers. Tony Gilroy chose a much different path by crafting a cerebral thriller infused with corporate nihilism and existential longing. Clooney plays Clayton as a formerly charming bagman who stayed too long at the party. He is stranded and saddled with financial debt, vertiginous self-doubt, and severe moral failing. Clayton is living in what Jean-Paul Sartre would call bad faith. He must face the immediate danger all around him while also breaking free from his calcified moral will. A seemingly small film greatly amplified by Gilroy's impeccable craftsmanship and brilliant performances from Tilda Swinton, Tom Wilkinson, and George Clooney. For our chaser film, we grapple with The Hunt (2012), a Danish film detailing how hearsay can become an avalanche that can bury anyone's life. Created before cancel culture was a thing, The Hunt offers a rather intense refutation of how groups pass judgment. Special Guests: Tommy Thevenet & Tim Sestito from the great Haven't Scene It: A Movie Podcast
The first film in our new Existential Thrillers cycle is Alex Garland's bizarre and bold Men (2022). Alex Garland has quietly made himself into one of the more exciting filmmakers of the A24 set. The former novelist turned screenwriter turned auteur exploded onto the arthouse scene with his first film Ex Machina (2014). The success of that film led to his major studio debut Annihilation (2018). The spectacular failure of that film led him back to the indie world where we find him with Men. What starts out as a woman-alone thriller transforms into a formalist nightmare, for all parties involved. Garland shoots for the stars, but where does he actually land? For our chaser film, we pursue Yorgos Lanthimos' The Killing of a Sacred Deer (2017). While less conspicuous than our main film, Deer has deep and twisted roots that slowly reveal themselves in this glacial thriller.
The sixth and final film in our Self-Aware Horror cycle is the landmark exploitation film, The Last House on the Left (1972).
Made off the proceeds of a successful pornographic film, this genuinely gonzo horror film sparked the careers of two kings of horror, Wes Craven and Friday the 13th creator, Sean Cunningham. On the surface, this rape-revenge exploitation film plays it straight: shock, rape, murder, revenge. But beneath the schlock is an avant-garde rip current that is essentially a middle finger to American Exceptionalism, a canary in the coalmine for a desiccated and fraying empire. This is a bizarre juxtaposition that never really settles right in your stomach. What is depicted vs what you feel seems separated by a grand canyon of satire, which is why we chose this as our final film in our Self-Aware Horror series.
For our chaser film, we try to decipher The Fearless Vampire Killers (1967). It is a lark, a common parody, or is there something more going on in Roman Polanski's first major studio film. The year after Vampire came out, modern horror began with The Night of Living Dead. We try to decide whether Vampire Killers was a harbinger or an anachronism.
The fifth film in our Self-Aware Horror cycle is 1982's mashup of George Romero and Stephen King, Creepshow.
Creepshow is an anthology horror film created as an hommage to the trashbin mid-century comic series, EC Comics. Romero and King grew up with EC Comics and its twisted tales of the macabre. Here the comic's ghastly ethos is distilled into five different segments starring big names of the time: Hal Holbrook, Adrienne Barbeau, Ted Danson, Leslie Nielson, and Stephen King himself. The film's particular mixture of gore, faux-naif satire, and moral comeuppance feels quite out of place today, a little Molotov mocktail aimed at the classic bogeyman of 1950's social conformity.
Special Guest: Max from the lively and fun Galaxy Of Film podcast.
For our chaser film, we face the music with House (1977). This bizzaro historical curio works the exact opposite of Creepshow. House feels like it could have been made yesterday: absurdist surrealism horror of a hipster vein. One suspects the t-shirts inspired by the film are more popular and seen than the film itself.
The fourth film in our Self-Aware Horror cycle is 1992's gonzo horror splatterfest Dead Alive aka Braindead
Dead Alive is a shocking film for a variety of reasons, but perhaps most astonishing is that it came from the same man who helped create the most recognized and beloved films of the last 20 years. Peter Jackson became famous for the Lord of the Rings and Hobbit film series. They exist alongside the Star Wars and MCU films as some of the most popular global cinema ever made. But Jackson started out where most young aspiring filmmakers do, in the free-for-all low-budget haven of horror. It was there that Jackson developed as a great filmmaker. Dead Alive was his first masterpiece, a zombie comedy masquerading as a bizarre period piece that devoured all notions of good taste with its insatiable appetite for blood, guts, and pus. Beautifully deranged.
Special Guest: Brian Eggert, RT approved film critic of Deep Focus Review
For our chaser film, we had no other choice than Evil Dead 2 (1987). Two of the best horror comedies ever made, back to back. We talk at length about how comedy and horror overlap, and how they work together to tickle and titillate a piquing audience.
The third film in our Self-Aware Horror cycle is 2002's zombie renaissance 28 Days Later
28 Days Later reanimated the zombie subgenre of horror, which had been left for dead and maligned where it always had been. Yes, technically speaking, the infected in the film are not zombies. But they might as well be. Zack Snyder's Dawn of the Dead remake came a couple of years later in 2004 and helped pushed the zombie genre fully into the mainstream where it stayed for the next 18 years. The highly popular tv series, The Walking Dead, is finally ending this year after twelve years on the air and two spin-off series with more to come. Zombies don't die.
While director Danny Boyle and writer Alex Garland have attempted to play down the zombie connection, 28 Days Later plays like an intricate and explosive hommage to George Romero's original Dead trilogy. Shot entirely on early digital video recorders, the film maintains a late 90s early 2000s look that is post analog but Pre HD. Even less appealing than the film's digital graininess is its cynical depiction of humanity as the last vestiges of the civilized world fall away. It is a nightmare that feels all too true and relevant to today's world.
