I saw Borderlands

Borderlands, produced by Avi Arad and Erik Feig and directed by Eli (Thanksgiving) Roth, who cowrote with Joe Crombie, is a new, dystopic fable about a mission-prone, ragtag alliance. To expand upon the video-game-based melodrama, the story lifts viable specks from Guardians of the Galaxy, RanXerox, Doom Patrol, Tank Girl, Spacehunter: Adventures in the Forbidden Zone, The A-Team, The Road Warrior, (The) Suicide Squad, The Dirty Dozen, The Expendables, The Magnificent Seven and many other comparable, outsider fables. This may not make Borderlands original, but it certainly secures its entertainment value. 

Headlining the story is a renowned, if not reckless bounty hunter/vault tracker, Cate (Thor: Ragnarok) Blanchett's Lilith, who seeks a "kidnapped," corporate kingpin's daughter (or perhaps more so, an adopted, Eridian clone), Ariana Greenblatt's bunny-eared Tiny Tina on the Planet Pandora. Tina may, in fact, hold the key to opening a tech-jammed vault that could purge Pandora of its chaos, or let more bleed through. Even Tina's dear ol' dad, Edgar Ramirez's President Atlas, doesn't quite know, but the greedy cuss is willing to let the cards fall where they may, no matter the consequences. 

Joining the reckless run are Kevin Hart's Roland (a top gun for hire, who pulled Tina from her entrapment out of the goodness of his heart); Jack Black's Claptrap (a wise-cracking, cyclopean, wheeled robot), Florian Monteanu's Krieg (Tina's humongous body guard and ex-Psycho gang member) and Jamie Lee Curtis' Dr. Patricia Tannis (a nebbish but accomplished archeologist with ties to Lilith's mom). To accompany these prime characters are such colorful personas as Benjamin Byron Davis' Marcus, Bobby Lee's Larry, Oliver Richters' Krom, Janina Gavankar's Commander Knox and Gina Gershon's Mae West-ish Moxie, among other meritorious compatriots and misfits.

To get from Point A to B, the borderland band encounters many, daunting diversions, namely the bloodthirsty Psychos and colossal creatures. The intersecting opposition forges the story's chunky center into a Buck Rogers/Flash Gordon baptism, in which the austerity allows the protagonists to brandish their skills and demonstrate their mettle. These segments also build a favorable, family dynamic, which in turn, allows one to appreciate and identify with the big-hearted scoundrels in a quick, collective way. (Hey, we may not be dealing with the Fantastic Four per se, but the unfeigned intent grazes similar turf.) 

The capable Roth juggles it all with his typical vigor, which invokes a Glenn Larson-meets-James Gunn overlay, incorporating 1970s/80s schtick with modern, superhero tropes. 

I had fun with this one, and though I've no idea if it'll spawn a sequel, it certainly has the ideal ingredients to defend the possibility. On the other hand, perhaps the movie will do no more than direct fans (back) to its video-game foundation, an effusive franchise that will persist, with or without a cinematic thread. 

I saw Haunted Mansion 2023

I'm a fan of the Disney/Rob Minkoff (2003) Haunted Mansion: you know, the one with Eddie Murphy and Terence Stamp, plus Jennifer Tilly and Nathaniel Parker as the otherworldly Madame Leota and Master Edward Gracey, in a setup that rolls like The Fall of the House of Usher meets The Ghost and Mr. Chicken. I'd have appreciated a direct sequel to that submission, but alas, such wasn't to be. However, a new take on Disney's theme attraction has manifested: a reboot, for the lack of a better term. 

This particular Haunted Mansion, directed by Justin Simien and penned by Katie Dippold, is a cross between The Legend of Hell House and Ghostbusters: Afterlife, with lots of 13 Ghosts (either version) slapped on top. It features Rosario Dawson's Gabbie and Chase Dillon's Travis, her son, who move into a big, old "home" in New Orleans that's (surprise!) plagued by ghosts who refuse to leave. They also wish to keep those who dare enter for their very own. 

Gabbie recruits "experts" to purge the problem: LaKeith Stanfield's Ben Matthias (a heartbroken astrophysicist who's invented a spirit-capturing camera); Danny DeVito's Professor Bruce Davis (who knows the mansion's haunted history); Owen Wilson's Father Trent (allegedly skilled in the fine art of exorcism); and Tiffany Haddish's psychic Harriet (a harbinger of vast abilities, despite her family's ridicule). They're anxious people with their hearts in the right place, but due to the taunting, spectral ensemble (each member pulled from Disney's park-lore and refashioned via smoky CGI) in over their heads.

