I Walked with a Zombie (1943)

Back in the day, zombies weren't out-and-about, freely chomping on the living, munching on brains, begetting other zombies. They were, well, just dead people who wandered around, looking creepy, because they were dead. In this particular case, a nurse sent to the West Indies to care for a rich man's invalid wife ends up falling for the guy, despite the escapades of his drunk half-brother, not to mention their wicked mother, or the voodoo freaks all around, etcetera. How can our heroes find time for love with all these zombies underfoot? Great atmosphere was Val Lewton's hallmark; the eerie path through the sugarcane field that the women must take to get to the houngan is a high point. Years later, ethnobotanist Wade Davis would document exactly the kind of voodoun society depicted here in The Serpent & the Rainbow -- which in turn Wes Craven would use as inspiration for a zombie B-movie of his own. Reincarnation, anyone?

Heaven (1987)

Diane Keaton's short documentary about the Great Beyond is a zesty picnic of original interviews and bizarro Heaven-related stock footage. No celebrities or notables are questioned (everyone appears to be a random citizen of Hollywood's back alleyways, except for that one dude who eventually became a cheap-suited televangelist in the 1990s; perhaps this movie was his big break?). Under Keaton's lens, nobody has any real evidence of the afterlife, so any faith-based theory will do, no matter how kooky -- just pick one that fits. The one indisputable line: "In one-hundred years, everybody in this room will be dead." Worth seeing for 1950s-era television footage of three Bible "experts" cheerfully defining the architecture of Heaven: literal streets of gold, wealth, and mansions. Is that all there is? More of the same crap we mindlessly fight over down here? *sets an alarm for 100 years from now*

Wild Palms (1993)

Patent attorney Harry Wyckoff (James Belushi) becomes embroiled in a virtual reality/3-D TV/mind control conspiracy puzzle-plot involving randomly appearing rhinos, a network of tunnels beneath the swimming pools of Los Angeles, roving packs of black SUVs, and extra-perception sunglasses that aren't nearly as cool as those in They Live (1988). This six-episode miniseries intends to skewer Scientology but instead ends up being about four (five?) episodes too long. Uninspired direction and flat cinematography are at odds with the scripted elements, rendering the final product akin to a crappy mash of All My Children and a latter-season installment of The X-Files; nothing looks eerie or intriguing when it's videotaped through a Vaseline-smeared lens under the warm California sun. The acting is both hammy and wooden at the same time, a real feat from the likes of Robert Loggia, Angie Dickinson, David Warner, Dana Delany. Not to be confused with the William Faulkner novel of the same name.

Catch-22 (1970)

Captain Yossarian doesn’t want to fly any more WW2 bombing missions. The more he flies, the greater the likelihood he'll get killed. So flying more missions, well, that’s just crazy. But the base doc won’t ground him -- not wanting to fly dangerous missions is a sure sign of sanity -- which means he can’t be grounded and is therefore suited to fly more missions. Which is crazy. That’s some catch, that Catch-22.

Mike Nichols’ take on Joseph Heller’s midnight-black comedy is an underappreciated war-movie spectacle; Band of Brothers on acid. Transferring as many of the novel’s zany characters and madcap nuances as would fit into a single film, Nichols effectively distills the comedy and the greater allegorical message, especially as a third-act turn delves into more serious, bloody territory. The brilliant menagerie of players reads like dream-team casting for the period: Alan Arkin, Bob Newhart, Martin Sheen, Anthony Perkins, Jon Voight, Martin Balsam, Buck Henry, &c. The scene where Orson Welles shows up as General Dreedle (with a sexpot WAC in tow) to unnerve Richard Benjamin’s Major Danby is a masterpiece of comedic restraint. Yep, best catch there is.

