There were any number of shows premiering last year that I was anticipating, from Jericho to Heroes to Primeval, but Dexter flew under my radar. For the most part fiction about serial killers leave me cold, and I wasn’t expecting an ongoing show about a murderer that only kills other murderers to really do anything for me. I’m glad I took the chance, because Dexter is fantastic, and was definitely the hightlight of last year’s schedule.

The main reason for my fascination was the take Michael C. Hall took with the title character. Most of the people I know who watched it and enjoyed it walked away with the impression that Dexter was an affable character. I had a completely different impression. Dexter’s sense of morality isn’t something that comes from within him, but was rather imprinted on him through years of training. He only differentiates between murderers and the innocent because those options were spoonfed to him from an early age and it appeals to his sense of order. Without those external restrictions anyone would do. When faced with a situation that falls outside of the parameters that have been grafted on him Dexter either chooses the reaction closest to that which he’s been trained, or, when that option isn’t open to him, begins to break down, like a machine. It’s in watching this absolutely unique specimen of humanity try to relate to normal human interaction that makes Dexter so engaging.

If you haven’t seen it yet, I highly recommend watching the first season before heading into the second, otherwise your enjoyment will be greatly diminished. As it happens, the first season just hit shelves today.

Thanks to Showtime for passing the poster along.

Young Hannibal Lecter has his world torn apart by the atrocities of the Second World War, and vows to track down the men who killed his baby sister, gathering the skills he’ll need along the way.

Unlike many, I don’t believe remakes, sequels, adaptations and other ancillary films somehow cheapen the original source. These cinematic hanger-ons are usually pretty easy to ignore and/or forget. In the case of the offshoots of Silence of the Lambs I find that task to be even easier than most, since they barely resemble their father. In fact, I think that’s why I enjoy them as much as I do.

With Hannibal Rising (and Hannibal before it), the adventures of Lecter take a turn for the baroque with a mixture of beauty and brutality that is very rarely presented on the big screen. And where Blood and Chocolate tried to add some Old World charm to an All-American story, Hannibal Rising dives right in, without a single North American character in sight, a risky manouver for a major studio release. In many ways the entire movie is about a world recovering from and trying to forget a war that has left scars still fresh and sore. Every character is haunted, either by what they witnessed or by the acts they themselves commited. Even the setting has two faces, alternating between lush mansions and grimy back-alley markets.

No one can match Anthony Hopkins’ turn in the role, so why bother? Gaspard Ulliel provides just the right amount of guile, camp and irrational ruthlessness to raise the proceedings to the level of Grand Guignol. The gore, while sparse, is on par with other recent “torture porn” films like Hostel and Pan’s Labryinth in being highly effective when it does appear. If I had any real complaint it would be that the film is a little slow in parts, with a great deal of exposition. But really, anyone who has seen any of the previous films, or any serial killer movie in general, will already know what to expect walking in.

The anti-hero gets a bad rap. Critics and modern audiences seem to demand that their protaganists be portrayed as somehow relateable to their own lives. Why should we always drag fictional characters down to our level? Why can’t we let them be slightly ridiculous and over-the-top? And with all the lumbering brutes that dominate the slasher genre, isn’t it about time that we had a villain who possessed a level of refinement?

I’m all for artistic integrity, but I can’t help but get a little nostalgic for the old studio system, where movies were cranked out with little regard for individual expression. At a recent press junket, Dino De Laurentiis brought back a little of that old flavour by relating how Hannibal Rising came to be.

“When I did the promotion all around the world for Hannibal and Red Dragon, everybody asked me ‘Dino, we need to know when and where Hannibal Lecter started.’ I don’t give it much attention. But then I receive so much mail in a few years, with the same question, and I come to the conclusion that the audience wants to see the beginning of life for Hannibal Lecter. Anthony Hopkins, seventeen years old? We need a boy, nineteen years old. Ha! Now, I start to say ‘maybe this is an idea, to create a new franchise, with a new story, and tell the audience how Hannibal Lecter started. It was not so easy a problem. My first call to Tom Harris, he said ‘Dino, really, I don’t know…’ To make the story short, little by little, I convinced Tom Harris to create a new story.”

Now that’s how they did things back in the day.

History repeats itself, as The Hitcher remake doesn’t fare as well at the box office as originally predicted by most pundits. The reason the Hitcher seemed to be a cinch to win was due to the lack of fresh competition, as it was the only movie that opened wide this weekend. The Hitcher placed fourth in the rankings. Serves it right for denying the existence of modern-day hitchikers. Bastards.

Pan’s Labryinth, which has been receiving gradually wider releases over the past few weeks, placed seventh. Now that part pisses me off. I’ve been dying to see Pan’s Labryinth since I first heard of it, but it only opened in my city this past weekend. This would be fine, except it opened in the tiniest, throwaway theatre in town. I’d probably have a better experience getting a bootleg and watching it at home. All this because the powers-that-be don’t seem to have any faith in the damn thing. Now I’m not sure if I should bother going, or hope that with it’s newfound popularity it will open in a decent-sized theatre.

