Unearthed Films digs up another fun "classic," Jean-Paul Ouellette's THE UNNAMABLE

Celebrating its 30th anniver-sary this year, the cult horror film THE UNNAMABLE -- which TrustMovies had heard of occasionally over the years but never actually seen until now -- turns out to be a bit of good, old-fashioned horror/ supernatural fun, for reasons that begin with its surprisingly well-imagined and executed "monster" and include some decent dialog, well-placed scares, and better-than-average performances from most of the cast members. (The musical score is far too over-the-top, however.)

As directed and adapted (from an H.P. Lovecraft short story) by Jean-Paul Ouellette (shown at right), the movie's main problem (today, at least) is that the tale it tells seems awfully been-there/done-that, so audiences -- cult audiences are likeliest to fall for this one -- will simply have to ignore or forgive these trespasses and stick with what makes the movie the most fun.

The late Mr. Lovecraft, whose work has been adapted or inspired into nearly 200 movies so far (according to the IMDB, at least), did have a knack for scares & fright.

He knew how to make use of "the unknown," while turning the "knowing" of it into something much worse than one's previous ignorance.

In The Unnamable, we begin maybe a couple of hundred years previous, in a large New England house in which a very naughty "being" is semi-imprisoned. When it misbehaves, carnage ensues.

Cut to present day (present day circa 1988, anyway), where a very attractive bunch of university students plus one dweeby nerd (yes, the usual suspects) are discussing the rumors surrounding that house and what they might mean.

Before you can say "pile on some more exposition," sure enough, one of the fellows (two photos above, at left) decides to explore the place. Yes, say goodbye to him. Then we meet a couple of hot and hunky frat boys (clearly quite expendable victims), who talk two female students -- one hot, the other sweet, and all four shown above -- into exploring the house with them as a ruse and a road to some nooky.

All this is followed by suspense, scares, and more gore and carnage. And a little near-sex. One of the girls, played by Laura Albert, (above), possesses one of  the nicest nipples I've seen in a long while, and her character also keeps her on pearls on during sex -- always a sign of class.

Our hero is played by an actor who went at the time by the name of Charles King (but later became Charles Klausmeyer), shown being menaced, above. He is adorable and naive and properly sexy, at least to the girl (Alexandra Durrell, below) who pines for him but whom he does not notice properly until the finale. Well, the course of true love never did run smooth, as Willie the Shake told us way back when.

Now, to get to the main reason for watching The Unnamable: that really scary, amazingly put-together monster, of whom, as befits all good horror movies, we view only snippets until fairly close to the finale, when she (yes!) appears in all her gory glory.

What a creation this one is, and despite all the ugliness, there is more than a hint of sexuality and carnal desire present here. One gets the sense that if only one of our hot and hunky young men had pulled a nice, big boner for our creature, he might have remained alive. Or at least enjoyed himself a bit before the end. Ah, well. Best not to dwell on what might have been.

From Unearthed Films and running 87 minutes, the movie hit Blu-ray and DVD last month via MVD Entertainment Group -- for purchase and (I would hope) rental. The disc is full of Bonus Features, as well (click here for details), so fans can really dig in.

Is Ken Russell's CRIMES OF PASSION (now on Blu-ray/director's cut) as bad as we thought?

Yes, yes, a thousand times, yes! But you know what? With time -- 32 years -- the movie seems to have become a lot more fun. Not nearly as much fun as, say, Russ Meyer's Beyond the Valley of the Dolls, though the two films have things in common. Both want to get us all bigtime hot-and-bothered, while simultaneously teaching us the right pathway to pursue. Meyer's is the much better of the two films, though Ken Russell's over-the-top movie (the filmmaker is shown below) has its own special charm -- and a couple of very hot actors in the leading roles.

We forget how incredibly gorgeous and sexy (and talented) was its leading lady Kathleen Turner, just three years off Body Heat when CRIMES OF PASSION was released (1984). Co-star John Laughlin was in his prime at the time, too, and he makes one hot hunk of beefcake in the role of a horny husband whose wife (Annie Potts) wants nothing to do with him in the sack. Mr. Russell made a number of good movies in his time (his bio films for the BBC about artists constitute his best work), but this one is not among them.

Ms Turner plays a smart and sexy young woman who goes by the name of Joanna Crane at her day job in the garment industry; by night she's China Blue (above), a hot-looking whore with a rather low-end clientele who is menaced (though she does not seem to realize this for quite some time) by a Bible-toting nutcase, played in his best-though-much-overused nutcase fashion by Anthony Perkins (below).