Special Guest: Good friend of the show, Riley, who is our resident Wes Craven scholar.
For our chaser film, we have chosen 1997's Scream 2, the slasher thrill ride that came out less than a year after the original. Craven and Williamson are back here with the mainline cast and a tight story that somehow doesn't tarnish the first film. Often cited as one of the best horror sequels, Scream 2 is now 25 years old, so perhaps it is time to question its lauded status?
The second film in our Self-Aware Horror cycle is the 2012 postmodern bonanza The Cabin in the Woods. What happens when the Post-Scream style of ironic horror goes past the event horizon? The infamous Joss Whedon teamed up with Drew Goddard to create this send-up of the horror genre. The Cabin in the Woods is in many ways the paradigm of self-aware horror. It doesn't really work unless you are a horror fan and you can easily translate the winks and homage. Unlike the straight parody of Scary Movie, The Cabin in the Woods tries to move the genre past the shadow of the Scream 90s and reboot 2000s, but we are unsure of its success. Special Guest, Evan Crean from Spoilerpiece Theatre, helps ups dissect this endpoint of horror film. Or was it really just the beginning of a new era? All three of us grapple with Whedon's sullied legacy, and how the artist behind the story can deeply color our interpretation of the messages both intended and unintended. For our chaser film, we have chosen 2007's Teeth, a mostly forgotten indie horror comedy that bites down hard on the vagina dentata myth. Written and directed by famous artist Roy Lichtenstein's son Mitchell Lichtenstein, this small film did get a lot of praise and hype back when it was premiered. It won the Special Jury Prize at Sundance in 2007, but it sadly sat on the shelf for a year and was released DOA in Jan 2008.
We are back! We are doing something different this season of Film Trace. Instead of covering new and old films at random, we are choosing a theme for each group of episodes. Our first theme is Self-Aware Horror.
First up in our Self-Aware Horror cycle is Scream 5 aka Scream 2022. We are both huge Scream fans, so we felt like we had to do a deep dive on this requel. I hate that term, and we discuss why in this episode. What does it mean to make a love letter film? Are requels progressive or regressive? The Scream series has been surprisingly strong when compared to other horror series, but where can it go on the 5th film, coming out 26 years after the original. The surviving gang is all back with some fresh blood as leads, but it all feels like a theme park version of the original. It looks and sounds the same, but it just feels different, off even.
Also new this season, we are doing a 2nd film at the end of the episode as a chaser. In this episode, we wash down the requel swill with the peppy and perky slasher romp, Happy Death Day (2017).
A Wes Anderson double-header to close out Season 5 of Film Trace. Chris and I return to our roots as teenage film nerds. Wes Anderson was our first love as budding cinephiles, and despite the tumultuous last 20 years (Darjeeling anyone), we still get a jolt of excitement with every new Anderson film. The French Dispatch is Anderson's first portmanteau film, and the results are whimsically mixed as expected. We also cover one of Wes's best films, The Royal Tenenbaums as it hits the 20-year mark. The snowglobe world of Royal has aged incredibly well. It is a rich literary yarn woven of the finest pure cinema fibre, dyed millennial pink of course.
Joining us for the Season 5 Finale is Harry from the Trylove podcast, an awesome podcast dedicated to the wonderful The Trylon Cinema in Minneapolis.
At the height of Jim Carrey's fame in the mid 1990s, this bizarre pitch-black comedy was released as a summer blockbuster. The Cable Guy is a historical and creative anomaly, especially for millenials old enough to have seen it in the theater. For the last twenty-five years, we have all been trying to piece together and understand the strange feelings this movie put inside of us. The genre here is a white-out blend of gross-out buddy comedy, media satire, and exrotic thriller. The Cable Guy is truly the ideal film for Film Trace. It is so full of contradictions, oscliating successes and failures, that we can't help but try to make sense of this absurd attempt by the Frat Pack to parody The Hand That Rocks the Cradle. In what world could this possibly make sense besides our own?
Special Guest: Great podcasters and friends of the show, Brigitte and Mark
As the box office finally begins to be resuscitated, albeit largely with the help of the comic book movie crowd, straight-to-streaming films now seem to either cater to cinematic schlock addicts or art film dorks, and the latest from the IFC Midnight imprint, We Need to Do Something, falls in a strange but intriguing gray area between the two. The first feature narrative from director (and known indie producer) Sean King O'Grady, scripted and based on a novella by up-and-comer Max Booth III, the bottle episode-style story of a dysfunctional family stuck in a bathroom after a mysterious storm is as fun as it is disturbing.
But, as the saying goes, perhaps there were script problems from day one. Whether it be characters that seem to serve no other function than a vehicle for body horror or plot contrivances that distract more than they entertain, how does a small project like this with an uncompromising and borderline disgusting vision (arguably to a fault) wind up available to everyone with a Hulu subscription? And where does it go from here besides the annals of scary movie obscurity?
Let's get bummed. Back in 2006, the USA was deep in the 2nd term of George Bush II, aka the idiot king, and his 2nd Iraq war was raging. As a leftist, it felt like a total nightmare, but Alfonso Cuarón heard our cries. His Children of Men, a bleak dystopian manifesto, landed mostly with a thud when it was carelessly released on Christmas Day in 2006. A stellar cast helmed by Clive Owen and gorgeous cinematography via Emmanuel Lubzeki couldn't save this holiday humbug from financial failure. Accordingly, Children of Men instantly became a cult film among the Letterboxd set. Academics, film nerds, and art house scenesters all raved about the one-shots, the world-building, and the nihilism that mirrored their own. But how has that effuse praise aged after the Great Recession, Trump, and Covid. Has Cuarón's bleak vision been blurred by unstoppable climate change, social anarchy, and the new rise of fascism or has it merely been burned into our collective lens?
