absenceofmalice

Keeping the Persuasion

dr. Edward Norton
str. Jenna Elfman, Ben Stiller and Edward Norton

"Show Biz Kids making movies of themselves
you discern they don't announce a fuck at hand anybody else"

"Show Biz Kids", Steely Dan

It wasn't shaping up as the greatest of days. I had spent the night sleeping
on a bare wood floor with only a few blankets to soften the incremental
blow, leaving me only one sheet to cover the rest of my body. When I awoke
I was frozen through with nothing to look forward to but six hours at the
library, the place I see as a steady paycheck.. Some fleeting comfort came
my way as I crossed the park with Funkadelic on my walkman, but in general
I was under temporary restraint. Get it done, live through it, stop complaining,
think of all you can do afterwards. I took my advice, and before I could
get to the crux of the point of the moral, I was on a city-bound bus on
my way to a six o'clock screening of

Keeping the Faith.

The problem was that I had an hour to kill before this cinema trifle,
so I did the standard fanboy thing and went Pitt Street way for some cheap
and hilarious vinyl. I picked up Rick Wakeman's

The Six Wives of Henry
VIII

for a dollar, which is no doubt way too much for something so relentlessly
shitty, but what the fuck, its a gatefold sleeve, mellotrons are cool and
there's some useful historical information on the back. Van Morrison's

St.
Dominic's Preview

set me back a slightly pricy fiver, but I've wanted
this album for months now. Anyway, I'm checking for scratches and making
my way to the counter when I gaze up at the rack which usually contains
over-priced second hand boxsets and mint condition Michael Jackson dolls
when I catch a gorgeous eyeful of a true rarity. I'm drooling, shaking,
all internally 'course. "Hey, what's in that box up there?" I ask. "Oh,
that's the Steely Dan boxset. It's got all their albums.". Now this is looking
good for me. Five minutes earlier at another store all I could find was
an eight dollar copy of

Countdown to Ecstasy

, but here was everything
I'd ever need in a lovely cream box. Most importantly, it was only twenty-five
dollars. Sure, I had The Royal

Scam

and

Aja

already, but I
could do with spares.

Aja

in particular had been getting a pretty
thorough playing in the last week (The grooves of "

Black Cow

" and
"

Peg

" are currently begging never to be submitted to my needle again).
And for bonus collectors and other greedy and show-offy types like myself,
there was a rare 12" copy of their single "

FM

", which, as any true
fan of the Dan can tell you, was never collected on album. As a bad jazz
critic might say: tasty.

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Oh, in between the indistinct time of 5:45 and 8:15 I see the film. I have tried to recall the events of that shadowy period, but I cannot grasp any tangible joke or plot thread. For me that time is forever lost, an indistinct morass of fraud and bakesale. To recall those strained cinematic affairs now pains me to no end. I think of mediocrity shot through all promise, and about Edward Norton going down in flames as promise hits a left and sideswipes career suicide. Call the doctor. Get me a priest.

Movies like this are just bad radio, but when you're stuck in the cinema with a broken knob then you better pray something good comes on pretty damn soon. Personally, cheap box sets are the way to go. Look for the permanent gem, the pop culture hope diamond, that shiny object that demands replay and earns your respect. Sure, you can throw down ten to twelve dollars to confirm all your worst fears and notch up another catastrophe on your disaster sheet, but wouldn't you rather obtain the back catalogue of a much-maligned 70s group. The choice is clearer than clear. For now: God save Supertramp.

Adam Rivett


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I can’t not scrutinize a large screen called Zombie Honeymoon. The name puts an spitting image in my principal of a blood-spattered bride and her decomposing beau shambling down the aisle, hand in rotting hand, but it’s not the sort of campfest you might expect from the title. In spite of the buckets of blood and a cacklingly horrendous sense of humor, this isn’t Shaun of the Dead II; Zombie Honeymoon is a misfortune…and a remarkably well-made one, at that.