A History of Violence (2005)

Tom Stall (Viggo Mortensen) thwarts a robbery and probably worse at his small-town diner, and becomes a local hero. The ensuing press attention puts him on the radar of some creepy underworld types who claim to recognize Tom as "Joey" from some time back in Philly. Oops. The problem: Tom is a settled family man, docile and soft-spoken, lovely wife, two kids, rural home, all of which seems at odds with the kind of guy who would attract scarred-up gangster-types. Eventually Stall must answer to who he was (or at least to whom these men accuse him of being) in order to continue as, if not preserve, who he is. Not since The Dead Zone (1983) has David Cronenberg served up such a masterful depiction of extra-normal horror lurking behind the thin facade of everyday life. In this case there's nothing overtly supernatural in the story: the monster in question is Tom's past. The film explores the deceptive territory between what we've witnessed and can vouch for in our loved ones, the shared time and trust -- and that which we can never know, secrets buried by calendar pages and strategic silences. Where is the tipping point toward deception? Perhaps more to the point: when should we ask that of ourselves? Cronenberg never maps out easy answers, and this film ends -- in a sublime dialogue-free scene -- just as the biggest question is raised. A meaty, intelligent psychological thriller.

Good Night, and Good Luck. (2005)

Journalist Edward R. Murrow goes on a witch hunt against Senator Joseph McCarthy, and for decent reason: McCarthy's hysterical "red scare" tactics in Washington are trickling into the greater American experience. Mere accusations of Communist sympathy are suddenly enough to ruin careers, marriages, lives. Murrow takes the high ground, using McCarthy's tactics against the man himself. But will his own career survive when the inquisition inevitably boomerangs back to him? George Clooney's history-as-allegory is suitably presented in black and white, as that's the way he's shaded the story. This is not a biopic, not a film focused on subtlety of character; it is very cleanly fictionalized events washed in appropriate sociopolitical philosophy, and presented with documentary aplomb. The principals are conduits for their belief systems, but the fine performances keep the proceedings from being a simple lesson in civics -- as in the tiny moment when Murrow (David Strathairn) completes a vacuous interview with Liberace: the On Air light dims and Murrow's smile implodes, exposing his professional dyspepsia at having to stoop so low. The radical idea that reporting should not necessarily pretend to be non-biased, especially in self-evident cases of injustice and democratic crisis, is played well against the more commercial notion of simply giving the people what they want: sheer entertainment. What good is a light in a box if it doesn't provide some warmth?

Repo Man (1984)

Otto (Emilio Estevez) is disaffected, ambitious but dulled by empty opportunities, disconnected from his burned-out parents, and bored with his dead-end supermarket job, shelving generic products for zombie consumers. Like all good monomyth heroes, he enters an underworld to ultimately emerge a Repo Man -- where the life is "always intense." Loosely strung vignettes detailing Otto's education as a repossession artist at the hands of old pros Bud (Harry Dean Stanton) and Lite (Sy Richardson) are bisected by scenes featuring a rogue 1964 Chevy Malibu. Seems J. Frank Parnell, the raving crack-up aimlessly piloting the Malibu, is keeping a secret in the trunk. The secret might have to do with aliens, or with neutron bombs, or maybe with time machines, nobody knows and to a great extent it doesn't matter -- but the Government is for sure trying to retrieve it. So too are the repo men, because there's a $10,000 bounty attached to the car. Dioretix, anyone? 

Alex Cox's first feature film, shot guerilla-style around Los Angeles, features many players (Dick Rude, Zander Schloss, Miguel Sandoval) who would grace his later classics Walker (1987) and Straight to Hell (1987). Like Gilliam and Romero, Cox is an underappreciated (and usually underfunded) master of subversion. A savvy social satire, with allusions ranging from Kiss Me Deadly (1955) to Close Encounters (1977), not to mention enough inside jokes, sly cultural references, and running gags to make Thomas Pynchon's head spin. A cult classic, totally.

