well you know who started (more or less) that whole overt pro-empire thing? michael aquino
82_28 wrote:Now, I have overtaken this thread about movies with Star Wars talk. Sorry.
“Pontypool,” a small Canadian horror film that makes the most of its minuscule budget, is set almost entirely in the confines of a tiny radio station that operates from a church basement in rural Ontario. (The film’s title is also the name of the village that is home to the station, CLSY Radio.) Here, Grant Mazzy (Stephen McHattie), a growling talk-show cowboy who suggests a bottom-drawer Don Imus, holds forth each morning while swigging heavily spiked coffee. By his side are his producer, Sydney Briar (Lisa Houle), with whom he continually bickers, and Laurel Ann Drummond (Georgina Reilly), a resourceful technician who recently returned from serving in Afghanistan.
Directed by Bruce McDonald (“The Tracey Fragments”) from Tony Burgess’s screen adaptation of his novel “Pontypool Changes Everything,” the film captures the monotonous daily rituals of broadcasting from inside a studio that feels so sealed off from the outside world that nothing beyond the sound booth seems real. On this snowy Valentine’s Day morning, phoned-in reports of grisly events in the town seem as bogus as the Sunshine Chopper, a fictional traffic helicopter that is actually a truck parked on a hill.
The traffic reporter, Ken Loney (Rick Roberts), gives increasingly agitated eyewitness accounts of a mob surrounding the house of a local doctor, on top of another report of demented ice fishermen cannibalizing policemen. Because he is just a voice and never seen, they sound like an elaborate prank.
“Pontypool” eventually makes a giant satiric leap into intellectual pretension, transforming William S. Burroughs’s notion that language is a virus into flesh-eating reality. The virus is not just any language, but English, the contagion spread through terms of endearment. To survive, Grant is forced to speak in broken French.
“Pontypool” barely develops a premise that has all kinds of implications about the mass media (talk radio in particular) and the degradation of language in a culture overrun with hyperbole, jargon, disinformation and contrived drama. But when one infected character is reduced to spouting gibberish as she suicidally hurls herself at the glass booth that has become a fortress against the zombie terror, the notion that we are all being driven mad by an incessant verbal deluge makes nasty comic sense.
There are three stages to this virus. The first stage is you might begin to repeat a word. Something gets stuck. And usually it's words that are terms of endearment like sweetheart or honey. The second stage is your language becomes scrambled and you can't express yourself properly. The third stage you become so distraught at your condition that the only way out of the situation you feel, as an infected person, is to try and chew your way through the mouth of another person
Passion in the Desert
Based on the controversial novella by Honoré de Balzac, this thought-provoking drama explores the connection between man and beast -- and how cooperation between the species can lead to survival. Abandoned in the Sahara with no hope of staying alive, French army officer Augustin Robert (Ben Daniels) discovers an unexpected oasis, where the wild leopard he encounters there could be the key to saving his life.
There is no other movie on earth that has flaming werewolves on stunt bikes, in the desert, in the 70s
Users browsing this forum: Google [Bot] and 4 guests