Film Trace

In episode five of our Manhunt series, we discuss two films very rooted in the 1980s Aesthetic. First up is Michael Mann's neon blue serial killer thriller, Manhunter from 1986 followed by the bombastic and preposterous Schwarzenegger action movie, The Running Man from 1987.

Special Guest: Friend of the show and co-host of the Screen Time: A Quarantine Family Podcast. Brigitte

Manhunter failed to make its money back at the box office when it was released in mid August 1986 on a dumping ground weekend. In the forty years since its release, the film has gained a rather prestigious reputation. The film of course established Hannibal Lecter as a film character. It was also one of the first serial killer movies where the subject matter was treated seriously as opposed to the more ghoulishly depictions often seen in b-movies. The FBI profiler, played by CSI skipper William Petersen, is shown to be slightly depraved, fully troubled, and mostly cold-blooded. Graham was an anti-hero before the term has much cache. Mann's flashy style has aged the best here along with the intertwined psychology of the hunter and hunted. It takes one to know one.

The Running Man (1987) feels like the concept of an action movie. Cearly helmed by a seasoned tv director, the difference between the boob tube and pure cinema may never be more clear than this overly stuffed, rompous, and absurd action thriller. Arnold Schwarzenegger and Richard Dawson are at the Ponderosa Steakhouse eating up every scene in sight. That alone is worth watching. The rest, not so much. The source material, of course a Stephen King novel, is put in the shredder and out comes pastel and neon confetti that lights on fire the moment you touch it. It is a direct ancestor to the Schumacher Batman series, for better or worse.

In episode four of our Manhunt series, we explore two films that veer off the beaten path of their genre linenage. From Japan, Cure (1997), an atmospheric and fatalist horror film that helped launched J-Horror and the concept of elevated horror. From the United States, One False Move (1992), a raw and politically charged on-the-run film that still feels edgy and uncomfortable thirty years after its release.

Special Guest: Good friend of the show, and our resident Japan expert, Harry Brammer

Everyone loves a good villain, especially in a horror film. We might even root for them, see Jason Takes Manhattan. But every so often a horror antagonist comes along that we would like to forget. Mamiya is one of those bad guys. Cure plunges us into the existential dread of modern existence: dull grey concrete mixed with blinding fluorescence, devoid of all natural light and warmth. The film ties together a series of seemingly unrelated murders into one terrifying thread: a unknown force compelling ordinary people to commit unthinkable acts. Director Kiyoshi Kurosawa crafts an oppressive world out of everyday urban life. The conjuring of Mamiya seems so simple and casual until a shock of violence erupts. The film's realism anchors the fantasy to make it believable, and then Kurosawa has us in his hands.

One False Move doesn't have good guys or bad guys. The film opens with unspeakable acts of violence and cruelty committed by our supposed protagonists. In this sense, the film is defiantly postmodern as it brackets out any notion of morality or propriety. Directed by Carl Franklin, it weaves a suspenseful and oddly poignant story of feckless fugitives on the run, crossing paths with a small-town sheriff who yearns for excitement. Here, the manhunt is not just a chase but an exploration of racial tension, broken dreams, and the suffocating weight of the past. The chase builds to a showdown that erupts with a flurry of gunfire, and the finale comes quick. But no answers are given, just lives squandered and lost.

In episode three of our Manhunt series, we delve into two films that helped redefine and revive the genre of pursuit. From South Korea, Memories of Murder (2003), a haunting and postmodern crime drama. From the United States, The Bourne Identity (2002), an adrenaline-fueled yet grounded spy thriller.

Special Guest: the talented John Brooks from the great 1999 Podcast which covers all the films from that seminal year of film.

Crime stories hinge on a denouement of justice. When that justice is denied, the audience is often left in suspended emotional agitation. We want to believe that violent crimes are always solved, and the villainous perpetrators are caught. That order is restored. Yet, reality dictates a much less clear cut finale to crime stories. Memories of Murder explores this ambiguity in its depiction of a real-life serial killer case, where answers are elusive, and the moral certainties dissolve in a haze of bureaucratic stagnation, intellectual flaccidity, and craven dispositions. Director Bong Joon-Ho crafts a deeply unsettling vibe where the boundary between good and evil fades, exposing the futility of the hunt and the flawed nature of those involved.

