This review is part of Lucid Screening’s 3rd Annual White Elephant Blogathon.

In 1984 Sylvester Stallone decided to break from his typecast macho persona. Ironically the comedy he co-wrote and starred in that year may have only made audiences more appreciative of his action star skills. I imagine there were many sighs of relief upon his return to the patented stoic tough-guy in Rambo: First Blood Part II and Rocky IV. But I must confess to finding his wacky shenanigans in Rhinestone to be a brave and fun departure, however misguided.

Stallone and Dolly Parton share the screen in a lowbrow version of My Fair Lady. She plays it straight as Jake, a country singer bound to a bad contract with a lascivious night club owner. They concoct a high stakes contest where Jake can either win back her freedom or suffer a night in her slimy manager’s bed. Her challenge is to transform the next guy she meets into a talent capable of taming the rowdy hecklers at her nightly gig. Stallone crashes into frame on cue as Nick Martinelli, a cantankerous cabbie with a thick Brooklyn accent who happens to loathe all things country and western.

Most of Rhinestone is as exaggerated as both star’s chests. Everything is drawn in stereotypes: the banjo-picking, stick-whittling cornpones; the worried Italian mama serving heaping portions of lasagna and unsolicited advice; the camera-toting asian tourists; the glitzy, neon-lit New York City cowboy bar. (That last one may be pure invention on the writers’ part, but I wasn’t a New York club-hopper in the 80s so what do I know?) Overshadowing it all — including the leading lady’s sun-eclipsing bosom — is Stallone as a blue collar big city buffoon. He’s hyperactive and clearly having a ball practically bouncing through his scenes.

As you’d expect Sylvester Stallone is not a good singer. He plays up this deficit way beyond comedic effect into a whole new stratosphere. He hops, shakes, blurts and babbles at top volume while banging on whatever unfortunate instrument is on-hand. At first I hid my eyes, reminded of someone’s dorky father crashing his embarrassed kids’ party to show their friends what real rock-n-roll is. Surprisingly, Stallone’s unabashed outbursts quickly became the highlights of the film. They’re so seemingly off the cuff and out of place that the other actors’ astonishment feels completely genuine. The only thing I can compare it to is Nic Cage’s bizarre unbridled performance in Vampire’s Kiss, which I consider to be the pinnacle of his career. Should Stallone ever wish to redefine himself again he could be first choice to play the lead in a Wild Man Fischer bio-pic.

At the other end of the spectrum is Dolly’s straight-laced Jake. For all of her flashy figure-enhancing outfits and suggestive lyrics, she’s actually pretty tame and wooden. Her student gets annoyed with her nagging no-fun disposition for good reason. Even her polite and supportive father thinks she’s a drag. Maybe Parton realized she couldn’t live up to her co-star’s charisma and decided to downplay things for maximum contrast. Granted it’s a family movie but I would have liked for her live up to the attention given by the lusty creeps constantly following her around.

As the title suggests, Rhinestone is an artificial affair of cheap sight gags and unnatural dialog. The plot is thin and never goes anywhere unexpected. The stars play against their reputations in ways that probably make their fans cringe. Yet somehow I found the sum of its parts to be a lot of fun, mostly from Stallone’s goofy and frenzied acting.

I enjoy all of Darren Aranofsky’s films despite them being difficult experiences. Pi jars the senses with a stroboscopic drill to the head. Requiem for a Dream’s wooze-inducing lens work traps us in the minds of downward-spiraling druggies. Even The Fountain’s surreal sci-fi love story pulls heads and hearts in different directions until something snaps. He still uses cinematic tricks for The Wrestler—mainly a roving hand-held POV—but has learned that a little atmosphere goes a long way.

In one scene the roar of an imaginary crowd rises as ex-pro wrestler Randy “The Ram” Robinson roams a supermarket’s storerooms like he’s on his way to the ring. The sound cuts when he emerges not in an arena but into the deli counter where he schlubs for a paycheck. At other times Randy broadcasts enthusiasm during his amateur wrestling gigs while nearly brushing his head on low tiled ceilings and hanging out in a “backstage” day-care room. The letdown of his pedestrian existence is palpable without the need for exposition.

Randy’s counterpart is a stripper stage-named Cassidy who also clings to a job and lifestyle she’s clearly too old for. Her 80s hair metal stage music is a sharp contrast to the club’s usual raunchy hip-hop. The young clientele call her “Mom” and brush off her offers for a lap dance. Cassidy’s aging body betrays her but not nearly as badly as Randy’s. Following a particularly rough match he collapses, waking up after a life-saving bypass surgery. There’s little left for him when he receives doctor’s orders to quit wrestling for good.

