Showing posts with label Chained. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Chained. Show all posts

Wednesday, August 8, 2012

Fantasia Day 19 (Monday, August 6)


So, as previously recounted, I was in a bit of a dither as to how I was going to handle my interview with Jennifer Lynch considering I didn’t really care for Chained (which had had its world premiere the night before). Luckily, there was another film featuring the director screening at Fantasia this year, Penny Vozniak’s documentary Despite the Gods, detailing Lynch’s misadventures directing the Bollywood fantasy flick Hisss about India’s legendary snake goddess wreaking havoc.

Via a Vimeo screener, I was privy to a behind-the-scenes glance at Lynch who comes off as an earthy, occasionally coarse but essentially decent director, mother and human being, attempting to navigate the culture class and the mayhem inherent to helming any feature. In observing the “real” person, it became much easier to want to relate to (rather than confront) my subject and I figured if need be I could talk more about her India experiences than her recent endeavor.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

CHAINED (2012) movie review


Chained (2012) (1st viewing) d. Lynch, Jennifer (USA)

One shouldn’t even attempt to view this tale of a taxi driving serial killer (Vincent D’Onofrio, looking primed to reprise his Private Pyle character for Full Metal Jacket II: More Jelly Donuts) who “adopts” the nine-year-old son of his latest victim through a realistic lens. Instead, engage it as a twisted, sinister fairy tale, one that exists in an alternate storybook universe where bad men do bad things, children exist in peril, years flash by as needed, and events occur simply because that’s how the story goes. (To do otherwise proves an exercise in frustration and exhaustion at the amount of disbelief suspension required.)

D’Onofrio’s hulking, mumbling menace is a puzzling construct; one wonders how this lisping, inarticulate, intellectually-emotionally-socially stunted creature has eluded capture for decades. (The venerable actor renders a lived-in performance, to be sure, but one that always feels like a performance.) Likewise, our young abductee’s (played by Evan Bird and Eamon Farren at different stages) character never changes, remaining quietly, defiantly human in the face of inhumanity. Considering how much screen time Lynch gives to flashback sequences of emotional and sexual childhood abuse to justify his captor’s madness, one wonders why “Rabbit,” as he is renamed by D’Onofrio, resists a similar path so clearly laid out for him to follow.

But then again, we wonder about a lot of logistical things as the weeks, months and years drift by – a final climactic twist the biggest head-slapper of all – and I wish that the fairy tale approach had been made clear from the outset.

Just whisper “Once upon a time…” during the opening credits. You’ll thank me later.

Fantasia – Day 18 (Sunday, August 5)


Throughout the past weeks, people have asked me how the hell I’ve been writing so much and watching so many movies. The answer is a simple one: I watch the movies because, hey, that’s what I’m here to do, and I write as much as I do because if I don’t get it down on virtual paper now, it’s going to slide away into oblivion. Case in point: due to a migraine creeping up my hindbrain on Sunday night, I didn’t get around to recording the day’s events until now (Tuesday morning) and even though it was only two days ago, it feels like I’m looking back through an immense fog of sights, sounds and memories. THIS is why I’ve been writing every day. Hell, I look back at the entries from Fantasia’s first week and I think to myself, “Wow, that’s right, that happened.” It’s been a surreal experience unlike any I’ve had before, the closest of which would have been BIFFF, a mere four months ago (an adventure that similarly feels like a million years gone by and that I’m glad I recorded in as much detail as I did).

Anyway, setting the stage for what might be a little fuzzier collection of recollections…

Sunday? Sunday. Right.