Into the mix comes Mr. Laughlin (below), hired to trail Turner due to some supposed industrial espionage, who falls prey to her charms and is soon banging her every which way, and at the same time, of course, falling in love with the gal.

And therein lies the biggest problem with Crimes of Passion. Every time Russell (along with the script, penned by Barry Sandler) gets serious, the movie goes south. Scenes evidently designed to comment on societal hypocrisy play like something written by and for Boy Scouts (granted, these Scouts have very dirty mouths), but then we get back to the sex-and-sin and come-on-in, and things get enjoyably hot-and-heavy once again. (Russell was always pretty good at giving us "shock value".)

Along the way, we see various of China Blue's clients in multitudinous positions -- most of which may have seemed shocking in their time but today seem more recherché than anything else.  By the time we get to the suspense-thriller finale, it's all so been-there/done-that, you'll see the "big surprise" coming a mile away.

Still, there is fun to be had in watching Turner strut her stuff and noting once again that Mr. Russell's would-be shocks can sometimes prove less transgressive than merely tired. The director's true home was either in those long-ago black-and-white biography films (his Savage Messiah is also pretty good) or in the fun-and-frolicsome genre of The Lair of the White Worm.

From Arrow Video (via MVD Entertainment Group) Crimes of Passion , running 107 minutes, hits the street on Blu-ray + DVD this coming Tuesday, July 19 (or maybe on July 26: I've been told two different street dates on this one), with a huge load of bonus materials, plus both the director's cut and the unrated version of the film included.
Click here for further details. 

HEMLOCK GROVE: Netflix's not-so-hot but very well-cast original series proves mostly vamping

Various dictionary definitions of "vamping" tell us that it is something patched up or refurbished, maybe rehashed, as in a book based mostly on old material. All this could easily describe HEMLOCK GROVE, the original Netflix series that you are likely to have heard the least about, what with House of Cards, Orange Is the New Black, Lilyhammer and even Arrested Develop-ment (not entirely original to Netflix) stealing most of the thunder. But the definition of vamping that most applies to this odd and derivative series is the one that comes from music: an introductory musical passage commonly consisting of a repeated succession of chords played before the start of a solo. Its purpose: to keep that solo at bay for as long as possible.

This solo, in the case of Hemlock Grove -- written/developed/executive produced by Brian McGreevy (at right, below) and directed (six of the episodes, at least) by Deran Sarafian (at left) -- is the question that anyone watching the series will be asking from the very first episode in season one (the series has already been renewed for a second season): Who's the creature that's doing the killing? To avoid answering this question, the series simply vamps. And vamps. And vamps.  There is at best maybe two hours of content (or, say, one full-length movie) to this 13-part show, each part of which takes nearly one hour to unfurl. What this means is an incredible amount of vamping. So much so, that you may very well take

to screaming "Get the fuck on with this!" any number of times during any number of episodes. Because of this vamping, some very good actors are left twirling in the wind, as it were, having to repeat their actions, if not their exact words, again and again, just to keep that solo at bay. This is especially true of Famke Janssen (below) and Dougray Scott, as, respectively, the matriarch and patriarch of branches of the family that control the titular town. (The Janssen character really has the town under her thumb; Scott is simply a sex toy/in-law.) The series has been organized and written very much in the style of soap opera, with all the neces-sary over-writing/under-acting that goes along with this tiresome genre.

TrustMovies actually stopped watching the series twice, then went back to it after a time. As with most soaps, it was quite easy to pick up again. (There is so much vamping going on that nothing much happens. Consequently, anything you've forgotten won't matter much.) Lots of characters are introduced along the way, a number of them pretty young girls who get "offed" by the beast, but two young men finally prove to be the heroes of the piece: Bill Skarsgård (below, left), who plays Janssen's creepy son, whose character broadens a bit during the 13 hours, and sensitive lunk Landon Liboiron (below, right), who plays a new-in-town, gypsy type, high school student with his own mom (Lili Taylor) in tow.

Though the Janssen side of the equation is clearly pretty weird (read supernatural), we learn fairly quickly that Liboiron's family are, uh, werewolves, and we see the special effects department in full force for one major transformation (below) early on.

There's an investigator from the Fish & Wildlife department snooping around who has some connections with a certain branch of the Catholic Church, various police officers who behave crassly or nicely as the script necessitates, and various other family members, each possessing his or her own sad story.

