Plan 9 Cinema: The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the 8th Dimension

In this week’s Plan 9 Cinema post, I’m taking a bit of a detour. I’m reviewing “The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension.” It’s a detour in the sense that it’s not necessarily a bad movie (it’s debatable). Instead, “Buckaroo Banzai” is a completely weird case, so odd that it’s earned a place in the Plan 9 arena. The plot is weird, the cast is weird, and the writing is weird. Sometimes it’s endearingly so, other times, it’s annoying. This is a movie that can’t decide whether it wants to be taken seriously, or just parody itself. It’s this indecision that keeps the audience from really connecting to the movie, and lets them just watch, confused, as bizarre and unexplained scenes unfold, one after another.

Our hero is the titular Buckaroo Banzai, a multi-talented genius. He’s a medical doctor, a scientist and musician who likes to keep things lively, having musical and scientific adventures with his band, a group of similarly creative types called the Hong Kong Cavaliers. One day, during an experiment involving a rocket-powered car, Buckaroo breaks through a dimensional plane and passes through a mountain. Once he busts through the other side, he discovers a strange organism stuck to the bottom of his car. At the same time, Buckaroo’s nemesis, Dr. Emilio Lazardo, hears of Buckaroo’s scientific breakthrough, and breaks out of a mental hospital with the help of some alien buddies (Red Lectroids, from that same eighth dimension) so he can use Buckaroo’s work for his own evil plans. There are also some Black Lectroids, good guys, bent on destroying the Red Lectroids, and a woman named Penny Priddy who’s the long-lost twin of Buckaroo’s dead wife. Trust me, it doesn’t make much more sense when you watch it.

But, bless its freaky little heart, I kind of love this movie despite the fact that the plot holds together worse than a house made of Popsicle sticks and hot glue. Part of this stems from the wonderfully 80s soundtrack and aesthetic, a sort of wacked-out mashup of cowboys and samurai. Part of it comes from the bizarre writing, which in some scenes feels like a good, solid sci-fi adventure, and in others feels like a Captain Underpants book. The dialog around Buckaroo and the Cavaliers is generally pretty fun, believable stuff, endearing enough to make you really want to like the movie. But the scenes involving anyone other than our heroes makes you shake your head in wonderment, like the one below:

Plus, every once in a while, you get awesome images like this:

Or moments like this one, typically bizarre, funny, and totally unexplained:

But the aspect of “Buckaroo Banzai” that gives the movie real credibility in my book is the cast. While the concept of a band of traveling scientist-musicians is pretty great in itself, the fact that Buckaroo and the Cavaliers are played by some of the coolest actors around just drives that point home all the more. The perpetually awesome Peter Weller plays Buckaroo, and his band includes Jeff Goldblum and “That Guy” honoree Clancy Brown. Who wouldn’t want to tour the world with those guys? The rest of the cast is filled out with actors like Christopher Lloyd, Vincent Schiavelli and a scenery-gnawing John Lithgow as Emilio Lazardo. If for no other reason, the movie is fun to watch just for the sake of recognizing the cast, some of them in the early stages of their careers (it was Brown’s second movie role). Oh yeah, Yakov Smirnoff is also here, as a U.S. National Security Advisor.

On the whole, “The Adventures of Buckaroo Banzai Across the Eighth Dimension” is a brilliantly imaginative piece of work, and looks like it was probably a lot of fun to make. But what’s surprising to me is that something this loose and poorly communicated ever got green-lit to begin with. As an audience member, you feel like there’s a really good movie in there somewhere, if only you could get past feeling like you’re left out of the loop. Writer Earl Mac Rauch never did much else of note after this movie, but director W.D. Richter was involved with a number of other projects, including “Big Trouble in Little China,” which, if you’re familiar with John Carpenter’s 1986 movie, makes a lot of sense. In any case, “Buckaroo Banzai” is a movie that has every reason to be truly awful. But because it’s so uniquely strange, and tries so hard to please, it’s kind of lovable.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Hello everyone! I have an entry planned for this week, but unfortunately my Thanksgiving plans will make me unable to post until later this weekend, possibly Friday or Saturday. So until then, I’ll just leave you with this:

Here’s hoping your celebrations aren’t as terrifying as Eli Roth’s : )

The Non-Fiction Section: Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired

It’s one thing to respect a public figure. It’s another to know certain elements of that person’s life. We know Vincent Van Gogh was a talented painter, for example, but we also know he had mental issues. Ernest Hemingway was a great writer, but he was also an alcoholic. More controversially, Bill Clinton was a successful president, but he also had problems with fidelity. In these situations, the question becomes this: does knowing someone’s crimes, weaknesses or personal experiences color what you think of their work?

