the traveler's resource guide to festivals & films
a FestivalTravelNetwork.com site
part of Insider Media llc.
Written and directed by: Michael Spierig & Peter Spierig
With: Ethan Hawke, Willem Dafoe, Michael Dorman, Claudia Karvan, Sam Neill, Isabel Lucas
Australian writer-directors and special-effects artists Michael Spierig & Peter Spierig's gore-soaked shocker Daybreakers unfolds in a dystopian future where vampires constitute 95% of the world’s population and most humans are imprisoned in factory farms, systematically drained of blood and discarded when their veins run dry.
Despite the futuristic setting, the vampires are strictly old-school: There are no sparkly-skinned, undead heartthrobs mooning after moody teen girls, and plenty of predatory monsters who like nothing more than sinking their fangs into a nice, warm throat. But while the film’s future setting is sleek and filled with clever details, the story, in which one good vampire teams up with a scrappy band of free-range humans to fight the power, is timeworn and predictable. And while the copious gore will appeal to hardcore horror buffs, it will alienate more mainstream audiences, along with many sci-fi fans who might otherwise warm to the movie’s thinly veiled digs at money-grubbing business moguls and authority figures.
The year is 2019, ten years after a plague swept the world and left it swarming with vampires. Ruthless businessmen like Charles Bromley (Neill) have made a killing supplying blood to the thirsty masses. But demand is rapidly exceeding supply, and a growing population of “subsiders” — blood-deprived vamps who’ve degenerated into scaly, winged beasts — is scaring the hell out of civilized vampire citizens. Amid growing civil unrest, principled scientist Edward Dalton (Hawke) abandons his research into concocting an artificial blood substitute for Bromley’s corporation to join the human resistance, a small band of survivors whose leader (Dafoe) has proof that vampirism can be cured. But can it be cured before the last living human is caught and sucked dry by increasingly desperate vampires?
The nightmarish future against which the Spierigs (whose only previous credit is the goofy 2003 zombie comedy Undead) set their story is fully and effectively imagined, from the grey, glass-and-steel architecture that reflects the cold soullessness of vampires, to the coffee bars where cups of java come with blood instead of milk and the corporate blood farm where naked, comatose people are suspended in metal frames and connected to tubes that extract their blood with dehumanizing efficiency. The police round up homeless vampires like stray dogs, the military is filled with adrenaline-fueled thugs, and ordinary vampires, hooked on their creature comforts, are easily persuaded to set aside whatever consciences they have in the name of security.
But the story under this rich surface is simplistic and derivative; its influences including Richard Matheson’s novel I Am Legend, written in 1954 and filmed three times to date; the 2006 movie Ultraviolet; and even Fritz Lang’s 1927 Metropolis, the pioneering sci-fi allegory about rapacious businessmen, a ruthlessly exploited underclass and the complacent general population that would rather not know the human price of their comfy lives.
The Spierigs assembled a strong cast, but even their best efforts — notably by Neill, whose Bromley is the ultimate vampire squid, tentacles wrapped around the face of this scary new world — can’t pump any real life into the bloodless script.
For more by Maitland McDonagh: MissFlickChick.com
It starts with a light ball setting off two figures; she is in black underwear. Hot Latin drums keep a frenetic double time. Then for a change of pace comes a Lady in white silk and a man in a tux; they waltz and execute twirls through the air in a way you hadn’t seen. After that, 20s/30s jazz dancing; the guy wears a fedora and vest. A sailor and his partner jitterbug. A woman in pink is squired by a guy in a black leather jacket. (Costumes are by Janet Hine.)
The choreography is sophisticated and sensual. Some of the sounds are swing, some are brassy. The production is gorgeous. In one subtle exciting number, the female dancer is blindfolded and she dances with six men, then walks away seductively. A tango is campy.
Burn the Floor is an exciting review of ballroom dancing through the decades, from Latin and Afro-Brazilian rhythms to modern jazzy idioms. Through you never saw any of this in a real ballroom. The numbers, the wild fast movements, come out of competitive dancing that these couples have done all over the world. Their origins span the globe from Australia to Russia and Latin America.
The group has been touring since 1999 to over 160 cities in 30 countries. Some met on the competition circuit. They are ballet trained and do ballroom with a contemporary edge. The duos change. Most of the dancers are 18 or 19 years old. It’s a high energy craft. They insist it's not jazz dancing, though in some cases I’d beg to differ.
In any event, it’s a thrilling genre, not to be missed for those who love the dance.
Burn the Floor
Longacre Theatre
220 West 48th Street
New York, NY
212-239-6200
Opened August 2, 2009, closes January 10, 2010
For more by Lucy Komisar: TheKomisarScoop.com
The Imaginarium of Doctor Parnassus
Directed by Terry Gilliam
Starring Heath Ledger, Colin Farrell, Johnny Depp, Jude Law, Christopher Plummer, Tom Waits
The first 15 minutes of The Imaginarium of Dr. Parnassus would make a fantastic short: crammed with director Terry Gilliam’s usual surfeit of dazzling imagery, the opening is so breathtaking in its casual sleight-of-hand—including references to Gilliam’s animation for Monty Python’s Flying Circus—that it can’t help but make the rest of Parnassus a let-down.
Gilliam’s latest jinxed production is the film Heath Ledger was working on when he died of an overdose. It was at first uncertain if Gilliam could go on with filming, since Ledger was playing a pivotal role as Tony, a cheating charity owner rescued from certain death by members of a traveling circus led by the immortal Dr. Parnassus, including his child-like 16-year-old daughter Valentina and two sidekicks, the lovestruck teenager Anton and the grumpy dwarf Percy.
Gilliam and co-writer Charles McKeown re-wrote sections of the script, plugging in actors Depp, Law and Farrell to play Ledger’s role without losing a beat. How? The contraption of the title serves as a gateway to the doctor’s vivid imagination, and whenever Tony enters it in each of three fantasy sequences, he “becomes” one of the other actors.
Gilliam plugs in amusing in-jokes as Tony sees himself in these scenes and notes unhappily that he looks different; but the poignancy over Ledger’s loss occurs more often when he is onscreen giving a racy, incisive and distinctly unmannered performance. (On the other hand, the trio of replacements labors hard to act like Ledger, and only Depp partially succeeds.)
Parnassus is truly a sight to behold: the eye-popping colors, sublimely silly juxtapositions of varied styles (similar to the stew that drove the Beatles’ animated feature Yellow Submarine) and witty visual jokes are typically Gilliam. What was once innovative and revelatory now seems stale, maybe because CGI effects can conjure anything, and the bluest sky and greenest grass that’s ever seen don’t make one shake one’s head in wonderment any more.
Unfortunately, Gilliam limits what his actors can do, since they are all at the service of his visual primacy. In addition to the frisky Ledger, Plummer nearly pulls off the miraculous feat of making us sympathize with the immortal Parnassus, and it’s only because Gilliam and McKeown’s script that he doesn’t register as a real human being. Still, Plummer’s immense charm comes through, especially during his deals with Mr. Nick (a k a Mephistopheles, whose Faustian bargain Parnassus accepted, played with little charisma by an unsinister Waits): you believe he could charm the devil himself, not the other way around. Plummer also looks the part of an elderly fool, like a regal King Lear turned into a mad Don Quixote.
I would also love to admire the camerawork of Nicola Pecorini, but when much of the movie is CGI, how does one figure out the cinematographer’s actual contribution?