There was a time when it was a popular dismissal to say something tasted like medicine. Nowadays, medicine is actually pretty darned sweet, and if it were not for the unit cost, addiction, and disgusting side effects, I could see downing a smooth, thick bottle of cough syrup on a warm summer's day. I think it would be like a milk shake, only Jolly Rancherier.
Mana Energy Potion tastes like medicine from back in the days when a spoonful of sugar was required to help avoid bitter beer face in the underage drinker. Remember when Coca-Cola tried adding vitamins to its formula, and it tasted like Coca-Cola with vitamins in its formula? Now remove the Coca-Cola. Manna from Heaven, this ain't. Further, I drank it on a day when I was feeling really wiped out, and it brought me all the way back up to below average. True, its only 25 calories a dose, but when you're shooting something so vile, you'd just assume take the hit.
The Short Version? Gay Frankenstein director trapped unwillingly in his own past. What Is It? Docu-drama. Who Is In It? Gandalf, George of the Jungle, Georgy Girl Should I See It? Why, certainly, yes.
When I look at films in my DVD collection starting with the letter "G," I'm disappointed in myself that I don't own the widely acclaimed winner of the 1982 Academy Award for Best Picture Gandhi. I'm even more embarrassed to note that if I did, it would sit between Fright Night Part II and the 1977 Clint Eastwood flick The Gauntlet. A bit down the line though, I have Gods and Monsters, which makes me feel much better about my personal taste.
James Whale was a theater directer who moved on to Hollywood during its golden age, and offered it Journey's End, Frankenstein, The Invisible Man, Bride of Frankenstein, Show Boat, and The Man in the Iron Mask, among others. However, his film career was pretty much over by 1942, and his return to theater was cursed by misfortune. Whale took to hedonism for a time, but after a pair of strokes in 1956, he began a swift decline in health toward an early grave.
Christopher Bram's 1995 novel Father of Frankenstein concerned itself with a partially fictionalized account of Whale's latter days, and was adapted to film by screenwriter/director Bill Condon. The result is clever, droll, and engrossing. It's quite the gay affair, as Whale teases the pursuit of firm male flesh, whilst fleeing from his degenerating mental condition, disorienting flashbacks, and general dissatisfaction with his existence.
Ian McKellen's performance in the role is scintillating, even as his portrayal of Whale forces him to fall in and out of his own mind. Brendan Fraser plays Clayton Boone, the gardener who focuses Whale's amorous attention, nostalgic recollection, and drive to address his circumstances. Not only is it the finest work Fraser has ever done, but it is enough to make even the harshest critics of his checkered filmography reconsider his worth. Boone is straight, and struggles with Whale's cavalier sexuality, but both men have needs the other can fulfill that have nothing to do with the carnal. Fraser dances the fine line between innocent and opportunist masterfully. Lynn Redgrave is genially hammy as Whale's judgmental attendant Hanna, a stock character type from the director's films brought to life. It's no surprise most everyone earned a nomination for some award or another, and Condon won the Oscar for Best Adapted Screenplay.
Through the conceit of fictionalization, Gods and Monsters casts off any stigma it might have had as a biopic. While stylish in its use of non-linear narrative, theatrical lighting, imaginary interludes, the absence of color and more, it is all done in service to a rich life story, never compromising its integrity. The look of the movie is surprisingly sumptuous on a modest budget, and the score by Carter Burwell is lovely. This is one of those pictures where everything works exactly as it should, making it a simple joy to watch tirelessly again and again.
Of course, Gods and Monsters sits right by Eddie Murphy's The Golden Child, so I really might ought to get around to buying Gandhi already, if only to keep up appearances.
Extras? This "Collector's Edition" DVD's has a clunky menu (accessible through your remote or after the movie autoplays) that makes it a bit of a relic. There's a bunch of laughable old school non-extras like web links, talent bios and production notes, all anchored to simplistic icons for the Luddites in the audience. Redeeming the advertising is a thoroughly considered commentary track with Condon, and the potent half-hour documentary The World of Gods and Monsters: A Journey with James Whale. Neither one is negated by the discussion of the other, and the doc is even narrated by producer Clive Barker.
