Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai (1999)

Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai is a curious addition to the filmography of Jim Jarmusch. However, its style and fascination with various juxtapositions create the type of film that only could come from the mind of Jarmusch. The film begins as we follow Ghost Dog (Forest Whitaker) as he walks around a nameless city (located in a place only known as “The Industrialized State” by the license plates). He steals a car using a card reader device (one of the many homages to Jean-Pierre Melville’s Le Samourai) and drives to his destination to assassinate a gangster. Much like Alain Delon in Le Samourai, he is cool and meticulous about who he is and what he does. As the film progresses, we slowly learn a couple of odd details about the character of Ghost Dog—he lives on a rooftop, he communicates to his boss solely through passenger pigeons, he demands payment once a year on the first day of autumn, he lives by a strict code of the samurai. All these traits seem very strange, an opinion also shared by Ghost Dog’s boss, a local mobster who once saved Ghost Dog’s life. However, he accepts Ghost Dog’s eccentricities because he is an impeccable contract killer.

Jarmusch seems interested in creating a melting pot of styles and cultures, all seemingly ready to clash against one another. Even though Ghost Dog lives strictly by an ancient code of the samurai, he also lives in an urban jungle and has seemingly unlimited access to an endless cache of weapons and modern technology such as his carjacking card reader. His best friend is a Haitian ice cream vendor (played by Jarmusch regular Isaach De Bankolé), but Ghost Dog doesn’t know a word of French and the vendor doesn’t know any English. As with most Jarmusch films, characters often speak in a deadpan fashion, not giving much away through their words. It’s these type of oddities that become the life force of the movie, and it poses some curious questions that permeates throughout the movie—how are we defined by the culture around us? It may be an obvious question, but it’s one that the main character seems to face and struggle with at every turn. Even the end of the film (spoilers), Ghost Dog’s strict adherence to the code is what ultimately brings his downfall, even when he refuses to use to simple resources provided to him by the modern world in which he lives in. However, it’s clear that Jarmusch seems to side with Whitaker’s character, a sort of man out of time, both emotionally and quite literally by the end. In the title role, Whitaker does an excellent job portraying the introspective hitman, playing him with a quiet menace and determination, all while earning our sympathy by hinting at a deep sadness to his character. The soundtrack by The RZA is also largely excellent, enhancing the cool atmosphere of the film.

While the film doesn’t always work from a logistical standpoint, it seems to work better if viewed as a piece of music or visual poem. Jarmusch seems to also treat the film instinctively, where the rhythms and beats of the characters seem to ebb and flow with the atmosphere of the world around them. There are times where the stylistic aspects seem to envelop the characters, while other times we see Italian gangsters extolling the virtues of Flavor Flav. The film seems to relish in the realm of juxtaposition—Eastern vs. Western culture, gangsters films vs. samurai films, and sly comments on race, technology and language. Jarmusch is clearly having fun in seeing how all these cultures tie together, and while the film may not hold up to his very best work, it’s also not hard to get lost in the atmosphere.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Bubba Ho-Tep (2002)

Bubba Ho-Tep takes an incredibly wacky (yet winning) premise of wish-fulfillment fantasy mixed with a slice of irony to create an offbeat horror-comedy that will (at the very least) have fans of the genre intrigued and probably slightly bewildered. The main idea (based off a short story by Texas writer Joe R. Landsdale): what if Elvis was still alive, but instead of reclaiming his fame, he was forced to spend the rest of his life in a drab Texas nursing home because of back problems? What if the Elvis that actually died was an Elvis impersonator, who agreed to switch places back in the 70s? What if Elvis’s best friend in the nursing home is an old black man (played wonderfully by Ossie Davis) who thinks he is actually JFK? What if their goal is to stop a mythical cowboy-mummy who begins to haunt the residents of the nursing home? It’s all very bizarre, but thankfully the film maintains the balancing act of horror and comedy long enough leave an impression. One would think that the film keeps the proceedings light with this kind of concept, but it actually goes for a darker tone, dealing with loneliness and the inevitability of old age and death. There is humor to be sure (one bit involves Elvis’s contract with the impersonator becoming lost during a freak barbeque explosion), but there is a surprising sadness of the characters’ situations that undercuts some of the craziness found in the offbeat storyline.