Oh, yes, and the family owns and operates a hospital/medical/
experimental center with another bizarre character (Joel de la Fuente) in charge, and a very secretive, big box inside of which resides... (another question viewers will want answered).

Not to worry. The nasty beast is indeed unmasked in the penultimate episode (this is not one of those keep-the-answer-out-of-reach series like The Killing), and the final show answers some more question but mostly keeps things open for season two.

As I say, there is only enough content here for a couple of hours, but if you're particularly taken with any of the performers or characters, you may give in to the ongoing blather, which certainly succeeds in keeping the series going but not in making it exciting or especially interesting.

By Episode 9, a little suspense and anticipation are engendered, and we get a funny/lovely/creepy story about a fairy -- which shows how some decent writing can suddenly bring a whole series to real, detailed life. But then it's back to the same old tired stuff, mostly family arguments. There is one pretty interesting character: A strange young girl (Freya Tingley, shown center, above) who's determined to become a writer. McGreevy, I am guessing, must have based her on himself.

We do eventually learn the name of the beast -- it's a vargulf, for anyone interested. Some of the directors here seem overly fond of handing us suspenseful moments that come to absolutely nothing. More vamping, I suppose. The pacing is often glacial, due to all the gazing into each other's faces, while pronouncing the strained dialog. There's a good deal of sex, too, but it's nothing you won't have seen elsewhere and better.

It often seems as if, in Hemlock Grove, the creators simply tossed everything they could think of into the mix, feeling sure that something would stick. Something does. But too much else stinks. The show can be streamed only on Netflix, where you can see as much or as little in one sitting as you can handle.

Schrader & Ellis' THE CANYONS: Finally, a movie to make you feel good about yourself

Yes, I know advance word about THE CANYONS might not lead you to believe that this film will make you feel grateful that you're you. Trust me: It will. Unless of course you are one of those Hollywood "types" pictured in the movie: underlings surviving as best they can on the largess of the monied and powerful, or overlings wielding that power for greater access to sex and... uh, sex. Come on, surely these people have something more on their tiny little minds? Nope and nope again.

Well, one of them is interested in his career, such as it is (not much). Another teaches, I think, yoga, though we never see her doing any such thing -- just gossiping and fucking and then -- wait: we shall allow no spoilers here. Another, played by the infamous Lindsay Lohan (reclining above), just wants to be loved. Is that so wrong? (Christ -- I'm quoting Harvey Fierstein; this movie has weakened my mental muscles.)

There are supposedly intelligent people out there claiming that The Canyons is about something. Because it is directed by Paul Schrader (shown at left), a writer and filmmaker I have long admired even through some pretty foggy movies, I gave it the benefit of the doubt, and for as long as possible. But because the screenplay is by Bret Easton Ellis, whom I generally think of as a talentless poseur, there is a battle going on, and I am afraid that Ellis wins it hands down.

The movie begins with a series of fascinating, unsettling shots of dead movie theaters, a comment no doubt on where we are and where we're headed, among maybe some other ideas, too. Then we're at dinner and/or drinks with a quartet of lovelies including Christian (James Deen, above, left), a nasty Trust-Fund baby who invests in the occasional movie and is also into videoing his girlfriend having sex with others; that gf, Tara (played by Ms Lohan, above, right; Ryan (Nolan Funk), a young actor who has managed to land a role in Christian's latest slasher film; and his girlfriend, Gina (Amanda Brooks), who is also working on said film.

The conversation in this scene is serviceable and sets the plot, such as it is, in motion, but it hardly sparkles. Yet, writing-wise, it's the best the movie has to offer, as we learn who these people are and a bit about what they may want. After that, it's mostly all sex-related power trips. Trust is brought up early on as a driving force -- as though anyone here had the smallest notion of what that word might mean. Which is, I guess, the point. Think of it as Les Liaisons Dangereuses with only a single (male) conniver and without a lick of class (except, perhaps, in the clothes).

As the overlord, Mr Deen, who evidently came to fame as a porn star, looks good, with a body that is noticeably and rather nicely un-buffed. He's relatively thin and wiry -- rather like John Holmes in his heyday, less long-haired hippy, but with equally impressive sexual equipment, of which we get one nice view. He can act, at least well enough not to embarrass himself or the film, but I thought I detected a slight lisp in his voice now and then, though that may have been a faulty soundtrack.