In contrast, The Bourne Identity is sleek, fast-paced, and decidedly straightforward. This chase movie skips across Europe with the hunter and hunted dichotomy awhirl. Director Doug Liman invokes the stacco precision of a spy thriller but interweaves melodrama with Jason Bourne's fractured psyche. In many ways, Bourne is more indebted to the dutch-angled noir tradition than its most obvious predecessor, James Bond. With its relentless action and tightly wound narrative, the film strips away the nuance of morality found in Memories of Murder while delivering a linear yet captivating tale of survival, deception, and revenge.

In episode two of our Manhunt series, we explore two international films. From South Korea, New World (2013), a topsy-turvy crime drama. From New Zealand, the playful and whimsical, Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016).

Crime dramas have been a staple of cinema since its inception. We find comfort in categorizing characters as good or evil. It provides order in a convoluted world. Actual morality is often murky and challenging to decipher. New World offers a crystal clear reflection of how the world truly operates, rather than a saccharine imagined one. Deep Loyalty and petty betrayal are commonplace, and the lines between good and evil blur, like a spinning merry-go-round. 

Taika Waititi's distinctive style is evident throughout Hunt for the Wilderpeople (2016). This is both a pleasure and a frustration. While the story of two unlikely companions going on the run in the Kiwi woods is delightful, the narrative often seems to lose its way despite the simplicity of the story. The plot path is clearly laid out, but Waititi can't resist taking detours down every zany spur, leaving little room for emotional resistance and refinement. Nevertheless, it remains an entertaining joy ride with a quaint conclusion.

We kick off a new season of Film Trace exploring Manhunt Movies with Longlegs and Trap.

In this season of Film Trace, we will dive into movies about being hunted or being the hunter. While these hunted vs hunter films span a wide breadth of genres, we start with the most tried and true model, the serial killer thriller.

Longlegs made a huge splash this summer. A true indie made for under 10 million, Longlegs has broken the 100 million dollar mark at the worldwide box office to become the highest-grossing independent film release of the year. This is particularly bizarre for few reasons. One, the marketing campaign budget was tiny. It was a throw back to the Blair Witch Project campaign from 1999: guerrilla, less is more, driven by word of mouth. Two, Oz Perkins is not a huge director, mostly genre and more experimental fare. Three, while elevated horror has a big profile, it tends to not bring home the bacon. Longlegs starts a new chapter for Neon as studio-distributors and the horror genre at large.

Trap had a huge marketing campaign and a big name behind it, M Night Shyamalan. The trailer seemed everywhere in 2024. The release spot was not great, but it still counts as a summer release. So the hopes were high for fans and the studio. It turns out to be a pretty standard M Night movie: fun, odd, and very polarizing. Josh Hartnett makes a major return in this arena thriller with a conspicuous Hitchcockian flair. Where as a Longlegs tries to get by on mostly just vibes, Trap drives forward with a mousetrap plot that feels compellingly contrived. Neither seems to hit the bullseye, but both are well-made and engaging films that provoke discourse.

We conclude our Camp Cinema season with our eighth episode covering Johnny Guitar (1954) and Imitation of Life (1959).

In our finale, we delve into the origins of Camp Cinema in the 1950s, spotlighting Nicholas Ray's flamboyant western Johnny Guitar and Douglas Sirk's melodramatic Imitation of Life. Johnny Guitar subverts the traditional male bravado typical of most westerns by pitting two powerful women against each other. The visual artistry of Ray and his cinematographer, Harry Stradling, reveals the campy essense of the film with a rich palette of canary yellows, baked terra cottas, and deep azures.