One of the main reasons the film works as well as it does is the excellent performance of Bruce Campbell as the aging Elvis Presley. Famously known for his slapstick swagger played to comic perfection in the Evil Dead films, Campbell here seems much more restrained, especially under layers and layers of old-age makeup. Thankfully, his face is still expressive as ever, and he’s able to portray Elvis as a man who’s down but not out. It makes it all the more impressive that his performance is not a straight up Elvis impersonation, but his wit, humor, and swagger all shine through the lonely character he’s playing, and you get a sense that this really could have been Elvis: The Elderly Years. Director Don Coscarelli (of Phantasm and Beastmaster fame) and the filmmakers also thankfully have a sense of reverence towards Elvis, so instead of becoming a punchline, he becomes a real character who just seems to be stuck in an uncanny situation. The other main performance, Ossie Davis as JFK, is hilarious because the way Davis ramps up the paranoia, believing everyone is out to get him, be it Oswald or Johnson. Together their chemistry and comic timing provides for some great laughs as they scuttle around the nursing home trying to deal with the mythical villain.

The movie is obviously influenced by the horror-comedy that preceded it, and it’s hard not to mention the Evil Dead films as a major influence, especially when you have Bruce Campbell in the title role. There is one hilarious bit with Campbell’s Elvis fighting off a persistent scarab beetle in his room that would probably feel right at home in Sam Raimi’s classic series. Unfortunately, for all its offbeat qualities, the film loses steam in the second half (the final standoff against Bubba Ho-Tep fells oddly rushed and a little anti-climactic), and there are times where the filmmakers seem to be trying a little too hard to make an instant cult hit. However, it’s bizarre concept and great first half keeps things enjoyable, so if you’ve ever wondered what would happen if Elvis and JFK teamed up to fight mummies, you’d be hard pressed not to find some sort of strange answer here.

Rating: 3 stars (out of 5)

Muhammad and Larry (2009)

Muhammad and Larry, part of ESPN’s 30 for 30 documentary series, is a mesmerizing story of the downfall of a giant, the promise of another great, and the muddled grey area in between. The film was directed by Albert Maysles (one half of the famed documentary team in charge of Gimme Shelter, Salesman, and Grey Gardens fame) and Bradley Kaplan, using archival footage from a shorter, unreleased documentary shot by Maysles and his brother David. This film allows Maysles to use some of his footage from almost 30 years ago and expand on it with new interviews and footage for the “30 for 30” segment. What has been released not only provides a wealth of unseen footage from the era, but it also provides a nice look into how this fight affected all parties involved.

The film chronicles the events leading up the 1980 championship bout between Muhammad Ali and Larry Holmes. Holmes had been consistently defending his WBC Heavyweight Champion title over the past couple of years by defeating the likes of Ken Norton, Mike Weaver, and Earnie Shavers. Meanwhile, Ali had not boxed professionally in well over a year but was looking for a return for a fourth heavyweight championship. The two had been friends and sparring partners, and Holmes regarded Ali as a mentor and hero. The idea of Ali returning was met with speculation, as nobody thought Ali could make such a strong comeback. The movie begins two months before the fight, and we see Ali, at age 38, looking weathered and tired from the gate. He is overweight (for his class) and sporting a moustache, making him look far older than his age would suggest.