Special Guest: Friend of podcast and Hollywood Insider, Ryan, joins us to discuss this sad boy opus.
Is nostalgia poison? It felt nearly impossible to avoid cynicism while watching this new Home Alone film, the 6th film in the series unceremoniously shipped off to Disney Plus. The critical response has been contemptuous. The audience reaction has been mutinous. But we can't help but wonder, how would a movie like this actually succeed with critics and audiences? Corporate reboots and fanboyism are not as diametrically opposed as we have been led to believe. Home Sweet Home Alone is a cash-in, but what film isn't? Most wide-release films are made by billion dollar companies. They are products meant to turn a profit. Yet the bellicose reaction to Home Sweet Home Alone suggests a willful naivete amongst critics and viewers. Fanboys doth protest too much?
Put on your finest linen sports coat and/or effortless flowy sundress. Pack a handkerchief as well. This week we tackle the moistest noir seared onto film, 1981's Body Heat. We take exotic thrillers for granted now, but before Fatal Attraction and Basic Instinct, we had Body Heat, a steamy take on the classic noir Double Indemnity. Palm Beach Florida and its fictionalized incessant humidity take center stage alongside William Hurt and Kathleen Turner in a voyeuristic exploration of how our sex and death drives often intermingle. Sparks fly between Hurt and Turner while a motley crew of supporting players, a tap-dancing Ted Danson and frenzied Mickey Rourke, shuffle around a paint-by-numbers plot that nonetheless simmers until finally reaching a boil in the finale.
Joining us this week is erotic thriller expert and great friend of the show, Molly.
When Paranormal Activity came out in 2007, old school ads showing actual audience members jumping in their seats in night-vision green theaters gave the whole thing a real gimmick feel. The Blair Witch Project wasn't the first found footage movie ever made, but it was by far the best (still is) when it came out in 1999. Paranormal Activity felt a little johnny-come-lately, but the masses didn't care. They ate it up for years. Jason Blum, the horror maestro, kept greenlighting 5 million budget sequels and getting 100 million back. Would you stop? So we find ourselves 14 years later with the Paranormal series now at seven films, a little horror version of the MCU.
Paranormal Activity: Next of Kin is not really found footage and it's not really a Paranormal Activity movie, but it does have Amish devil worshipers. It has more in common with Blair Witch (documentary film team explores rural America) than the other PA films. But instead of embracing that gonzo style, it aims more for a polished pov adventure. It feels a little like an old Sega VR game but just in HD. This low art mishmash of genre and technique should not work at all. But one of us thinks there is still some gold in the barren mines of the Paranormal Activity franchise. Listen to find out who is the Gus Chiggins.
Juno landed like an atom bomb. Diablo Cody's zeitgeist script mixed with the chemistry of Elliot Page and Micheal Cera became a cultural phenomenon in the winter of 2007-8. Millennial hipsters and their boomer parents, along with everyone in between, flocked to see this little slice of plucky Midwestern smarm. Cody's script won an Oscar, and Juno was nominated for Best Picture.
Diablo Cody was supernova, but this began to fade as her follow-up Jennifer's Body stumbled at the box office in 2009. Here we have her 3rd script and 2nd film with Reitman, 2011's Young Adult starring the motley crew of Charlize Theron, Patton Oswalt, and Patrick Wilson. The film is almost unclassifiable: black comedy or doomed romance or domestic horror. Cody's dark script with Reitman's lowkey direction creates an uncanny valley between pity and empathy. Young Adult is Diablo Cody's very personal nightmare about what might have been, and we attempt to psychoanalyze her distraught fever dream.
Where did it all go wrong? The Halloween films have been an uneven mess since John Carpenter forsook his creation back in the 1980s. Much like the Nightmare on Elm Street series, nothing quite touches the original. Halloween Kills is the 2nd film in the newest Halloween trilogy (its 3rd reboot no less), which will culminate in the finale Halloween Ends next year. All the right elements are in place here: Curtis is back, horror maestro Jason Blum is producing, Carpenter and son are making music, indie journeyman David Gordan Greene is at the helm with Danny McBride scribing.
The first film was a huge hit and the 2nd best performing slasher film ever at the box office. Why then is this sequel such a god-awful mess? Almost everything goes wrong in this textbook case of sequelitis. Completely forgetting the strong emotional narrative of the first film, Halloween Kills lists from zany to brooding until it capsizes in a preachy mob violence scene. The only joy to be had from this shipwreck of a film is figuring out what caused the disaster by piecing together its creative debris.
Dust off that clear plastic case to find a BASF video on the inside with the handwritten title "Toy Soldiers" on the spine. It is hard to trace the cult status of the 1991 teenage action flick Toy Soldiers, but it might have something to do with young women bootlegging the movie during free HBO weekends. Or perhaps, it is so hokey and anchored to the awkward cultural transition from the 1980s to 90s that it acts as a living time capsule to our misremembered youth. Tiger Beat meets Commando sounds great on paper: young studs for the ladies and gory violence for the maladapted boys. But it plays out more like a deranged afterschool tv special where the hero gets mp5'd and the lesson is that breaking rules is the only way to battle international terrorism. A direct line to Guantomo Bay no doubt.
Joining us this week is first-time watcher and great friend Brigitte from the awesome Screen Time: A Quarantine Podcast. Without nostalgia clouding her judgement, what is the verdict: gonzo cult classic or vapid 90s trash?
