A number of pregnant mysteries arise with the new remake of Robin Hardy's 1973 cult-remembered genre work namely, what's in this kind of malarkey for gender combat provocateur Neil LaBute.
October 20, 2006 (Press Release) --
A number of pregnant mysteries arise with the new remake of Robin Hardy's 1973 cult-remembered genre work namely, what's in this kind of malarkey for gender combat provocateur Neil LaBute, and why was such a high-profile film tossed into theaters last Friday without letting critics see it first? The two simple answers are intertwined: While remaining faithful to some of fellow playwright Anthony Shaffer's original screenplay, LaBute has Americanized the scenario, and in doing so has poisoned its well with an old familiar misogyny. At the same time, LaBute is no thriller maker, and the new Wicker Man, which wasn't a horror film the first time around, makes sorry feints at effective creepiness and is paced in scrupulous accordance with Nicolas Cage's disoriented cop-hero, who roams around furrow-browed and uncomprehending of the fairly obvious situation around him.
The original film is partially famous because it is, in a word, maudit? the director's cut was mangled by the distributor, and footage was permanently discarded. It was dumped into theaters and quickly withdrawn, lending the already unclassifiable bizarrerie the air of a secret rite. Having a Catholic policeman infiltrate a secluded Scottish island community that has reverted to sacrificial paganism makes for a tantalizing farrago of ideas. Playing with pantheism in a modern context, the story ends up either endorsing Christianity's less horrific ways and means or simply raining bullets upon the basic idea of religion altogether. Which is a barn of a target, even if Shaffer's story has nothing to say about the primal insecurities and prejudices that fuel religious construction. Much of the discussion gets mired by the latent '60s-flower-child campiness and a slew of honey-dripping soundtrack folk songs about harvesttime and agrarian rituals that by themselves could spur you to join Opus Dei.
Source: http://www.yahoo.com
by Michael Atkinson
The original film is partially famous because it is, in a word, maudit? the director's cut was mangled by the distributor, and footage was permanently discarded. It was dumped into theaters and quickly withdrawn, lending the already unclassifiable bizarrerie the air of a secret rite. Having a Catholic policeman infiltrate a secluded Scottish island community that has reverted to sacrificial paganism makes for a tantalizing farrago of ideas. Playing with pantheism in a modern context, the story ends up either endorsing Christianity's less horrific ways and means or simply raining bullets upon the basic idea of religion altogether. Which is a barn of a target, even if Shaffer's story has nothing to say about the primal insecurities and prejudices that fuel religious construction. Much of the discussion gets mired by the latent '60s-flower-child campiness and a slew of honey-dripping soundtrack folk songs about harvesttime and agrarian rituals that by themselves could spur you to join Opus Dei.
Source: http://www.yahoo.com
by Michael Atkinson
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