What’s fascinating here is that we are allowed a backstage pass into Ali’s training facility, a sort of grimy, DIY-like arena where you can almost smell the wood and vinyl surrounding the interiors. Here Ali becomes a sort of master of ceremonies, entertaining the crowds with witty speeches and amazing kids with magic tricks. However, it becomes obvious Ali’s keeping his cards close to his chest, never revealing his true self. There is even a moment in a limo ride where Ali is asked about Holmes as a friend, and Ali says he is a friend to Holmes, but the look in his eyes shows nothing but contempt. He is nervous, paranoid of those around him, audibly slurring (unbeknownst to anyone at the time, Ali was only four years away from being diagnosed with Parkinson’s Disease). Holmes, on the other hand, is seen as much more open to the camera, often seen kissing his baby, singing songs about himself or talking to his wife on his (oversize) car phone. It becomes obvious that he really doesn’t want to fight his friend, but on the day of the fight he will do what he always does. He also knows that he has the talent, and we are reminded that Holmes was a great fighter who probably isn’t considered one of the greats because he came right after Ali’s reign. Even In the days leading up to the fight, Holmes is confident in his skills that he will win, but the hype falls in Ali’s favor, and it proves to be just a little frustrating for Holmes.

The actual fight, almost predictably, proves to be brutal for Ali. The footage is difficult to watch, as Holmes takes the lead from the first round landing punch after punch on Ali, and there are rounds where it seems that Ali has long since given up, not even trying to throw any punches. Holmes even seems to take pity on Ali mid-fight, not wanting to deliver the final blow to his friend. The fight was finally called in 11^th round, and Holmes was declared the champion. However, the damage had already been done. Holmes was cast as the villain by the press and fans alike for taking down their hero, and it’s a reputation that he has long since tried to correct (as seen in the newer footage). Ali, rather surprisingly, would fight one more time in 1981 before retiring permanently from the sport. The Ali-Holmes fight is fondly remembered as “crime against all involved”, an “abomination”, clearly a money ploy for the promoters, trainers and sports media. No one person was to blame, yet almost everyone knew the outcome well before the fight.

Muhammad and Larry proves to be so captivating because of not only all the archival footage that allows us into the world of the training areas, but it also shows a heartbreaking story of two greats. One, beloved by both the media and the public (still to this day), was well aware that his chances were slim but gambled anyway—and had an embarrassing downslide to his professional career to show for it. The other, even though he came out the victor by defeating one the greats, was outcast as a villain and was never given the chance to fully redeem himself. The film doesn’t take sides on who’s really the hero here—it just shows the two in the natural habitat, just trying to make sense of what is about to happen and how some wrongs can never be made right.

Rating: 4 ½ stars (out of 5)

Crazy Heart (2009)

Crazy Heart tells the story of Bad Blake, a washed up country singer who is still touring the southwestern United States. He lives out of his old van and cheap motel rooms, and he hasn’t written a new song in over a decade. He ends up playing gigs anywhere that will hire him—bowling alleys, dive bars—and he seemingly lives largely off a diet consisting solely of whiskey. While on tour in a small Texas town, he meets a younger, attractive reporter, and they begin seeing each other. He later gets a chance to play bigger arenas again, but he would in turn become the opening act of one of his former protégés. If this story is starting to sound familiar to you, it’s because it’s really nothing new. For a recent example of this story, 2008’s excellent The Wrestler immediately comes to mind. Thankfully, the film succeeds because of its strong performances and assured direction. The film doesn’t have to rely on forced histrionics or big life lessons to convey its story. First time director Scott Cooper (who also adapted the screenplay based on Thomas Cobb’s book) shows great talent for handling these scenes. It keeps its focus on Bad Blake’s life, trying to make sense of his journey to find and keep love, friendship, and his musical career. It doesn’t hurt that Bad Blake is played by Jeff Bridges, who infuses Bad Blake with a sense of loss and world weariness that can be seen through each and every move. He also infuses a lot of wit and humor into his performance—his laconic drawl, a mischievous twinkle in his eye, a half cocked smile. It’s the little nuances that show you what an excellent actor Bridges can be, and it makes the film a pleasure to watch anytime he’s on screen (which is pretty much the entire film). Bridges even plays and sings his own songs in the film, and his stage persona during the performance scenes brings forward a naturalism that feels like he’s been on the road for years honing his craft. It’s the type of performance that already comes naturally to Bridges, but he fills in the blanks with such nuance and charisma that it becomes just so entertaining to watch.