Serenity (2005)

What more do you want out of a SF western? Checklist: bank robbery; dizzying chase across high plains; vicious bounty hunter; Indians vs. Cavalry-style ambush; various standoffs and shootouts; to top it all off a saloon brawl (but, this being a Joss Whedon flick, where a teenage girl whups everyone singlehandedly). In this continuation/conclusion of the Firefly television series, Captain Mal Reynolds comes to terms with his sublimated freedom-fighter ideals as he escorts the babbling River Tam to a hidden planet, hoping to unlock both the secret of her madness and a truth that will bring down the authoritarian Alliance. Only problem: the Alliance is hot on their tails -- as are a tribe of (literally) bloodthirsty space zombies known as Reavers. Suddenly, there's no safe place in the 'verse for the hero-pirate crew of Serenity. Whedon understands well everything George Lucas forgot with his Star Wars prequels: a keen sense of ongoing fun, logical accelerating stakes with consequences from all sides, zippy characters who can quip their way to a happy-ish ending. Deserves a sequel. Or a revival television series...

see also: Firefly (2002)

Firefly (2002)

Gene Roddenberry famously pitched his original Star Trek (1966) as "Gunsmoke set in outer space." Joss Whedon actualizes that pitch with Firefly -- right down to the long-barrel pistols, cattle rustlers, and hyup-flavored rustic dialogue. After Earth becomes uninhabitable, a slew of Eastern Rim planets are terraformed through Yankee ingenuity. Eventually, civil war erupts between the Alliance (a kind of corporate government, formed by merged superpower companies from China and the US) and the "Browncoats," consisting of a scrappy clutch of small outer planets and moons declaring their independence; the Browncoats fight valiantly but are ultimately doomed. The truncated series takes place a few years after the end of this Unification War.

Mal Reynolds, former Browncoat, now captains the Serenity, a Firefly-class cargo/transport ship. He retains his ideals (the ship is named for the bloody, deciding Battle of Serenity Valley), buried as they are in a life of smuggling operations, the occasional Robin Hood-like gesture, avoiding the Alliance whenever possible. This quiet, personal rebellion is endangered when he takes onboard Doctor Simon Tam and his sister, River. Turns out River suffers from a lab-created psychosis, courtesy of the Alliance, who now want her back -- discovering the secrets of her strange powers and knowledge, and the quest to keep her hidden and safe until she can be brought back to normal, are the undercurrent story threads for Firefly.

But the show is truly buoyed by its characters, all of whom are cookie-cut in the shape of stereotypes, but crumble to subvert those very stereotypes. Serenity's crew consists of: loyal first mate Zoe, who fought beside Mal in the war and has never left his side. Zoe is married to wise-cracking Wash, pilot and resident peacemaker. Jayne Cobb is the proverbial numbskull thug-for-hire, always carrying too much ammo, and ready to rat out the Tams for the reward money. Kaylee is the ever-beatific mechanic, radiant despite ever-present swatches of engine grease on her cheeks (and not-so-secretly in love with Simon). Shepherd Book is a mysterious, dogma-free holy man -- never actually delivers a sermon, still functions as moral compass. Inara is Serenity's associate "Companion," a cross between a Geisha and a high-class call girl; Mal disapproves of her profession but keeps her onboard out of necessity (she's often their cover for landing clearance on Alliance planets) ... and out of underlying romantic friction.

After the fashion of the characters, several episodes make use of stock plots, only to transcend them. There's a train robbery; an outlaw township whose citizenry worships Jayne as a folk-hero; a femme fatale who tricks Mal into marrying her so she can pull off a heist; even a brothel-set recasting of Seven Samurai (1954). The characters, continually cracking wise, move through these scenarios with a kind of "Oh, this old story" attitude that refreshes the entire enterprise. (And there's blessedly little "reverse the polarity of the neutron flow" gibberish, even in "Out of Gas," the one episode revolving around the technical operation -- or lack thereof -- of Serenity.) The milieu is so complete and enchanting that the lack of any scaly or slimy aliens is hardly noticeable. This is a human 'verse -- these characters and the worlds they inhabit feel real and knowable, and you want to keep knowing them...