Mickey Rourke and Marisa Tomei make excellent leads and I completely bought into their characters. Rourke is especially believable with his beefy muscles and boxer’s face. Balancing his extreme appearance is a sensitive portrait of a man keeping himself together while facing the loss of everything he loves. His smiles show as much pain and frustration as when he’s wrecking a room in a fit of emotion. Even in the heartbreaking climax Rourke beams with hope, welcoming his inevitable tragedy like a star. I never thought my spirits could be lifted by such a sad ending.

A middle-aged man spies a young woman undressing in the woods near his new home and is drawn to investigate. This leads to a bizarre and rapidly unspooling chain of events that radically changes the lives of the small cast of characters. Like another indie time travel film Primer, this is one of those big concept-driven pieces that completely rises above its humble budget. Both movies blew my mind the whole way through. While Primer is a deliberately tangled knot, Timecrimes knits a much more straightforward series of incidents. Our heads hurt from it daring us to find a loose thread.

I won’t say much about the actual plot as any details out of context won’t matter and too many will spoil the surprises. It’s quick-paced and somewhat of a rollercoaster ride despite non-flashy sets, effects and actors. The protagonist’s actions are somewhat random and bewildering considering how things play out, and probably say more about the author than the main character. But like I said it’s the central idea that counts and any story applied to it would probably work just as well.

Back to the Future showed how seemingly innocent attempts to correct the past can disrupt and reshape someone’s world. If that fun film stuck to the rules of time travel that this one enforces I can imagine no parents would dare take their kids to see the mayhem that plays out. Go find this Spanish original before the Hollywood remake wrings the power from it.

Get an intimate look at the British reality show Big Brother. During a zombie plague. Most of you reading this have probably fired up your favorite file sharing app by now and need to read no further.

In addition to the usual BB stars (preening bimbo, dumb hunk, social outcast, flamboyant gay nurse, etc.) we’re privy to the personality conflicts behind the scenes. While petty squabbles flare up over who’s sleeping with who and who’s going to fetch the egomaniacal producer’s nicotine gum, news of violent rioting pops up in bits and pieces on background monitors. The mysterious outbreak charges towards the studio, but both cast and crew are oblivious to how quickly the throng of fans’ cheering mutates into inhuman shrieks and hungry wails. Soon the epidemic engulfs the control room and most of the staff is eaten or assimilated into the growing undead mob. Meanwhile the confined contestants continue to flirt and conspire for lifeless cameras.

Of course this five-part miniseries is tongue-in-cheek from the get-go. The obvious metaphor of TV audiences being a mindless self-consuming mass is front and center. The stereotypes are extremely broad from beginning to end. The big set-ups and scares are exactly what you’d expect. The soap opera beneath the horror is pure fluff. What’s surprising is how compelling it all is.

One reason it works so well is that being wrapped up in their petty affairs allows characters to react genuinely to the mayhem. It’s a while before most make the connection to what’s happening, even with the few who get it screaming the answer in their faces. They try to reason with lovers gnashing for their necks. They look for safety in the directions that other panicking people are running from. They think it’s just another twist to the game they’ve signed up for even as their cohorts are torn limb from limb. Of course there has to be at least one hero of the bunch, a timid lackey who takes charge when confronted with the apocalypse. She figures out the monsters’ habits and weakness early on but has a hard time keeping her fellow survivors focused. They can’t help but bicker despite their world falling apart around them.

Dead Set is full of contrasts. The scenes inside and beyond the fantasy household are well balanced and the action moves outside before we’re sick of the contrived set. There’s no shortage of comic dialog and ironic humor but it heightens the terror when they slam together. The unnaturally beautiful actresses transform into some of the scariest creatures I’ve seen. For such a gimmicky premise the zombie makeup and gore effects are better than many big budget films. Instead of limiting the story’s scope, producing this for the small screen allows plenty of cliff-hangers and threads between commercials and installments.

Having never watched Big Brother (either the US or UK versions) I’m sure lots of references were lost to me. Smartly this series goes way beyond the elevator pitch and considers incredible events somewhat realistically. Maybe my original low expectations color my opinion, but the show provided me with lots of fun and thrills. It works in chunks as well as an extended feature, so there’s little risk of commitment if you want to try a taste.

Melanie is a French schoolgirl from a working class family. Her one shot to enter a music academy is ruined by a bored and self-absorbed juror. Melanie keeps cool but shows her anger as she casually attempts to break another young pianist’s fingers.