The Short Version? Raccoon City has been infected with the Rage virus. What Is It? Survival Horror. Who Is In It? The American Pie/Beauty girl, the scrawniest chick from the 90210 remake, other embarrassed parties. Should I See It? No.
Right off the bat, this film is technically just titled Day of the Dead. However, there's a might bit of confusion in associating it with George A. Romero's Day of the Dead, Day of the Dead 2: Contagium, Candyman 3: Day of the Dead, or Night of the Day of the Dawn of the Son of the Bride of the Return of the Revenge of the Terror of the Attack of the Evil, Mutant, Alien, Flesh Eating, Hellbound, Zombified Living Dead Part 2: In Shocking 2-D, not to mention the Mexican holiday. I mention this in such detail because I have lines to fill, and this derivative and dull dreck won't do it own its own. Besides, the distributors added the exceptionally dumb tagline to every version of the movie released (straight to DVD,) framed like a subtitle, so I'm going with it.
When Day of the Dead was announced, it had the air of a sequel to the surprisingly solid Zack Snyder/James Gunn reworking of Dawn of the Dead. Mena Suvari bares a mild resemblance to Sarah Polley, and what she lacks in comparative acting ability, she could potentially make up for in vaguely higher name recognition. Ving Rhames was "back," though as it turned out in a different, smaller role. Raptor Nick Cannon is certainly better known than Mekhi Phifer, if only as Mariah Carey's trophy husband. Also, while standing up to comparison with George A. Romero's 1978 Dawn was a tough row to ho, not only was the original 1985 Day underwhelming, but there had even already been a massively inferior pseudo-sequel. On paper, this could have worked.
Day begins with something like video footage (as did the Dawn remake, from another studio,) then careens into a teen makeout session in an abandoned military complex. Recalling Return of the Living Dead 3 isn't going to win anyone over, and also serves to remind that this flick was directed by Steve Miner, best known as the responsible party for the blandest entries in the notoriously banal Friday the 13th and Halloween franchises (2&3; H20, respectively.) Rest assured, you go from 0 to hating this group of characters in well under sixty seconds.
Cut to a military roadblock, as the area surrounding a shithole hick town is under quarantine. Mena Suvari begins her tour as the least convincing soldier in film history, while Marsellus Wallace in fatigues sleepwalks on. Cut to Ian McNeice as a morbidly obese, obnoxious lefty DJ having his broadcast monitored by a trooper. Cut back to the teens and the first boring, nearly bloodless, offscreen woodlands kill (see also Howling IV: The Original Nightmare, for a near exact model.) Cut back to the barricade, where we are introduced to Nick Cannon's poor man's Martin Lawrence impersonation as G.I. Douchebag. Transition to Stark Sands as "Bud," the next least convincing enlisted man after Arnold Epstein in Biloxi Blues. He's a non-violent vegetarian, and as the name indicates, one of the few characters who will eventually reflect the 1985 Day. Cut to blah, blah, blah, more stupidity, and a little bit of gore for twenty-three trying minutes.
Finally, money begins to be spent, as we see an insta-zombie transformation at the cellular level via CGI. Unfortunately, this flesh-eater is poorly designed, making me think of Michael Jackson's Reece's cup nose in The Wiz. Lacking any atmosphere and tension, this first onscreen attack sets the standard at "bland and uninvolving." Oh, and we've met the new Dr. Logan by this point, another young'un who looks fresh from a soap opera. Yeah, it's one of those films. The fit really hits the shan about here, both in terms of everyone turning into ghouls at once, and in the egregious abuse of digital effects, tired music video gimmicks, trampolines (see also: Jack Nicholson's 1994 farce Wolf) and varied film speeds. The movie aspires to 28 Days Later... but more closely resembles Buster Keaton on crystal meth.