see also: Serenity (2005)

Aeon Flux (1995)

Lithe cartoon female assassin/espionage agent in skimpy dominatrix gear continually thwarts the leader of the neighboring authoritarian state in this ten-episode series. Based on a menagerie of animated shorts initially shown out-of-order on MTV (now stitched into a sort-of cohesive whole for home video), the individual episodes honor those origins with loose, dreamlike (read: incomprehensible) narrative structures. No episode necessarily connects to any other, and Aeon dies at the end of at least two. Interest is maintained chiefly by the lush visual design, the amusing philosophical rants of the main characters, and the occasional creepy plot element. Best enjoyed after midnight, when sleep is elusive.

Slasher (2004)

John Landis directed this IFC documentary about a wiry and wily mercenary-for-hire used car salesman. The Slasher (aka a dude from California, name of Michael Bennett) swoops down on a moribund auto dealership in Memphis TN in order to boost sales on a holiday weekend. Aside from a stone-faced DJ and some trucked-in beauties for eye candy, the chief bait is an "$88 car" supposedly hidden somewhere on the lot. The awful truth is that in the depressed local economy, the only car people can afford is an $88 car, so nobody has any interest in shopping beyond the gimmick, or even listening to sales pitches. When there's anybody on the lot other than the inflatable tube dancers, that is. Bennett, obviously accustomed to success, crashes and burns as gracefully as used-car-selling con man can -- smoking and drinking the whole way down. Several moments will induce flinches in veterans of the retail wastelands. At least the Slasher has opportunity to get elbow-deep in a plate of Memphis BBQ before returning to his loving family at the end. Meanwhile, that $88 car is still out there somewhere....

Zardoz (1974)

Welcome to the Outland, where men like Zed (Sean Connery) dress in fashionable speedos and suspenders, and a gigantic stone head floats around, vomiting rifles on fearful acolytes down below. When the head lands to be worshiped like the angry god it is, Zed crawls into the mouth and stows away, because everybody knows you gotta join 'em to beat 'em. Eventually he winds up in an iffy computer-regulated paradise, the Vortex, where men are fey, women are harpies, and Zed becomes the target of a great deal of withered pseudo-philosophy. Seems the poor devils in the Vortex have gained immortality but lost their sex drives (though not their taste for pornography, interestingly enough). Plot Twist: triggered by his scanty outfit, some citizens propose using the virile Zed for breeding purposes; this kind of hilarious misogyny was better handled in A Boy and his Dog (1975). Zed rebels, becoming the inevitable fly in the KY jelly, staring pensively into shiny crystals and finally, through skillful manipulation of fun-house mirrors, brings Death back to the Vortex. At least there was no blowhard talk of him "fulfilling the prophecy." Bizarro sci-fi love child of Barbarella (1968) and THX-1138 (1971). Not to be confused with Outland (1981) also starring Sean Connery, actually a bloated space-set remake of High Noon (1952) with nary a giant stone head in sight.

The Adventures of Robin Hood (1938)

Watching fleet-footed robber baron Errol Flynn stave-duel with husky but surprisingly agile friar Alan Hale (Skiiiiipppppeeeerrrrr!) on a fallen log bridging the river in Sherwood Forest, I couldn't help but think of Bugs Bunny and Daffy Duck, just kept waiting for one of those two to spin his staff fast enough to propel the other into the water. That, or for King Kong to come down the path and shake them both off the log and into the spider pit. As each tableau unspools, villains twirl their mustaches while good guys stand akimbo and laugh from the gut -- not a trace of postmodern irony, cynicism, pandering character catch-phrases, gratuitous poop jokes, or hypnotic imagery of folks leaping away from complicated explosions blooming in slow-motion. Just old-fashioned lighthearted fun. Tally-ho!