While Bridges’ performance is the primary driving force behind the film, the supporting cast here is also strong enough to compliment him. Maggie Gyllenhaal, who plays the reporter Jean Craddock, effectively conveys the struggles of being both career-minded and a single mother, and her concern for Bad Blake also weighs heavy on her mind. Bad Blake’s protégé turned superstar Tommy Sweet (played effectively by Colin Farrell, who also sings his own songs) could have easily been set up as a ruthless antagonist, but by the time we met him, he’s respectful and loyal to Bad Blake, making sure not to forget his own roots. Robert Duvall (who played a washed up country star in 1983’s Tender Mercies) even shows up later as a bartender and an old friend of Bad Blake. Most of the conflict in the film comes from Bad Blake’s inner demons, and while it could have gone to darker places with Bad Blake’s alcoholism, it also doesn’t rely on being overly sentimental. The film seems to understand the toll a life on the road can take for a musician, and how lonely that life can often become.

Thanks to Bridges and company, effective writing and directing, and an excellent soundtrack, the film remains very enjoyable throughout (the soundtrack features both songs from Waylon Jennings and Townes Van Zandt and original songs written by T-Bone Burnett. “The Weary Kind”, written by Burnett and Ryan Bingham, shows its Van Zandt influence to create a song that is very effective. Also, original song “I Don’t Know” is highly infectious). The film may play it a little too conventional at times (more so during the final third of the film), and some of the subplots don’t seem necessary (Bad Blake trying to contact his son seems forced, and the film would not have lost anything if the whole subplot was cut altogether). For any of its faults, however, Crazy Heart more than compensates by containing one of the best lines in recent memory—there is a scene where Bad Blake is being interviewed by Jean in his hotel room. They’re obviously being flirtatious, and when she asks him what he wants to talk about, he replies, "I want to talk about how bad you make this room look. I never knew what a dump it was until you came in here." It’s the type of line that catches you off-guard, puts a smile on your face, and you like it immediately. Much like this film.

Rating: 4 stars (out of 5)

Le Samouraï (1967)

We are introduced with a quote from the “The Book of Bushido”, stating, “There is no solitude greater than a samurai's, unless perhaps it is that of a tiger in the jungle.'' We find ourselves in a spacious apartment room, sparsely furnished. The room is dark, but two large windows illuminate the space with the evaporating light of the sunset. The space at first seems uninhibited, but then we suddenly see a thick cloud of smoke slowly rise from a bed in the lower section of the frame. A man is smoking in bed. He gets up, puts on a trench coat and fedora, and walks outside onto a busy Paris street. He calmly hijacks a car, and pulls out a key ring consisting of what seems to be over one hundred keys. One by one, he methodically begins inserting keys into the ignition, finally finding one that works. He drives to a mechanic located in a remote location, who proceeds to change out the license plate. The unidentified man gets out of the car and holds out his hand. Is he offering a handshake? His stern look suggests otherwise. The mechanic opens a drawer and pulls out a gun and hands it to the man. The man gives the mechanic some cash and drives away, finally arriving at a woman’s apartment. As she is about the open the door, she says the man’s name—“Jef”. This is the first line of dialogue spoken in the film, occurring nearly ten minutes into the running time. What’s fascinating about these opening scenes is that we’ve learned everything we need to know about Jef, our protagonist, without even hearing a single word uttered. He is cold and methodical in his actions. He is a solitary man, choosing to live a life free from many possessions or much interaction. He is impeccably cool.