For no reason but to create a complication, Mena Suvari refused to load her gun while on duty, which I'm pretty sure is a court martial worthy act of insubordination. She spends half the movie play-acting like her pistol is loaded, and once she gets a useful gun she works it fine, so what the fuck? Bud gets turned-- but refuses to eat flesh, still follows orders, and even gets to play hero. Nick Cannon, Mimi's bitchboy, is supposed to be the resident badass. Ving Rhames is punked worse here than in The People Under The Stairs. AnnaLynne McCord, the CW's teen drama queen who can't keep her tits inside clothing not purchased from a children's department in real life, probably turns in the best performance as a tough chick. Like I said, it's that kind of flick.
falls short of . Well okay, it's not as amusingly bad as House, but Miner clearly shares .
All in all, the movie feels like a mash-up of Uwe Boll's notorious ineptpiece House of the Dead and Paul Anderson's Resident Evil, with aesthetic sensibilities leaning more toward Dr. Boll. It's alright when the focus is on action, and in the rare moments the humor doesn't grate, it's remotely gratifying. There are some decent effects, and you can see why this was at least considered viable for theatrical release. The primary fault is in the lackluster characters, none of whom you are likely to identify with or be endeared enough to be concerned about who lives or dies. The music is lame, and there aren't any scares to speak of. It's just a shade shy of professional quality, but the project seems to have been mercenary for everyone involved. This was a paycheck gig at every level, and these whores aren't even bothering to wait until you're not looking to check the time .
Extras?
Commentary Gets in the way of pretending this movie never crawled up from out of a gaping hole in Bulgaria.
Various Trailers None of interest.
Alternate Ending A really long edit of material you've already seen with some mild and unwelcome variations.
On The Set Zzz.
Photo Gallery Get a really good view at the incredibly emaciated undead Olsen Twins looking chick, as well as AnnaLynne McCord's costars, and zombie make-up. Fully appreciate the size of Mina's nostrils and Cannon's phoniness.
Interviews Do an alright job on selling the premise that the actors are too stupid to know how bad this film is from the script up.
The Short Version? There's something very wrong with this girl's pregnancy. What Is It? Thriller Who Is In It? Woody's ex, Dr. Zaius, half of Old Hollywood's best character actors. Should I See It? Yes.
Young couple Rosemary and Guy Woodhouse rent a new apartment in the big city, thanks to his work as a commercial actor. The elderly new neighbors are a bit much, a new friend comes to a bad end, and Guy's career takes a hit. One night, Rosemary wakes up from a night of rough sex and disturbing dreams to find herself pregnant. Her desirable condition brings with it increasing stress, illness, and paranoia. Rosemary suspects a nefarious conspiracy surrounding her baby, but is she just going out of her mind?
Whatever your feelings about Roman Polanski as a man, he remains one of the finest film directors of all time. Rosemary's Baby was his American mainstream debut, combining Hitchcockian tension with Kubrickian chilly satire. Lacking a uterus, the exploitation of prenatal anxiety doesn't hit me like it might female viewers, so the film works for me more on an intellectual level than a visceral one. The conception sequence is an exception, especially Rosemary's brilliant "oh shit" moment midway through. However, the film commits a cardinal sin of horror, keeping the leads at arm's length in terms of audience empathy, and the distance leads to more dark comedy than deep concern.
Based on the descriptions in the book, Polanski originally envisioned Tuesday Weld and Robert Redford in the leads. I daresay that would have made a better picture. Producer Robert Evans pushed for Mia Farrow, who naturally comes off as a space cadet, which hurts audience identification. Sickly thin in the Twiggy mode, Farrow easily sells the possibly Rosemary is just nuts, but even if she's right, you're not entirely confident in her parenting abilities. When push comes to shove, Farrow is just too weak to be appreciated in a post-feminist era. Meanwhile, as the baby's parentage and Guy's motivations become more questionable, you really need a handsome, earnest leading man to sell Rosemary's sticking by her husband for so long. Instead, John Cassavetes comes off as a sleazy creep, even when he's supposed to be the dream husband, so you're never rooting for him to stick around. However, the leads are buoyed by stellar supporting work from Ruth Gordon, Ralph Bellamy, Maurice Evans, Charles Grodin and more. Gordon in particular has an off-kilter delivery that's in turns obnoxious and overwhelming to the precise correct levels as needed, often foregoing anything resembling normal punctuation or inflection. Like Polanski's direction, it steers the viewer to an uneasy place perfect for the material.