Imitation of Life achieves a similar feat, but with emotional resonance rather than visual flair. During our 1950s season, we explored Todd Haynes' commendable Douglas Sirk hommage, Far From Heaven. But nothing compares to the authentic touch of Sirk himself. Sirk masterfully understood cinema's power over an audience, manipulating emotions with precision in Imitation of Life. Its finale is one of the most emotionally explosive moments ever captured on celluloid. Camp manifest is many forms. Here we have two films that seem diametrically opposed in genre, but both use camp to full effect to elicit a deep response.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our seventh episode covering The Umbrellas of Cherbourg (1964) and Barbarella (1968)

Special Guest: Manish Mathur, host of the It Pod to Be You, covering romantic comedies from classics to modern hits and everything in between.

French director Jacques Demy embarked on an ambitious project to create a film in which every line was sung. What initially appeared as a gimmicky opera about everyday life evolved into one of the most acclaimed musicals of all time. The film is imbued with vivid color and adorned with enchanting songs, showcasing Demy's profound appreciation for artifice, a hallmark of camp cinema.

In stark contrast to Demy's refined sensibility stands Roger Vadim's audacious science fiction film, Barbarella (1968). Infamous for the wrong reasons, the film features Jane Fonda in the lead role, navigating an incoherent narrative inspired by a French erotic comic. Here, the camp is strikingly naïve, and the collective artistic intentions remain enigmatic and elusive.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our sixth episode covering The Rocky Horror Picture Show (1975) and The Day of the Locust (1975).

Special Guest: scholar, artist, author, and curator Marisa C. Hayes of the wonderful Afterimages podcast and book series.

The first film discussed needs no introduction, though Dan and Chris could have used one since the Jim Sharman-directed camp classic was a first-watch for both of them. Enter Marisa to help break down why it perhaps took so many years for two Midwest suburban boys to break through its storied midnight movie status and witness its madcap genius. Then, a hard pivot to John Schlesinger's takedown of the Golden Age of Hollywood in all its messy, over-the-top glory. The proto-Babylon isn't fully self-aware of its turgid and grisly nature, though perhaps that's exactly what defines it as an underrated camp gem, though certainly an oddity that lies on the fringes of canon.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our fifth episode covering Hairspray (1988) and Xanadu (1980)

Special Guest: Gavin Mevius and Louie Rendon from the great Mixed Reviews podcast

John Waters is the prince of camp. We simply had to choose one of his films for our season on Camp Cinema. The lucky winner was Hairspray. While Waters is known for his deft ability to push the boundaries of taste and propriety, Hairspray spins and shakes upon the line of respectability without overly indulging in taboo. This spry wiliness in tone perhaps what makes it his most potent film.

Xanadu on the other hand would never flirts with respectability or taboo. It exists in some liminal space between imagination and reality. Nothing about Xanadu makes any sense, especially the plot. But there is something a bit magical within this technicolor rumpus. Gene Kelly and Olivia Newton-John bring class and warmth to what could have been a real bad trip. Is Xanadu good? The syntax of that question is nonsensical. Camp is post logic, which is where Xanadu lies.

We continue our Camp Cinema season in our fourth episode covering To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar (1995) and Magnolia (1999)

Special Guest: Returning Guest, Rotten Tomato approved film critic, Natasha Alvar from Cultured Vultures

When watching To Wong Foo, Thanks for Everything! Julie Newmar, there is an overriding sense of what could have been. Coming out in the mid 1990s, a surprisingly much more open time in American culture, Wong Foo went to number one at the box office. It was a modest hit, but clearly well received by the general public. If this movie was made today, everyone involved would get more death threats than residuals checks. Culture doesn't always move forward, sometimes it backslides.

Magnolia is a controversial pick for Camp Cinema. To me, it is the paradigm of what Susan Sontag called Naive Camp in her 1964 essays Notes on Camp. Magnolia is a manically ambition film with a passionate and serious tone. Paul Thomas Anderson, like Cameron Crowe in Vanilla Sky, strived to reach the artistic heavens, but all he did was take on a tour of the sad and lonely people of the San Fernando Valley. Chris and Natasha offer some good counterpoints to my stance.