The pandemic film has mostly become a term of derision. Filmmakers rushed to stay busy as the entire industry shut down, and we were subject to claustrophobic diary vomit (Malcolm & Marie) and pretentious claptrap (Songbird). Even the good pandemic films, like Host, felt underwhelming. On paper, Ride the Eagle reads like a bored creative's first draft of lil indie film: Nick from New Girl, a dead mother, a dog, a literal quest for redemption. But it plays out as a small labor of love shot in 10 days with a highly riffed script written between two friends. It manages to avoid the pitfalls of both indie films and pandemic films. It feels small but not light, sad but not maudlin, joyful but not manic. It moves forward like a hiker in the woods: determined yet indolent.
Join us as we trace the life of the best pandemic film out there, Ride the Eagle
In October 2001, only a month after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, a bizarro coming-of-age film was dumped in 58 theaters to die. Donnie Darko's trailer prominently featured a plane engine falling from the sky into a suburban bedroom, crushing an empty bed. It was terrible timing, but it is hard to say if Donnie Darko would have ever done well at the box office. It is one of the strangest films released in the early Aughts. Donnie Darko is an intoxicating mixture of nerdy genres, 80s vibes, and wing nut ideas that has become a touchstone for older millennials (us). Adding to the cult mythology of Darko, Richard Kelly has all but disappeared from filmmaking after being unable to live in the shadow of his own masterpiece. We try to unravel the mystery of how a small indie film became a cultural icon and how it continues to mystify younger generations.
Special Guest: Great friend Molly joins us to discuss this canonical film of our young adulthood. We relive the first time and revisit how Donnie Darko has never let us go.
Join us as we trace the life of the Donnie Darko from conception (white boy blues) to production (speed shoot by a greenhorn) to release (Chris Nolan begging studio execs) to reception (DOA but DVD late bloomer)
Great art can often seem to appear out of nowhere. It can also be hidden in genre and forms that don't always carry the clout of prestige. A trilogy of straight-to-streaming slasher films is not exactly where a film scholar would go to find depth or richness. Yet, the farther we dug into the Fear Street trilogy, the more we tended to find. The experimental release strategy of three feature films being released over three weeks on Netflix doesn't sound that radical. But the final results created a sweet spot between the boldness of film and the strong narrative skeleton of television. Leigh Janiak has created something special with the Fear Street trilogy, and we hope what she accomplished isn't lost in the daily dump of new streaming content.
Join us as we trace the life of the Fear Street trilogy from conception (Fox News exec wants an MCU for horror) to production (shot back to back over 6 months) to release (theatrical scuttled for Netflix 3 weeks rollout) to reception (critically praised, widely watched, but will it be remembered?)
Did we just cancel John Landis? Of course not, how could we! It's the 40th anniversary of his groundbreaking horror classic, An American Werewolf in London. We celebrate the great: Rick Baker's astonishing practical effects, Griffin Dunne's career-defining performance as a slowly decaying best friend, and Landis's ability to balance and blend extreme gore with witty humor. We also look at what has not aged so well over the last four decades: the stilted dialogue nicked from a porn set, the empty fantasy that Jenny Agutter plays, and the brick wall ending that is more a whimper than a howl. At the end of the day, An American Werewolf in London is a definitive film, worthy of study and scorn alike.
Special Guests: Chris, Josh, and Alex from the hilarious and fun There Are Too Many Movies podcasts.
Join us as we trace the life of An American Werewolf in London from conception (the sophomoric mind of a 20-year-old Landis) to production (loosey-goosey - see the Twilight Zone deaths) to release (a big hit for the newly minted Polygram Pictures) to reception (part of the horror film cannon)
What are we to do with Steven Soderbergh? His prolific cinematic output is matched only by his recalcitrant refusal to stay in a single lane, style, or medium. Maybe we should rethink the term auteur as Soderbergh defines and transcends the term at the same time. His work has no signature other than you feel his presence in every shot and cut. With No Sudden Move, Soderbergh dives back into the heist genre, but this time leaning into the hard-boiled noir vibe of the 1950s and excising any sense of playfulness and joy. The irony is gone here, and this will make you love or hate the film depending on your predilections. A wonderful cast and production design are filtered through vintage lenses and a script by the guy behind Men in Black and the Bill and Ted series. It's pretty odd, but ultimately the film feels at home in the Soderverse.
Join us as we trace the life of No Sudden Move from conception (A Don Cheadle vehicle) to production (strict covid precautions) to release (straight to SVOD) to reception (film nerds yes, everyone else snoozes)
I'm with Cancer. That was the original name of this cancer comedy that somehow got produced in the early 2010s. Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Seth Rogen pilot this wobbly feature towards a miraculous smooth landing. It is a genre paella where you can pick out the best bits and scrape off the rest: still funny boorish chauvinist improv humor from Rogen, Levitt staring into the middle distance, Bryce Dallas Howard trying to outact her shrew character, a hilarious support group of character actors with cancer, Anjelica Huston outshining the entire cast with a single glance. Ultimately, this black comedy is a tight rope walk that actually makes it from end to end without doubling over into the narrative abyss. That feat alone is worth the watch.
Special Guest: Blaine Andrews from the very cool Critically Aroused podcast, where they watch movies cold to avoid getting skewed by the critics. Really fun listen!
