Our second annual Keanu Reeves Film Festival has been cancelled until further notice due to COVID-19 – refunds will be issued automatically, full details below
We are very sad to announce that KeanuCon will not take place as planned in 2020. Refunds will take place automatically and weekend pass holders have been informed directly. We plan to relaunch KeanuCon IRL in 2021, dates TBC. If you have any questions after reading all of the details below, get in touch: firstname.lastname@example.org.
Please enjoy this special memory of our Wyld Stallyns performing live at KeanuCon 2019 and Be Excellent To Each Other until further notice.
We have/had been working hard on alternative plans, including rescheduled dates for later in 2020, which is one reason why updates have been scarce as goalposts continually shifted, but it’s become clear that despite our best efforts and hopes, the festival will be impossible to deliver this year (more detail below).
We are looking at the best ways to bring everyone together to celebrate Keanu online (watch this space for those), around the original dates, and we’re happy to say weekend pass holders will all receive our KeanuCon brochure/zine, with new and exclusive content from Vero Navarro (beloved KeanuCon illustrator), Kitty Curran & Larissa Zageris (For Your Consideration: Keanu Reeves), Will Harris (Mixed Race Superman) and more TBC.
NB The brochure/zine will go out to all weekend pass holders, regardless of automatic refunds. If you would like to waive your refund by way of donation to support Matchbox Cineclub/KeanuCon, thank you very much and please get in touch here: email@example.com.
In more detail:
Our original dates in June are impossible to deliver due to the current circumstances (our venue, CCA Glasgow, is closed until July at the earliest). We had confirmed rescheduled dates in August, but these are now unviable since CCA will be closed until the end of July at the earliest, with no way of knowing with any certainty that it will reopen fully in August. This makes it difficult for us to plan and promote the event in good faith, or for audience members to make plans to attend.
CCA is smaller in capacity than mainstream cinemas. Even when mainstream cinemas re-open (no earlier than July 4th, and still contingent on a significant reduction in confirmed cases of COVID-19), they will have to adhere to the COVID-19 Secure guidelines, which at present involve distancing between individuals, enhanced hygiene and limiting numbers of people in any one space. This will impact events like ours even more severely again, since we have a lower capacity to begin with. Clearing and cleaning the theatre space between screening will make back-to-back screenings and day-long events next to impossible to deliver practically and safely, for audiences and staff.
Additionally, CCA’s theatre has a capacity of 150, which would potentially be reduced to 50 under these guidelines. We already have sold in excess of 50 weekend passes and we’d expect to sell out the venue in normal circumstances. The costs involved in venue hire, film licences, marketing and everything else involved couldn’t be covered with an audience of only 50 without dramatically impacting ticket prices. 50 attendees would make for an intimate and certainly fun event, but sadly wouldn’t be practical financially (NB at the best of times no other local cinemas could accomodate KeanuCon without charging an impossible fee).
Finally, while we are optimistic that more activity will be possible towards the end of the year (including our rescheduled Remakesploitation Fest), CCA has a full calendar at the best of times and even if we were 100% confident of being able to deliver KeanuCon to the standard and capacity it deserves, there simply aren’t dates available to us for the rest of the year, among events that were already booked and those that have been rescheduled since the advent of COVID-19 (assuming, of course, any of these will be able to take place anyway).
We’re very sad about it, but know that we’ll get through this and celebrate (Keanu) together before too long.
In 2017, Ela Orleans debuted a brand-new live score for Guy Maddin’s Cowards Bend The Knee for Matchbox Cineclub. Journalist Brian Beadie, who proposed the project, spoke to Orleans ahead of the performance.
Ela Orleans is best known as an exquisite lo-fi pop miniaturist. She works integrally with images, to the extent that a journalist described her work as ‘movies for ears’, a tagline she has willingly embraced. It’s a cliché to call a musician’s work soundtrack material, but Ela’s work is imbued with a deep love of cinema. When Scalarama asked me earlier in the year if I would like to programme a screening for the festival, my first thought (and best thought) was commissioning a new soundtrack from Ela, and pairing one of my favourite musicians with one of my favourite directors, Guy Maddin.
Growing up in Oświęcim (better known in the west as Auschwitz) during Communism, Ela was exposed both to Western and Communist cinema, Polish cinema going through a golden age during her childhood (she jokes that nothing noteworthy has happened in the country since 1986). The film scores of composers such as Krzystof Komeda are incredibly rich, drawing on a wide variety of musical traditions including jazz. There was a vital underground jazz scene, officially banned by the state although, as Ela notes, the state unbanned it when they recognised that it was the music of the American oppressed.
Oswieicm itself would be a site of much location filming, due to its still having the infamous concentration camp in town, now running as a museum. Ela reminisces about being on the set of a Spielberg film when she was a kid, and that you could tell when a film crew were shooting, because all the town drunks would get their heads shaved to obtain parts as extras.
After a spell in Glasgow playing in Hassle Hound with Tony Swain and Mark Vernon, she moved to Brooklyn to study composition. “My final work for the program was slaughtered by my tutor, who told me to get out of my box. The final word, however, belonged to David Shire [composer of The Taking of Pelham 123, The Conversation and, more recently, Zodiac], who said that he loved my box.”
Her own favourite soundtracks make for an interesting comparison; she equally loves the spare, minimalist soundtracks of Jean-Pierre Melville’s films, citing the precision of the sound design on Le Samourai, and the operatic splendour of Morricone’s scores.
While Ela has composed new scores for film by directors such as Carl Dreyer and Frank Borzage (an obsession of Guy Maddin’s) she states, “This is the first time I feel that I am receiving full information on the aesthetic aspect of the score. The suggested inspiration is fantastically familiar, and I feel like my music found home with someone alive for a change and that I have freedom and a sense of direction at the same time.”
One of the reasons I wanted to pair Ela and Maddin was because I think they share a similar aesthetic, haunted by but not burdened by past forms. Ela agrees that, “The musical aesthetic of Guy Maddin is spookily parallel with my own. It’s not mainstream or techno or classical but old-time music which can be played with a rusty needle and it will still bring emotions. He doesn’t ask me to sound Lynchian, which is a bloody relief!”
“His enthusiasm for me scoring it is enormously encouraging, and I am over the moon. I feel like I found long lost family.”
Ela Orleans’ live score for Cowards Bend the Knee debuted at the Centre for Contemporary Arts, Glasgow, on Thursday, 21st September, 2017. By way of introduction Guy Maddin offered the following words: “This wild, gorgeous and almost insane new score by Ela Orleans has completely reinvented Cowards. She understood at musical levels the depths of shame, heights of hysteria, and quivering viscous ick I felt while shooting it; she drew out from the film every dark strand of soiled soul unravelling within and hung it in a new moonbeam for all the appalled to see.”
We’ve subsequently taken the decision to postpone the debut of our Arrow Video Night screening series (including opener Why Don’t You Just Die! and the April event, scheduled for 10/04) and the connected CineWriters group meetings (ta-da, that’s a thing/will be a thing!).
NB Remakesploitation Fest 2020 (25-26/04) and KeanuCon 2020 (19-21/06) are still currently going ahead as planned. We will continue to monitor the recommendations of the Scottish Government, the NHS and our partner venue, CCA Glasgow. We hope to relaunch the Arrow Video Night on Saturday 30th May.
We’ll be in touch with ticket holders for Why Don’t You Just Die! directly, and generally appreciate your patience and forbearance with this whole thing, which is obviously still unfolding and that we’re trying to navigate with the greater good in mind.
We have to balance our own decisions as a small, independent operation (with currently no guaranteed funding support) against taking an abundance of caution. While events at CCA (theatre capacity 150, cinema capacity 74) fall below the threshold of 500 for proscribed gatherings, and our first instinct is the show must go on, we need to take responsibility and prioritise public health and safety and truthfully, it doesn’t feel right to be going ahead with events while this whole thing is expanding and still unfolding.