As a horror film, Rosemary's Baby is bound to disappoint modern audiences. It works best as a psychological thriller with a strong vein of dark humor. It's lovely to look at, and enjoyable overall, with a damned fine ending.
Extras?
"Making of" featurette Too much archival footage for most tastes.
Retrospective Interviews Too short, given the overall quality. Well worth your time.
The Short Version? Freddy's back! So's everybody else! Now with more dream power! What Is It? Horror/Adventure Who Is In It? Freddy Krueger, Morpheus, Medium, Dick Cavett, Zsa Zsa Gabor, the guy from Body Double and a few surprises. Should I See It? Yes.
I saw all six Star Wars movies in their initial release, and as a child, my favorite was Return of the Jedi. It was the brightest, fastest paced, and most action packed. It wasn't until years later that I realized it was also the dumbest, most repetitive, and worst shot of the three.
Dream Warriors was either the first "Nightmare on Elm Street" movie I ever saw, or more likely, the first in a theater. I viewed "Part 2: Freddy's Revenge" around the same time, and the original thereafter. That was also my pecking order of favoritism for years, with none of the later entries meriting consideration.
Now, my primary male role models growing up were super-heroes, and I avoided horror movies until too late of an age. Watching the first two Nightmares was probably a bit much for me, as they stick with the formula of normal, vulnerable teens in way over their heads. I expect what I liked about "Dream Warriors" was that this time, you had a virtual super-team of heroes to offer the dastardly villain a genuine challenge. Sure, they were junkies, dorks, and nutjobs, with their headquarters a mental hospital, but they had a seasoned veteran from a previous movie to guide them toward their own fantastic costumes and powers. The murderous Freddy Krueger traded his creepy old house for a secret lair in some secluded patch of Hell, and bigger budget special effects gave him far more elaborate killing options than his rusty old knives. He may have been the star of the show, but as in Tomb of Dracula, the bogeyman would now share space with a group of adversaries set on destroying him once and for all.
Correct me if I'm wrong, but that sounds a lot more like an action movie premise. Hell, the writer of Dreamscape, the adventure oriented flipside of Nightmare released the same year, even directed this entry in the franchise. Where there was a total of about four victims in 1984's Nightmare, the mental hospital offers a fresh sacrifice about every quarter hour. That means characters are generally introduced, given a "hook" to catch your interest in place of a personality, and then butchered in an elaborate set piece. It's hard to get worked up enough over cannon fodder to fear for them, and without that identification, the primary point of interest is seeing how imaginative and well realized their tortures are. It makes for a fun ride, but not much for terror.
What works about "Dream Warriors" is that it has a strong story, very memorable effects, and overall much better acting than the earlier movies. The story greatly expands the mythology of Krueger, offering points everyone involved with the franchise have exploited at some point. The more you reveal about Fred Krueger though, the more familiar and non-frightening he becomes. Returning characters prove that despite the increased scale of mayhem here, Krueger's reach remains limited. As with "Freddy's Revenge," rules are broken, but for some reason this flick got a free pass where part two was pilloried. I guess "Dream Warriors," written with the kitchen sink quality of an intended final chapter in a trilogy, offers a satisfying if somewhat abrupt conclusive. It's an entertaining but overpraised flick, but ultimately not half as intellectually interesting as "Freddy's Revenge" (though light years away from the back five additional sequels to date.)