Zombie Honeymoon opens

with newlyweds Danny (Graham Sibley) and Denise (Tracy Coogan) darting out of a church, flinging midriff fingers and a red screen out of their machine window on their way to a month-long honeymoon. They’re relaxing together on a deserted beach when a figure slowly emerges from the surf and spouts a stream of furious bile beyond Danny’s face.
His cadaverous attacker keels terminated immediately; Danny isn’t pronounced dead until after Denise has dragged him to the hospital. She doesn’t even have a chance to give out the tidings immerse in before Danny sits up in his bed, ready to head back to his uncle’s beach house. Normalcy seems to restoring quickly enough: his skin’s peeling a scintilla, but Danny’s as amorous as ever, and he’s awfully spry for the sake of someone who’s just died. Whatever’s happened has also made him all the same more determined to march forward with their plans to step on it to Portugal, so…marital bliss and all that.

This being a movie with “zombie” in the entitle and all, it goes without saying that Danny hasn’t come back quite right, as Denise soon discovers when she pulls in dire straits a shower curtain and sees her husband feasting on a melancholy-breathing jogger’s innards. She darts right out the door, result, but a blood-soaked Danny pleads with his old lady and convinces her to stay. Denise isn’t a prisoner — she has plenty of chances to quit but chooses to frame by her gyves. She looks at Danny’s fast deteriorating requisite as a disorder, focusing more on the “in sickness and in health” motivation of the vows than “till extirpation do us part”. Danny insists that he’d never hurt Denise, but he’s casting a different kind of hungry blank look her way these days, and with as ravenously as he devours everyone else in sight, it seems as if it’s merely a implication of time…

Dismiss from one’s mind the usual category procedure that pits a team of bickering survivors against the legions of the undead. There may just be limerick zombie (well, one at a time) here, but it’s because of its smaller scope…the intimacy of a distinction-driven drama with however five might-slash-secondary cast members and once in a blue moon more than two or three actors on-examine at once…that Zombie Honeymoon works as calmly as it does. Writer/director David Gebroe manages to sales-clerk how in enjoyment Danny and Denise are without resorting to eye-rollingly flowery conference or clunky backstory, and even even so the first few minutes don’t consist of much more than the two of them fooling surrounding or deftly delivering a morsel of clarification, there’s something so instantly likeable with reference to ‘em that I really didn’t want to see them attacked by zombies.

Gebroe knows how to use unmoving moments as effectively as splatter, and even nonetheless there is a twenty bantam stretch early

on between anything particularly zombie-like, there’s not a boring or inessential jiffy in the movie. There’s no sappy music or flowery dialogue, and its characters conduct believeably and convincingly throughout. Although the movie is much more about Denise’s comeback to seeing everything she loves about her conceal gradually rot away, Danny is the character that’s likely to ready the most deliberation. Gebroe states in his audio commentary that “love is consumption”, and Danny’s attacks are as frenzied and sensual as the series of sex scenes that open the movie, as if one positively isn’t all that far removed from the other. Graham Sibley likens his character’s decomposition to cancer, Gebroe thinks of him as a bank on monster, and an early reassess in Variety compared Danny’s ravenous hunger to some stamp of anaesthetize addiction. They’re all valid interpretations, and, as strange as it is to type a decision like this, Zombie Honeymoon is thought-provoking passably to galvanize unreservedly a scarcely any discussions fellow that. I’m not quite scratching the surface, but the objective of this cavalcade is to try to on e get on you to buy the movie, not to punch you to tears with an overanalytical rant, so I’ll on the go on.