Join us as we trace the life of 50/50 from conception (nothing sells like a cancer memoir) to production (rehearsed improv) to release (break-even at worst) to reception (a low key highly adored film)
James Wan just wanted to make a fun haunted house movie when he accidentally launched a 2 billion dollar cinematic universe with The Conjuring in the summer of 2013. Wan is a modern horror master. Saw, Insidious, and the entire Conjuring Cinematic Universe are all his spawn. His creative spark has begotten us 8 CCU films in less than 8 years. Here we have the 3rd mainline Conjuring film starring the pillars of the CCU, Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga as the real-life paranormal investigators, Ed and Lorraine Warren. What has the CCU accomplished and where does it go from here? How has its factory model of filmmaking suppressed or supported creativity within the horror genre?
Join us as we trace the life of The Conjuring: The Devil Made Me Do It from conception (a very real murder blamed on the devil) to production (Wan passing baton to Chaves) to release (covid pushed to day and date release) to reception (give the people what they want)
One Fine Day is a time machine back to the 1990s Rom-Com boom. It was a simpler time: you got ink on your hands while reading the newspaper, people talked into large grey bricks called cell phones, and all women, regardless of age or relationship status, were supposed to flirt aggressively with George Clooney. We dive deep into the inner workings of romantic comedies with our special guest, Michelle Hsu from the great Rom Com Weekly podcast. We try to figure out why romantic comedies have disappeared from the movie theater over the last decade but have proliferated on Netflix. Are those halcyon days of the 90s behind us?
Join us as we trace the life of One Fine Day from conception (written by a couple of nobodies) to production (40 different NYC locations) to release (DOA holiday movie, a week after Jerry Maguire) to reception (Millenials getting nostalgic)
Welcome back Snyder? The last five years have been a rollercoaster for Zach Snyder. Batman vs Superman imploded within days of opening in 2016. The next year Snyder left Justice League due to a family tragedy, and the Frankenstein'd cut of that film almost killed the DCEU when it was released in 2017. Then Snyder went dark. In the meantime, the Snyder fan army rose up to defend his DC abominations and Warner Bros needed to prop up HBO Max. Enter the infamous Snyder cut of Justice League, which seemed to reverse Snyder's fall. But hold on, here we have a two and half hour sophomoric heist romp through a zombie-infested Las Vegas. Does Snyder still make the cut?
Join us as we trace the life of Army of the Dead from conception (failed Dawn of Dead followup) to production (ebay vintage broken lenses) to release (Netflix shiny object) to reception (widely watched, narrowly loved)
Shane Black was the wunderkind and whipping boy of screenwriting in the 1980s and 90s. His instant massive influence was only surpassed by his sudden fated fall. The scriptwriting maestro ran for the hills when his fame and wealth became a target-rich environment for snippy critics and jealous peers. His guardian angel, producer Joel Silver, let Shane direct his script Kiss Kiss Bang Bang in 2005, and this helped the stars align for 2016's The Nice Guys, a slick nostalgic noir featuring the comedy duo Russell Crowe and Ryan Gosling. None of this works on paper, but on the screen it shines bright and helped bring Shane Black back into the good graces of the backstabbing Hollywood elites.
Special Guest: Gary Horne from the fantastic Cinema Shock Podcast
Join us as we trace the life of The Nice Guys from conception (modern-day detective tv show for CBS) to production (Crowe going method as fat man) to release (snoozy summer release) to reception (muted in theaters, elevated on home video)
The domestic thriller makes a futile and flaccid comeback with this Casey Affleck helmed stalker gawker. In what amounts to a really expensive Lifetime movie, Every Breath You Take is a paint-by-numbers melodrama that forgot how to count. Chris tries to find some faint glimmer of a silver lining in this borefest, and Dan spends most of the episode beating it like a pinata to see what pretentious claptrap pours out. This episode of Film Trace is at least five times as riveting as the movie.
Join us as we trace the life of Every Breath You Take from conception (a script by the Third Man) to production (filmed in a West Elm catalog) to release (acquired a month before release) to reception (crash and burn)
We take the deep trip with Darren Aronofsky on his grief tour of conquistadors, neuroscience, and bubble spaceships. The Fountain is crazy. What started out as a 100 million Warner Bros production, got downsized to a 35 million love letter to Rachel Weisz after Brad Pitt walked away from the production only weeks before shooting. Aronofsky refused to give up on his time-hopping quest for eternal life. The Fountain is what happens when an all-star, who just hits two home runs, gets cocky, millions of more dollars, and enough hubris to sink a battleship. It is a glorious mess.
Special Guest: Ryan Hendricks, a movie industry veteran, long time friend, and film aficionado
Join us as we trace the life of The Fountain from conception (Brad Pitt cold feet) to production (budget cut by 60%) to release (C- Cinemascore) to reception (pseudo cult hit)
The Russo Brothers set fire to their MCU millions with a bombastic and experimental drug drama starring Spiderman himself, Tom Holland. Based on a gonzo novel, Cherry is a deep trip to the dystopia of Cleveland, Ohio. Holland gladly grins his way through this strung-out odyssey of suburban malaise and mania. Love leads to heartbreak to Iraq to heroin to bank robbery to prison. The Russo brothers shove the plot through a kaleidoscope of tone and out pops a shattered confection of mental illness and drug addiction.
Join us as we trace the life of Cherry from conception (autofiction NY Times bestseller) to production (budget cut from 100 million to 40 million) to release (the final pandemic release?) to reception (critical pariah)
Before Nolan became a film bro deity, he made a little neo-noir film about a guy who can't remember anything. Well, as Nolan would say, it's a lot more complicated than that. Memento is a milestone for many reasons. It kickstarted Nolan's career. It is one of the best noir films made outside the golden age. Memento was also a huge triumph for indie filmmaking. Shot for under 5 million and produced for under 10 million in total by a complete nobody, Memento sat next to Fight Club in every 20-something male's dvd collection.
