“Many people are God, usually in a universe no bigger than their own minds, all-present, all-knowing. And yet, impotent outside the confines of their heads. And what God cannot do, men will attempt.”
–Shigeki Arakawa, spy

Still my favorite anime, Patlabor 2 is Mamoru Oshii’s moody masterpiece, a far more disciplined and satisfying work than the intriguing but occassionally juvenile fetish-fest Ghost in the Shell. A political thriller that starts at the foot of the grinning ruins of Angkor Wat and ends upon a wistful “The kids are allright” line of dialog, Patlabor 2 is a frighteningly plausible tale of disillusionment and nihilistic nationalism. Repeated viewings will reap rewards as you note the influence of Hitchcock, Philip K Dick, Frankenheimer, and James Joyce’s “The Dead”. Grim yet optimistic, Patlabor 2 is the ultimate 1990s period piece, created by and for political paranoids who still have a little hope for humanity.

The plot is fairly complex, yet not convoluted. Feeling betrayed after a horribly botched UN military operation, Patlabor (giant mecha robot) pilot Tsuge plots a mind-boggling revenge–nothing less than a coup d’état of the Japanese government. How Tsuge goes about it is so meta it’s not even funny; 1993’s Patlabor 2 hasn’t aged a day, and grows distressingly more relevant. Tsuge’s puppet-mastery eventually pits the Tokyo Police Department and the civilian government against the Self Defense Force, and both sides don’t even realize they’re about to start a civil war. While politicians dither and order-following soldiers and police lock ‘n’ load, the scrappy and much abused Special Vehicles Division (the Tokyo Patlabor police) race to stop Tsgue’s revenge.

The stunning visuals, unlike a lot of anime out there, is not eye candy for eye candy’s sake. There is a deliberate, cryptic series of images involving bird images, gently falling snow, and general bewilderment. The heartbreaking surreality of grinning and laughing civilians as tanks roll down the Tokyo streets can be seen as the general idiocy, or general optimism, of the public at large. Through each mind-blowing set piece, Tsuge plays his deadly chess game brilliantly, outwitting the SVD at every move as he disrupts and manipulates Japan’s media outlets, military installations, and bumbling bureaucracy.

The dialog is sharp and often dense and philosophical; this is one anime that I would definitely recommend the English dubbed version. (The voice actors are great, and you can be rest assured there is no screechy screeds or wooden recitals). The lines are often delivered at a leisurely, paused-filled pace, as the characters struggle to understand the confusing events that are spinning out of control. Patlabor 2 is topped off with a driving and haunting score by Kenji Kawai, who later wrote the superb score for Ghost in the Shell. Patlabor 2, in its way, can stand alone, though watching the excellent (though nowhere near as amazing) Patlabor 1 will definitely make this film easier to follow and appreciate.

Patlabor 2 is a triumph in technical execution, character design, and thematic development. Most critics intepret Patlabor 2 as a reflection of Oshii’s angst over Japan’s changing political situation in the early 1990s, but I believe the film’s themes run far deeper than that. As we continue to grapple with what it means to have a democracy–are we really freely choosing our leaders, or is it all a dog and pony show?–Patlabor 2 remains a beguiling cautionary tale offering no solutions, other than we can only hope someone heroic, suicidal, and totally lacking in ego will step up to save us from ourselves…since we’re too busy looking at the pretty pictures on our glowing screens.

Let The Right One In is a compelling study of adolescent angst and the first awkward pangs of sexual attraction that also happens to be a pretty generic vampire movie. As a result, this Swedish import that would have otherwise gone under the radar has been overhyped by practically every horror-centric Net journalist, and, most embarrassingly, some legitimate critics as well.