The latest poster for this year’s installment of the Saw series has been retouched with a deeper shade of crimson. Actor Tobin Bell has donated a vial of his blood to be included in the first printing of the poster.

“We decided to do a poster and he’s wearing a red cloak. I was talking to the printer and asked what we could do to get the deepest blood red. I asked if it would be possible to use actual blood. There was silence. He said, ‘We could try, but are you serious?’ I said I was dead serious,” Lionsgate marketing honcho Tim Palen said.

If you’re looking to pick one of these posters up, good luck. It appears that the batch of unsigned posters has already been snatched up and all that remains are the autographed ones, which are going for approximately $500 as of this writing.

I’m a little shocked that this news is getting as much play as it is, or that the posters were snapped up so quickly. While I’m glad this brings both funds and attention to the Red Cross and their blood drives, isn’t this all just a little lame? Is Tobin Bell that much of a presence to merit this kind of exposure? I mean, he’s no KISS. Maybe I should pour a few drops into the podcast and see what happens.

What do you think? Is it a fresh idea or would Bell have been better off donating his blood to the Red Cross himself? Let us know in the comments below.

Even filmmakers can hit a sophomore slump, particularly if they manage to create something groundbreaking their first time out. After a director has spent all the nightmares accumulated over a lifetime in their first film, what possible hope can they have to capture that magic a second time, especially under tighter time constraints? One answer would be to, quoting James Brown, hit it and quit.

Belgian director Rémy Belvaux passed away on September 4th with only one feature film on his resume, but it was one worth remembering. A mockumentary, Man Bites Dog is the story of a film crew slowly losing both their objectivity and morality as they follow a serial killer on his rounds. While it may not be the first word on the bizarre relationship between journalism and violence, Man Bites Dog is certainly superior to the many similar films that followed in its wake, largely due to its sense of mischief. While Man Bites Dog is one of the darkest comedies ever filmed, it’s still a comedy and a sly one at that.

The controversial winner of the International Critics’ Prize at the 1992 Cannes Film Festival, Man Bites Dog saw Belvaux involved in nearly all aspects of the production including sharing in the writing, directing, producing and even acting. AYet after completing the film, Belvaux turned his back on feature film work and devoted his attention to other acts of misconduct, including assisting in the ambush of Bill Gates with a cream pie in 1999.

It’s been speculated that Man Bites Dog was some elaborate prank and that Rémy Belvaux himself didn’t take it entirely seriously. If that’s the case, this is one joke that misfired with wonderful results, and one which the prankster wisely chose not to repeat again.

Condolences to Rémy Belvaux family and friends. Rest in peace, M. Belvaux.

Found via My New Plaid Pants.

I watched so many movies at the Fantasia film festival this year that I just didn’t have enough room to post them all here. Over at Bloody Disgusting you can find my review for the cinema verite serial killer flick 39: A Film By Carroll McKane. And now, using the power of the internet, I will quote my own words in bold!

It would have been easier to accept Jim Carrey as Carroll McKane for all the mugging that takes place for the camera. And while I realize that this excessive egotism is probably evident in real-life killers, without a firm foundation for all of Carroll’s grisly exploits his tiresome monologues come off as fabrications.

Ouch. That Steve guy is a jerk. If you can’t get enough of my rambling here at The Horror Blog, may I suggest you check it out.

The first in a series of reviews of films shown at the Fantasia international film festival in Montreal.

A woman is murdering people in downtown Seoul, seemingly at random. The only clue she leaves behind at the scene of each crime is a sticker of an anime character, Princess Aurora. As the police try to track her down, one of the officers discovers that not only might there be a method to the killer’s madness, but he may be involved personally.

Princess Aurora starts off with incredible promise which the rest of the film sidesteps completely. The opening scene is one of the most surprising, brutal little vignettes I have seen in a long time. From that first blood-soaked scene, the impression one gets is that this is going to be like a Korean Falling Down, as the petty behaviour of the people around her drive the killer toward deranged retribution. It’s truly unfortunate when the red herring is more interesting than the actual reveal.

Most all of the killer’s victims are introduced as they’re causing grief for people weaker than them. It’s this aspect of the film that really pissed me off. This bullying is the only aspect of their personalities we’re allowed to see, giving us reason to believe that this is how they are 24/7. If the film were an allegory, this flimsy characterization would make some sense. As it stands, the reason we’re shown the victims in this light is to emphasize that they truly deserved it even before we discover why they are being chosen by the killer. The filmmaker has completely stacked the deck here, making it impossible to feel any empathy for the victims, and completely discarding any attempt at creating moral conflict over the killer’s actions. I don’t mind being manipulated, but this is so ham-fisted it’s insulting.

This absence of complexity seeps through to the rest of the film, making all but the end sequences nothing more than a bland police procedural. Princess Aurora has not one but two codas, both of which, like the very beginning, promise a great movie experience that could have been. Here we not only get another visually stunning kill, but the film also delves into issues of personal responsibility, no matter how depraved. It poses some interesting questions, but it would have been nice if those themes had been explored throughout its running time instead of tacked onto the end.

What could have been great, given a little more thought, bypasses good and settles for mediocre.