Jean-Pierre Melville’s excellent film Le Samouraï is well versed in cinema’s history and various genres, all while taking those conventions and paring them down to their essence all while adding a existentialist bent to the proceedings. Melville’s knowledge and love of past genres is always present, ranging from gangster films of the 30s, film noir of the 40s, samurai films of the 50s and even the French New Wave scene of the 60s. Even though these influences are always present, the film thankfully never feels like a rehash but instead creates its own character and style through Melville’s confident direction. There is hardly a wasted shot in this film, as we follow around hitman Jef Costello as he calmly, methodically goes about his day. We see him enter a nightclub and take out a hit on the owner in a back room. Unfortunately, he is seen by one of the singers, and he is later arrested and taken in for a police lineup and questioning. Most films would probably only spend a minute or two in the police headquarters and then get back to the action, but Melville chooses to create an entire extended scene out of the police headquarters, creating a highly engaging and captivating sequence. The entire time at the headquarters is also largely wordless, charged almost entirely through characters’ glances and psychological games, trying to get some answer out of any of the witnesses or to break any alibis. Jef’s clever thinking keeps his alibi sound, but the police inspector is dubious. On top of that, Jef’s arrest sends a red flag to his employer, who in turn decides to betray Jef. The story stays thrilling as Jef tries to elude all the forces that are after him, and the suspense is constant all the way up to the end.

Melville has crafted a film that is the epitome of cool but thankfully never feels like an empty exercise in style. The film takes conventional plot points (police procedural, assassin on the run, revenge, the code) and turns them into something that feels wholly unique just by stripping them down to their essence. Melville’s attention to detail also enhances both the characters and style of the film. Jef’s only worldly possessions besides clothes and little furniture seem to be rows and rows of water bottles, stacks of cigarettes, and a bird that he keeps in a cage in the middle of his apartment. The bird is a curious detail, but it even provides slight comic relief later in the film (Jef’s apartment is later bugged, and the cops get to listen to hours of tape of a bird chirping). Credit should also be given to cinematographer Henri Decaë for the film’s visual style, using a cool palette of blue and greys to convey not only the sparse interiors and dreary exteriors but also reflecting Jef’s mindset throughout the film. The acting is also top-notch all around, complimenting the film the entire way. Alain Delon gives an effective performance as a quiet, cold-blooded killer, only interested his code and his mission. He never relies on histrionics for the performance, choosing instead to introvert his character’s actions, in turn making his motives and determination all the more effective. Francois Perier, who plays the police inspector, also gives an incredible performance, creating a man determined at any cost to catch Jef on his bluff. The entire subway sequence is a master class in suspense and tension, all while creating a sense of claustrophobia for the main character as he tries to escape the cops. Film critic Roger Ebert also wrote, “The movie teaches us how action is the enemy of suspense--how action releases tension, instead of building it.” This is key to the film’s success, as it does not rely on typical action beats but rather trusts the viewer will find the story thrilling through the characters instead of action.

It’s easy to see how Le Samouraï has gone on to influence countless films, especially ones rooted in the crime drama. John Woo’s The Killer is proudly indebted, and I also immediately saw how this film’s minimalist style directly influenced the work of Jim Jarmusch (his 1999 film Ghost Dog: The Way of the Samurai also pays homage to Melville’s film). There is not a wasted scene in this film, and the patience the film shows with its story pays off in spades for the viewer. Melville’s masterful ability to create a sense of place through the most minimalist means creates a rich and rewarding viewing experience that will not be forgotten.

Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)

Birdemic: Shock and Terror (2008)

(note: before I begin the review, I want to direct everyone to Birdemic’s craptastic trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cgAbVfh6WYg

Incomprensible acting? Check? Mind-boggling special effects? Check. The incredible metal song proclaiming “THIS IS BIRDEMIC!!!!!”? Check. It’s everything you would want (and need) out of a trailer to make you excited about seeing this movie. In fact, it’s probably what you should watch instead of the movie.

Rating: 5 stars (out of 5)

Ok, now that we all have that out of our system, onto the review…)

Oh boy. This review may come as a shock (shock and terror, you say?) to some, and perhaps an obvious statement to others, but Birdemic: Shock and Terror is a terrible, terrible movie. Not even achieving “so-bad-it’s-good” status, Birdemic is content on being an incompetent, incoherent mess. About halfway through watching this wreck of a movie, I wondered, “Surely, this is just an elaborate joke being played on the audience—an endurance test of sorts.” Had I walked into a Lars Von Trier movie by mistake? Am I supposed to be provoked into a ball of frustration, anger, shock and…terror? I was definitely provoked, alright. But more on that later.