To be fair, the first act is ultra creepy and does succeed at creating a mood of oppression and dread. Before endless, white icebound wastes, a tormented 12-year-old brandishes a knife and pretends an innocent fir tree is a school bully, stabbing it with relish. One day there appears a raven-haired neighbor, equally pale and creepy but also a girl, who likes to appear in precarious places without making noise, is skinnier than a runway model and fascinated by puzzles. Our hero is in love, but anyone familiar with the premise already knows what the “catch” is, and the inevitable complications that will result. There are some extremely tense and frightening scenes involving the girl bloodsucker’s “father” trying to harvest sustenance from innocent townspeople, but once the plot starts to advance along well-defined rails, the horror evaporates.

The acting, especially from the two leads, is wonderful, and there is a lot of it since the story treats every adult character as either buffoonish or detached to the point of alienation. That does tie into the overarching theme of acceptance and finding alternate families, referred to in the title and kind of metaphorically used as another Vampire Weakness that Bram Stoker forgot to mention. The third act, while predictable, is quite ballsy and will doubtless be altered when this film is inevitably remade in America for those of you who can’t be bothered to read subtitles.

Leave it to the Catholic Church to produce something as terrible as Blood Freak, a ludicrous anti-marijuana horror film from Florida with no scares and limitless hilarity. The Church’s limited financial backing finances porno director Brad Grinter’s atrocious production, which meshes religious propaganda with bizarre asides from Grinter himself. This ragged middle-aged alcoholic sits before chintzy wood paneling, wearing a hideous purple velour robe, always smoking a cigarette while he delivers these insane speeches about “catalysts” and other chemicals, reading off a script in his lap. Our writer/co-director, ladies and gentlemen.

Steve Hawkes, credited as co-director, also portrays a pompadoured biker and Elvis lookalike named Hershell, who must choose between a deeply religious, wholesome lady or her lascivious, pot-addicted sister. Will this innocent yet clueless biker succumb to temptation from this raven-haired temptress and her Band-Aid tin full of tightly rolled joints? Of course he will, but not after listening to several minutes’ worth of Bible verse, delivered to an unresponsive audience during the most boring party scene ever filmed. Strangely enough, it’s through the foxy religious gal that Hersh gets his job at the poultry farm. Temptation lurks under lab coats and Coke bottle glasses, too; a pair of rogue biologists coerce our biker protagonist (now a hopeless Weed addict) into ingesting genetically altered baked turkey. Hersh’s hesitant at first, until they throw in some of their skank to sweeten the deal. Now thoroughly baked, he consumes the mutant turkey with a side of taters and gravy. All’s well until a Grand Mal seizure sends Hershell pitching onto lawn, twitching like an eel.

Without Grinter’s awkward asides jammed into the most random places, Blood Freak would be barely watchable until our stoner protagonist turns into a homicidal Were-Turkey. Then it’s nonstop laughs, ever mounting, compensating well for the nonexistent tension. There’s something unexplainably unnerving about cheap, sleazy productions like these, filmed on horrible stock with barely adequate lighting and a production crew that CLEARLY doesn’t give a crap about delivering a quality product. Also, the subliminal initial reveals of the turkey monster are kind of freaky. Once you see the monster clearly (a paper-mache turkey head on a man’s body, wearing jeans and a T-shirt) his presence inspires nothing but uncontrollable laughter. Then he begins his lethargic and tension-free rampage, wherein he ties young women upside-down, slits their throats and proceeds to drink from the bright red fountains. After a point, a stalwart young man ends up cornering the Were-Turkey in a wood shop, but ends up being throttled and mechanically dismembered for his troubles. One sound effect is used for every pained scream, by the way, in a gruesome scene that goes on, and on, and on, for a Tarkovskian length.

As Grinter, interjecting after the hero quickly overcomes his bloodlust through Jesus, starts coughing up a lung while lecturing about the evils of chemicals and drug use, one begins to suspect that the joke’s on us. How could anyone accept that ruined take? Was the budget so low that Grinter and crew could afford  just one roll of film for the nonsensical “narration”? Whatever the case, this is a gloriously bad film, bordering on sheer manic poetry.