Saturday, June 6, 2015

doggy style.


Finaly got round to purchasing the 1932 film adaptation of HG Wells' The Island of Dr. Moreau, the Erle C. Kenton directed, Charles Laughton starring  Island of Lost Souls on shiny Bluray recently (I know I should already own it but it's always been really expensive).


No ifs, no buts, just true cinematic genius.



But with it being possibly the greatest horror movie of it's time (no, seriously it is and if you've not seen it stop reading and do it now, I'll wait) it's nigh on impossible for me to review it here in the usual puerile and childish manner.

Really.

So rather than try something different and a wee bit more like a proper film blog I thought it'd be easier to revisit the 1996 Marlon Brando/Valerie Kilmer version instead.

If nothing else the 'Laugh Now!' and mooth shite-in comments are practically going to write themselves.

Enjoy.

The Island of Dr. Moreau (1996).
Dir: John Frankenheimer.
Cast: Marlon Brando, 'Val' Kilmer, David Thewlis, Fairuza Balk, Ron Perlman, Mark Dacascos, Daniel Rigney, the Fraggles, Temuera Morrison and Nelson de la Rosa.

I wanna go to Dog Heaven!

Ferret-like United Nations negotiator Edward Douglas (a visibly embarrassed Thewlis) is having a fairly bad day, whilst on his way to the UN's annual 'War is Bad' conference his plane crashes into the - groovily captioned -  Java Sea and he ends up getting a kicking from his two fellow survivors as a fights starts over who gets the last bit of toilet paper.

Luckily some passing stock footage of a shark soon puts paid to the overcrowded dinghy/loo roll problem and Douglas, after giving an arse clenchingly cliched monologue regarding man being a bit of an animal, is eventually rescued by a passing boat.

Once aboard, Douglas is nursed back to consciousness by the scarily sweaty  Montgomery Clit (a drunken, monosyllabic Kilmer still channelling Jim Morrison and dressed in a sarong) who soon informs our hero that the ships captain has taken a liking to his bottom (no, really) so it'd probably be safer - and less painful - if Douglas accompanies him to his destination; the mysterious 'Moreau's Island', where he can use the radio to contact the relevant authorities.

And from the glassy-eyed looks that Kilmer keeps cutting Thewlis that'd be Alcoholics Anonymous.

Or Childline.

Possibly.

Kilmer: Less Batman, more pissed up, coke addled, overacting ham man.


After unloading a shipment of rabbits from the boat - for the sole reason to give Thewlis the opportunity for another humans/animals speech, the dynamic duo  head off to Moreau's house where Montgomery promptly locks Douglas in his room before wandering off to score some crack.

Oh and to ring his lawyer to see how much of his paycheck Joanne Whalley is claiming off him in the divorce settlement obviously.

Using his stick insect-like fingers to open the lock Douglas spies Moreau's  alluring daughter Aissa (the mightily moothed Balk, star of some of my most disturbing dreams) swaying non-committally to some frankly appalling middle of the road, new agey bollocks whilst wrapped in a pair of Marlon Brando's old underpants.

Fairuza farted....and it was an eggy one.



Luckily Montgomery turns up before it becomes too obvious that there is absolutely no chemistry between the pair and invites Douglas to join himself and the mysterious Moreau for dinner later that evening.

And by the size of Brando it looks like poor Thewlis is to be the main course.

Oh and to tell him not to go wandering off again and especially not to look in the Doctors operating theatre where he definitely wont see come across what looks like the Chuckle Hounds assisting a birth.

Popping a blob of Vics Vapour Rub on each of Douglas' eyelids in order to stop him snooping around Montgomery shambles away (again) leaving our beaky buddy sitting on his bed with his ear turned to the door to make sure that no-one is around before her wipes his eyelids clean with a towel and sneaks out via the catflap, following the signs (and the smell of damp dog) to Moreau's laboratory.

"Are we not (Flowerpot) men?"


It comes as no surprise (if you're familiar with the storyline) but as a blessed relief to the audience when Douglas finally finds the lab where he does indeed witness the horrific sight of a cleft-lipped Tiny Tears doll being delivered, not by a postman but by a group of human/animal hybrids.

OK, by a couple of portly extras wearing ill-fitting pig and goat masks.

Overtaken by fear - and the realisation of what this movie could do to his career - he legs it into the woods only to come across Aissa and after wiping her clean with an old rag, head into the local scrap yard where this tribe of 'manimals' live.

These pound shop monstrosities are led by the pube haired and horn headed Leo, Sayer of the Law (Perlman who scarily seems to actually be taking this shit seriously), who imparts his wisdom - misquoting Wells and, by default Devo, in a booming Welsh accent whilst wearing an old duvet cover.