Extras? I picked up the 4 Film Favorites edition, which offered early, stripped down DVDs in a single affordable case. Slim extras came with the savings.
Theatrical Trailer An extended, wholly original teaser with more mood and starts than the film it advertised.
The Short Version? Kill for Freddy, boy! What Is It? Horror. Who Is In It? Nobody, really. Should I See It? Yes.
Five years after the events of A Nightmare on Elm Street, the Walsh family move into Nancy Thompson's old house. Not long after, troubled son Jesse starts having terrible nightmares about the bogeyman Freddy Krueger, and this time, one night of playing with a teenager won't be enough. No, Freddy wants Jesse's mind, his soul, and most especially his body.
The much maligned Freddy's Revenge, easily the least applicably named of the series, has a special place in my heart. It was the first Nightmare I ever watched from beginning to end (and on video, after having caught part of Dream Warriors while theater hopping.) I was raised by women to be a pussy, but was unyoked from that fate by reuniting with my father and brother, after never having much of anything to do with one another. Aside from turning my head a few times when there was advance notice of gore, it was one of the first unedited horror movies I ever saw, and I thoroughly enjoyed it. Though I always retained a fondness for it, I doubt I saw Revenge again for a couple of decades. Revisiting it for this review was quite an eye-opening experience.
Compared to the original, the entire opening sequence of this first sequel is marinated in loss. The music is generic. The second title logo looks like a sticker off a cheap '80s skateboard, while the "Freddy's Revenge" subtitle is written in a metallic blue, as if Krueger were a crime lord in a lousy cop movie. In a poor attempt to reflect some "first day at school" anxiety on the part of the protagonist, he's depicted here (and nowhere else) as a flat-haired nerdy creep. There's zero tension, and the first two (offscreen) kills are faceless preppies who may be entirely imaginary. The visuals are way over the top, as though these schoolkids had ventured after Taylor and Brent into the Forbidden Zone. It even ends on a stupid pseudo-hip transition to the kid's mom slicing tomatoes.
The thing is, the movie gets better from there. The troubled protagonist is developed throughout the picture, and in fact may the most conflicted and complicated character in the franchise to date. His proposed love interest is also among the most sympathetic and simply human of the series. His supposed buddy is... well okay, he's an even more shallow version of Rod from the first film, and the kid's family is comparatively lame, and there are plenty of other flaws. Regardless, it's still a pretty good horror movie, and amongst the better sequels. Still, it's hated a lot more than other slasher flicks that aren't half as good. Where is the love? Ah, but I believe that's where the problem lies. The love in this movie is of the sort that once few would dare speak of by name, and will deny you marriage rights in most states. You see, "Freddy's Revenge" is queer as fuck.
Aside from a handful of appearances, Mark Patton's acting career seems to have begun and ended as Jesse Walsh. I know nothing about his life afterward beyond that he directed theater for some time. If Mark Patton himself isn't gay, Hollywood lost a real talent, because Jesse Walsh couldn't be a more obvious closet case. His inflection... hand gestures... feminine scream (yes, scream)... emotional outbursts... posture... physique. There couldn't be less sexual chemistry with his beard. He's that special, undeniable form of homosexual-- theatrical, emotional-- your basic tormented drama queen.
Then you look at what Jesse Walsh gets up to in this feature. He's constantly in a state of undress, usually briefs or less, and typically saturated by sweat or water. When a bully pulls down his pants at a ball game (*ahem*,) Jesse tries to strip the dude right there on the field. I'd guess Jesse willfully misinterpreted the gesture, because the two become close friends, and Lord knows he wouldn't be the first sister with the hots for a fit breeder. Speaking of which, he's close friends with the rich girl on his street, whose own friends tease her for the undeniable lust in her eyes, while Jesse seems far more concerned with snails than oysters. Early on, Jesse looks through a window outside his house and sees a raging fire in its cellar furnace. He tries to investigate, but once he opens the cellar door, he can't close it again to escape from its overwhelming heat. He calls out for his father, who never comes, and instead meets Freddy. Letting out a squeal, he awakens to the comforting arms of his mother. Or there's the dream he has in science class where he sleeps, blissfully unaware of the snake encircling his body. Or his fixation on Nancy's little pink diary. Or his giving his father comeuppance of a vague sort by cleaning his room while listening to pop-infused R&B, wearing silly Elton John sunglasses, and bumping his butt against drawers. In that same sequence, he brings a phallic toy to his mouth as a "microphone," then drops it to his crotch for a sexual pantomime. There's the time he almost has sex with a girl, where his pants never come off, and ends with him repulsed and the babe frustrated. There's the late night visit to the leather bar. I could go on and on, with much better, spoilery examples.
