Film: 'Cat People' (1982)

This is one of those things that you start watching because it's on Netflix and you're too sleep deprived to realize it's a terrible idea. I mean, apart from Nastassja Kinski being really pretty, this film has absolutely nothing to recommend it. It doesn't even have a good soundtrack, despite Bowie singing the theme song.  I'm a pretty big fan of Malcolm McDowell and his impressive talent for being able to make a movie scary just by looking at the camera, but even he couldn't do anything much with this part. I honestly couldn't tell you why I watched the entire thing. In retrospect I would have been better off sitting through The Hunger again...  I'd hoped to enjoy the plentiful footage of great wild cats in the New Orleans Zoo, the film's main setting, but their horrible cement enclosures inspired much more in the way off horror than anything else about this so-called horror film did. I'd also hoped for the sort of colourful campiness so common in sort-of-horror films made throughout the decade, but what I ended up getting was an upsettingly prurient male power fantasy. Ugh.

Recommendation: don't waste your time on this shameful example of WTF Cinema (unless you really, really want to see Ms. Kinski get naked for no reason and kill a little bunny rabbit with her teeth, which is nowhere near as sexy as it sounds); hunt down a copy of the original and much classier Cat People film, made in 1942 and starring the inimitable Simone Simon.

The 1982 trailer

The 1942 trailer:

Film: 'The Hunger' (1983)

This one's been on my watch list for years, and, laid up with a nasty cold and lured by the promise of vampire David Bowie, lesbian Catherine Deneuve, and Bauhaus, I watched it. Poor, misguided me.

It starts off alright, with a vaguely creepy club scene involving a very brief appearance by the promised Bauhaus (inevitably performing Bela Lugosi's Dead, of course). From there it's all downhill...

First Bowie, who's not really a vampire (more of a bloodsucking groupie, really) shrivels up into an ancient zombie-thing, kills an annoying teenybopper, and then - flakes - away. Then Susan Sarandon (ecch) gets naked for no good reason at all (double ecch). Catherine Deneuve doesn't really get naked at all, which is quite disappointing. Everyone acts like a jerk and then dies, except for Catherine Deneuve, who shrivels up into a witchy old thing and gets locked in a box forever and ever, and Susan Sarandon, who takes over as head slutty vampire (ecch x eternity).

Film: 'Johnny Mnemonic' (1995)

This movie had sooo much potential. Henry Rollins, Takeshi Kitano, Udo Kier, Ice-T, Dolph Lundgren, and Dina Meyer, all on the same screen, complete with scripting by the legendary William Gibson? Yes, please! Sadly, much of that potential was swallowed up by dumb*ss editing. Oh, and the total lack of Molly Millions, originally the main character...in point of fact, the story is almost completely unrecognizable to any self-respecting Gibson fan. Also sadly, Keanu Reeves.

Good points: Henry Rollins <3 <3 <3 ! He's always supercrazyawesome in bad movies, even though his characters always die, and he should totally wear big glasses more often. Ice-T was awesome, too - he's a surprisingly good actor, in addition to being the most bad*ss of all rappers. And Dina Meyer's always pleasing to look upon, though I liked her way better as Oracle. Also, the retrofuturistic technology is hilarious (they still use minidiscs! In 2021!).

Bad points: The terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad mid-90s special effects. The awful, abrasive soundtrack. Also, poor Dolph's repulsive Street Jesus getup; it is a crime and a sin to paste a grubby fake beard on that gloriously stereotypical action-man face - and the hair is just plain disgusting:

Get 'im, Henry!

Book: Daniel Silva 'Portrait of a Spy' (2011)

I think it's time for Mr. Silva to make good on his often-broken promise to let poor Gabriel Allon retire. Allon had a great run in his blood-and-paint-spattered career as mild-mannered art restorer by day, Israeli James Bond by night, but he has at last fallen prey to one of the hazards of being a long-running fictional character: he's become a formula. Portrait is book 11 in what has been a pretty good series of politically-based espionage thrillers. The first few were entertaining; the middle books were outstandingly good. Sadly, the later books seem mostly comprised of reworked bits from those excellent middle books.

The recipe: Gabriel and his beautiful young wife retire to Cornwall so he can paint in peace. An international terrorism crisis occurs. Gabriel says 'oh, yes, of course I will un-retire and save the world from the Arabs, but just this once. Again.' He and his team of super-spies come up with a dangerous plan to catch the terrorist leaders, which inevitably hinges on recruiting a beautiful woman who is rich, famous, or otherwise special. She bravely does her part, then gets captured and tortured. Gabriel kills a lot of bad guys, then sacrifices himself to save her. Then he goes back to Cornwall to recover, and swears he'll never spy/kill/save the world again. Until the next book.This one's a little different because the beautiful rich woman gets killed, but it turns out to be okay because she was dying anyhow.

Book 12 comes out later this year. I'll probably read it, out of morbid curiosity, habit, and the hope that something different will happen this time...

Film: 'The Graves' (2009)

Spoiler alert: BOOBS!

Joking aside, this film is, sadly, pretty awful. It's supposed to be a horror film, but it's not even a little bit scary. It's also neither funny nor original, which puts it pretty far down the list of things you might want to see. I watched it solely because it contains the only candidate I support for the upcoming United States presidential election (read his blog, it's kind of wonderful). Unfortunately his part is far too brief, and there's really nothing else to look forward to. Except the aforementioned boobs. Leading lady Clare Grant, though her role is rather flat, is possessed of a truly impressive rack. Thankfully, she spends most of the film running. While wearing a really low-cut shirt.

 Checkitout, even the trailer is bad!

Film: 'Microcosmos' (1996)

Cinematography: Doubleplusgood.
Narration: N/A (= fail).
Soundtrack: WTF?!

I hate nature documentaries. Nature is supercool, generally speaking, but the makers of these wretched pieces of work have an incredible penchant for stripping all semblance of meaning from the natural world. This one is no exception. Though filmed in impressive and often beautiful (and sometimes incredibly disgusting) close-up detail, the almost total lack of narration means that one spends the whole film going "but why are those bugs fighting?" "but WHY are the caterpillars marching in lines, is someone about to snort them or something?" "what is that thing?" 
The soundtrack is nothing short of execrable. It sounds as if they remixed a really awful early-20th-century opera with Tom Waits' worst drunken moments and also a gentrified circus side show.
Highlight: a pheasant eating ants. 

This film would probably be perfect if you projected it on the ceiling during a party and spiked the punch with LSD.