Jamie Lee Curtis is the lead, guest-starring, virtuous ghost, the neo Madame Leota, and she gets lots of mileage from the supporting role, as she advises from a crystal ball. J.R. Adduci is the neo Gracey (as heartbroken as our poor Ben), with Jared Leto as "The Hatbox Ghost," Alistair Crump, who's pretty damn creepy and the inside instigator of the plot's plight. (Winona Ryder offsets the mysterious interaction, as a guide for Crump's alternate mansion, giving the sojourn a little Beetlejuice kick; and Schitt's Creek's Dan Levy does a swell job channeling Charles Nelson Reilly for some welcome, Ghost and Mrs. Muir levity.) 

The movie drives home the necessity of coexistence, no matter our differences or emanations, and perhaps along the way, the courage to accept our flaws and overcome our doubts to make it through life ... and death. Each of the investigators, despite their admirable distinctions, craves redemption from past trials and with such, validation. In a way, Gabby and Travis are in the same disconcerting boat, hoping to gain their cozy niche when others have already claimed it. (For current Disney, this chink-in-the-armor approach is refreshing, considering its recent penchant for monotonous Mary Sues.)

I can only say what others have said about Haunted Mansion 2023. It's an even-tempered, throwback, family flick and should excel as such, but do families go to theaters these days? It seems a rare occurrence, and so, how might that impact the studio's second stab at an old standard? Despite the odds against its box-office success (and the lingering stain of Disney's patronizing missteps), I hope this particular effort prospers, not because it's any sort of stupendous game changer, but rather that it's the humble antithesis. 

I saw Halloween Kills...

The sequel to the recent, parallel Halloween 2, aka Halloween '18, is entitled Halloween Kills, the second chapter in a developing slasher trilogy. Thanks to accursed COVID, this follow-up was delayed by a year, which isn't as disagreeable as what other flicks have endured, like No Time to Die and Black Widow, but still anticipation has been shooting through the roof due to the restraint. 

Halloween Kills is directed by the prior film's David Gordon Green, who co-scripted with Danny McBride and Scott Teems, and is as violent as word of mouth proclaims. It holds a raw-edged, '78 epilogue that explains how Michael Myers was caught way-back-when, and when it resumes in the "present", it continues to be absent of any goofy nonsense to slow it down under the pretense that such padding builds suspense. This Myers chapter is a nonstop monster-on-the-loose love affair (even when he's not on screen), where even obligatory interludes tingle with reflective chill.

The film ultimately picks up where Halloween '18 left off, with Myers (James Jude Courtney) flanked by flames in Laurie Strode (Jamie Lee Curtis)'s house, but of course, the damn Shape doesn't perish. An unknowing fireman lends the escaped madman a hand, and Myers' trail of carnage marches on as Deputy Hawkins (Will Patton), Sheriff Barker (Omar Dorsey), former Sheriff Brackett (Charles Cyphers) and Strode's old, babysitting pals, Tommy Doyle (now played by Anthony Michael Hall) and Lindsey Wallace (Kyle Nichols of John Carpenter/Debra Hill's original and looking quite Demi Moore-esque) help Strode swallow the unabated maelstrom. 

For those who suspect this one will buck tradition, fret not. The story's structure features mounds of barometric heritage, with the Haddonfield Memorial Hospital once more flavoring the autumnal bracketing. However, the formula takes an initiating but satisfying turn when Strode and friends form a vigilante group to snuff Myers' resumed reign of terror. The anxiety and fear among the ensemble ride the crest of Rod Serling's "Monsters are Due on Maple Street" and to some degree George Romero/John Russo's Night of the Living Dead, exposing a divergence of select quirks to deter the menace, but it never goes much beyond that appreciated but curtailed mob mentality: a bummer, since a broadened, communal case may have placed Halloween Kills on a behavioral platform. 

On the other hand, more than enough contentious tension rises from Laurie's daughter, Karen (Judy Greer) and granddaughter, Allyson (Andi Madichak) to keep viewers ensnared. And yes, the former plays an important part in the publicized-to-a-fault, unfocused unmasking of the senior Myers. (Though let's face it folks, this isn't the first time Myers has lost his refurbished Kirk guise to tease his adult features, if one recalls Halloween '78's television cut. Also his appearances as a child, in the latter movie and Rob Zombie's remake/quasi-prequel make it reasonable to extrapolate.)

