Reviewing a movie like Robert Rodriguez’ half of GRINDHOUSE, PLANET TERROR, is a tricky thing. He and Quentin Tarantino have gotten together to pay homage to the cruddiest of the cruddy in cinema from the seventies. So if it blows, doesn’t that mean it did its job? If it’s an unqualified masterpiece, doesn’t that thumb the nose it what it was trying to emulate?
Oh, here’s the good idea! Judge the movie by the merits of his director and what we’ve seen before. But PLANET TERROR is something I’ve never seen from Robert Rodriguez: Middle ground. Rodriguez either tears the roof off the joint with a power and fury unparalelled (FRANK MILLER’S SIN CITY) or he just plain sucks (SPY KIDS 3-D: GAME OVER). Our boy Bobby’s won a hell of a lot more times than he’s lost, but one thing I thought I’d never see is him coming to a draw with himself.
It’s Texas-Zombies-A-Go-Go as an airborne pathogen from a military installation infects folks and turns them into flesh-hungry mutants. Stuck in the middle of this are Dr. Dakota Block (Marley Shelton) and her sadistic husband, (Josh Brolin) Bad-ass Wray (Freddy Rodriguez) and his would-be stripper girlfriend Cherry Darling (Rose McGowan) and the second coming of Christ (Jeff Fahey).
I’d go into the plot, but going into ANY plot of ANY zombie movie is an exercize in futility, especially with PLANET TERROR, which isn’t supposed to have one. Flesh-eater pops up?
Our all-star cast mows ‘em down.
It’s the all-star cast that the movie gets so obscenely right. Bruce Willis pops up for an extended cameo as the leader of the military installation and does his Bruce Willis thing, which is always cool. Naveen Andrew of LOST plays an biochemical engineer with and un seemly yet almost endearing affinity for testicles (and no, it’s not what you think). Marley Shelton officially passes her days as a frustrated teeny-bopper and brings it in a big way, and Rose McGowan finally drops her sneer and actually generates, and I can’t believe I’m about to type this… Sympathy.
But the biggest props go to Freddy Rodriguez as Wray, who comes out of his quasi-comedic career of nice guy bit parts and redefines “Bad-Ass.” He’s got the gravelly voice thing down and looks good in a leather jacket. And watching him plow through a hospital full of zombies armed with only butterfly knives is a sight to behold.
The only bad thing about the cast is that Fergie shows up. Yeah, THAT Fergie. But she gets eaten before too long. Mmm… Fergilicious.
About the first half of PLANET TERROR is a sheer blast, with enough gore and energy to make fanboys and fangirls start speaking in tongues. I particularly like the scratched and hairs added to the film stock and the jumpy verisimiltude of his cutting. For a movie that’s supposed to look like it has missing streches, the pseudo-intrusive editing accentuates the action and the bloodshed as opposed to diminishing it.
Then PLANET TERROR runs out of gas…
In my mind there are “pure” zombies and then there are “diluted” ones. The pure zombie flicks feature the zombies as just the device and not the subject, bringing characters of an opposite persuasion closer and closer until they MUST deal with each other without any breathing room and tension permeates throught the entire movie. The diluted ones are just about the gore.
And hey, that’s fine. But the visceral thrill can only take you so far. If you honestly don’t give a shit, then the surprises stop coming and the closing stretches tend to get dull, no matter how much fake blood you fling at the audience. If the first half is like a sugar rush, what happens when the rush wears off? The headache sets in.
And that’s what kills PLANET TERROR for me. It’s weird that for a flick that serves as half of a double feature, Rodriguez’ film is almost a double feature in itself. The first half is a genuine thrill ride that only Robert Rodriguez can give us. The second half is just a boring effects reel that any schmuck off the streets could do in his sleep.
t’s true that I’ve recommended zombie movies on less than what Rodriguez gives us with PLANET TERROR. The problems this movie has are completely common. But that’s the thing, though. Rodriguez is an uncommon director. He owes us more than this.
2 ½ out 4
TRAILER ROUND-UP:
Robert Rodriguez’ MACHETE: The one truly awesome part of the PLANET TERROR experience is the fake trailer for MACHETE that Rodriguez put in front of it. It blew my mind. I’ve heard tell that he wants to turn it into a feature. You mean I get to see Danny Trejo in a lead role and Cheech Marin as a shotgun-toting priest? I think I just peed… (***1/2)
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“OH MY GAWWWWWWD!”
-Joey Styles
Horror films, by and large in this day and age, exist to objectify and project hatred towards women.
Then Quentin Tarantino makes DEATH PROOF and makes all those movies look retarded.
He’s Quentin Tarantino… He can do that.
While Robert Rodriguez tried to make a true Grindhouse movie, Tarantino tried to filter all that through himself. Some folks say he rips off what he loves, but I think he renovates. He turns his influences on their ears and uses them as his stone Moses tablets to preach the Word of Quentin. With DEATH PROOF, he seamlessly blends FRIDAY THE 13TH and BULLITT with such grace and ease that I for one am surprised that it hasn’t been done before.