Our resident Nolan critic, Molly, joins us to dissect a film that hit us hard as young adults. But does it still pack the same punch?
Join us as we trace the life of Memento from conception (road trip storytime) to production (The Valley in Cinescope) to release (minor success) to reception (critical hit becomes frat hall cult film)
Getaway to never never land with two 40-something Middle America chatty uppers called Barb and Star. Their final destination is the sunny and surreal Vista Del Mar somewhere on the gulf coast of Florida. We haven't seen an absurdist comedy like this in many moons with only a faint lineage traced to Hot Rod (2007) and a smidge of Austin Powers (1997). Otherwise, this movie is an exercise and experiment in a decades-long inside joke between two improv stars: Kristen Wiig and Annie Mumolo. Toss in documentary filmmaker Josh Greenbaum and you get this bizarre beach romp.
Join us as we trace the life of Barb and Star Go to Vista Del Mar from conception (Bridesmaids outtakes) to production (heatstroke Caribbean) to release (PVOD or bust) and reception (instant cult hit).
Mann is born. James Caan cruises through the black mirror of Chicago's rain-soaked streets in Micheal Mann's masterful film debut, Thief. This 1980s neo-noir is a rote one-more-caper film at its root, but its eccentric flourishes grow into bountiful and rich foliage: the ethereal soundtrack from Tangerine Dream, the searing ambition of Caan, and the corrupted spine of Chicago itself. Way behind the genre films of the time, Thief remains a riveting, ambitious, and wonderful film.
Special Guest: Mike Field of the fantastic Forgotten Cinema podcast.
Join us as we trace the life of Thief from conception (Mann cold selling) to production (18 hour days stalking Chicago) to release (muted and forgotten) and reception (Letterboxd catnip).
Take a walk on the trite side with this 1990s LA Boir period-piece new to HBO Max, The Little Things. This bromidic concoction comes from the Hollywood journeyman John Lee Hancock who is responsible for The Blind Side and more recently the Netflix AARP hit The Highwaymen. Denzel Washington plays the haunted lead detective opposite Rami Maleck and walking freakshow Jared Leto plays the heavy in this inconspicuous crime thriller. How did a script written in 1993 with Steven Spielberg attached end up getting dumped to a streaming service in 2021? Listen and find out!
Join us as we trace the life of The Little Things from conception (script hot potato) to production (Denzel has nothing better to do) to release (hanging up on Warner Bros) and reception (no one loves it but most people watch it).
Plumbing the depths of our virile past, we uncover the distinct and indecipherable artifact of Swingers, a 90s hipster flick that Gen X refuses to disavow. Before Youtube and TikTok, the aimless youth took to indie filmmaking to express their angst, opinion, and sociopathy. Using discarded film and refuse from his own life, Jon Favreau joined forces with Doug Liman and Vince Vaughn to spawn this down and out EL Lay hangout movie that mysteriously led to a swing music revival. The past ain't dead, but it certainly doesn't age well.
Joining us this week to dissect this 1996 bromedy are repeat guests Mark and Brigitte from the Screen Time: A Quarantine Podcast
Join us as we trace the life of Swingers from conception (Dad got you Final Draft) to production (what's a release form?) to release (only LA people got it) and reception (massive home video hit).
We start Season 3 with the opening salvo of Promising Young Woman, a genre confection spiked with razors that rides the line between pitch-black comedy, exploitation rape-revenge, and 90s romcom. Carey Mulligan plays a down and out con artist who reaps revenge on date rapists and anyone associated with a life-altering crime that took her best friend. A saccharine sheen is mixed with catastrophic trauma, and the die feels cast in the opening scenes of slurred pink and runny red.
Join us as we trace the life of Promising Young Woman from conception (opening scene spark) to production (shoestring shoot) to release (film twitter hype) and reception (loved by many, hated by few).
Merry Christmas from Finland! Chris shares this wonderful little gem from the great north and the land of Soviet crushers. Rare Exports is clearly a labor of love, and it became Finland's first breakthrough film export, ironically. It started as two very gonzo film shorts made in the early to mid-2000s and culminated in one of the most bizarre and enjoyable holiday films of the 21st century. Santa is a massive monster, and his elves are Crazies. It's fun, weird, perfectly paced, and full of holiday terror. Highly recommended.
Join us as we trace the life of Rare Exports: A Christmas Tale from conception (admen got bored) to production (filmed on location in Santa's backyard) to release (International cult hit) and reception (aged very well, new holiday classic).
Have you ever felt like a stranger inside of your own head? Brandon Cronenberg takes you on a dissociative bender in his second feature, Possessor. This cyber noir freak show is just as unsettling as the work of Brandon's father, the body horror king himself, David Cronenberg. A mind-jumping hitwoman is sent by the nebulous company to take out soft targets for big dollars. Both disgusting and riveting, Possessor is elevated horror that may leave you nauseous and ponderous or perhaps sick and bored.
Join us as we trace the life of Possessor from conception (philosophy 101 mad libs) to production (7 damn years) to release (Sundance darling) and reception (a split-brain response).
Get out your MAGA hat (made in China) and your Bernie 2016 organic cotton t-shirt (made in Vietnam), it's time for everyone's favorite middlebrow polemic, V For Vendetta (2005). Chris decides to punish Dan and himself in the process by revisiting our mid-20s and this sloppy attempt to adapt Alan Moore's pretty awesome graphic novel about a coming dystopia. Spoiler alert: Dystopia is already here, but instead of Norsefire and Fingermen, we have Alexa, Covid, and the Republican party. Dan rants while Chris sighs as we breakdown why a 3rd stringer was brought into direct Lilly and Lana Wachoskowi's vision for Anarchy in the UK. But it is a beloved film, and we would be remiss to not add an extra level of condescension to aggravate the masses.