Even with the drum-rolling unveiling, Myers stands propelled and dogged throughout this implacable chapter. Some have compared his new, hellbent behavior to that of Leatherface and/or Jason Voorhees, since he skirts the shadows to slash right out in the audacious open, taking the statutory, is-he-dead-yet bow every now and then. (Pardon the tangent, but I've long discerned a significant sum of Yul Brynner's Westworld Gunslinger in Myers, in the way the Shape keeps springing up after being knocked down, and I dare say, Myers and the Gunslinger are explicit precursors to the Terminator 800's resiliency, but that's a comparative discussion for another time down the super-stalker line.) 

On the evident, allegorical side, Halloween Kills makes Myers a symbolic force of reckoning, who adheres to Nietchze's "That which does not kill us makes us stronger", and the more he kills, the more impregnable he grows (and in so doing, spares no one, including the elderly and {pre}adolescent kids). But as with any irrevocable force in life, one can't just sit back and let one's aggressor have his way. One must conjure the courage to strike back, no matter the boogeyman involved. Halloween Kills is this premise's apex exemplar. 

Strap on a pair of it's-fun-to-be-scared balls and give this seasonal offering a stab. It ought to keep one restlessly content until Halloween Ends gains its revenge this time next year. 

An Alternate Reality: I saw Halloween (2018)...

Sooner or later, Michael Myers, aka the Shape, would return. It was merely a matter of how and in what context. 

The new "Halloween" (endorsed per reassuring publicity by the original's co-creator John Carpenter) is directed by David Gordon Green ... scripted by Green, Jeff Fradley, and Danny "Alien: Covenant" McBride. They make the '78 movie its foundation, establishing (through an instructive, character exchange) that the classic's offshoots and retelling are no more than urban legend. This bold tactic twists "Halloween '18" into a full-fledged, alternate-reality, sidesteppin' sequel. 

Horror fans have encountered this stunt before. "Jaws: the Revenge" is a parallel "Jaws 2", and "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre" franchise hit the restart button more than once.

In "Halloween '18", the story picks up forty years after the night that Myers (played by James Jude Courtney, with a little, suggestive help from the original Shape, Nick Castle) attempted to kill Jamie Lee Curtis' Laurie Strode. In this alternate chapter, we learn that Strode has long awaited the day, or more precisely the night, that Myers would return to Haddonfield, IL, and in rifle-pumped, Sarah Connor fashion is prepared to bring him down. 

One might argue that the novelty here is Curtis' re-entry into the series, but "H20" and "Halloween: Resurrection" promoted her presence as much, if not more so. Been there, done that.

Similarly, though Donald Pleasence's Sam Loomis is no longer available to chase Myers, he's been replaced by a twinkling-eyed counterpart, Ranbir Sartain, played by Haluk Bilginer, and to share Loomis' legacy of intensity, there are crime investigators Aaron Korey, played by Jefferson Hall, and Dana Holmes, played by Rhian Rees. These passionate intellects dare to probe, ruminate and debate what makes our Kirk-masked madman tick (something that Loomis' peers were more inclined to do), but that won't snuff Myers' urge to escape: a more than reasonable, plot retread and still, nothing new. 

As with prior films, we're given a helpful, been-there-done-that policeman, Frank Hawkins (Will Patton). Strode again has family referenced: her daughter (Judy Greer), son-in-law (Toby Huss) and granddaughter (Andi Matichak). It feels right that the ensemble reflects past participants, except that in this version, Myers isn't Strode's brother. Nevertheless, in determined, brotherly fashion, he slashes his way to get to her ... again, again and again.

With these generous overlaps, what does distinguish "Halloween '18", beyond being a third "II"? Well, it really comes down to the approach.

"Halloween '18" isn't hindered by non-stop, horny teens (though there's a confined brush of such) or garrulous interludes: Let's face it, kids today generally make love to their phones, not each other, and as for those beat-it-into-the ground, waste-of-time misleads ... please! "Halloween '18" is tight and blunt, with the cat-and-mouse battle between seniors taking center stage. 

Michael Simmonds' photography works to the scenario's advantage: ominous and in an ironic way, consoling, invoking Carpenter's first and Rob Zombie's remake/sequel. Variations of Carpenter's famous music triggers the suspense. The scares are as calculated, if not sometimes obvious, but what the hell? Slasher fans know the routine and wouldn't have it any other way.

Like previous "Halloweens", this one is conclusive and yet implies a continuation. (Call me crazy, but I desire something that ties Conal Cochran's Silver Shamrock masks to Myer's.) Don't expect an Oscar out of this (though in truth, "Halloween '18" is superior to most Academy darlings, including the cliched "The Shape of Water"). This chapter is best taken as a sentimental reunion, warmed with vengeful violence.  

Myers and Strode are pop-cultural staples. They should never fade away. They never can. Even if this one doesn't end up your favorite sequel (though don't be surprised if it does), you'll still find your autumnal time well spent.