This missive from our friend and respected fellow programmer Herb Shellenberger has informed our decision:
On a related note, we rely on funding support, ticket sales and the revenue we make from subtitling for film events to keep going. With all of those things currently unsure, it’s going to be a tricky time for us. If you’d like to support us in another way, we have t-shirts, posters/prints, books and zines on sale in our online shop: matchboxcineclub.bigcartel.com/category/merch.
If you have any questions regarding upcoming Matchbox Cineclub events please feel free to email us at firstname.lastname@example.org.
For the second year, we’ve worked with Glasgow Short Film Festival, this time expanding coverage to nine feature-length programmes of shorts, including the entirety of their Scotttish Competition and our own Girl in the Picture: The Youth Films of Nobuhiko Obayashi programme. The latter celebrates the early, experimental work of the House director and includes films subtitled in English for the first time. We’ve worked with translator Moe Shoji to produce SDH for these films, and they represent the start of a bigger project we’re very excited about – watch this space!
Find all the captioned films screening at GSFF20 here.
Why Don’t You Just Die! (Kirill Sokolov, 2020) is the first in our new, monthly screening series Arrow Video Night, in collaboration with Arrow Video. Arrow produces SDH for all their home releases, but we’ll guarantee them either way, since some of the programme will be sneak previews and descriptive subtitles may not be ready in time for our screenings. Why Don’t You Just Die! is a prime slice of Russian splatterpunk comedy, lots of fun and an advance screening ahead of its Blu-ray release in April.
Remakesploitation Fest is our collaboration with Iain Robert Smith (King’s College London/Remakesploitation Film Club) and the result of a long, long infatuation with the weird world of Turkish fantastic cinema – particularly the era which featured countless unauthorised remakes of Hollywood films. Following our sold-out premiere screening of the 2K restoration of Turkish Star Wars (Dünyayı Kurtaran Adam) last year, we’re bringing a whole day of Turkish remakes to CCA Glasgow, all with exclusive, brand-new translations, screening for the first time in the world with English SDH. Thanks to King’s College London and Film Hub Scotland for making this possible!
This April, we’ll be screening restored and newly-subtitled classics of Turkish fantastic cinema for the first time. Ahead of Remakesploitation Fest 2020, read our primer on the weirdest film scene in world cinema, originally published in 2011…
Dünyayı Kurtaran Adam AKA The Man Who Saved The World (Çetin Inanç, 1982) doesn’t make it too far past the endearingly handmade titles before it demonstrates the elements that gave it its better-known title, “Turkish Star Wars”. Edited into new Turkish scenes are newsreel clips of NASA rocket launches, instantly recognisable shots from Star Wars Episode IV: A New Hope (chopped from a print in a different aspect ratio from the rest of the Inanç‘s film – making the Death Star an odd shape), and identifiable footage from Sodom and Gomorrah (Robert Aldrich,1962) and The Seven Curses of Lodac (Bert I Gordon, 1962). The roguish leads, Cüneyt Arkin (Murat) and Aytekin Akkaya (Ali) are shown in space battle, their commitment to their performance overriding the viewer’s disbelief as projected footage from Star Wars cuts haphazardly between scenes behind them. Nobody in Lucas’ Rebellion ever had to deal with their spaceship appearing and disappearing around them, and even Luke Skywalker probably wouldn’t have dared flying backwards down the trench in the Death Star, even if it was oblong. But then daredevil Ali reckons the enemy are too sour-faced and he’d prefer “if some chicks with mini-skirts were coming”.
While the provenance of the visual effects is immediately and jarringly obvious, the soundtrack is equally dubious. The music not sourced from library stock is bastardised from an impressive array of high-profile soundtracks, including John William’s score for Raiders of the Lost Ark (The Raiders March and Chase Suite), Giorgio Moroder’s disco cover of the Battlestar Galactica theme, Ennio Morricone’s theme for the TV mini-series Moses the Lawgiver (Gianfranco De Bosio & James H Hill, 1974), music from Planet of the Apes, Moonraker and Silent Running, and then Queen’s score for Flash Gordon – a film which also provides key sound effects. Even JS Bach’s Toccata gets a showing. Such audacious theft cannot help but overshadow the homemade costumes, mannered stunt work (particularly Arkin’s trademark trampolining) and lunatic storytelling that the film otherwise consists of, but Dünyayı Kurtaran Adam is still more entertaining than The Phantom Menace.
Such pithy comparisons have revived international interest in a peculiar sub-section of Turkish film that thrived domestically in the late 1970s and early 1980s, of which Turkish Star Wars is only one among many. There are now countless blogs and webpages dedicated to lists of bizarre and poorly-made foreign versions, some official, some not, of Hollywood films. Usually light on context and high on derision, these articles have nevertheless brought to light a whole spectacular genre that may be described as Turkish Remakesploitation.
Most of these films were made during a particularly tumultuous period for the Republic of Turkey that saw the country experience the third coup d’etat since its formation in 1923. The 1980 military coup followed coups in 1960 and 1971 and brought a temporary end to violence but also ongoing political instability that has continued to the present day, with the country engaged in a long struggle towards multi-party democracy. Contrary to some reports, there was no general ban on American films in Turkey, even during the period of the military coup (from September 1980 to November 1983) beyond the individual bans on Midnight Express (Alan Parker, 1978) and A Clockwork Orange (Stanley Kubrick, 1973). The more serious censorship affected domestic films and directors, most famously Yılmaz Güney who, in the middle of this period, orchestrated the production of Yol AKA The Way (Serif Gören, 1982) from a Turkish prison cell. One of the biggest movie stars in Turkey (of a rough and roguish type similar to Arkin), Güney was also one of the most politicised, first jailed in 1961 (for publishing an allegedly ‘communist’ novel) then again in 1972 and 1974. Escaping prison in 1981, he completed Yol in Switzerland and it went on to win the Palme D’Or at the 1982 Cannes Film Festival. Exiled in Paris, Güney died of cancer in 1984 and he is now internationally renowned as a key figure in modern Turkish cultural history.
However, the kind of low budget oddities that decades later would become known as Turkish Jaws, Turkish Dirty Harry or Turkish Exorcist, among many others, belong in a world parallel to the politically and socially conscious filmmaking of the likes of Yılmaz Güney. Even filmmakers sometimes mentioned in the same breath as Güney took part in the Remakesploitation trend. Memduh Ün, who garnered early international notice for his film Kırık Çanaklar (The Broken Pots, 1960), also directed the Turkish James Bond rip off Altin Çocuk (Golden Boy, 1966) and, much later, Turkish Death Wish AKA Cellat (The Executioner, 1975). With the spotlight on the highly entertaining, low-budget escapism of Turkish Star Wars, it’s easy to overlook that Turkey, even in such adverse conditions, had no shortage of “respectable” films and, after a wilderness period from the early 1980s through into the 1990s, has resumed producing world-class films.
Dünyayı Kurtaran Adam is probably the most famous of the Turkish Remakesploitation films, by dint of having Star Wars as its template and because it so blatantly ripped off whole special effects shots and sequences. Truth be told, even though it cribs some broad ideas along with a bucket-load of special effects, it tells a distinctly different story than Star Wars and it is not even close to being the most thorough Rip-Off in this genre. Nor is Süpermen Dönüyor, even though Kunt Tulgar’s movie makes liberal use of stolen music cues and copyrighted characters. There are far more explicit offenders in this category, films that are practically shot-for-shot remakes of the originals. Crucially, none of them are authorised adaptations of the source material, distinguishing them from the standard and continuous back-and-forth nature of movie remaking across national borders.