Finally, there's the movie itself. The evil gym coach who's a sadistic leather queen, and finds himself stripped fit-middle-aged-bare-assed-naked, assaulted by his own gym equipment (watch out for that barrage of balls!) There's the frequent male semi-nudity in general. There's the shift from a male-female competitive dynamic to a male-male/dominant-submissive relationship (more than one, in fact, as Jesse is the bottom to most every other male in the film.) Not only is this film brimming with gay subtext and homoerotic imagery, but it's fetishistic to boot! I can't believe critics largely missed this in the '80s, but it's all over the internet today, though there is one factor that I haven't seen addressed: this is a gay horror film. By that I mean that, taking all things into account, the movie is incredibly homophobic. Jesse's hardly ambiguous issues are associated with the perverted, demonic child murderer struggling to be set loose on a rampage. Nothing comes of Jesse's releases of the "deviance" inside him but violence and heartache. Hardly an advertisement for Exodus International, regardless of Jesse's attempts to suppress the terrible urges inside him and live a proper life, he has been irredeemably corrupted, and it would be better for everyone if he just killed himself. Whether you're a homophobe or a homofan, this movie has something to trouble you, and offers far more material to consider and debate than any other in the Nightmare series. Comedy exists to say things otherwise unmentionable through humor, while great horror films confront you with things you'd rather not face. In that case, Freddy's Revenge is pretty great.
Aside from fag fear, another point of objection for some is the liberties taken with the premise set forth by Wes Craven's original film. Personally, I've always been of the school of thought that if you've made a great film, a sequel should strive to match its quality, not slavishly recreate it with mild variations. The unoriginal path led to increasingly bland and repetitive installments in this franchise, the same fate suffered by all the other slasher series. Meanwhile, Freddy's Revenge maintains its antagonist's viability, as well as important features from the previous film related to the dreamscape. Then it goes off into uncharted territory that could stand on its own as a totally unrelated movie. The film has striking visuals, a more proper budget, and far better acting. It lacks for mood at times, is blandly shot and scored, and has a protagonist many found unrelatable. You take the bad with the good, and I'll call out the naysayers to state my case that Revenge was in fact the best Freddy sequel precisely because it breaks the rules in such a surprising fashion.
Extras? I picked up the 4 Film Favorites edition, which offered early, stripped down DVDs in a single affordable case. Slim extras came with the savings.
Theatrical Trailer Pretty damned basic, right?
Cast and Crew Bios from the 1985 press kit. Whoopee.
The Short Version? Dream Bogeyman Kills Teens. What Is It? Horror. Who Is In It? Fred Krueger Mom-- Fred Krueger! Also, Officer Tom Hanson and Roper from Enter The Dragon. Should I See It? Yes.
A teenage girl has a dream about a terribly burned man wearing a tattered fedora and green and red sweater. Most importantly, he wields a gauntlet on his right hand with a knife attached to each finger. The girl tells her friends, who have been seeing the same figure in their dreams. Then, what happens in sleep begins to manifest into a sticky wet reality.