Ms Lohan looks and acts initially stern and then changes to vulnerable and sad throughout. She's pretty good at this, but as the screenplay gives her so little character to work with, so what? Mr. Funk remains in one, as both character and actor, and Ms Brooks is sweetly put-upon as the movie's "good girl." In the supporting cast, the choicest  turn comes from Gus Van Sant as Christian's therapist, who clearly understands who is buttering his, and his client's, bread.

Technical credits are fine, especially for a low-budget endeavor, though L.A. does seem, as in the recent mini-budget Maniac, woefully under-populated. As a director Schrader (shown above, right) is working well, giving us his usual brush with moral choice. Toward the finale, it looks as if he might give us a little De Palma, too, but no, he turns away from getting too graphic.

The Canyons, I suppose, is something to see so you can say you saw it. Otherwise, there's little to be gained here. The film, from IFC and running around 95 minutes, opens tomorrow is New York City at the IFC Center, and is simultaneously making its VOD and digital platform debut.

HAPPINESS RUNS -- for its life -- in Adam Sherman's based-on-truth tale

Maybe it has to do with TrustMovies' advancing years, but he does wonder if there can be anyone out there past the age of, say, 35 who does not realize that would-be Utopian communities -- particularly those run by out-of-touch, elderly hippies with drug-and-other problems -- are not the best places to raise healthy children.  Really?  You had no idea?  Then do see HAPPINESS RUNS and revel in its revelations.

So much sex and sin -- and so soon, too! -- are packed into this 88-minute movie that it's little wonder characterization comes up a bit short. You may also begin to miss getting to know a character or two who possesses even a marginally conventional life.  Teenage sex, group sex, heavy-duty drugs, the commune slut: they're all here but appear to offer so little enjoyment that you begin to wonder why sex 'n sin have that don't-miss-'em reputation.

There is also a scene of cow torching -- cow torching?! -- (Yes: and those are the flames, at left) which just might be the event that turns the corner for this woeful little movie made by a fellow named Adam Sherman (shown above) and which is reportedly based upon his own life growing up in just such a commune.  I don't envy Mr. Sherman his experience, and I wished I had liked his movie better.  But it really has nothing to say, save the utterly expected, and there are no full-bodied characters on view, either -- just a catalog of unhealthy quirks parading about in the skin of some relatively attractive actors.

I suspect that the writer/director is simply too close to his material to achieve much objectivity.  He tries to blend fantasy with reality, and his camera does capture the dry-yet-green, firetrap-laden landscape you find in the hills (shown below) that rise from the Pacific Ocean, where I assume the film was shot.  Much of  the dialog has the sound of on-the-spot improvisation -- which only adds to the weird feeling of off-the-cuff DIY film-making.

The director also gifts us with that de rigeuer shot of fast-moving clouds.  What is this for, I must ask?  The first time (or twenty) that I saw this kind of shot, a decade or more ago, it seemed new and interesting.  Now it's standard and boring.  But what it is meant to suggest?  Is it the new-fangled way to showing us time passing -- as did those 1940s and 50s shots of calendar pages turning in the breeze?  Or does it simply remain a now-standard trope that shows us that the director and his cinematographer know how to be not-quite au courant?  Please, somebody, post a comment and explain to me the significance of the fast-moving clouds shot.

While I believe that growing up in such a sad and desolate place (as this commune apparently was) has resulted in what we see, it can't have always been like that.  Communes sprang up in part as a reaction to the continued conformity of post-WWII America, and, from the documentaries and narratives we've already seen, these places seemed to offer something new and vital, for awhile at least.  Because Sherman shows us the end of the line, without a hint of anything good in either his parents or the place itself, he manages to alienate his viewers very nearly as much as he himself has been alienated.

The cast is as good as this highly circumspect material permits. Among the youngsters, only Shiloh Fernandez (from the exquisitely nasty DeadGirl) was recognizable to me.  But, according to the IMDB, he wasn't even in this movie. (Maybe he's decided to leave it off his resume?)  The saddest part of Happiness Runs comes from seeing once-capable actors -- Rutger Hauer (above, center, the commune's elderly-but-still-randy "spiritual" leader) and Andie MacDowell (as our hero's mom, below, who evidently supplies financing for the commune) -- wasted in utterly thankless roles.  When, toward the film's conclusion, Ms MacDowell tosses her cookies, this seems the only logical reaction to all that has gone before.

Happiness Runs, from Strand Releasing, opens this Friday, May 7, in New York City at the Quad Cinema and then in Los Angeles on May 14 at the Laemmle Sunset 5.