Films belonging to the genre take a variety of forms, from those shot-for-shot remakes (Sevimli Frankeştayn AKA Turkish Young Frankenstein (Nejat Saydam, 1975)), to straight retellings adapted for a Turkish audience (Süpermen Dönüyor, Kunt Tulgar, 1979), to films that took elements of foreign films and incorporated them into ‘reimagined’ versions of the originals (Dünyayi Kurtaran Adam). All three types regularly feature in Top Ten Terrible Foreign Rip-Offs lists, their puny budgets, brazen appropriation and lunatic energy frequently compared ironically to their muscular Hollywood forebears. The common links between them are the international fame and success of their source material and a focus on any combination of action, sex, adventure and violence – the key constituents of any so-called B-movie and bread and butter for their contemporary domestic audience. The films were broad, easy to comprehend and entertaining to a fault – so no Turkish Chinatown, but Turkish Young Frankenstein was a no-brainer.
The films that can be described as part of the classic wave of Turkish Remakesploitation also belong to a larger genre of Turkish Fantastic Cinema. This term encompasses many kinds of genre films, from horror and science fiction to the hugely popular masked hero film. B-movies by any description and obscure to say the least, these films are not widely available even in Turkey, where the original prints have long since been sold off to television stations or simply disappeared entirely. Often the best sources for viewing them are VHS copies of pre-digital Turkish television broadcasts and/or German rental copies, ripped for the internet. Luckily and somewhat miraculously, a decade ago MTV Turkey began screening many of these films, previously believed to be lost altogether, in a weekly Fantastic Cinema slot. Otherwise, tiny independent companies like Onar Films, based in Greece, distributed DVD versions sourced from original prints. While these were lovingly packaged, carefully cleaned and prepared for release and much better quality than YouTube uploads, they were hampered by the extremely poor quality of the existing prints, which had never been high priorities for preservation or digital remastering.
From a modern, western perspective, cataloguing and delineating these films is a nightmare, due to a number of factors. First and foremost, the lack of an international audience even at the time means that the films and filmmakers have very little status in the west. Awareness of them now is really due to some hard work by fans of the genre(s) and a whole lot of wry internet ‘appreciation’. Even now, the documentation and availability of these films is very limited, automatically granting canonical status to a handful of high-visibility Rip-Offs – Turkish Star Wars, Turkish Superman and Turkish ET (Badi, Zafer Par, 1983) among them. The films that are available, one way or another, often have sub-standard English subtitles (with no disrespect to the efforts made, for which we have to be very thankful) and most have no English subtitles at all. Additionally, there seems to be very little behind-the-scenes information available and attempts to frame these films in any kind of context are very rare. Bill Barounis of Onar Films produced a helpful Turkish Fantastic Cinema Guide and while there are surely more scholarly tomes on the history of Turkish cinema, Fantastic or otherwise, they are, by and large, written in Turkish and in any case not widely available.
Fortunately, as the films of particular interest here have benefited from the widest modern audience, it’s still possible to discuss them in context and to trace their origins somewhat. While the key period for these films is the mid 1970s to the mid 1980s, their roots go much further back. Prior to World War II, the Turkish film industry was dominated by a handful of companies importing foreign product into the major cities of Istanbul, Izmir and Ankara. After 1948, when the municipal tax on exhibition was reduced from 75% to 25% (leaving the tax on imported films at 70%), there was an explosion in domestically produced Turkish cinema. By the mid 1960s, Turkish cinema had expanded rapidly to become one of the biggest film making economies in the world, centred around Yesilçam (literally ‘Green Pine’ and named for a street in Istanbul that housed many production companies), which became a by-word for Turkish cinema in the same sense Hollywood is for classic American film.
However, while there were over 1,000 cinemas in Turkey at the peak of this wave, Hollywood product was still limited to theatres in the major cities and the coasts, leaving the huge Anatolian population in the south at a disadvantage – which is to say, there was a huge demand for the kind of westernised product epitomised in the Western and Action genres which was not being fully catered for. Starting around 1962, the Turkish Western became a hugely popular genre with 15 films a year being produced at the peak of the genre’s popularity in the 1970s and an audience happy to consume up to three films a day. In this period, the power of the regional distributors was paramount as they could and would demand films to their own specification, according to the discriminations of their local audiences. Unfortunately, due in part to the decentralisation of the system (with hundreds of companies making films), the general tilt was towards private enterprise, meaning that profits from films were not directed back into future film production, but removed for private gain. This was essentially a cash-flow business, with the success of one film providing the budget for the next, and one that could not sustain itself under any adversity. Eventually, Yesilçam’s output became dominated by soft-core porn productions.The encroachment of television and VHS meant that cinema revenue took a dive in the late 1970s and 1980s, which, in combination with that still thirsty-for-action Southern audience, created the perfect environment for Turkish Remakesploitation to thrive, albeit briefly.
Dünyayı Kurtaran Adam speaks to the audacity of some Turkish filmmakers, but the copyright situation in Turkey then is extremely vague from a modern perspective and it seems clear that there was no pertinent law of any kind in Turkey at that point. Indeed, there was a similar approach taken to the recording of foreign songs, at least up until the 1990s. At any rate, most of the films to be made in this golden age were well under Hollywood’s radar, probably more so than even Tarzan Istanbul’da (which had attracted the attention of Hollywood lawyers), and catered to an audience that had very little access to Hollywood product. Up until this point, it was standard practice in Yesilcam to freely adapt English-language novels, scripts and movie serials. There had been numerous Turkish bootlegs of Hollywood properties like The Lone Ranger, Zorro and Flash Gordon as well as oddities like Tosun and Yosun, the Turkish Laurel and Hardy clones, and innumerable Turkish Westerns. The spirit of the classic Turkish Remakesploitation can be traced in some of those Westerns, in their enthusiastic appropriation of American Western tropes and types (in similar fashion to the Italian Spaghetti Westerns), and their giddy disregard for international copyright concerns.
Una Pistola Per Ringo (Duccio Tessari, 1965), the now-classic Spaghetti Western, spawned many unauthorised spin-offs and unofficial sequels (as indeed it did in homeland of Italy). Similarly, Django (Sergio Corbucci, 1966) soon inspired the likes of Cango Olum Suvarisi (Django Rider Of Death, Remzi Conturk, 1967). Then came Çeko (Çetin Inanç, 1970), featuring a Turkish analogue of the Spaghetti Western anti-hero. Çeko opens with music stolen from Ennio Morricone’s score for The Good, The Bad and The Ugly (Sergio Leone, 1966) and goes on to utilise his Once Upon a Time in the West (Sergio Leone, 1968) score and Riz Ortolani’s music for Day Of Anger (Tonino Valerii, 1967). Even with the relatively low budget director Inanç had at his disposal, and the hasty production schedule – which would rapidly earn him the sobriquet “Regisör Jet”, the Jet Director – it was yet more economical to plagiarise pre-existing music. There were, of course, composers at work at the industry, but they would have cost too much, even in the form of the library music that they were most frequently employed to produce. With the materials at hand in the form of worn American prints and with impatient theatre owners on the phone, representing a waiting audience, directors like Inanç could churn out cheap copies quickly and to demand.
All of which begs the uncomfortable question of why filmmakers did not simply manufacture and distribute bootleg prints. The answer is in the question, and it is because these were filmmakers and not criminals. It seems clear that these films could not exist without a certain level of raw enthusiasm for the source material, the genres they represent and the filmmaking process itself. In any case, such blatant theft could easily be considered too likely to provoke the attention of litigious Hollywood studios that, after all, were still screening their product in the major cities, though they would not have a presence in the country as distributors until the 1990s. Equally probable is that the audience responded more enthusiastically to representations of these stories through a Turkish prism, which the filmmakers were only too eager to provide. It’s presumptuous and perhaps condescending to consider that the language barrier when screening original American films was an important element, but it likely would play a part. What is more than likely is that the significant delay between the initial American release and the widespread distribution of American films – even to the extent that they reached – provided a window ripe for exploitation.