Right from jump1, A Nightmare on Elm Street screams "iconic." I mean even from the classic New Line Cinema logo animation, through the letterboxed title sequence of child murderer Fred Krueger constructing his finger-blade glove, to the extended credit nightmare, the original Nightmare logo and of course the unforgettable theme music by Charles Bernstein. You just know, at go, that this is going to be one of the greats of horror. Within five minutes, you've even got the little girls in clean white dresses slo-mo skipping rope while reciting the infamous Freddy rhyme. It's all there at the very beginning.
Also, like most great horror films, it achieves that status in spite of glaring flaws. Again, right from the start, you have an obvious twentysomething actress playing a teenager. You've got the "kids walking to school" exposition dump. The main characters consist of the aggressive oversexed jerk type, the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, the preppie WASP couple, the stumbling alkie mother and the tough as nails cop. You've got a half dozen different accents running through the cast, with children sharing no physical nor vernacular traits with their "parents." The ridiculous "kids bonding through terribly staged comedy" bit. The lead actress that wouldn't be a convincing extra. It steals liberally from Psycho, Halloween, Phantasm, Jaws...
On the other hand, all the set-up has been dealt with before you're fifteen minutes in, and there's even another oft-copied effect just before that point. First kill's inside twenty, and it remains mighty goddamned impressive decades after the fact, done practical and on the cheap. From there, the hits never stop coming-- inspired, fucked-up imagery; unnerving music cues and sound effects; generally strong acting (Heather Langenkamp obviously excluded;) striking effects (loose wires and body doubles be damned;) and the seminal supernatural slasher, Freddy Krueger. Where it steals, it gives back something more effective and vital. Where it originates, it delivers a wind hundreds of impostors have sailed under.
There's something refreshing about revisiting the long-lived franchise in its pristine state. Robert England taunting the teens as you might a child; moving in a more stilted, awkward fashion than he would with experience, and offering little of the sarcastic, pun-laden one-liners that would eventually destroy the series' credibility. The nightmares are grounded enough in reality to have weight and consequence, but fantastic enough to inspire anxiety in an audience likely reliving night terrors in their own past. The editing and cinematography are pitch perfect, setting the right mood and segueing naturally in and out of the dream world to disturbing effect. The dialogue is quotable and pushes the narrative along like an engine. John Saxon is just an all around bad ass, yet his inability to confront the killer he pursues at the most basic level renders him just the right shade of impotent for a film driven by the antagonist. Johnny Depp was a pretty boy who could still deliver the goods, and it's refreshing that his girlfriend would struggle to fit in his jeans. Speaking of which, despite her deficit of talent, Heather Langenkamp has a wholesome girl-next-door quality that works for her role. She's the everywoman, a "final girl" with enough verisimilitude that you can actually respect and root for her (not to mention buy her as a virgin.)
A Nightmare on Elm Street isn't just a movie, but the birthplace of a mythology, and a milestone turning point in horror. Despite its flaws, it's essential viewing for its genre, and great fun besides. Wes Craven went the whole nine yards with an underfunded production that rarely seems slighted by the lack of resources. They are, after all, made up for by an abundance of imagination and craft.
Extras? I picked up the 4 Film Favorites edition, which offered early, stripped down DVDs in a single affordable case. Slim extras came with the savings.
Commentary Track In lieu of a documentary or more extensive extras, this should satisfy most of your questions about the first installment of the franchise. Writer/Director Craven and actor Langenkamp are open and informative. Director of Photography Jacques Haitkin steps in occasional with technical and behind-the-scenes bits, while John Saxon is just there. If I recall correctly, this track was from some damned old laserdisc port from a few years out, but even if it's new for this edition, it's still no more recent than the late '90s.
Theatrical Trailer Woo-woo.
Audio and Scene Selection bullshit
1I said jump, down on Jump Street... You'd better be ready to, be ready to jump... 21 Jump Street.
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There was a time when it was a popular dismissal to say something tasted like medicine. Nowadays, medicine is actually pretty darned sweet, and if it were not for the unit cost, addiction, and disgusting side effects, I could see downing a smooth, thick bottle of cough syrup on a warm summer's day. I think it would be like a milk shake, only Jolly Rancherier.
