Tysto Film Commentaries

Jaws is back, and Bond fights him! (again and again...) It's the eleventh Bond, and I admire the sights, the women, the stunts, the women's revealing wardrobe, the model shots, the model-actresses, and the incredible Ken Adam sets. I don't do much car spotting or gun spotting because Bond drives boats and fights hand-to-hand pretty much the whole movie. *sigh* The comedy is slapsticky (vaudevillian, to be exact), and the story is a loose collection of great set pieces connected by cardboard arrows. (Venetian glass? Go to Venice! Crates that say "Rio"? Go to Rio! Toxin from the Amazon? Go to the Amazon! Space shuttles? Go to space!) Plus, the villain's plan is basically the same as in the last movie (kill everyone, clean up the corpses with bulldozers, repopulate). Still, I don't think it's the worst Bond of them all. (Your mileage may vary.)

Join me for the last of the Star Wars films ever made! (Later films notwithstanding. Offer void where prohibited.) I analyze the romance, the bromance, and the dromance. I try to figure out the timeline again. I compare the Empire’s work-life-balance policies with the Alliance’s. And I deconstruct the episodic nature of this film and the previous one. I analyze the lack of proper planning evident thruout the film, including the method of constructing Death Star II. I once again declare my love for ewoks, perhaps a little too strongly…. I forgive C-3P0 somewhat. And I do lots of incredibly precises impressions of various characters. (Your mileage may vary. This statement has not been evaluated by the Food and Drug Administration.)

It's John Pavlich from the Sofa Dogs podcast hosting me for a commentary on the zom-com-non-bomb Zombieland. It's the heartwarming tale of a nerdy college student's search for someone to "pass the gravy" to. It's also the moving tale of a childless father's search for vengeance and Twinkies. And it's also the shocking tale of two con-artist sisters' search for a shower and an amusement park where there are no lines. And it's ALSO the heartbreaking tale of Bill Murray getting shot for pretending to be a zombie, like an idiot. Join John and me for a fast run to Pacific Playland, where you will learn why Down in Front dropped the ball on their commentary for this film, the rules for survival in a Zombie apocalypse, and who you're gonna call (Ghostbusters).

Join me as I rush thru the 1998 German film Run, Lola, Run, the pulse-pounding story of a girl running around Berlin over and over until she gambles her way to happiness. I compare the film to video games and religious allegory—which it is not—and to fairy tales, humanist philosophy, and roulette—which it is. I wax poetical about free will vs determinism and chance vs causation. I discuss the film's somewhat arch use of numerous techniques to represent the different stories and time frames. But I'm so deep into philosophy I forget to identify any guns or cars other than Manni's Walther PPK. I explain the color motifs (Manni = blue and yellow; Lola = green, red, and blue) and the other visual motifs (spirals, grids, breaking glass). I compare the different runs (green/running, red/thinking, blue/feeling). And I chide reviewers for wishing the film was deeper when THE WHOLE POINT OF THE FILM is that asking deep questions is a trap, and you've just got to run and love and trust and hope for the best.

It's a genuine mockbuster from The Asylum, so join me and my special guest Wegel Pinsky—if you dare—as we slog thru the adventures of a totally-not-mighty Thor being schooled by a Mexican chick to fight a superpowerful Darth Loki in the forests of Scandinavia and, for some reason, alleys of Los Angeles and repeatedly losing his weapons. It probably doesn't help that we've just come from seeing the Marvel Thor movie in the theater and more-or-less enjoyed it. We try to figure out just what the characters are trying to do and why the chick with the weird name and weirder accent knows everything and Thor knows nothing. We try to figure out why Richard Grieco is just wandering around. And we try to figure out if this is the worst movie we've ever seen or just one of the worst movies we've ever seen. We enjoy the terror dogs from Ghostbusters and the lindworms from—I don't know—Lind? Do not operate heavy machinery after watching this film.

James Cameron blasts you out of a cannon (after loading you and packing you with powder for, like, 40 minutes) at a whole host of aliens (which you don't actually hit for another 35 minutes) in this sequel to the timeless monster movie Alien. Join me as I examine the special edition and its themes of motherhood and self-actualization and blowin' sh*t up and corporations are bad. I compare the film to the original and to various other films by Cameron and others. I go Wierzbowski hunting. I imagine Jerry Seinfeld in place of Paul Reiser. I call it "nearly perfect", altho I lament the concept of the alien hive with a queen. And I call out all the little Cameron-romance moments ("We're gonna die! I kind of like you!").