Inanç is the most prominent behind-the-scenes character in the story of Turkish Remakesploitation. Weaned on the same comic books and serials that inspired his contemporaries Lucas and Spielberg, his first notable work was writing the screenplay for Kilink Istanbul’da (Yilmaz Atadeniz, 1967), a rip-off of Italian comic strip Killing, itself a rip-off of another called Kriminal, which was again a rip-off of Diabolik – making Kilink Istanbul’da a kind of bastard cousin to Danger: Diabolik (Mario Bava, 1968). His first film as director, Çelik Bilek (1967), was a Rip-Off of another Italian comic series, this time Il Grande Blek. After Çeko, he churned out carbon copies of Bonnie and Clyde, Dirty Harry, Mad Max, Jaws, First Blood, Rocky and Rambo II, making him by far the most prolific of the Remakesploitation directors. Those films, however, are only a sampling of the 136 films he made before moving into television in the mid 1980s. His transition then was emblematic of the general refocusing of the industry around television and its revenues in the 1980s and 1990s.
The key to understanding the films of Turkish Remakesploitation is to see them in context, not as part of a bungling criminal enterprise, but as the work of inventive, cash-strapped pragmatists. They were opportunists, certainly, but no more than Roger Corman or, indeed, any other Hollywood producer. The films were, after all, made for and enjoyed by an audience that could be described as undiscerning, but is more properly seen as enthusiastic, extremely receptive and, ultimately, forgiving, if the entertainment was worth the price of admission. There are comparisons to be drawn between Turkish Remakesplotiation and some Blaxsploitation (eg “The Black Exorcist” – Abby, William Girdler, 1974) in the way that mainstream (white, American) content is recreated but transformed to reflect the appearance and cultural specificity of the ‘niche’ audience. They’re also a worthy example of the hijacking and détournement of the Hollywood juggernaut to produce films for local consumption and, to a very limited extent, local profit. It’s hardly Robin Hood and it doesn’t beat a genuinely creative original and non-derivative industry, but it’s a lot more attractive, culturally, than simply swallowing what America doles out wholesale.
But their worth is not merely academic. And it’s not simply found in their superficial comic value, or even in their oddball energy, strange logic and generally singular approach to genre filmmaking. It’s in the spirit they were made in, the sheer will to make films overwhelming the paucity of available resources. It’s about making films of a certain kind when logic perhaps should tell you that you are not able to and not being constrained by your material limitations – certainly not when there is the prospect of expanding your material wealth. Fundamentally, Turkish Remakesploitation survives because it’s still doing what it was created to do – entertaining, even if that enjoyment sometimes takes the shape of snarky, ill-informed criticism.
Comparing the intent of Çetin Inanç and his contemporaries to their Hollywood counterparts is perhaps the most instructive measure. The cultural influences they share, taking for granted the international success of American comics and movie serials of the 1930s and 40s, seem as important as their distinct national identities. How different would the original Indiana Jones and Star Wars trilogies look if they were made with a fraction of the budget, talent pool, shooting schedule and basic infrastructure that they found in Hollywood? And though posterity has not been kind to the films of Turkish Remakesploitation, the smiles they engender and the basic thrills they offer are undiminished. As Kunt Tulgar has said, “Action and adventure never die in our culture.”
Remakesploitation Fest 2020 takes place 25-26/04/2020 at Centre for Contemporary Arts, Glasgow. Tickets available from our online shop here.Keep up-to-date with the Facebook event page here.
NB This article was originally published in 2011 at physicalimpossibility.com.Thanks to Gokay Gelgec of the Sinematik website and the sadly departed Bill Barounis of Onar Films for invaluable background information on these films and the culture they were made in. Wherever possible, we’ve referred to the best-presented and ‘official’ versions of these films available.
In 2019, we produced three festivals (one of which gained international viral fame), screened 43 feature-length films and 31 short films, hosted 13 guests, 4 drag performers, 2 live bands, co-programmed 14 collaborative screenings, embraced the sliding scale ticketing system, started open-captioning all our screenings, launched a subtitling arm providing HOH subtitles for several festivals and other exhibitors and co-ordinated a month-long season of films across Glasgow and Scotland. Through it all, we had the best audiences and an amazing support network of colleagues, collaborators and peers. Particularly, the support and enthusiasm from our friends at Film Hub Scotland set us up to deliver what is beyond a doubt our busiest programme yet. Here’s our ridiculous year in pictures, month-by-month.
Cage-a-rama 2: Cage Uncaged | We started the year with our second annual Nicolas Cage film festival, opening with Mandy and a Q&A with Cheddar Goblin creators Casper Kelly and Shane Morton. Mom & Dad director Brian Taylor joined us via Skype on Saturday evening and we closed the weekend with the UK premiere of the truly special Between Worlds, a still-unsung and underrated entry in the Cage canon. Despite being described in some quarters as “the new The Room“, it was thoroughly enjoyable and a good time was had by all.
Auld Lang Vine #RIPVine | In mourning of everyone’s favourite six-second video platform, we hosted a fitting funeral, including drag homage by Puke, live music by Joyce Delaney and 500+ Vines curated by Pilot Light TV Festival. This was an event of firsts, including our first use of the sliding scale ticket price and our first ever spontaneous modern-day lighter waving. Part of the #BFIComedy season.
Two Weirds Is Too Weird @GSFF19 | In March, we joined forces with Glasgow Short Film Festival to curate a night of short films made by Alice Lowe & Jacqueline Wright under the Jackal Films banner, featuring feline erotica, courtly necrophilia and bird women. Jacqueline, who’s now based in the US, very kindly recorded us a special introduction for the event. This was also our first collaboration with fantastic photographer Ingrid Mur, who documented our events for the rest of 2019.
Shogun Assassin with Venom Mob Film Club | This was Venom Mob Film Club’s first screening, and the first of our 2019 co-screenings supported by Film Hub Scotland. Johnny and Chuck programmed one of our favourites and served it up with a special menu of vegan ramen. Venom Mob have since done a bunch more screenings themselves, and they’ve all been great.
KeanuCon | Megan: Viral fame unexpectantly struck us this year as the internet caught wind of the world’s first Keanu Reeves film festival (less than a week before the already sold-out festival), yet we remain humble.
Megan: The festival was wyld regardless of the coverage, we had contributions from Alex Winter, Bill & Ted writer Ed Solomon, Man of Tai Chi star Tiger Chen, authors Kitty Curran & Karissa Zageris and My Own Private Idaho aficianado Claire Biddles. The weekened climaxed with a live performance from Wyld Stallyns, a Glasgow supergroup who absolutely nailed it. And, of course, we had lots of Keanu films, 11 in total, including his first appearance on film, in a National Film Board of Canada short. The weekend was full of Keanu love and great energy from the audience, we can’t wait to do it again in 2020!
Under the Cherry Moon with Backseat Bingo | Our next team-up of the year was with the brilliant Backseat Bingo, returning from a long absence. It was only fitting that programmer Casci Ritchie, who is also an academic expert on His Royal Badness, present this lesser known Prince classic on his birthday. Casci introduced the film with an illustrated talk on Prince’s fashion, from erotic sportswear to the classic trench coat.
Cage-a-rama 3D @ EIFF | What could be better than Cage? Cage in 3D! Senior programmer Niall Grieg Fulton invited us to collaborate on this special event at this year’s Edinburgh International Film Festival. After Cage-a-rama 2 (and our 2018 pop-up, The World’s Greatest 3D Film Club at Nice N Sleazy), Cage-a-rama 3D was the logical next step. EIFF’s team sourced beautiful 3D prints and footed the bill for an incredible top-of-the-range 3D system (the glasses need re-charged after every screening). Drive Angry and Ghost Rider: Spirit of Vengeance have never looked better – and we got to commission another incredible illustration from Vero Navarro!
Der Fan with Sad Girl Cinema | As part of BFI’s Film Feels: Obsession season, we co-programmed ’80s thirsty cult slasher Der Fan, along with a topical panel on obsession, thirst and fandom, featuring Bethany Rose Lamont (Sad Girl Cinema), Liz Murphy (artist), Jamie Dunn (The Skinny) and chaired by Claire Biddles (Sad Girl Cinema).
