Fulci stopped pretending he cared whether a plot closed. He cared whether an image would follow you home, and The Beyond is where that became the whole method: a Louisiana hotel built over one of the seven gateways to hell, set pieces that flatly contradict each other, and a closing shot so bleak it lands like a door shutting from the outside. Then Pieces, a Spanish production whose tagline promised it was exactly what you think it is, which remains the most honest marketing of its decade, cut with the logic of a bad dream and scored like a daytime serial. These are not good films in the sense that phrase usually carries, and the crowd that turns up knows precisely what it came for, because half the pleasure is a full room laughing and flinching in all the wrong places at once. Both on 35mm, two nights before Halloween at the New Beverly on Beverly Blvd. Get there for 7:30 if you want both.
Fulci stopped pretending he cared whether a plot closed. He cared whether an image would follow you home, and The Beyond is where that became the whole method: a Louisiana hotel built over one of the seven gateways to hell, set pieces that flatly contradict each other, and a closing shot so bleak it lands like a door shutting from the outside. Then Pieces, a Spanish production whose tagline promised it was exactly what you think it is, which remains the most honest marketing of its decade, cut with the logic of a bad dream and scored like a daytime serial. These are not good films in the sense that phrase usually carries, and the crowd that turns up knows precisely what it came for, because half the pleasure is a full room laughing and flinching in all the wrong places at once. Both on 35mm, two nights before Halloween at the New Beverly on Beverly Blvd. Get there for 7:30 if you want both.
Fulci stopped pretending he cared whether a plot closed. He cared whether an image would follow you home, and The Beyond is where that became the whole method: a Louisiana hotel built over one of the seven gateways to hell, set pieces that flatly contradict each other, and a closing shot so bleak it lands like a door shutting from the outside. Then Pieces, a Spanish production whose tagline promised it was exactly what you think it is, which remains the most honest marketing of its decade, cut with the logic of a bad dream and scored like a daytime serial. These are not good films in the sense that phrase usually carries, and the crowd that turns up knows precisely what it came for, because half the pleasure is a full room laughing and flinching in all the wrong places at once. Both on 35mm, two nights before Halloween at the New Beverly on Beverly Blvd. Get there for 7:30 if you want both.