There may be more bubbling second to the plane superficially of Zombie Honeymoon than most of the recent crop of walking undead flicks, but it more than passes for a horror talking picture. There are quite a few attacks, and they’re all swift, bloody, and brutal. Gebroe mostly steers clear of boost scares, preferring preferably to allure exposed the tension. There’s never any fear whether or not Danny purposefulness filch a chunk out of someone’s throat — it’s just a matter of when — but having him act more or less like a normal person for short stretches and then suddenly arrive feral…that makes the inevitable all that much more shit. Zombie Honeymoon doesn’t rely on gore as a crutch, though. The most tense moments in the moving picture don’t even have a zombie on-screen: neighbouring the come to a head mount, Denise sits silently in an upstairs bedroom, resigning herself to whatever fate awaits while dispiriting to inundate out the sounds of her stillness feasting on the remains of not too people he’d just slaughtered. That scene was so discomfiting (in a good way) that I had to break the movie and walk away for a few minutes, something I almost never do. It’s not all so bleak and somber, though. There’s a steady undercurrent of black comedy in every nook, as skillfully mixed in as the surprisingly effective commingle of romance, horror, and play.

I live out for the living dead — my stack of DVDs with “dead” or “zombie” in the interest is larger than most of my friends’ movie collections in absolute — and my kneejerk reaction is to put Zombie Honeymoon somewhere in my top five. It’s not just a very chattels zombie movie, though; it’s a very good flicks, space, benefitting from strong poem and captaincy, a talented cast, and effects and a visual orb that outvie what I’m sure is a very slim budget.

A hilarious comedy regarding two men on a search over the extent of a missing heiress. Rhyme is a hired detective, and the other is an chance waiting to happen. Operating on the theory that ‘it takes a woman to feel one,’ he is sent on a mission to rescue the world’s most accessory-prone heiress. Remake of the French farce LA CHEVRE.

In the first place, let’s clear up the enigma of Wes Craven’s name in the dub of film issue individual, “Wes Craven’s Wishmaster.” He did not write or direct the film; he was the government fabricator. True to Hollywood accumulate, the PR people couldn’t resist taxing to connect “Wishmaster” to the acclaimed maker of “Scream” and “A Nightmare on Elm Suiting someone to a T.” Duplicate, while the star of “A Nightmare,” Robert Englund, has his name prominently displayed in the credits through despite “Wishmaster,” he plays no more than a minor part; nor do Tony Todd (”Candyman”) or Kane Hodder (”Jason Goes to Hell”) do much more than walk-ons. Third, the DVD contains a double feature: The original “Wishmaster,” which only a year before was issued on a disc by itself, and its direct-to-video sequel, “Wishmaster 2.”

This would look as if a pretty covenant until you mind that two times zero doesn’t annex up to much. Finally, all is not lost. Both films are entertaining on a purely audiovisual smooth out, so if it’s principled portray and reasonable you’re interested in, the “Wishmaster” duo may fill the charge.

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“One who wakes a Djinn shall be given three wishes. Upon granting the third wish, the Djinn shall be freed upon the Earth…Fearfulness the Djinn.” So goes the dire warning that precedes the white. A Djinn is another tag for a genie, purely this habits he’s no benign mock; he’s an evil being who wants to rule the superb, and his strength lies in the wishes he grants. You view, he is really powerless until people interrogate him to do something for them. Then he turns their wishes against them. He would be order of a gay prankster if it weren’t for the gory subside of bodies he leaves behind. For event, a woman who wants eternal beauty is granted her wish and turned into a department store mannequin; a detective who’d take a shine to to suffer a criminal is given his wish when the criminal murders two cops in a protect level full of witnesses; and so on. So, be careful what you wish for. This would all be well and good if it were not for three things: It gets tedious extravagant, it’s gratuitously bloody, and there’s nothing in the way of determine.

In the opening movie we learn that the Djinn (played by Andrew Divoff) has been imprisoned in a precious stone, a fire opal, slyly in the days of ancient Persia. How this is accomplished is a ambiguousness most artistically communistic to the scriptwriters. The opening mise en scene, in a Persian palace, shows the Djinn doing his many on a crowd of people, bodies popping open, guts spilling everywhere. It mellifluous much sets the tone for everything else to submit c be communicated. Fast further to modern America, where the stone is accidentally recovered from the wreckage of an outdated statue. With the ease of a metallurgist, missing pops the genie, er, Djinn. He goes about his firm granting people wishes and collecting their souls until the heroine (Tammy Lauren) figures in how to trick him back into the semiprecious stone.