#SubtitledCinema | This was the year we committed to switching on the subtitles for every screening we do. We believe in accessibility and inclusion and though there’s lots of things we can’t do because we don’t have the budget or the time (there’s still just the two of us running Matchox), we realised if we could do it, we should. The other side of the coin is that since we aim to screen films that you can’t see elsewhere and often it’s the first, the first in a very long time, or somehow the only time you’ll be able to see these films, particularly on the big screen, we want to make sure as many people can see them as possible. Underpinning all that is the fact that we’re also professional subtitlers, with over a decade experience in subtitling for D/deaf audiences, so this year we put two and two together and started a subtitling arm to Matchbox. Since we started, alongside our own programming, we’ve produced subtitle files for festivals (GSFF, GFF, Take One Action, Document), film industry events (Film Hub Scotland’s EIFF Industry Days and This Way Up), new films (Super November, Her Century, Women Make Film) and creators (Ctrl Shift Face’s ongoing series of deepfake clips).
Sing-along SAW with Pity Party Film Club | In 2018, we launched the Scalarama Scotland programme with Polyester in Odorama, a scratch ‘n’ sniff event that also featured live drag performers and a very special ring girl in Puke, who, in lieu of on-screen prompts, let everyone know when to rub ‘n’ snort the special Odorama cards. We wanted to top it this year, so we teamed up with our pals Pity Party Film Club to come up with Sing-along SAW – a screening of the classic modern horror, interpolated with live drag acts inspired by key scenes. Highlights included Billy circling the audience on a People Make Glasgow bike and Frans Gender’s out-on-a-limb rendition of Kenny Loggins’ Footloose.
Nothing Lasts Forever on 35mm | Tom Schiller’s Nothing Lasts Forever has been on our list since we started showing films. Never released on VHS, DVD, VOD or streaming, since its scarce first screenings, it’s only been seen via TV broadcast once in a blue moon (not in the UK since Alex Cox introduced it on Moviedrome in 1994). When we realised Park Circus could authorise a 35mm screening, we knew we had to make it happen, and it was the perfect opening film for Weird Weekend. And though it was challenging (the only way to see the theatrical cut, and therefore prepare, is with the 35mm print), we even figured out how to screen it with subtitles.
Weird Weekend | One of our proudest moments this year, our second annual cult film festival was the first festival we’ve done with the sliding scale ticketing scheme, the first fully subtitled and we also had a 50/50 F-rated programme, meaning half the films were directed by women. Besides all of that, Weird Weekend represents our core programming: outcasts, orphans and outliers – the oddball and often lost classics that deserve to be better seen. Programming, producing, promoting and delivering it this year was thrilling and challenging and exhausting and rewarding. Highlights for us were hosting deepfake auteur Ctrl Shift Face (who came to take part in our Weird World of Deepfakes panel, debuted a brand-new clip and provided his back catalogue for a feature-length retrospective); screening Věra Chytilová’s rarely-seen Vlci Bouda; bringing the mighty Vibrations to a Glasgow audience; and, of course, hosting a Skype Q&A with the one and only Joe Dante, who also allowed us to screen the workprint of The ‘Burbs, complete with alternative ending, extended and missing scenes and even more Morricone needle drops. Subtitling/captioning most of the programme from scratch was another proud moment, if exhausting, and we can’t wait to do it all bigger and better again in 2020.
Scalarama 2019 | This year, we took a new approach to coordinating the monthly Scalarama meetings leading up to the full DIY season in September. We wanted to make the meetings more practically useful for people looking to start screening films, as well as for people with a little more experience. Every month from March, we invited two guest speakers to present on different aspects of putting on films, and then make an opportunity for attendees to ask questions and share their own perspectives. When our programme was launched in August, we had our busiest ever programme in Glasgow, as well as more and more activity in Edinburgh, the Highlands and Islands and all across Scotland.
Kaleidoscopic Realms | Megan: This was probably my favourite screening of the year, if I’m allowed to say that? Our programme was a mix of Toshio Matsumoto and Nobuhiro Aihara shorts sourced from the Post War Japan Moving Image Archive and two shorts by Naoto Yamakawa, supplied us to by the director. This was a mini-time capsule of experimental shorts of the ’70s & ’80s, and just the beginning of our experimental Japanese programming, which you’ll see more of in 2020.
Seahorse with Freddy McConnell | Our first co-screening with Queer Classics brought Jeanie Finlay’s then brand-new documentary Seahorse to Glasgow. Seahorse intimately explores Freddy McConnell’s pregnancy journey as a trans man. Freddy even came along to chat with the audience about his experiences, and got confused when asked about his ‘wean’!
Gregg Araki’s Teen Apocalypse Trilogy with Diet Soda Cineclub | For the first time ever, we didn’t attend our own event, a co-screening triple bill of Totally Fucked Up, The Doom Generation and Nowhere. We had been invited to curate a panel on #SubtitledCinema at one of Independent Cinema Office’s regular Screening Days events, so while we prepared well (including producing all-new subtitles for all three films), we had to be at Nottingham’s Broadway Cinema when the event started in Glasgow. We left delivery of the event in the very capable hands of our co-programmer, Sarah Nisbet of Diet Soda Cineclub. Gregg Araki’s specially recorded introduction (filmed during a burger joint reunion with the cast of Kaboom) arrived practically at the last second, but it was worth the wait.
Best of Final Girls Berlin | Ain’t no horror like women-made horror, and Final Girls Berlin have the best of it. We brought the frights, anxiety and terror of FGBFF right to Glasgow with a showcase of the best short horror films from their festival, made by women from around the world. And if you liked this team-up, keep an eye out for their festival programme announcement in January 2020 😉
City of Lost Souls with Sgàire Wood | As part of BFI Musicals season, we brought a bit more of Berlin to Glasgow via ’80s trans punk musical City of Lost Souls. As if this film didn’t have it all already we also comissioned Sgàire Wood to produce a new performance to introduce the screening. We love this film, which challenges expected representation of queer communites, and is just a great odd-ball film all round.
Dial Code: Santa Claus & Secret Santa Party with Backseat Bingo | Our 43rd film of 2019, and our last, is another team up with Backseat Bingo. We wanted to celebrate Christmas with our audiences and our film exhibiton pals so what better than an ’80s action horror featuring a 9-year-old with a mullet and a super creepy Santa? Plus Secret Santa in aid of Refuweegee, and an additional surprise festive screening to finish!
Keep up to date with our 2020 events by signing up to our mailing list, here, or find our events on Facebook here.
Cage-a-rama 2020 takes place 3rd, 4th and 4th January 2020 at the Centre for Contemporary Arts, Glasgow. Buy tickets here.
Janice Forsyth invited our producer Megan Mitchell to discusses the rise in popularity of subtitled films on BBC Radio Scotland’s Afternoon Show
Megan was invited on BBC Radio Scotland’s The Afternoon Show yesterday (16/12/2019) to discuss subtitling in films, with host Janice Forsyth and writer, academic and programmer Pasquale Iannone. If you’re in Britain, you can listen to the segment (for the next 29 days, at least) on the BBC’s website, here.
BBC doesn’t currently provide transcripts of its radio shows, so we’ve made one ourselves. Read it below, download a PDF here, or listen along with our subtitled clip.
Janice Forsyth: Now, until recently, subtitles and film and television were restricted to foreign language presentations, but now, well, I think a lot of us expect them as an option, thanks to streaming services like Netflix, Apple TV, BBC iPlayer, which offer so many shows fully captioned or subtitles. It’s great for world cinema and allows viewers to broaden their horizons from their living room but, apart from that, should we be captioning and subtitling everything anyway for reasons of inclusivity and have audiences become more adept at watching and reading at the same time? Well, here to help us explore how things are changing are two film buffs. In our Edinburgh studio, Afternoon Show regular and Italian cinema expert Pasquale Iannone. Ciao, Pasquale.
Pasquale Iannone: Ciao, Janice. Come va?
