Pulp "Fiction"
by Ed Owens

Video games have long been a favorite target of concerned citizens looking to explain the unexplainable or even merely find a suitable scapegoat. The claim is that these games, particularly violent first-person shooters like long-time public enemy number one Doom or amoral (some say immoral) affairs like new top dog Grand Theft Auto III, serve to desensitize youngsters to violence while honing their hand-eye coordination. While the first part is still up for debate, the second is patently false. If one were to follow the argument to its (il)logical conclusion, one would assume that I, as an experienced and devoted player of said games, would be a crack shot possessing a level of hand-eye coordination previously on display only in Lee Harvey Oswald.

Tell that to my seven month old daughter.

Sure, I can drive my mouse and keyboard to countless victories on the virtual battlefield, but the mundane mechanics of guiding a small spoonful of Gerber sweet potatoes and corn into the wide open mouth of my infant child elude me. I can manage it half the time when she is somewhat still, but let her move even the tiniest bit and my percentages plummet into the single digits. The one thing I have gotten from games is a dogged determination to continue until I succeed, something usually brought to an abrupt end by my wife who quickly tires of watching me paint our child a new shade of orange like an overly caffeinated Lisa Fittipaldi. Unfortunately, they don't make video games to remedy that.

A different kind of hand-eye coordination is on display in Michael Moore's runaway success Bowling for Columbine, a masterful piece of filmmaking that rivals Riefenstahl's Triumph of the Will for the sheer audacity and technical skill of its manipulations (though Moore shows atypical restraint with respect to video games). While some may balk at the comparison, the fact remains that both can be appreciated - and even admired - in spite of one's political leanings. I had read a great deal, both pro and con, before finally having the opportunity to see it in all of its big-screen glory, and while I appreciate and admire the craft behind the film, the bottom line is that it's neither as good, nor as bad, as it's been made out to be.

" We like non-fiction and we live in fictitious times." -Michael Moore

" Documentary: Presenting facts objectively without editorializing or inserting fictional matter, as in a book or film." - Online Dictionary

Moore's now infamous speech is amusing given the context, Bowling's win of the Oscar for Best Documentary. There is little in the film that qualifies as "objective," especially given that Moore's hand (and, more annoyingly, his face) is all over every shot. Though some of the film could hardly be qualified as fiction, it is certainly the recipient of a hearty amount of spin, courtesy of Moore's own editorial voice-over and some state-of-the-art editing, compliments of Kurt Enghfer. Others have done point for point rundowns of the various discrepancies, so I will leave that for now, but suffice it to say I was frequently struck by the nagging feeling I was in a game of Three Card Monte with Moore as the dealer. A testament to Moore's abilities here is the fact that, despite my reservations, I was frequently willing to play along. The film is alternately engaging and infuriating, funny and sobering, haunting and forgettable.

Nothing is as chillingly effective as the security camera footage of Harris and Klebold striding nonchalantly through Columbine's cafeteria the day of the shootings. It's a very powerful and effective moment - one of the few which Moore allows to speak for itself. Even so, it's difficult to shake the creepy feeling that Moore himself is coming dangerously close to exploiting the material, to falling prey to the very tendencies he criticizes in the national media. Similar feelings are evoked by some of his interview footage, most notably with Dick Clark and his "scandalous" ambush of Charlton Heston.

So is it worth seeing? Certainly...like watching a master sleight-of-hand artist fool you again and again while you try to spot the trick. Just remember to take it all with a grain of salt.

The questionable accuracy of Moore's material aside, his directorial hand is much steadier than Rob Zombie's in House of 1000 Corpses, a vicious tone paean to the exploitative horror films of directors whose tongues were somewhere other than their cheeks. Zombie, a pop-culture amalgam whose goth-metal/techno fusion band White Zombie included references and samples from influences as diverse as singer Tom Jones and Pam Grier's classic blaxploitation film Coffy, clearly has a love of the genre coupled with a near encyclopedic knowledge of its representative films. The result is a wildly uneven riff that shows moments of great promise, but never fully delivers.

House is not without its merits. The multiplex hasn't seen much in the way of ballsy, over-the-top, shock horror in decades, Hollywood having settled into the safe, smug, self-aware formula established by Scream. Even more sincere efforts, like last year's The Ring, make no attempt to push the boundaries the way 70's horror did, particularly directors from the Euro-shock school like Argento and Bava. Zombie longs for a return to form, and does his best to recapture it.

When he succeeds, he does so magnificently, like in the deliciously twisted character of Captain Spaulding (Spider Baby's Sid Haig, giving a whole new meaning to the term "scenery-chewing"), the foul-mouthed, clown-faced proprietor of Captain Spaulding's Museum of Monsters and Madmen (which also sells gas and chicken). Or in the effective slow-mo sequence that culminates in a seemingly interminable high-angle shot of Otis (Bill Mosley, Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2's Chop Top, here doing his best Manson impression) as he holds a gun to the head of a kneeling cop. Though the film is a clear descendent of Texas Chainsaw Massacre (whose plot it liberally borrows - four kids pick up exotic hitch-hiker, then break down near the home of a family of psychotics), references to other films and cultural icons abound for the sharp-eyed and aware (even a momentary glimpse of a cereal box serves up a particularly clever allusion).

Unfortunately, Zombie's clear vision is compromised by his relative
inexperience. Too many stylistic tics actually work counter to the intended effect, interrupting the flow worse than Coy and Vance's replacement of Bo and Luke on The Dukes of Hazzard. In this sense, Zombie's music video background proves less than helpful as he struggles with adapting to the medium of feature film. While the film's stop and start narrative and choppy editing could be the result of MPAA-inflicted cuts, the more likely culprit is Zombie's need to get from one set piece to the next without regard for logic, narrative, or even common decency.

Though House of 1000 Corpses is ultimately not nearly as bad as some have made it out to be, it's also nowhere near as good as it could have been. A niche film intended for a niche audience, few outside of the truly die-hard fans of the genre will find anything in it to recommend. However, those with the stomach (and the inclination) will find some worthwhile tidbits amidst the unrealized potential. I, for one, wouldn't be surprised to see House finding a significant cult audience when released to video, especially if the inevitable director's cut can smooth out some of the weaker spots.

©2003 Ed Owens
CineScene