Max Cohen has a long list of mental-problems, psycho somatic, hyper-obsessiveness, severe headaches because he allegedly stared at the sun when he was young; too many to continue naming. Max is played by a taut-faced Sean Gullette to great, authentic effect. Similar to ‘Peeping Tom’, this movie has little interaction outside of Max and his mind’s manifestations.
Max wants to break the secrets of Pi and predict the stock market; he is obsessive, hallucinatory, and has very little friends, besides a seizure-stricken retired Mathematician. The man discusses during casual father-son like meetings, that approaching Math with conviction and desire for a conclusion will get to you floating towards a dead end. Indeed, the man gets the seizures from being overly-attentive to his studies, depicted in the film like a drug.
The movie is shot in black-and-white and features some powerful moments of panic. It is has some irrefutable similarities to Aronofsky’s later work ‘Requiem for a Dream’ like the sharp close-up to the cupped pill flying into the needy mouth of its target. But this is meager, it’s his own work and he has the the right to draw from it.
The movie is a stark representation of intellectual-obsession and how it can madden ones soul, albeit it
doesn’t help to be slightly mad already. The voice-over callback to ‘When I was young I stared at the sun’ is partly a signal to the audience of his troubled existence, and also his Dysfunctional Defiance Syndrome, hence wanting to crack the stock-market because he is repeatedly told he cannot.
The film is a stark, nightmarish auteur-attempt and fits the black-and-white bill as good as any modern film can. The end scene fades, like the final scenes of Scorsese’s ‘Taxi Driver’, with a gloom of ambiguous prosperity and heaven, a long needed escape from needing so erratically to know.
Carrie is another Stephen King adaption that is above par, thanks to psychologically tense directing from Brian DePalma, and Sissy Spacek’s tender performance as the subjected teenage girl. Carrie’s mother is a radical religious type who indoctrinates Carrie with vows of righteousness and conduct: She is devoid of all understanding of what happens to a teenager and instead has to focus on what teenagers ought not do; her lack of a normal life causes her to be ridiculed and made fun of by the girls at school, and even the one’s who defend her do it behind her back and in small groups; In the end, she has no reason to spare anyone. Carrie has special, supernatural powers of telekinesis and pyromania. What could these girls do to her to cause her to express the full capability of her powers?
The most intriguing thing I think about, that is never shown, is the mothers reaction to murder: Out of hate of boys and lack of prayer, what terrible quotes could be expressed by her about murder? Or was her life the same as her daughters? I feel the high-school depiction is more nuanced in that era, and the Protestant existence of the mother more accepted and common in her time. But if she doesn’t condemn murder, why do we see the girls who stand up for Carrie? Essentialy, is there any point besides gentle optimism when we are shown these scenes? The ugliness is so the director can over-compose the reaction and conclusion, and it is; the movie is a stylistic treat, a classic that is appreciated even by non-horror fans, and a brooding look at innocence and evil, a common theme that lives in the world of horror movies; The Exorcist being one, and probably the most pivotal.
The film takes domestic and teenage problems and turns them into a study of dynamics. When we see Carrie getting a date for prom, it is a moment of a hesitant yet great joy, and we hope what she achieves through it is a must-needed sense of rebellion with her mother, which she shows as she sticks up for her right to go to the dance in the first place; but, as the conclusion comes into realization, we have a gut feeling of the emotional wreckage and consequence that will be inescapable: The gym-coach who feels sorrow for Carrie, the boy who seemed to be taking Carrie to the prom with good means, all thrown into nothingness with one outrageous prank, and at the peak of her happiness. An intelligent, kinetic film with much needed doll-like quality from Sissy Spacek that will surely endure as a classic.
Runtime: 1h 54m
‘The Last Man on Earth’ is a methodical study of the titular character, and it is done slow and with increasing intensity throughout. The role seems a bit unfitting for the unsympathetic, rather snide face of Vincent Price, but he does his best regardless, scurrying around like a character in the twilight zone.
There are two main conflicts involved in the film: The first is Dr. Robert Morgans’ (Vincent Price) battle with his will to live and the second his physically exhaustive battle of remaining alive, which entails barricading windows and setting up snares for the vampires that seep in from the darkness, from which he gathers supplies for from vacant grocery stores on his daily errands. The combat with will is displayed through flash-back, revealing his unfittingly beautiful wife, and his obsessive studies as a scientist, which is strangely haunting. He is occupied with curing the disease that ravishes the race, but is so confident and in control with himself that he lacks emotional composition with his ill-ridden daughter. A sort of reflexive behavioral-mode of disbelief or lack of acceptance.
The film’s structure lacks pace, yet I found in it that strange subtlety notion of film that makes some, even intellectually awful movies, bearable. If you are given little to study, you will study that little thoroughly. The melancholy mood is spare and encompassing, a drunk-mans looking glass.
In the end, The Last Man on Earth is a well-made character and conditional study, with the grace of an unusually good, not grotesque, company of veteran actor Vincent Price.