Janice: No bad.
Pasquale: No bad! “I’m awright.”
Janice: Awright, son! And with me in Glasgow is Megan Mitchell, producer with independent film exhibitor Matchbox Cineclub. She’s also co-founder – I love this – of the first film festivals anywhere in the world dedicated to Keanu Reeves… and Nicolas Cage. Megan, welcome.
Megan Mitchell: Thank you for having me on.
Janice: Great to have you here. So, tell us about Matchbox Cineclub. It’s such a brilliant title. What does it do?
Megan: So we are basically, as you said, independent film exhibitors which means, really simply, that we screen films across the UK, even though we’re based predominantly in Glasgow. We screen everything, as you said, from classic Keanu Reeves and some cagey Cage all the way through to experimental Japanese cinema, world cinema and everything in between. We’re really interested in cult films and cult audiences.
Janice: Wow, that’s interesting. Park Circus films did something like that you know, years ago, it was like Park Circus, they were based in Park Circus, they’re based in Glasgow, and became huge as distributors. Have they been a kind of shining example to you of what can be done?
Megan: Yeah, and actually we’re really good pals with Park Circus. They’ve supplied quite a few of our titles, particularly some of the harder to get things. They’re a really good resource for us and any exhibitors across the UK, actually.
Janice: That’s great. All power to you. So, what about this, then, this phenomenon? I think many of us who do watch and maybe binge on box sets on the various streaming services, um… Well, I mean, let’s get out of the way the whole idea of actually sometimes it’s not to do with needing them because it’s a foreign language. For me, and sometimes other people, I mean, going way back to something like The Wire, I was so pleased when I discovered that there was a subtitling… there was access to subtitling so I could really understand the brilliant dialogue. Do you, Megan, see that there’s been a big increase in this, in proper, fully captioned, subtitled films?
Megan: Absolutely and I think that younger generations particularly are now expecting that subtitles are on cinema we’re seeing it across not just streaming platforms, particularly Netflix and MUBI, who are captioning 100% of their content, or subtitling 100% of their content but particularly on social media and, you know, with the use of phones, we’ve got captioned content on video content there because no-one’s, you know, turning off their music or putting on their earphones to listen to something when they’re out and about, so I think with the increase of that, that’s leaking through into cinema and what audiences are expecting and I think, as you rightly said, access is a massive part of that as well, that there’s this crossover with people who, you know, aren’t particularly deaf or, you know, recognising themselves as such but finding subtitles massively helpful in understanding what’s happening on-screen.
Janice: Yeah. Yeah. It is fascinating, isn’t it, Pasquale…
Janice: Because, obviously, you know, with Italian cinema, it’s no problem for you and presumably other languages as well, but it is terrific to have that option, but, for a long time, people, some people, would be a bit squeamish, “Oh, you know, “it’s a pain in the neck to have to read the subtitles as well.” Do you see a sea change now?
Pasquale: Yeah, I think so. I mean, there’s this idea that, you know, all non-English-language films are somehow art cinema, they’re art house films, they’re inaccessible, they’re complex, they’re…they’re cryptic, etc, and we know, obviously, that that’s not the case. I mean, granted, there are some of those titles but I mean there’s a huge variety of films of all different types of genres on all the streaming platforms, really. I mean, I was looking through Netflix, and there’s some incredible films. There’s an Indonesian action movie, The Raid, The Raid 1 & 2, incredible film, and of course it’s all, kind of, in Indonesian and it is not an arthouse film, the way we would think of it. And it’s this whole idea of subtitles versus dubbing, ’cause over here, obviously, we’re not really used to dubbing, as a culture, and it feels weird, I think, whereas some other cultures in Europe dubbing is very much the norm and… But, I think, yeah, I mean, it’s this idea of having the original.
Pasquale: And if it’s… If you have to have subtitles, then fine. I mean, there are actually some directors who say, “No, no, I’ve spent ages composing this image, “I don’t want text on it.”
Pasquale: There are very few of those.
Janice: I think most directors would surely prefer that than dubbing. I mean, I’m old enough to remember when we used to have foreign language export/import, or whatever it is, telly after school, so there would be Robinson Crusoe and Belle and Sebastian and it was it was all the dubbing but it was hilarious, because… Certainly, my brother and I just used to spend our time impersonating the very bad English-accented foreign voices. It was very, very funny. What about, Megan, mainstream cinemas? How many mainstream cinemas are regularly screening captioned or subtitled films?
Megan: I mean, I actually took a look at us this morning before I came in, because usually we’re sitting in the mid-teens for subtitled screenings in multiplexes across Glasgow for a whole week. This week, it’s took a massive upswing because of Star Wars. There are 26 subtitled screenings across Glasgow this week. That’s a choice of six films including one screening of Frozen 2. However, if you do not require subtitles or aren’t looking for something that’s subtitled, you can go to Glasgow’s biggest multiplex today and see 60 screenings across 12 films, so I think there’s a massive, still a massive gap in terms of film screening exhibition access. In Glasgow, we’re seeing a massive increase in terms of independent exhibitors actually taking up the mantle of access and doing 100% or trying to achieve increased captions so earlier this year, Matchbox actually took the choice to dedicate 100% of our programming to captioning so that all of the films we screen, regardless of whether they’re English or foreign language have captions and subtitles so that anyone can come along and enjoy the films.
Janice: Is that an expensive business to do?
Megan: Funnily enough, my colleague at Matchbox, Sean Welsh, he is a professional subtitler, so he subtitles and captions for MUBI and freelance so we can do it in-house but we’ve also seen an increase in funding, so that other organisations can reach out to us or other subtitlers and get that. We’re seeing that, on the production side, in terms of distributors for films, they’re still not supplying or producing subtitles so it means that even if people are wanting to screen their films accessibly, they just can’t.
Janice: Yeah. It’s interesting this, isn’t it, Pasquale? I mean, also ’cause, you know, subtitled films you can totally imagine as an education resource for language students.
Pasquale: Totally, yeah, and it’s an incredibly useful tool, as is music, of course, but, I mean, especially with film and it’s something that, you know, when I was at school, when I were a lad, you know, going back to the mid to late ’90s, I mean, you didn’t have that. I mean, you didn’t have the… You had the old… You still had old VHS and DVD was coming in, but it was nowhere near this amount of accessibility that you have now and so a tool, like this language learning in Netflix, is superb. I mean, it just allows viewers to watch foreign language shows with subtitles both in the original language and the English and you can pause it to really kind of absorb what they’ve just seen. Obviously, there’s some series and TV programmes that are better suited for this kind of thing. I mean, I was thinking… I was thinking of some series that are given some flack for their sound, the way that actors mumble, the way that actors… apparently, the Director General of the BBC said, “Muttering is something we should have a look at.”
Pasquale: Back in 2013!
Janice: I love that. So W1A, isn’t it? Yeah! But there was an audibility project apparently in 2009, involving a 20,000 panel of viewers and listeners so this idea of sound and being able to catch every single thing but sometimes you don’t actually need to catch every single thing. It does really depend on the film, on the TV show. And how much is relayed through dialogue, and how much is relayed through the visual side.
Janice: Yeah. I’ve been thinking a lot about that recently because, Megan, I’ve been, you know, I was lucky enough to go to a BAFTA screening of The Irishman, so I saw it on the big screen. It wasn’t that big a screen, but it was a big screen And I was really glad I was able to do that. However, I have to admit, during it… I mean, I loved it, I really, really enjoyed it, but during it I was thinking, “Oh, I can’t quite catch what he said there,” and I was imagining that moment where I could pause and get the subtitles up. And I was just personifying exactly what Pasquale’s talking about. It was like, “Wait a minute, enjoy this master at work, “look at these visuals, just take in the whole thing, “maybe later…” Fortunately, it’s on Netflix, so I can look at the subtitles, but it’s interesting about how it maybe affects our experience of just sinking into the film.