Years later Melanie scores an internship at a law firm. Which just happens to be run by the husband of said juror. Who just happens to need an au pair in the upcoming weeks. And who also just happens to need a page turner and emotional support at her own high-stakes audition. The perfectly composed and calculating Melanie easily lands all jobs.

So many possible revenge scenarios are set up that the tension mounts just trying to predict which one will deliver the big pay-off. We get grisly glimpses of the butcher shop run by Melanie’s parents. Opportunities abound for Melanie to seduce her target’s husband and male musical partner. Repeated references are made to the home’s elevator shaft. The boy Melanie cares for plays a game of holding his breath in an unattended pool. He also has a prized pet chicken that he raised himself. Did I mention the butcher shop yet?

An American remake would surely have Melanie leaping out of a closet to bury a meat cleaver in the husband’s chest. We’ll discover the boy at the bottom of the pool, his throat stuffed with feathers. The main prey will suffer a broken neck falling down the elevator shaft. But only after her fingers are snapped by the doors.

Alas we get none of that in the all-too-subtle original. Melanie takes her sweet time building a delicate house of cards, but the deck seems already way too stacked in her favor. Her meticulously timed plot would never come to be if the universe didn’t conveniently push so many pieces into place. For all her years of bottled up anger and patient planning, Melanie’s retribution is underwhelming to say the least. Maybe the French find the climax to be utterly scandalous. I sat through the end credits waiting for the inevitable shocker that never came.

You know the hipster publishing house McSweeney's? And their spin-off quarterly DVD Wholphin? And that crazy-awesome 16 minute film The Delicious by Scott Prendergast included in the first issue? Yeah I didn't think so. But you totally should. The Delicious is an uncomfortable and hysterical story of harmless obsession that out-quirks the quirkiest character pieces I've seen. (Napoleon, Wes, I'm talking to you guys.) I force it on all my houseguests who seem to enjoy it but always find excuses to leave soon afterwards. Luckily for you it's available to watch on Scott's site and even better it's on a collection of his short films.

Since first experiencing this life-changing work I've hoped to see Prendergast in a lengthier and more public-facing starring role. That wish has come true in the form of Kabluey. Prendergast wrote it and stars as Salman, a timid down-on-his-luck guy called in to help watch his sister-in-law's bratty kids while his brother is stationed in Iraq. Lisa Kudrow once again gives herself entirely to a subtle character performance as Leslie, the harried left-behind mom. Salman's presence only multiplies Leslie's exasperation and she finds him a menial job at her failing company to earn a one-way bus ticket out of her life. Expecting to become a janitor Salman prepares for the worst. Instead he's tasked with wearing the company's huge faceless mascot suit and handing out flyers on a deserted stretch of highway. Though sweltering and miserable inside his blue foam isolation tank, he finds himself transformed into a cipher for others to open up to. Salmon's anonymity gives him a greater identity than his awkwardness would ever allow.

At one point his rapscallion nephews ask if he is a superhero. He may not be able to fly, but Salmon finds the power to set some great wrongs right again during his stay. Given that schmaltzy premise it's nice to see the story take some unexpected directions. The characters are also a bit deeper and more damaged than if this had been a Hollywood comedy. Prendergast's indie production allows risks that pay off but maybe at some expense. The dimly-lit office scenes create an effective contrast with the livelier world outside but I wonder if the dark mood was more a by-product of a small lighting budget. Technical issues aside it's an unusual and enjoyable movie and hopefully a sign of more great work to come. Make sure to grab Scott's commentary track MP3 to extend the fun.

The Delicious:

Kabluey:

This is the album I've been waiting for all summer. The Simple Carnival is one-man-band Jeff Boller who specializes in bright and sunny pop. Not pop like the current crap heard on Top 40 radio. I'm talking about the heyday of summer fun, the 1970s. Mostly piano-driven arrangements serve as a platform for Jeff's best instrument: a smooth voice that heavily recalls The Beach Boys, from occasional falsettos to layered harmonized whoa-oh-ohs and la-la-las. This is especially present in the lush acapella "Nothing Will Ever Be As Good." The rest of the backing tracks use simple drums, guitar and keyboards, and aside from some kazoo-infused exotica and Wings-era synths the music doesn't rely on gimmicks to capture attention. At times it reminds me of The Carpenters, Billy Joel and even Yes, but without ever feeling campy or tongue-in-cheek. My favorite recurring motif is the layered flute and glockenspiel orchestration straight out of early Sesame Street sketches. Jeff knows a thing or two about creative production (check out his DIY music blog Songs and Sonics) and gives the album a bright polish with some delightfully weird bends. Girls Aliens Food is a fun, laid-back and impressive indie release that thankfully sidesteps any current trends. Hopefully it will catch on and start some of its own.