But DEATH PROOF will be destined to become the least appreciated of the GRINDHOUSE double feature. Sad fact, but it is exactly that. PLANET TERROR delivers all the gore one could want while DEATH PROOF has lots… And lots… of talking.
But is it that? Or is it observation? Is it looking through the eyes of its characters?
Kurt Russell plays Stuntman Mike, a sexual deviant stunt-driver who uses his car the same way Leatherface uses a chainsaw. He picks up girls, gives them a ride in his “death-proofed” car which only protects the driver, and crashes to kill the unlucky ladies in the passenger seat. He picks two groups of ladies to stalk in DEATH PROOF. The first group is vulnerable… The second is the wrong bunch o’ chicks to fuck with.
Much like PLANET TERROR, (or GRINDHOUSE itself) this film could be divided into halves. The first involves Mike’s obsession with Arlene, (Vanessa Ferlito) Shanna, (Jordan Ladd) Pam (Rose McGowan again) and Austin, Texas DJ Julia (Sydney Tamiia Poitier). They’re just chilling out and going to bars and talking. But watch closely and pay attention during all this dialogue. Tarantino’s camera lingers on all the aspects of these women with almost Almodovar-ish warm lechery. Their feet, their legs, their smiles, their hair, their asses. Not graphically or all perverted, but with an appreciation of all the things that make women so desirable. Of how they can be achingly… Aggravatingly… Out of reach.
Then he kills them all with his Dodge and even THIS is shot and edited with the premeditation of the fond memory of a sexual act.
When Stuntman Mike gets to the second group of women, a funny thing happens. The color palate of the cinematography (done by Tarantino himself) dims and pales out and the dialogue deliivered by Leigh, (Mary Elizabeth Winnstead) Abernathy, (Rosario Dawson) Kim (Tracie Thoms) and Zoe (stuntwoman Zoe Bell playing herself) veers into matter-of-fact areas that guys hoping to impress them would rather not go into. They’re actually talking like women talk. And there’s something else. There’s the usual Tarantino coffee sit-down where his characters just bullshit with each other, but this goes on for ten minutes and it’s where many of DEATH PROOF’s complaints stem from.
But look closer.
No, closer still…
During this ten minute sequence while they bullshit about movies and cars, Tarantino and his editor Sally Menke never… Cut… Once. In this age of actors and actresses needing cue-cards on SATURDAY NIGHT LIVE, these ladies actually bothered to learn their Goddamn lines.
Then it dawned on me that in the first half, it wasn’t Tarantino looking at those girls in the first half. It was Stuntman Mike, oozing predatory menace and cock-eyed respect. There’s even a point where Arlene is gonna give him a lap-dance, but in true Grindhouse fashion, a card came up that said “REEL MISSING.” It even fits with Stuntman Mike’s character. Of course he’s omit that from memory because the physical sensation of touch would do nothing for him. That’s why he watches women die behind plexiglass in his car.
And in the second half, the girls were looking at each other, knowing what we’re about to figure out… That they’re tough as fucking nails.
DEATH PROOF culminates in a car chase so defiantly awesome that it takes TO LIVE AND DIE IN L.A. out back and beats the living shit out of it with a rock. And with no computers, to boot. Expertly shot and flawlessly edited. But what really makes it stand out is that for the opening minutes of the chase, Zoe Bell is on the hood of the car. And being as she’s a stuntwoman… Yup… THAT’S REALLY HER! That shit can’t be legal.
But I’m doing lip service to all the actors who tower in this movie. Particularly Vanessa Ferlito, who I’ve never seen before and comes off as natural and tart. Tracie Thoms has extraordinary fun in her role, where taking shit from anyone is not an option. And Zoe Bell will earn an assload of fans with this one. But then there’s the amazing job done by Kurt Russell, thinly veiling his inner sickness, but not making so much of a show of it that it will raise warning flags in his prey.
So there you have it. The most inclusive slasher movie I’ve seen in quite some time. But I doubt it will be appreciated, like I said earlier. There are those who will say it is literally all talk. But wait a minute. Didn’t TARANTINO write this movie? Even if it is all talk, it’s his characters talking, which is worth the price of admission in and of itself.
4 out of 4
FAKE TRAILER ROUND-UP: Two minutes gets a sentence out of me.
Rob Zombie’s WEREWOLF WOMEN OF THE SS: Real Grindhouse flicks didn’t have art direction this good. (***)
Edgar Wright’s DON’T: Sheer, disjointed comedic genius. (***1/2)
Eli Roth’s THANKSGIVING: Eli Roth gives me cancer in parts of my body I didn’t know I had. (*)
Read all of Dr. Royce Clemens reviews in his Archives.