Megan: Yeah, but I think in terms of the availability of the subtitles and captions, particularly when you do go to the cinema you might be able to sink into the film a wee bit easier if subtitles aren’t on the screen, but if someone needs subtitles, they can’t view the film.
Janice: That’s it.
Pasquale: Yeah. I think there’s a really interesting conversation around that, particularly with art house cinemas and the idea that they are maybe a wee bit hesitant to put captions on their English language content, even though they screen predominantly foreign language, but they’re not hesitant to put out their wheelchair ramp.
Megan: And it’s that type of same access that they’re providing, so I think that there’s a larger conversation around why we want subtitles on films, and it’s because of the idea that more people can go see these films and enjoy them.
Janice: Don’t you think, Pasquale, that because there’s been a sea change in people like me enjoying, for the small screen anyway, the ability, to do with the mumbling or whatever, to be able to, you know, actually see, read what they’re saying, don’t you think, because of that, there should be less hesitancy amongst arthouse cinemas or wherever to roll out the subtitles and the captions for English language films?
Pasquale: Yeah, I mean, I do think so. I mean, obviously it’s something that happens a lot in other countries but obviously it’s very different over here, so maybe there’s less of this pressure, perhaps, to put it on these screens, but it’s definitely something that happens in Italy in France, where you have cinemas playing all the big hitters, all the big films in dubbed versions, but also with, in original versions as well.
Janice: Yeah. Certainly, thinking about what you’re doing with Matchbox Cinema Club [sic], is there a lot of… I mean, do you go for a lot of foreign language films or is that not what your main thrust is when you’re thinking of programming?
Megan: So, our main, core programme is about films you can’t see anywhere else, so that’s predominantly archive and world cinema, so foreign language. We also have our tent pole, larger weekend festivals, that are a wee bit more mainstream films, but they’re all captioned as well. And, for us, a lot of that is that we’re able to produce those captions in-house but we’re also, you know, able to bring in people – you can see Con Air, maybe on Netflix, but you can’t see it, you know, captioned on the big screen elsewhere.
Janice: Yeah. Just finally, what you were saying there, Pasquale, you were talking about a brilliant Indonesian action film.
Janice: That’s the thing, there’s such a richness out there and I’m as guilty as anybody else of not exploring, you know, the rest of the world’s cinema ’cause there’s so much else to catch up with and somebody like Mark Cousins always makes me feel guilty ’cause he plunges into it all the time, but there’s so much brilliant film-making going on, right around the globe. Yeah, and actually, talk about Mark Cousins, I mean, Moviedrome was a real formative moment for me in terms of film education, that great series back in the ’90s and with Mark Cousins and Alex Cox, but, yeah, I mean, just one look at Netflix, and I was just having a look at the international titles that they have and on their front page, the lead page is The Pianist, the Roman Polanski film.
Pasquale: But I was just looking at some others that they’ve got. They’ve got this terrific film called The Guilty, which is a film, a Danish film. One actor, just one actor in the film, so a bit like that film Locke, with Tom Hardy.
Pasquale: This is about an emergency police dispatcher who takes a call from a kidnapped woman. Very, very spare locations. Very, very suspenseful 90 minutes, less than 90 minutes and you’re done. And it’s a terrific film!
Janice: I’m writing it down. Guilty. Thank you very much indeed. Do you know what? We’ve talked so much, I can only play a little bit of the final song now, but I thought that was fascinating. Thank you very much indeed, Pasquale Iannone and Megan Mitchell. Cheers.
Megan: Thank you.
Pasquale: Thank you.
Janice: And, Megan, yeah, Cage-a-rama 2020 taking place from the 3rd to 5th of January at the CCA in Glasgow, for all your Nicolas Cage needs, hosted by Megan and her team. Thank you very much indeed.
All of Matchbox Cineclub’s programmed is subtitled for the deaf and hard of hearing. Keep up to date with our events by signing up to our mailing list, here, or find our events on Facebook here. For more information on our subtitling service, read our dedicated page here.
Cage-a-rama 2020 takes place 3rd, 4th and 4th January 2020 at the Centre for Contemporary Arts, Glasgow. Buy tickets here.
Matchbox Cineclub are pleased to announce Marco Kyris, Nicolas Cage’s official stand-in for over ten years, will attend our third annual Cage-a-rama film festival at Glasgow’s Centre for Contemporary Arts on 3rd, 4th & 5th January 2020 and afterwards embark on a UK-wide Cage-a-rama: Uncaged tour.
Marco, who worked with Cage on almost 20 films between 1994-2005, will join Lindsay Gibb, Toronto-based author of National Treasure: Nicolas Cage and world-leading Nicolas Cage expert, for an in-conversation event and a screening of Uncaged: A Stand-in Story at CCA Glasgow on Saturday 4th January. Kyris will also introduce several of Cage-a-rama 2020’s films across the festival weekend: Leaving Las Vegas (for which Cage won an Academy Award® for Best Actor), the first of the fan-favourite National Treasure films, and Martin Scorsese’s urban horror Bringing Out the Dead, the latter of which he will introduce alongside journalist Josh Slater-Williams (Sight & Sound, Little White Lies).
Kyris has also guest-programmed a special opening night screening of one of his favourite collaborations with Cage, Brian De Palma’s Snake Eyes, followed by a Q&A. Throughout the festival, Marco will be open to any questions about his “Cage Wage” years, and share genuine call-sheets and other Cage memorabilia from his archive – and might be persuaded to part with them if audience members pose good enough questions. Cage-a-rama’s opening night is sponsored by Drygate.
Directors Mike Figgis (Leaving Las Vegas) and Stephen Campanelli (Grand Isle) will introduce their films via specially recorded videos. Joining them are Nicolas Cage aficionados from across the globe, including Timon Singh of Bristol Bad Film Club, Torïo Garcia of the Spanish NicCagepedia, and Mike Manzi & Joey Lewandowski, the New Jersey-based hosts of the much-loved #CageClub: The Nicolas Cage Podcast.
The subsequent Cage-a-rama 2020 UK Tour will feature a 35mm screening of Con Air at the Genesis Cinema in London on Thursday 9th January, and a 20th-anniversary screening of Gone in 60 Seconds in collaboration with Bristol Bad Film Club at Bristol Improv Theatre on Saturday 11th January. Both screenings will be accompanied by Marco Kyris’s short film, Uncaged: A Stand-In Story, and a post-screening Q&A.
Cage-a-rama 2020 highlights Cage’s relationship with directors: from big guns to young guns, from huge budgets to low ones, from his career’s early days to now. The festival features 10 films over three days, closing with the UK premiere of brand-new Nicolas Cage film Primal (2019), to be released by Lionsgate in February 2020. Sunday 5th January also sees the UK premiere of Grand Isle, which pairs Cage with Kelsey Grammer, set to be released by 101 Films. The rest of the programme features Cage classics from some of his earliest roles, in Francis Ford Coppola’s Peggy Sue Got Married and Top Gun “homage” Fire Birds, to blockbuster sequel National Treasure: Book of Secrets and a midnight screening of Zandalee, his erotic thriller co-starring Judge Reinhold.
Cage-a-rama 2020 Weekend and Day Passes and individual tickets are on sale via Matchbox Cineclub’s online shop. Tickets for Con Air in London are available via Genesis Cinema’s website (genesiscinema.co.uk) and tickets for Gone in 60 Seconds can be purchased via Bristol Improv Theatre (improvtheatre.co.uk).
For the first time, the entire Glasgow Cage-a-rama programme will be open-captioned for D/deaf audiences, and tickets for each film are priced on a sliding scale, £0-8, with reference to our three-tiered guide, so audience members decide what to pay.
