Film Trace

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 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 1. Intro: 2023's Film Trace movies. They stood the test of time, but were they awarded upon release? 2. Nominated film most obviously conceived specifically with little gold men in mind? 3. Nominated film conceived originally with absolutely no award hopes in mind? 4. Nominated director/writer/DP/actor most obviously groomed to one day become an Oscar winner? 5. Nominated director/writer/DOP/actor least groomed throughout their career to one day walk to the stage? 6. 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.