Being Perlman tho' he actually manages to pull it off.

His sermon is unfortunately cut short before he can start waxing lyrical about leeks, coalmines and Max Boyce by the arrival of Moreau himself (Brando clad in a bedsheet and covered in white paint) in an old ice cream van.

Bowing down before the great man and referring to him as 'Father', Moreau mumbles something about a girl named Stella and how monkey butlers are cool before inviting Douglas back to the House to discuss what he's witnessed.

And possibly attempt to bum him using butter as a lubricant.

"Boiled Onions!"


Douglas, Montgomery, Aissa and Moreau gather round the dining table (which is the least wooden thing in this whole, sorry mess) as the Doctor introduces Douglas (and us) to his "children"; a variety of animals that have had their DNA spliced with that of humans.

And by the look of them the humans they used were Mick Hucknall and that tramp that barks at the bins outside Aldi.

You know the one.

It appears that Moreau has a dream (and one that surprisingly doesn't involve all the cakes) to create the perfect species, incapable of causing harm to others.

Obviously causing anyone that looks at them to die laughing doesn't count.

Unfortunately the existing beast men are imperfect, needing not only a special drug to stop them regressing to their natural form but also a daily dose of electric shocks from Moreau's big shocking clock to stop them attacking each other, trying to shag Val Kilmer's leg and digging up the lawn.

"I love you....you complete me!"

Star of the group (and of the whole film if I'm honest) is the diminutive - oh go on then fucking tiny - Majai (the legend that was de la Rosa), a tiny half man, half carrot dressed in an exact replica of Moreau's bedclothes ensemble who spends the evening sitting at a tiny piano duetting with the doctor as they play the George Gershwin back catalogue to anyone within earshot in a scene of such breathtaking genius that it inspired Mike Myers to create Mini-Me.

No, seriously.

And for that we should be grateful.

Much to Montgomery's amusement, Moreau claims to be "closer than anyone could possibly imagine" to a solution but is interrupted before he can elaborate further when his 'son' Azazello (Jango Fett himself Morrison) enters the room carrying a dead rabbit.

It appears that Moreau is either a massive fan of Bugs Bunny or was so traumatised as a child by the rabbit massacre scene in Norman J. Warren's Prey that his law forbids killing anything with massive ears.

If nothing else it means that Thewlis is safe then.

Covering his own back for cooking up such a calamity Azazello lets slip that resident rocket Derek Lo-Mai (lo-fi action star Dacascos) has been wandering around the island butchering rabbits and hanging them from trees for the last few weeks so it's really his fault because he's the only character with a full body prosthetic so everyone else wants to copy him.

Or something.

Look, if the writers don't care why should I?

Retiring to his room Moreau promises that there will be a trial the next day.

Douglas, feeling much the same as the audience uses bedtime as an excuse to escape to the docks in order to steal Montgomery's boat but soon changes his mind when he discovers that it's been overrun by a gaggle of poorly rendered CGI mice.

Boiled onions!


As a new day dawns, Moreau dons his favourite dress and travels to the manimal compound to start the trial good and proper with everything going swimmingly - much tugging of forelocks, sniffing of arses and bowing - until, that is Azazello unexpectedly shoots an apologetic Lo-Mai in the face with a bolt gun.

This has the effect of confusing an already confused cast, seeing as the first law is 'no shooting people in the face with bolt guns'.

Or is it the second?

I'm sure it's somewhere near the top anyway, just next to don't eat your own poo and don't forget to stick your pinky finger out when drinking tea.

Anyway all of this is immaterial seeing as Moreau is so upset by this turn of events that he immediately retires to his bed but not before ordering that Lo-Mai's body is to be disposed off with the utmost respect and care.

Which translates as being bundled into a binbag and throw into an incinerator.


"It's not a sin if you use someone else's hand!"


Sifting thru' the charred remains for biscuits or gold teeth, mutton-chopped mutant Hilary Hyena-Swine (Rigney) makes an interesting discovery when he notices Lo-Mai's pain implant among the dust and bones before messily removing his own.

Which is quite difficult for a man wearing kitchen gloves with fake fingernails shoddily glued to them.

Implant in hand Hyena-Swine excitedly heads off to inform the others before making plans to start a revolution.

Meanwhile Douglas, tired of being locked up at night and quickly developing a fear of tiny hands tries desperately to send a message to the outside world only to find that Montgomery has replaced the islands radio with a hastily painted cardboard box.

And if this wasn't dramatic enough poor Aissa is slowly regressing back to her original cat form, tho' the director decides to illustrate this by giving her pointy teeth and not by strapping an extra four breasts to her and making her do a dance.