Reptilian aliens, shoegaze and the end of the world. Diet Soda Cineclub’s Teri Williams sets up our upcoming co-screening of Gregg Araki’s Teen Apocalypse Trilogy
Is Gregg Araki the patron saint of the alienated teen? His work, which now spans over three decades, has helmed a wave of new queer cinema that began with radical low budget films like The Living End and is now cutting through the abundant noise of shiny teen TV drama with the excellent Now Apocalypse, a hark to the trilogy that arguably started this whole beautiful mess: the Teen Apocalypse Trilogy. So pucker up, light up, and read on to find out more about how the godfather of rebellious youth framed a generation in neon rainbow colours that remains ever so relevant in this strange, doom-laden landscape we’re living in right now.
Totally Fucked Up, The Doom Generation and Nowhere were made and released in the mid-90s, when tie-dye and inflatable furniture was in, and Gen Z queer icons Amandla Stenberg, Chloe Grace Moretz and Hunter Schafer were mere twinkles in their parents’ eyes. It’s arguable to say that these three films, and Gregg’s subsequent features like Mysterious Skin and Kaboom! paved the way for a plethora of queer and teen-centric media today. He’s even had a guest director spot on a few episodes of 13 Reasons Why, one of the most talked about teen TV shows of recent times.
The Teen Apocalypse Trilogy was never seen as a critical success. Maybe because most of the film reviewers assessing them at the time were deliberately far removed from the worlds shown on screen – there’s nothing a middle-aged white man hates more than teen disenchantment, disengagement, disaffection. Not to mention all of that ambiguous sexuality, questions of gender identity and complete disregard for populist politics and society. Gregg’s films depict utter doom in the purest sense, where teens find themselves facing alienation and actual aliens, out to pull them free from the crazy world they’re struggling to fit into.
The first film in the trilogy, aptly titled Totally Fucked Up, stars Araki-darling James Duval, who we see throughout a large number of Gregg’s work. His inky black eyes, pouty mouth and Keanu-hair make him an instant pin up in the franchise, but what makes James stand out is his flat, carefree valleyboy accent, often used as narration, particularly in his starring role in Nowhere. He is part of a group of six young gay teenagers who have come together as a family of misfits. Largely filmed with a handheld video camera, the movie has a grainy, homemade quality to it reminiscent to the early work of the great John Waters, and as intimate as the talking head portions of modern reality TV.
The Doom Generation, which is a roadtrip movie, stars Rose McGowan and her iconic Mia Wallace haircut, hurtling through the desolate landscape of nighttime LA with boyfriend Jordan (James Duval) and new arrival X (Jonathon Schaech). Their blossoming triage-ship is wrought with jealousy, confusion, and terrifying encounters throughout the way,
The third film, Nowhere, showcases Gregg’s obsession with alienation in a comically literal sense. Its bisexual hero, again played by James Duval, is on a manic search for the alien race who is taking over his community and friends, stalking him as he navigates his failing relationship with girlfriend Mel and falling for new town arrival Montgomery.
So there you have it. Three films – a portrait movie, a roadtrip movie, and a sci-fi fantasy – each exploring themes of existential doom and teenage heartbreak that, each with their own rad, acidic soundtrack and palette of blindingly neon colours, paved the way for a multitude of queer cinema that celebrates the weird and subversive, an aloof middle finger to the mainstream. And maybe that’s what we need to celebrate right now.
Gregg Araki’s Teen Apocalypse Trilogy screens at the CCA Glasgow as part of Scalamara Glasgow on Thursday 26th September, 2019. Buy tickets here.
It’s the best Soviet-era Estonian sci-fi detective story you’ve never seen – The Reptile House on why you should book some time at “Hukkunud Alpinisti” hotell
There was a time when aliens weren’t cult.
Before the greatest show on earth (The X-Files), aliens were a personal invasion of mortal safety. They signified everything wrong with the universe we inhabited and implicated a mortal terror of the unknown we barely perceived as anything other than an “it’s fine, we’ll be fine” sipped through denied lips. As metaphors, sure, as physical entities, no fucking thanks.
Estonian folklore leans a lot into the idea of host-taking and shapeshifting. The Kratt for instance, is a creature borne of hay and tools, brought to life by blood to work for its master. A Sentient used to dig, run chores, exist as a slave. Imitating human life, but being only a homunculus to the will of whoever would deal with the devil to will it into existence. Pitchforks and sinew, trowels and skulls, bread and ladder. A hollow being desperate to work, pretending its existence isn’t an abomination of magic, thirsty for work or else it would turn on its owner. For some, the Kratt was a helper, turned into a nightmare. Given tasks so dangerous that the owner would actively seek to give it work that would knowingly kill it to save themselves the agony of its hand in death. A bite too much of Satan’s hand.
Dead Mountaineer’s Hotel (“Hukkunud Alpinisti” hotell, Grigori Kromanov, 1979) leans hard into its native folklore stories of host-taking but gives it a newly found sci-fi bent, mimicking Soviet-era ideas of internal invasion, gender non-conformity and country (if not world) changing ideas of appropriation and accidental exposure to life beyond comprehension.
In the snow-capped high-altitude nowheresville of mountainous Europe, Inspector Glebsky (Uldis Pūcītis) is anonymously called in to investigate a murder pertaining to a mountaineer and his dog. His location is that of a gorgeously nestled wooden hotel on what feels like the crown of earth and its inhabitants. They’re odd, one sentence sideways, unhelpful and too helpful. As labyrinthine as the hotel itself, which is itself questionable in its intent. An oblique, neo-noir Bauhaus building left to percolate and evolve on its own, becoming puzzling and obsidian. An impenetrable tableau for a mystery that the physical world can’t comprehend: aliens exist.
As an audience, we’re given the exact same amount of work that the inspector is given but with extra detail once he’s left the room. Making us more equipped to exact ourselves on what’s happening but also, somehow, feeling even more confused with what’s happening and who these people are. Why were we shown that extra eyeline? Who is whispering? What is GOING on in these mountains?
The soviet “alien” and “robots” idea is less hammy western ideals of spooky wee guys from beyond but more ideas of assimilation and folklore-bred notions of humans not as humans. Robots aren’t mechanic techno-menaces but rather fleshy familiar. The aliens are shapeshifters making us feel accidentally comfortable while they find safe passage. Their gender and sexuality are fluid, almost androgynous, to the point that their misunderstanding of the concept of biology and sexuality are critiquing our own confusingly rigid viewpoints on both.
In the hotel, it feels like tenants are both arguing with each other and harmoniously disrupting your work at decoding, so that when the reveal hits, you feel astounded at its meaning. Especially with how the film chooses to frame its core end message: if aliens exist on earth, what would it mean to the integrity of human life? And if you kill one, what kind of corruption would that cause to the human soul knowing you killed possibly the greatest discovery of Man’s existence? Is it duty of fear?
It’s extremely hard to spoil Dead Mountaineer’s Hotel, because almost everything in its filmmaking relies on your experience of its atmosphere and pace. Glacial, soothing, weird, quixotic. The first time I ever watched it, I knew it was my favourite foreign film. How could I not? Written by the legendary sci-fi math-brains Strugatsky brothers who (in the same year) had their novel Roadside Picnic turned into cult classic Stalker by Andrei Tarkovsky and later Hard To Be A God adapted twice into messianic epics, Grigori Kromanov-directed Dead Mountaineer’s Hotel has their heady, huge themes built into it, but it’s minimalistic and restrained. Enjoying every second, it teases you into each gentle unzip. Don’t ask, don’t tell, just watch.
There’s a weird essence about the whole thing that feels like it was a sci-fi noir film made for aliens BY aliens and their secret existence on Earth, but we just accidentally found it. A true, bonafide classic.
Dead Mountaineer’s Hotel screens in association with The Reptile House at Matchbox Cineclub’s Weird Weekend on Sunday, 01/09/2019 at CCA, Glasgow
The Reptile House is a cult movie/music/art/weerd/oddball zine full of articles, film comparisons, poems, short stories and other lost and found miscellaneous junk. Everyone is welcome, because everyone belongs. Its print it out on shitty work printers at 6am when no one is in because I want it to be affordable for everyone! Any money made goes directly to local charities. Please do not tap the glass.