Almost a decade after Rosemary’s Baby, Mia Farrow does another turn as a disturbed mother. Her wide-eyed gasping mannerisms and pixie ‘do make her seem like she’s returned for the sequel. The haunted house and is-she-dead-or-not daughter are reminiscent of other films of the era like Burnt Offerings and Don’t Look Now. As is the slooow build-up driving both the characters and viewers crazy. Notably unique is the prog-rock keyboard score which reminds me of early Pink Floyd. At first I rolled my eyes and chuckled thinking it would horribly date the movie and render it complete camp. To my surprise it proves a strong contributor to the spooky atmosphere with wormy tendrils of squiggly synths crawling through my brain. The story lost me a few times by introducing so many people with questionable relevance. The most interesting of them — the possessive husband, quirky spiritualist and obsessive man with links to the past — are somewhat underused. Any of them could be behind the grieving mother’s psychological breakdown but the balance between human and supernatural meddling leans too far one way. Making up for a meandering plot and minimal frights are a powerful beginning and end. The daughter is quickly and tragically done away with in a scene that will strike terror in any parent. The finale isn’t as dramatically played out but leaves a strong visual impression that is as beautifully composed as it is unsettling. I had to flip channels for a while to get the image out of my head before bed, a good sign for any horror film.

You've probably heard about a small group of kids in the 1980s who loved Raiders of the Ark so much that they spent 7 years remaking it shot-for-shot. Maybe you've come across some of the many video tributes to other film fans' faves found online. It's likely you've seen Michel Gondry's Be Kind Rewind in which characters create thrifty remakes of various cinematic classics. I'd bet you've even played your own screen idols in childhood games. If so, Son of Rambow is sure to bring nostalgic delight.

The story pairs two boys of different backgrounds into a tenuous friendship. One comes from a highly religious household that frowns on just about any amusement a kid enjoys. The other is a devilish delinquent in the making. What bonds them is their creativity and yearning for adventure. With a home video camera they attempt to make a sequel to Rambo where they are the heroes. All the while their peers, families and personal objectives alternately push them onward and mess things up.

The child stars are both newcomers and carry the film on pure exuberance. Their characters don't worry about bad takes, shabby sets or awful extras. When others get involved the added resources are kind of a nuisance. The production is mainly an excuse to go wild in a fantasy world brought to life, an outlet to express themselves loudly in an otherwise repressive environment.

The friends' finished piece is more a diary of shared summer fun than a true "movie." Neither it nor the larger film is especially deep, but that seems besides the point. Rambow nails the magic and glee of unbounded imaginative childhood play. It's a reminder that we create outlandish characters in outrageous situations to not only tell stories but to live them.

I never thought I’d call a movie about an anatomically-correct sex doll the most wholesome feel-good film of the year. I’d share it with my parents if it wasn’t for that inevitable discussion about, umm, anatomically-correct sex dolls.

Ryan Gosling plays shy and lonely office worker Lars Lindstrom. It’s the most perfectly awkward performance of an emotionally-stunted character I’ve seen since Mike White in Chuck and Buck. Lars is so uneasy around girls that he even hides from his sister-in-law’s dinner invitations. He’s been detached and repressed since losing his parents and a simple human touch sends him reeling.

An obnoxious coworker shows Lars the website for customizable life-size Real Dolls (probably the greatest sustained product placement ever). While his coworker daydreams about such a wild purchase, Lars awaits his own special delivery. Amazingly, when the huge crate arrives Lars doesn’t hide his new “companion” for long. Their first stop is the supper at his brother’s house he’s passed up so often. Lars proudly introduces “Bianca” and spends the evening entertaining her like a living person, albeit one with limitations.

Before long the entire town learns about the odd couple with varied opinions on Lars’s mental state. For such a wild premise the story handles everything somewhat realistically and respectfully. Though I’d love to know what dimension has a town with such understanding and sympathetic people. Their reactions and the resulting twists and turns surprised me more than if the film had just gone for the obvious laughs. Instead of being a raunchy Mannequin update the humor comes from genuine feelings and situations that are often secondary to the craziness at the center of things. Gosling’s performance is quirky for sure, but he conveys his inner hurt and buried longings for human connection in equally authentic ways.

Lars and the Real Girl plays it pretty much straight and thoughtfully explores a novel “what if?” scenario. I was in suspense wondering how far the end would follow through with what is set up. The actress of the title may be plastic but the rest of the performances are beautifully real.