I’m saying this because this week’s Non Fiction Section is dedicated to Marina Zenovich’s 2008 documentary “Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired,” about the director’s infamous trial for having sex with a 13-year-old girl. As a fan of Polanski’s films, the fact that he’d actually had sex with someone that young was something I’d always tried to overlook, even find ways to forgive. No matter what the man’s done, you can’t deny the greatness or technical skill in a movie like “Chinatown” or “Rosemary’s Baby.” Even if Polanski were guilty of murder, those movies would still be good.

But with fandom comes a certain fondness. Because I like Polanski the Director, I feel a natural inclination to want to like Polanski the Man. The fact that he survived the Holocaust, or that the Manson Family murdered his pregnant wife are facts that make him seem like a tragic hero who prevailed in difficult circumstances. But it’s hard to defend taking nude photos of an underage girl, giving her a Quaalude and having sex with her. Going into the film, I wondered: would this documentary help or hurt my image of Roman Polanski the Man? Would it, perhaps, tarnish my image of Polanski the Director?

As it turns out, “Wanted and Desired” didn’t really change my opinion at all, but it certainly presents an interesting case. In the event that you’re unfamiliar with the legal case presented in the documentary, here’s the story: In 1977, Roman Polanski was arrested for giving drugs to and having sex with a 13-year-old girl, Samantha Gailey, at Jack Nicholson’s house while photographing her for Vogue (Nicholson was away at the time…I don’t imagine he ever asked Polanski to house-sit after this). The trial carried on for about a year, and was a total media circus. Right before sentencing, Polanski fled to Europe, where he has since stayed. There was recently some hubbub in the last year regarding the possibility that Polanski might be extradited back to the U.S., but to my knowledge that has since died down.

Director Marina Zenovich approaches the Polanski case in “Wanted and Desired” from a straightforward, unbiased standpoint, speaking to people involved on both sides of the situation. She interviews the lawyers for the defense, the district attorney and the victim, all of whom seem like reasonable, fair men. She interviews Polanski’s friends, who talk about his troubled personal history, and how his wife Sharon Tate’s murder deeply affected him. We get tons of surprisingly good archive footage, and transcripts from Polanski and Gailey. Zenovich tells the audience the whole story and then some, getting the facts right from the people who were there.

The only person who comes off looking bad is Laurence Rittenband, the judge in this case. He died in 1993, and therefore doesn’t get the chance to redeem himself, but it seems like both sides are in agreement that he handled the case poorly. Rittenband supposedly took the case specifically because it involved someone famous. He played to the media, directing the trial even to the point of telling lawyers and witnesses where to stand and when to come in. His pride was easily hurt, causing him to reject more than one official suggestion (and numerous bargains) that Polanski get off with probation. The minute the news media started questioning his approach, he got tougher on Polanski to avoid looking weak. Polanski’s lawyer, Douglas Dalton, tells his client he can’t trust the judge. Even Roger Gunson, the lawyer for the DA’s office and a staunch Mormon, says in an interview, “I’m not surprised that he left under those circumstances.” Neither am I.

But aside from just a solid rundown of the events in the case, Zenovich makes the audience ask some interesting questions. There’s no real speculation about whether or not the events of the case actually happened, because it’s clear they did. Polanski admitted as such. That’s irrelevant. The questions brought to light in the documentary involve the psychology behind the events. Polanski came from a culture in which it was more appropriate to date very young women. He had never been arrested in the U.S. before. He came from a troubled background, and was still adjusting to life after a deep personal tragedy. Even though his actions are inexcusable, are they understandable, given these circumstances?

Zenovich asks the audience to consider also that Samantha Gailey, although she was only 13, told the police that she had been drunk before, and had taken Quaaludes before. Also, that Polanski was photographing Samantha with the permission of her mother, a minor actress who had touted her daughter’s potential as a model to Polanski at a party. It would appear she did this in the hope that the photographs would be Samantha’s big break, as it had been for actress Nastassja Kinski, who was 15 when Polanski photographed her (and subsequently had a relationship with her). Given that Mrs. Gailey was somewhat familiar with Polanski’s work, history and social circle, and that Samantha allowed herself to be photographed with her mother’s permission, one has to wonder what Mrs. Gailey was expecting. Was she (and perhaps was her daughter) tempting fate?