Join me as I join the Doctor again for another trek into space! Together, we examine the meaning of friendship and sacrifice and [shifts jaw awkwardly] "human". We examine the structure of the story and debate the artificiality of Shatner's hair and Montalban's chest. We contemplate Sean Connery as a scholar of Judaism and wonder about how Sulu spent the time between TPM and WoK and also how many times Kirk has had to fight an illegitimate child to the death. Overall, we love the film, altho it is perhaps slightly more talky and less profound than many would like to pretend. I can't remember the phrase "affirmative action". And we get cut off briefly at one point but quickly get back on track.

Indy’s back for the third and final time! (Unless you count the fourth film.) Join me as I examine the way the third film returns to familiar territory in welcome ways… and then kind of wears out its welcome by the end. I explore the father-son theme, the shift from Jewish to Indian to Christian to, um, alien religion and the way the tone has shifted from a little too dark to a little too light. Overall, I love the film, tho, and never take to bashing it.

Join me as I watch Humphrey Bogart take on Sidney Greenstreet and Peter Lorre—not to mention that duplicitous whore Mary Astor—in John Huston's version of Dashiell Hammett's The Maltese Falcon. I compare it to the book a little (it's nearly identical) and the 1931 version (it's way better), as well as Citizen Kane and later films noir and hard-boiled detective films. I complain about Astor's performance (and general non-sexiness, if you ask me) and about the somewhat repetitive talkiness of the film, but I really do love it. I just can't quite call it "nearly perfect". I take it apart and examine the pieces, particularly the character motivations and directorial style and explain what an "automatic revolver" is.

It's the Asylum again, back for another sight-unseen commentary, this time with 100% fewer giant monsters! I don't know if that's a good thing, but it certainly makes for a higher quality film, easily besting the original 1997 James Cameron romantic-tragedy epic boo-hoo-fest, which I hated like Pol Pot and Baby Doc Duvalier. There are no pop stars in this one, just a solid performance by Bruce Davison, a welcome bit by Brooke Burns, and a decent job by writer/director/star Shane Van Dyke as well as by the lips attached to Marie Wesbrook. I make fun of some names, some effects, and various ship nonsense. At times, I long for a mega shark and pray for the iceberg to eat a helicopter, but overall I liked it and was rather impressed by it. If this had been put out by a major studio with Roland Emmerich money for effects and advertising, it would have been a genuine blockbuster. (Which is different from saying it would have been a good film, by the way.)

The Doctor joins me again for another walk down memory lane, this time with Robert Wise and Alan Dean Foster's tribute to 2001: A Space Odyssey and slow-motion model work. We both love the film and William Shatner and Persis Khambatta and the idea that Decker might just be responsible for creating the Borg. We're watching the director's cut, with the silver "Paramount Pictures Presents" lettering at the beginning and not the theatrical cut with the gold lettering. The differences are not enormous.

It's the heart-wrenching tale of chance meetings between wounded hearts, daring to reach out, daring to trust again. Also, a 7-foot-tall metal-jawed psychopath bites people to death while his boss captures submarines. Join me for the tenth Bond film and one of the very best. This remains my favorite, but that doesn't mean it's perfect. I compare it to the book that it's nothing like. I thrill at the adventure and swoon at the passion (well, cleavage). I mock the acting and disco music. I point out the—ahem—"re-use" of previous Bond plot devices. And I marvel at the incredible plan/backup plan/backup backup plan that Stromberg seems to repeatedly employ.

It's another Asylum monster/pop star extravaganza, this time with both Debbie Gibson and Tiffany [last name unknown], as well as a Martinez. 'Which Martinez?' you ask? THE Martinez. And a host of pythons and alligators-that-look-more-like-crocodiles-to-me rise out of the Everglades to attack Florida, which I again write off as a total loss. (Seriously, America, we're fully insured, right?) There is pop music (some of which is pretty damn good), cars, and helicopters that change shape in mid-air. There's a herpatologist who can fly a helicopter and an animal rights activist who cares passionately about releasing non-native predators into Florida swamps. Other highlights: swallowing, biting, shooting, and cleavage. Plus, a secret surprise I guarantee will surprise you with its secret! I praise the acting (I think; it's tough to remember all the crap I say, sometimes) but ding the directing (close-ups of people getting eaten is fundamentally cinematically different from people getting eaten).

Join me for a fourth helping of the Star Wars saga, this time dismantling the best film of the series. I examine Luke's story within the film and within the saga, as well as Vader's. I analyze Han and Leia's story as a romantic tragedy hors d'oeuvre that barely connects to the real story. And I compare the film to the prequels, Casablanca, adventure serials of the 1930s, samurai and western movies, Flash Gordon, and The Karate Kid. I try to determine the timeline, point out John Ratzenberger, and do stunningly life-like impressions of George Lucas and Darth Vader. I psychoanalyze Yoda and question Lando's sexuality. Courting controversy, I declare my love for ewoks, root for Admiral Piett to retire to a villa on the Black Sea, and imagine daily life for stormtroopers. And I confidently assert that Han and Leia closed the deal by the time they met Vader at Cloud City.