Join us as we trace the life of V for Vendetta (2005) from conception (turning wine into swill) to production (who needs locations when you have a soundstage) to release (perfect timing) and reception (an average person's idea of a thinking man's movie).
Let the Werewolf renaissance begin! Chris and Dan discuss the new "indie" horror film The Wolf of Snow Hollow from the director-writer-star, Jim Cummings. Wolf is a gumbo of tones and a buffet of horror tropes served piping hot. It is a fun movie, especially for horror nerds who enjoy their gore with a wink. More than anything, this film creates a unique and layered cinematic world without wasting anyone's time (sub 90 minute run time). That is quite a feat. This has been a long season of some pretty bad and mediocre movies, but we finally found a movie we both love.
Join us as we trace the life of The Wolf of Snow Hollow (2020) from conception (what if Zodiac was a comedy) to production (guerilla filmmaking in Utah) to release (a pandemic treat) and reception (critics love, audiences like, we praise).
Ian Mungall of the great CineSiblingsPod joins us to discuss the turn of the century maladapted-male classic, High Fidelity (2000). John Cusack plays a thirty-something music nerd who can't seem to find the right rhythm in his love life. Based on the once-beloved now belittled novel of the same name, High Fidelity is a pristine time capsule of how Gen X men translated their suppressed emotions through obsessions about how other people, mostly dead, expressed their emotions. Is the MCU fanboy a newer version of the 1990s vinyl snob? Listen and found out as three white males discuss a sacred text of casual chauvinism.
Join us as we trace the life of High Fidelity (2000) from conception (I wonder what men think?) to production (Chicago is cheaper to film than London) to release (I don't see a lot of money here) and reception (loved in its time but grown stale with age).
Special guest, good friend Molly, joins us for a deep dive into Aaron Sorkin's attempt at storming the bastille, The Trial of the Chicago 7 (or 8 or 10 depending on who you ask). In 2006, Steven Spielberg tapped Sorkin to write this courtroom thriller about a pivotal moment in American history, a 1969 political show trial Nixon concocted to take out the leaders of the anti-war movement. Sorkin finished the script in a year, but the movie went through development purgatory for a decade before the money men could see a profit with the upcoming last election in America ever. The cast is wonderful. The script is vintage Sorkin. The pieces are all there, but do they fit together?
Join us as we trace the life of The Trial of the Chicago 7 from conception (Sorkin's historical amnesia ) to production (creating a painting, not a photo) to release (a 24-hour bidding war between the streaming giants) and reception (beloved by all except the deeply cynical and the British).
Chris and Dan along with special guest Evan from the great Spoilerpiece Theatre podcast discuss the finer points of 90s elevated schlock, Species. What starts out as a high concept alien invasion film quickly devolves into a dutch angle thriller with a syfy channel finale. Natasha Henstridge gets her infamous start flanked by a motley crew of thespians: Micheal Madsen, Marg Helgenberger, and Forest Whitaker. Ben Kingsley leads this ragtag team of alien hunters searching LA for a female model who wants to procreate in a plot that could have only be concocted by a frustrated middle-age man.
Join us as we trace the life of Species from conception (8 rewrites of the script) to production (HR Giger sending hate faxes) to release (good enough for 3 sequels) and reception (genrework as its best defense).
The Sandlerverse births another low-brow Netflix comedy that plays for background noise rather than laughs. Adam Sandler may be the most powerful person in comedy filmmaking, but he uses his clout to make this soft-serve swill that appeals to the indolent and ignorant alike. Hubie features an amazing array of SNL cutouts, bored and possibly broke celebrities, and newcomers who have wandered into Sandler's web. We traverse the Sandlerverse to discover the event horizon between art and commerce, a place where Grown Ups 2 plays on repeat for eternity.
Join us as we trace the life of Hubie Halloween from conception (Sander's posse needed cash) to production (Salem's first film since Hocus Pocus) to release (Netflix Triple-A) and reception (universally disliked but not hated).
Guests Mark and Brigitte from the Screen Time: A Quarantine Podcast join us for the second episode of season two where we dive into reclusive genius Micheal Cimino's bizarro attempt at a house invasion remake, Desperate Hours (1990). A year before Mickey Rourke temporarily dropped out of acting to become a pro boxer, he played the charismatic gang leader Micheal Bosworth in this genre film gone ham. The all-star cast mostly sits idly in the stands as Cimino and Rourke try to hit dingers in every scene. Little British man Anthony Hopkins plays a Vietnam vet grunt. Supposed femme fatale Kelly Lynch is a brilliant yet also hysterical victim. Elias Koteas and David Morse are both bit-part jesters making the most of it. It's not great, but it's a lot of fun.
Join us as we trace the life of Desperate Hours from conception (a true story sensationalized) to production (randomly Utah) to release (DOA) and reception (the penultimate film of Micheal Cimino).
Season 2 is here! Dan and Chris along with special guest Molly dissect the latest Oscar-bait offering from Netflix, The Devil All the Time. With a cast stacked like flapjacks and a plot overflowing the brim, this Antonio Campos film is satiating and gluttonous. The story follows non-American actors playing poor Americans who lead desperate lives in the American South or Midwest or maybe Appalachia (it is not very clear). Despite the implicit pretentiousness, the acting is superb and the cinematography is gorgeous. But what does it all add up to?
Find out as we trace the life of The Devil All the Time from conception (guy reads a book) to production (celebrities in rural Alabama) to release (Netflix awards chum) and reception (Number 1 in USA)
Join us as we trace the life of The Devil All the Time...