“Roman Polanski: Wanted and Desired” never answers these questions definitively, to its credit. Marina Zenovich merely presents the argument through testimonies of both parties, and lets the audience make up their own mind. In a medium where many directors do take sides, Zenovich simply presents the facts, and neither accuses nor defends her subjects. At the end of the film, she points out that the whole scandal seems to have had little effect on Polanski’s professional career. He still won a Best Director Oscar for “The Pianist” in 2002. He’s a member of the Academie des Beaux-Arts in France. He’s still highly respected, despite his rocky personal history. In my case, I still think Polanski’s a great director and, even after watching this film, I’m still pretty sympathetic towards him. In answer to the question “Does knowing someone’s flaws color your opinion of their work?” the answer Zenovich’s documentary gives is “no,” and I am inclined to agree.

Random observation: Roger Gunson mentions in the documentary that in preparation for the case, he attended a special marathon screening of Polanski’s movies. He says that he recognized a theme of “corruption meeting innocence over water” (a theme which he says also applies to Polanski’s case). That made me really curious to go back and watch a few Polanski films to see if that’s valid.

That Guy File #2: James Urbaniak

Where you’ve seen him: Henry Fool, Fay Grim, American Splendor, Confessions of a Dangerous Mind, Ride with the Devil, Sweet and Lowdown, Death of a President, Across the Universe, The Venture Brothers, Weeds, The Starter Wife, Law & Order, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, Kidnapped, Sex and the City

Everything about James Urbaniak is distinct. He’s a lanky, nerdy-looking fella whose face and voice you can recognize almost instantly. It just might take a moment before you realize where you’ve seen him. Unless you’re a fan of director Hal Hartley (if you’re not, you should be), and have seen “Henry Fool” and its sequel “Fay Grim,” you’ll probably know Urbaniak more for his voice work as Dr. Venture on “The Venture Brothers” or as Robert Crumb in “American Splendor” than for anything else. Most of his many television and film appearances are fleeting at best, although he has gotten some props for his sinister character on the short-lived series “Kidnapped.”

In addition to his many appearances onscreen, Urbaniak also has something of a cult presence on the web. He’s a popular blogger and tweeter whose posts are consistently witty, with a well-read, hip sensibility. For those folks who keep up with his writings, Urbaniak’s acting work almost becomes a sidenote. Seeing him on TV or in a movie becomes a fun surprise, almost like a game of “spot the blogger.” It makes sense that he’d be a good writer, because you never once see the man playing dumb. He’s physically incapable of it. Even on his one-episode stint on “Weeds,” where he plays a drug dealer who dropped out of high school, he comes across as a savvy businessman.

To see Urbaniak’s personality and acting style exemplified, check out Hal Hartley’s “Henry Fool,” in which Urbaniak plays main character Simon Grim, a garbage man who writes an epic poem that causes extreme reactions in its readers (the audience never sees or hears the poem, but we’re led to believe it’s along the lines of “Howl”), and whose literary ambitions are encouraged by the titular Henry Fool, a mysterious drifter who rents a room in the basement.

Like Simon, Urbaniak is a smart, often-unrecognized talent, and something of a renaissance man. If you aren’t familiar with “Henry Fool,” “Fay Grim,” or “American Splendor,” do yourself a favor and check them out, because they’re wonderful movies (and I don’t think there’s ever been a more convincing portrayal of R. Crumb than Urbaniak’s, which is pretty much spot-on). And, if you haven’t become acquainted with the actor’s presence on the web, go check out his blogs and his twitter feeds as soon as possible. Heck, just go there as soon as you’ve finished reading this.

Update (11/11): Just discovered this little bit of oddball hilarity featuring a performance from our featured man. Give it a view (warning: is a giant reference/parody of “Human Centipede,” and so involves lots of poop jokes)

Nostalgiaville: Matilda

For Roald Dahl fans, 1996 was a big year. That year, two adaptations of his work hit the theaters, and both were hits: “James and the Giant Peach,” and “Matilda,” the subject of today’s post. Both films and books were favorites of mine growing up, particularly “Matilda,” since it also played into girl power, which was big at the time. Spunky girl heroes were everywhere you looked, and the combined popularity of that, Dahl’s books and the draw of the “Matilda’s” star, Mara Wilson (the “it” child actress of the 90s), was a powerful combination.

Roald Dahl has always been a popular children’s author, and now that I’m familiar with his works as an adult, that seems a little odd. Much like the Grimm’s Fairy Tales to which his work is often compared, Dahl’s MO was to put sweet kids in dangerous, often abusive situations, and cloak the whole thing in wordplay and candy-coated descriptions. His books are edgy reading to say the least, but it’s that edginess and clever humor that makes kids and adults alike lap them up.

