Film Trace

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.