The movie opens with a nausea-inducing credits sequence, where the camera seems to have been placed in the passenger seat of a car driving through the northern California hills. We meet Rod and Nathalie, two twenty-somethings that meet cute and begin dating. He’s an engineer shopping ideas around for a “big sale” (did someone say….one million dollars?); she’s a model on her way to becoming the cover girl for Victoria’s Secret. After a night of “passion”, something goes awry—that’s right: birdemic! Cue the metal song (or not, since it’s nowhere to be found in the movie. I kind of wish it was. It at least would have added some fun to the proceedings.). The couple proceed to fight off birds with…coathangers….then make their escape with another couple to a van containing semi-automatic weapons. They then proceed to drive along the interstate, helping people along the way, shooting birds, and stopping for the occasional picnic outside (the birds conveniently leave our heroes alone while enjoying an afternoon picnic). They also encounter some strangers who proceed to tell them about the dangers of global warming and how the birds are just angry at all the people driving their cars and wasting fossil fuels. Then, (spoiler alert?), after many lives have been lost due to leaving the windows rolled down in their cars (or maybe it was the bad musak version of John Lennon’s “Imagine” that caused them to keel over) the birds get bored and fly away. Cue end credits. Seriously, they get bored and fly away. The end.

Director James Nguyen, self-proclaimed “Master of The Romantic Thriller™”, created the movie as a labor of love and owing an obvious debt to Alfred Hitchcock’s classic The Birds. The problem here isn’t the sincerity—it’s the actual lack of any talent whatsoever. Of which there is none to be seen. The acting is wooden at best. The movie has a home video quality to it, with no lighting choices to be seen. All the audio is recorded through the camera, so if a car passes by during a scene of dialogue, good luck deciphering what was just said. The editing is downright atrocious—some scenes go on much longer than is necessary, others seem to cut off abruptly. Any scene which has a character wax poetic about global warming brings the film to an absolute halt. The ending is downright lazy. And what to say of the CGI birds? They’re by far the best thing about the movie, and they are about the only source of comic relief from the director. The birds seem to envelop the whole of the screen, never portraying any sense of realism or depth perception in the slightest. They also seem to have the ability to leave explosive poop droppings, which at least made me laugh every time that happened—just out of the sheer absurdity of it all.

So what to make of Birdemic’s rising status as a cult movie among midnight movie circuit? The movie is less than two years old (and only this year has it seemed to gain a following, seeing multiple releases among selected theaters), but it has captured some sort of cultural zeitgeist (at least among the film geek crowd). Much like another recent midnight movie hit, Tommy Wisseau’s wonderfully awful The Room, Birdemic has been bringing people in expecting at least something so bad they could laugh and enjoy themselves. Upon attending the midnight screening at Nashville’s excellent Belcourt Theatre, we were informed that we would probably leave the movie “seething with rage and anger”. We all laughed it off, knowing that we were inflicting the pain ourselves. At least we would have a good time with it, we thought to ourselves. Uh-huh. Well, when the movie finished, we were definitely filled with rage, but that enjoyment factor never really arrived. As I walked out of the movie, I said aloud “well, that was just awful,” and everyone around me gave me a nod of approval. They were probably just as speechless as I felt. I just couldn’t believe it. I’ve seen plenty of terrible movies in my day—how did this one somehow trump them all?