Bastard.

Sometimes a picture CAN, in fact paint a thousand words.


Whilst all this chat has been going on Hyena-Swine has been busying himself removing all the implants (well just the pain ones, he's let them keep the fake breasts and penile extensions) from his followers before turning up at the house in order to confront Moreau, who on discovering the group swinging off the candelabra and shitting in the coffee pot tries to placate them by belting out a show tune medley accompanied by Majai - bedecked in a golden bejewelled suit on the piano.

OK I'll admit it, one of these facts is made-up.

But only one.

Understandably angry over their hybrid nature and hideous (well, comical) appearance and free from the Doctors control, Hyena-Swine and his pals decide to reject humanity and the islands Laws before eating Moreau.

Tho' not all of him obviously because they'd be at it for days.

As the rest of his 'children' grieve, the sneaky Azazello, tired of seeing his former master get to eat all the pies steals a gun and goes to find Hyena-Swine's gang promising them the keys to the armoury and the pantry if they let him join.

And so begins a race against time - and tedium - as Douglas attempts to find a way to halt Aissa's regression before the manimals revert back to their original form and forget all about guns and revenge and stuff and just go back to being, well animals I guess.

Hmmm....they haven't really thought this thru' have they?

Will he succeed?

Will there be anyone left watching to care?

Obviously just having the words "Utter bollocks!" on the poster wouldn't have helped ticket sales...and you wonder why this blog never gets quoted.

A legend in the history of bad cinema, John Frankenheimer's The Island of Dr. Moreau is the perfect example of how not to make a movie.

Or at the very least how not to make a successful one because if nothing else it's bloody enjoyable.

Bad? Yes.

Nonsensical? Totally.

But never ever boring to watch.

I mean where else could you find a cinema icon like Marlon Brando, clad in a massive white tent and covered in flour performing a piano duet with the star of Rat Man before being ripped to shreds in a hammock by a Converse wearing hyena?

And former Batman Kilmer coked off his (ample) tits stumbling around in a daze, fondling the latex clad extras as he mutters to himself, almost as if he's in the middle of a breakdown?

It's been reported that poor Fairuza Balk was so upset by the whole débâcle that she attempted to escape the production by sneaking off to the airport at night only to be chased down and dragged back to the set at gunpoint by the films security guards and that David Thewlis was so traumatised by the film that to this day he refuses to see doctors of any kind as well as insisting that all animals are kept out with a five mile radius of him at all times.

Of the remaining cast only Ron Perlman and Daniel Rigney escaped unscathed and in the case of Rigney only because he died soon after filming.

Perlman as we all know could release a movie of him having a massive shite and it would still be watchable.

As Alien: Resurrection proved.

Behind the scenes it wasn't much better with studio execs demanded that any scenes of horror of violence be removed to guarantee a PG-13 rating, Thewlis ended up breaking his leg in a horse riding accident a few days into filming even tho' the script featured no horses and the constant rewrites - described by Thewlis as "still shit." - meant that Brando found it impossible to learn any of his lines, preferring to have them relayed to him via a radio-transmitter secreted under his left breast.

This culminated in Brando occasionally picking up local police radio messages which he would then relay to the rest of the cast instead of his scripted lines, at this point Frankenheimer, being a total sycophant when it came to Brando would berate the other actors for not answering in a way that made any sense.

In once scene Brando shouted: “There’s a robbery at Woolworth’s!” at Thewlis leaving the actor momentarily stunned and Frankenheimer, incensed at what he perceived as a lack of commitment to the project proceeded to beat the British star with a prop goats head almost killing Thewlis and leaving him permanently brain damaged and unable to move the left side of his face.

If you don't believe me just go watch him as Dennis Sciama in The Theory of Everything.

Even the choice of replacement for original director Richard Stanley seems to have been made on the sole reason that Frankenheimer too also liked to wear a hat on set.

With all this in mind it’s amazing to think that it was ever finished, let alone released.

And then without at least a letter from its mum.

Or a health warning.


Hats the way I like it.

When finally released on 23rd August 1996 the film had been in production for nearly 75 years (probably), with many members of the crew being replaced by their children as they died from old age and dysentery whilst the budget had ballooned from it's original £18.60 to a whopping £40 million dollars.

To this date the film has only made £12.64 back of that budget and has now been blamed for the financial crisis in Greece, the Grease revival with Shane Ritchie and the death of Princess Diana.

 Val Kilmer is still missing.


















*For anyone interested in the full sorry story behind this débâcle check out David Gregory's fantastic documentary Lost Soul: The Doomed Journey of Richard Stanley's Island of Dr. Moreau.




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