Playing Catch-Up — The Final Girls; Baby Face; Lightning Strikes Twice

final girls

The Final Girls (Todd Strauss-Schulson, 2015). This send-up of horror films — with special satiric sanctimony leveled at the slasher films of the nineteen-eighties — can’t help but draw comparisons to similar efforts in recent years. And already muddled film looks positively witless when gauged against titles that took the impulse for impish deconstruction to greater heights. Max (Taissa Farmiga) is still smarting from the recent death of her actress mother (Malin Åkerman) when she — for perplexing reasons — attends a midnight screening of the beloved, departed parent’s most famous film, Camp Bloodbath. Max and a few of her friends mystically show up inside the movie, using their knowledge of the plot proceedings to keep themselves safe from masked killer Billy Murphy (Daniel Norris). The film’s spiked taffy tone recalls, of all things, the dismal Arnold Schwarzenegger vehicle Last Action Hero. Director Todd Strauss-Schulson veers between amused affection for and snide derision of the genre trappings of horror flicks. The highly distracted point of view combines with the surface-level spoofery to result in a film that plays like a clanging mess.

 

baby face

Baby Face (Alfred E. Green, 1933). This early showcase for Barbara Stanwyck is arguably best known for a plainspoken salaciousness that ran it afoul of the censors as the Hays Code was ramping up. Stanwyck plays Lily Powers, a young woman who follows the advice of a cobbler (Alphone Ethier) who frequents the raucous speakeasy run by her louse of a father (Robert Barrat). Lily jaunts out into the world with a scheme to achieve upward mobility by treating lustful, susceptible men as ladder rungs. Unsurprisingly, Stanwyck is fantastic, especially when the script feeds her sardonic lines to fling at the various dolts and dupes who swarm around her (including, briefly, John Wayne, six years before Stagecoach made him a star). Alfred E. Green directs with a flat-footed efficiency that’s a marker of the era when Hollywood was a grinding company town. The film is remarkable in its proud amorality, at least until an obligatory romantic ending that doesn’t jibe with all that’s come before it.

 

lightning strikes twice

Lightning Strikes Twice (King Vidor, 1951). This crime drama is like a freewheeling hybrid of film noir, Gothic horror, and Western. Shelley Carnes (Ruth Roman) is an actress bound for a dude ranch to recover from the strain of being strangled eight performances per week in a touring company of Othello. She’s diverted into the sphere of Richard Trevelyan (Richard Todd), a convicted murdered who was sprung from death row when a retrial resulted in a hung jury. The screenplay (by Lenore J. Coffee, adapting Margaret Echard’s 1940 novel, A Man Without Friends) merely skims its finger gingerly across the florid lunacy it introduces, but King Vidor fully invests in the twisty darkness, playing with encroaching shadows and reflections as a visual motif. He also infuses and sense of constant menace into the film, heightening the unpredictability as Shelley falls for Richard, even as paranoia about his lurking motivations overtakes her. The performances are mostly unremarkable, but Mercedes McCambridge, just a couple years after her Oscar-winning turn in All the King’s Men, brings a zesty oddness to her turn as a dude ranch proprietor wrapped up in Richard’s sordid past.

 

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