The problem with Birdemic isn’t that it doesn’t try. It tries really, really hard. I never doubted its earnestness for a second. What makes me angry is that the filmmakers had to realize what they created was a steaming pile, and they decided to release it anyway. There seemed to be no effort to make it better—this is what was created, and this is what the audience will get, and they’ll like it (or not). You could say I brought this all upon myself by watching it (I mean, you watched the trailer, right? What did you expect?). However, what seems to separate Birdemic from most other terrible movies (The Room, Ed Wood’s work) might just come down to a kind of cult of personality. The Room is also awful, no doubt, but it has been lovingly embraced by its audience, creating a truly incredible theatrical viewing experience (really the only true way to watch The Room—I doubt watching the movie on DVD will render it anything but an awful train wreck). The other factor that benefits The Room is that its auteur, Tommy Wisseau, is a genuinely odd dude, but this fact also informs his entire film. You can’t escape it. You come to the realization that Tommy Wisseau the character (or Johnny in the movie) and Tommy Wisseau the man aren’t that much different. The same can be said for something like Ed Wood’s Glen or Glenda, a truly strange movie. Ed Wood spends half the movie walking around in women’s cardigan sweaters, and you get a sense this isn’t an act. This is a look into the man himself, and what you see is truly weird, confounding, and somehow memorable (in its own terrible way). I don’t get any of this watching Birdemic. The movie doesn’t get weird enough to become memorable, and I don’t even get the feeling that the director has contributed anything to this movie. I also don’t think the audience really gets the ability to latch onto anything and make it their own. That’s because there is nothing in here worth riffing on, unless it’s the groan inducing speeches about global warming being the reason the birds are attacking. This movie should not have been released to an audience. It makes most other terrible movies I’ve seen in my lifetime not as terrible by default. This just makes me wish I had watched The Room instead.

Rating: Zero stars (out of 5)

Ski School (1991)

Ski School is a third-rate Animal House, where the fun-loving party animals are pitted against the humorless preppy gang. That tells you pretty much everything you need to know about this venture. I wonder which group is going to win out in the end? If movies have taught me anything, then my guess is on the preppies. It’s the type of movie you would find on USA Network’s Up All Night programming block at two in the morning as you are drifting off into your dream state, where all your fantasies of becoming a slacker ski instructor can vividly come to life. It contains the all the comedic tropes and fashion sensibilities of a raunchy (even though it feels decidedly un-raunchy) film that would have been made in 1986, even though it wasn’t released until 1991. Seeing how it aims to be low-rate comedy, it comes packaged complete with your usual checklist of necessary details--sex, parties, alcohol, practical jokes, the “new guy”, the romantic interest, one-line zingers, a mysterious entrepreneur that could double as a prostitute, a skiing competition for the ownership of the mountain—you know, everything you could possibly want from any fun time! In its quest for verisimilitude, however, some questions still linger—namely, if the group of party animals are so lazy, how come they not only possess uncanny video editing skills (as seen in the scene where they edit the video of the two of the prepsters about to get into bed together—hilarity ensues!), but they also seem to have an unlimited supply of cash and resources at their disposal (note the endless cases of beer, the funds to host party after party of the entire mountain. Where is the riveting documentary on ski school I was promised?

It’s pretty obvious the filmmakers and actors were having fun with the material, no matter how flat the jokes land or how broad the characters are painted. It’s not aiming to be high art by any means, but it at least could have contained some (any) humorous scenes. Viewed in a time capsule, the movie does provide an interesting purgatory between the sensibilities of the 80s low-brow comedy with the existential phenomenon of Gen-X culture on the horizon (except for the fact that Richard Linklater’s breakthrough film Slacker came out the same year, so maybe Ski School was already dead on arrival). It was also most likely one of the direct influences for Hot Tub Time Machine. You probably already know exactly what type of movie this is. However, if you still aren’t quite sure yet, here’s a test—this Ferris Bueller-esque nugget of wisdom, spoken by the lovable Dave Marshak (Dean Cameron) in a pep talk, sums up everything about Ski School’s sensibility: “It’s not how far you go, it’s how go you far.” If you just looked at that with a dead-eyed stare, then it’s probably the same way you’ll feel about this movie. At least it didn't go as far as Birdemic.

Rating: ½ star (out of 5)