Film versions of Dahl’s stories attempt that same balance, but it works better in some places than in others. In “James and the Giant Peach,” for example, the fantastical elements complement the dark ones because most of the movie is animated. In the case of “Matilda,” that darkness is also mixed with a sense of fun, but it’s not as comfortable. In the 14 years since I first saw “Matilda” in a theater in Chicago with my dad, my impression of the movie hasn’t changed all that much, but there are some subtle differences that give the movie a creepier tint than it had when I was 8.

We’ll start with the heroine. Matilda Wormwood is a bright kid with a family who doesn’t appreciate her. When they even bother to pay attention to her, it’s to yell about how “strange” she is. Although she has friends and a great teacher at school, the principal is a total bear who tortures kids just because she feels like it (how she never got hit with a hefty lawsuit is beyond me). Suddenly, Matilda discovers that, in addition to her superior intellect, she’s also telekinetic. She decides to start standing up for herself and plays little pranks on her parents (gluing her father’s hat to his head, for instance).

As a child, I got the message. Matilda was smart and brave. She was standing up for herself and her friends by getting back, in small but satisfying ways, at the people who hurt her. But as an adult, I brought a new set of filmgoing experiences to my viewing that presented a different perspective, one that was a little less pleasant. For example, Matilda’s telekinesis seems quirky initially, but given her troubled background and penchant for revenge, they place her one step up from Carrie White. If Brian DePalma had been directing this movie instead of Danny DeVito, I guarantee you it would have ended differently. An early scene where Matilda’s anger at her father causes the TV to explode feels like a kiddie version of “Scanners.” It doesn’t help that Wilson isn’t a very good actress (probably the reason she hasn’t made a movie since 2000). She shows so little emotion that her character isn’t just unusual; she’s unholy.

Then there’s the villain, Miss Trunchbull, the school principal. It’s one thing to read about a scary teacher and her awful disciplinary methods. It’s another to actually see Miss Trunchbull (embodied with vigor by Pam Ferris) manipulate and terrify her students. The Chokey, the iron maiden-like cupboard that is her preferred mode of whipping kids into shape, is even scarier when seen with your own eyes than it is to read about. On the page, Miss Trunchbull and the Chokey are larger-than-life. They don’t exist anywhere but the colorful world of the book. The movie makes them, and the threats they present, realistic.

Even if Miss Trunchbull starts out the film looking like the stuff of childhood urban legend, there comes a point at which it’s impossible to see her as anything else but terrifying. Halfway into the film, we learn the personal history of Miss Honey, Matilda’s beloved teacher, and it makes Matilda’s neglectful parents seem like Ward and June Cleaver. Miss Trunchbull is Miss Honey’s aunt, and raised her after her parents died. The mother died of natural causes. The father…didn’t. Miss Honey tells Matilda his death was ruled a suicide, but it’s obvious she doesn’t believe this. Matilda doesn’t either. They have this exchange:

Matilda: I don’t think Magnus (the father) killed himself.
Miss Honey: Neither do I.

While Matilda’s reaction is naively optimistic, reaffirming the goodness of the dead man’s character and his love for his daughter, Miss Honey’s reaction is different. What you take away from this scene is that Magnus was murdered, and Miss Honey has been living most of her life under the tyrannical rule of the woman who killed him. In a later scene, Miss Trunchbull grabs her niece by the arm saying, “I broke your arm once before…and I’ll do it again.” The idea that this woman’s actions could cross from the ridiculous (the Chokey) and into active violence—the kind that some kids actually do experience—is darker-than-normal territory for a kid’s film (and, I’m pretty sure, wasn’t in the book—correct me if I’m wrong!). Of course, at age 8, my reaction to the scenes above was like Matilda’s. Now that I understand the gravity of the situation presented, my reaction is more like Miss Honey’s. A real-world evaluation of Miss Trunchbull paints her as a severely mentally ill woman who shouldn’t be anywhere near kids. The fact that she is just makes her scarier.

Of course, in the end, “Matilda” is still a movie about child empowerment, and the importance of an active imagination. Like all fairy tales, the characters have to weather dangerous situations before everything ends happily ever after. In this movie, however, those dangerous situations are more realistic than most fairy tales (and in some ways more so than Dahl’s book). In addition to being a fairy tale, “Matilda” is a survivor story about two damaged individuals who manage, through intelligence and strength of will, to find happiness. It’s still a sweet movie. It’s just gotten a little freakier with age.

Wednesday Update:

Hey all! I spent yesterday volunteering at the polls, and have been catching up with work and errands today, so I’m afraid I’ve been a bit behind in today’s blog post. I’ll try to have it up by tonight, but it may be up as late as tomorrow morning, so keep with me here! The topic this week is nostalgiaville, and the movie is “Matilda.”