Dan Gilroy's anti-capitalist polemic is one of the most beautiful and horrific films of the 2010s. Jake Gyllenhaal masterfully plays Lou, a lone wolf who stalks human tragedy in the headlight glow of LA nights. His relentless drive for action, money, and success leaves us both nauseous and enthralled. Mostly ignored by the masses upon release, Nightcrawler has had many second lives being spread through online forums via the praise of young men. A true cult classic.
We trace the life of Nightcrawler from conception (the antihero wins) to production (location scouting at 3am) to release (a TIFF success that didn't take) and reception (Critical raves, B- CinemaScore)
Join us as we trace the life of Nightcrawler...
David Ayer returns to his old haunts in this 30 million dollar low-rent crime film about the LA gangland. The violence is constant and grotesque. The emotional melody is either mute or cacophonous. Shia LaBeouf, tightrope walking a role as a gringo hitman called Creeper, tattooed his entire chest for a 2-minute grainy scene where he is relentlessly tortured. This film is a prime example of how the forces of commerce can overpower even the most resolute artistic impulse.
We trace the life of The Tax Collector from conception (it all began in a dojo), production (the cast rehearsed for over 2 months), release (VOD hit), reception (0% Top Critic Rotten Tomato score)
Join us as we trace the life of The Tax Collector...
Robert Pattinson broods his way through Pre-9/11 New York City in this yappy genre gumbo: One part Nicholas Sparks, Two Parts 2005's Stay, Three Parts masturbatory memoir. It is less a movie and more a ride. The story arc is built by fiddlestix as young love blooms in the shadow of the twin towers. The ending makes it one of the worst movies of the 2010s.
We trace the life of Remember Me from conception (they started with the ending!), production (Pattinson needed security to take a piss), release (Tiger Beats saved it), reception (rage against the screen)
Join us as we trace the life of Remember Me...
Dave Franco attempts to escape his brother's shadow by commissioning a mumblecore horror flick called The Rental. Teaming with the mumbleking himself, Joe Swanberg, the two try to walk the impossible tight rope between arthouse and consumer swill. It is a horror genre piece that shreds conventions without putting them back together. It is a passion project where artistic desire mingles with old Hollywood chutzpah. A film with many identities, none very knowable.
We trace the life of The Rental from conception (AirBNB Nightmares), production (finding the spooky house), release (a pandemic bounce), reception (showing promise or a first misstep)
Join us as we trace the life of The Rental...
A dream team creates a stoner comedy to cap off the golden age of improv. Odd man out David Gordan Greene helms the ship as Seth Rogen, James Franco, and a motley ensemble of character actors "yes and" their way through suburban EL Lay. It is the definitive weed movie of the 2000s.
We trace the life of Pineapple Express from conception (Apatow's "weed action movie"), production (Greene refused to use the script on set), release (dog days with 3.7x multiplier), reception (cult classic or an afterthought?)
Join us as we trace the life of Pineapple Express...
Kelly Reichardt's subversive western about two men and a prized cow. A novel is deftly cut down here to a seemingly small film with a massive message: capitalism, masculinity, and manifest destiny.
We trace the life of this newly released film from conception (why a cow?), production (an indie period piece), release (skipping Venice after being explicitly invited), reception (critical rapture, but will it play outside the West Village?)
Just us as we trace the life of First Cow...
A lost film from the dynamic duo of crazy man Nic Cage and blockbuster director Gore Verbinski. A rich man's failed attempt at remaking Sideways. In place of a wine metaphor for aging gracefully, we have Cage getting faced by a Big Gulp as a "life crisis." It's literally in your face.
We trace the life of this bizarre mid-Aughts artifact from conception (a 6 digit bidding war for the script) to production (Cage job shadowing a Chicago weatherman) to release (shuffled for a delusional Oscar campaign) to reception (a D+ CinemaScore).
In our journey, we uncover the difference between an authentic indie pinot noir versus a studio system brown-bag merlot.
Listen to found out as we film trace The Weather Man (now showing on Hulu)
We are back with a new episode on Eurovision blah blah blah. The title is dumb, but is the movie? Yes, of course, but is it an enjoyable lark? We trace the life of this absurd film from conception (Will Ferrell said it took 20 years to make) to production to release and reception.
We chat a lot about Netflix's house style for their original content and how comedy has quickly fallen out of grace at the box office. Can Eurovision reignite the golden years of the mid-2000s when improv comedy took over the multiplex?
Listen to found out as we film trace Eurovision Song Contest: The Story of Fire Saga
Film Trace is a new podcast where we trace the life of a film from conception to production all the way to release and reception.
This week's episode is The Darkness, newly released on Netflix.
We cover how horror film upstarts George McLean and Jason Blum joined forces to bring us one of the most mediocre horror films of the last decade. The micro-budget film starring Kevin Bacon and Radha Mitchell attempts to build on the haunted house tradition of Paranormal Activity and The Conjuring. Instead, we get a mushy melodrama with the edge of the blunted knife.
Join us for the perilous journey into The Darkness.
Film Trace is a new podcast where we trace the life of film from conception to production all the way to release and reception.
This week's episode is Da 5 Bloods, Spike Lee's new film for Netflix.
We cover how the film was conceived from a script scribed by no other than the writers of The Rocketeer. Oliver Stone was originally attached but dropped out. Step in Spike Lee who brings along an amazing cast and crew. Filmed in Vietnam and the jungles of Thailand. The film has already received rapturous approval from critics and currently sits at the number 1 spot on Netlfix.
Join us for the journey of Da 5 Bloods