Hello everyone and welcome back to Wrong Every Time. Since the site still holds drafts of every current Good Reader project, I’ve been working on the novel for the better part of the past week, burning out major second-half sequences and successfully extricating myself from the narrative holes I’d created. I also devoured episodes of Galaxy Express 999 at a feverish rate and thoroughly enjoyed Matsumoto’s diverse, fantastical planet concepts. There’s obviously some thematic and structural repetition (Tetsurou’s pass has been stolen at least twenty times now), but it’s still hard to imagine such a unique world and story emerging every week. I also conquered Baby Steps’ impressive Manbreaker, a ridiculous hill-climbing challenge that absolutely cemented this game as a personal favorite of mine, with one of the most mechanically rewarding control schemes I’ve ever come across. Now that the mountain is behind me, I have to figure out what to do with myself, but for now, let’s break down the week on film!
First up this week is Gorgois a ’61 creature feature directed by Eugène Lourié, with special effects work by the reliable Tom Howard, whose credits range from 1940’s The Thief of Bagdad all the way to 2001’s A Space Odyssey. Bill Travers and William Sylvester star as partners in a marine salvage operation in search of treasure off the coast of Ireland. After damage to their ship forces them to recuperate on Nara Island, they learn of a sea monster haunting the island’s harbor and decide to claim the creature and tow it back to England.
As you can see from the description, Gorgo is clearly not the most innovative entry – it’s clearly a post-Godzilla take on Aquaman, which progresses essentially as you’d expect given those influences. That said, I was quite fascinated by the slow burn of the first half of this movie. The ominous, highly suspicious islanders give off a strong Shadow of Innsmouth vibe, while the original plumbing system deep within the harbor provides plenty of shadowy underwater photography and unexplained acts of vandalism. It goes without saying that the monsters you can’t see are the scariest, and Gorgo evokes this fear well in its first third. An atmospheric opening coupled with a generous London shock-effects extravaganza at the end make Gorgo a perfectly legitimate interpretation of the British monster’s character.
Then I checked grizzly manis a 2005 documentary written and directed by Werner Herzog, which tells the life and death of conservationist Timothy Treadwell. Built largely from Treadwell’s own archival footage, the film delves into Treadwell’s unconventional strategy of actually spending the summer in Katmoi National Park in Alaska, camping with grizzly bears in the wild.
Any fan of Herzog will likely understand why he found Tredwell so fascinating. This man is essentially one of Klaus Kinski’s adventurers, a solitary figure who believes he is not bound by the laws of nature, or at least has the ability to transcend them. Treadwell emerged from the disappointment and stupor of his early career to reimagine himself as a staunch defender of bears, the only one who could save them from the threats of poachers, tourists and rampaging industrialists.
Of course, a bear is a bear, and the creature is incapable of understanding the moral dimensions of Treadwell’s allegiance. Still, there’s something fascinating and strangely human about Treadwell’s attempt. give up His humanity lived among creatures he believed to be nobler, more sincere, and more real than modern man. As Herzog points out, there are clear elements of Thoreau and McCandless in Treadwell’s philosophy, and although Treadwell’s beliefs ultimately led to his death, it’s easy to see why the film’s other interview subjects found something poignant or sublime in his pursuits.
In addition to serving as a compelling character study, Herzog’s admiration for Treadwell often highlights the man’s obvious talent as an artist, as well as the vast distance between the self-aggrandizing intent of Treadwell’s shots and their stark, unvarnished beauty. Treadwell captures many moments of stunning natural beauty, such as bears rummaging for food and foxes dancing in the meadows, with nature’s splendor indifferent to Treadwell’s pretentiousness (a common refrain from Herzog). Treadwell’s longing is relatable and sympathetic, as is the distance between his intended outcome and the paean to the wonders of nature that he accidentally captures. Ultimately, Treadwell seeks an emotional connection with the natural world, a connection with a compassion or humanity that nature does not possess. Yet in his efforts to make that connection, he created a legacy that is both intimate and universal.
Then we screened 51 years of sci-fi classics The Day the Earth Stood StillDirected by the talented and versatile Robert Wise. Michael Rennie plays Klaatu, an alien who emerges from a flying saucer and claims to have arrived with peace and good intentions, but is promptly shot for his efforts. After negotiations failed to hold a simultaneous meeting with all world leaders, Klaatu fled to the streets of Washington, D.C., taking up residence with a man named Carpenter while searching for another way to deliver a dire warning to humanity.
The Day the Earth Stood Still feels urgent and iconic, encapsulating the horrors of the atomic age and posing a serious challenge to humanity in the form of the very endearing Klaatu. Rainey’s affable demeanor makes humanity seem even more ridiculous as he brings a paternalistic smile to our endless bickering and overwhelming fear of outsiders. It’s a bit like the alien Mister Rogers being forced to inform the people of Earth that if they don’t snap out of it, they’re scheduled to be demolished, and despite its grim subject matter, it’s oddly fascinating to watch. It’s worth watching purely for the context it provided for later sci-fi dramas, such as its obvious descendant Giant Robot.
The last time this week is Exploding CityIt is a 1982 punk rock musical directed by Gakuryu Ishii. Set in a vaguely post-apocalyptic urban wasteland, the film centers on a variety of rebels, most of whom were members of the era’s true punk rock bands. In addition to documenting their carnivalesque performances, the film tells a loose story about industrialists rebelling against gangster support, with much of the footage simply steeped in the era’s anger, ennui, and street racing enthusiasm.
Burst City is an interesting take on Japan’s late 70s/early 80s punk rock scene – part concert documentary, part rebellion manifesto, part post-apocalyptic action film. Yes, I know, my use of the word “artifact” tends to accompany films that feel more like historical curiosities than recommendations, and indeed that’s the case here. The movie definitely drags on at two hours with so little storyline, and the scenes of the punks yelling “don’t fuck with me” at each other tend to get a bit repetitive after a while (if anything, the movie did make me believe their parents should impose a stricter curfew).
That said, it’s also quite compelling to have a snapshot of Japan on the brink of its international renaissance, contrasting with the defiant, defeatist culture of those who have fallen through the cracks in the asphalt of ever-expanding urban wastelands. Additionally, Ishii’s photography is vibrant and creative throughout. I can see some of the seeds in Tetsuo: Man of Steel’s wild blend of filming techniques, as well as the film’s occasional gestures of body horror. Feel free to project a movie on the wall during a raucous warehouse party – in fact, that’s pretty much its original purpose.