Bond's ninth outing is Moore's second. Join me as I analyze the story, the girls, the cars, the gadgets—by which I mean the fake nipple—and the seemingly endless, awful JW Pepper scenes. However, I actually find myself defending the film against the haters and end up enjoying it fairly well on its own merits, at least a fair amount more than I did Live and Let Die. I point out the not-so-subtle foreshadowing, analyze Scaramanga as a villain and Andrea as an ally. I try to figure out what country we're in, what the purpose of the custom golden gun is, and what Nick Nack's motivation is. I enjoy Maud Adams and Brit Eckland, and I positively adore the half-sunken ship secret spy office.

Linda Hamilton is a diner waitress who rises to the occasion when a robot killer from the future drives his Delorean at 88 miles an hour to leap into the past in hopes of keeping his parents from meeting... or something like that. Michael Biehn is sent back to stop him and engage in some baby-makin'—and that's worth arriving naked in LA for. Arnold Schwarzenegger is a relentless robot and also happens to play a relentless robot who gets an apartment to settle down and rest and keep a kitty. And Bill Paxton and Lance Henriksen are killed by their first franchise monster, with long and illustrious careers ahead of them where they repeatedly get killed by franchise monsters. I mistakenly say Henriksen is killed by a predator in Predator 2, but it's actually Alien vs Predator. I compare the film to Star Wars, Westworld, King Kong, Aliens, The Thing From Another World, Halloween, Back to the Future, and Harvey. I do a Jimmy Stewart impression. I bleep myself a couple of times to avoid the explicit tag. And I say

Over-sized piranhas are attacking Venezuela! Join me as I watch the film for the first time and attempt to figure out what is going on; why fish bark, roar, and oink; and why everything seems to have been shot at 6 o'clock in the evening. Listen as I identify the multiple artificial ticking clocks, write off the entire state of Florida, and calculate the growth rate of genetically modified fish on a scratch pad several times—oh wait, the characters do that last one. I research the extensive film biographies of Tiffany [last name unknown], Barry Williams, Paul "I'm not Paul Hogan" Logan, and director Eric Forsberg and come up pretty dry. However, they all do a pretty great job, so I have no complaints. Oh wait, I do complain that the titles aren't left on screen long enough. (I'm a slow reader!) And I complain that there aren't any subtitles or extras on the Blu-ray. That's right—I'm watchin' this puppy on Blu-ray! (from the $5 bargain bin) No more commercials! Bonus: brown lady boobs!

Jamie Lee Curtis' mom takes it on the lam! Join me as I have a hell of a lot of fun examining Alfred Hitchcock's great low-budget suspense flick. I compare it to Hitch's other work, to the 1998 shot-for-shot remake, and to Death Proof, The Searchers, A Fistful of Dollars, and Dirty Harry. I quote from Peter Bogdonovich's book a few times. And I examine the motifs and symbols (birds = chicks; windows = windows). I mix up the name of the town and the name of the cemetery several times. I bring up the delicate subjects of Mama Bates' age and the depth of Norman's desert swamp. Plus, I rewrite the picture so it's as conventional as possible—with a happy ending! Oh, and I laugh like a ninny. Enjoy!

Join the Doctor and me in the far-flung future of 1979, where we watch Caligula doggedly track down the Master Control Program and make sweet, sweet love to Doc Brown's wife. We compare English and American ideas of currency, gentlemen's clubs, health care systems, and free love. We compare the character of Wells to Sherlock Holmes and Kyle Reese. And we compare the film to the 1960 The Time Machine as well as to Air Wolf. We wonder why the time machine has an AM radio. But we fail to give Nicholas Meyer credit for sending his characters to the Chartered Bank of London and not to an imaginary "Bank of England." (Damn you, IMDb trivia page!)

Barry Bostwick and Renée O'Connor team up to hunt down a gigantic whale somewhere in the south seas in this 2010 tale of a man, a whale, and a dream of killing that whale. Watch with me as I: Watch it for the first time Compare it extensively to the original Herman Melville novel (it's about a guy hunting a whale) Pick apart the intricacies of the plot (guy hunts whale, whale tries to eat aircraft in peace) Analyze the symbolism (leg = penis; whale = thing that eats penises) Get my 1978 Battlestar Galactica references all wrong (Starbuck = Apollo, Cassiopeia = Serina, robot dog = son, "biddi-biddi-biddi" = Twiki from Buck Rogers) Review whale biology (female whales have udders, right?) Never, ever compare it to Mega Shark vs Giant Octopus, which this is better than I praise the sets, CGI, directing, and acting—where appropriate (I'm lookin' at you, guy-with-the-blank-stare-of-a-cow). And I complain that everything is lit like an Italian restaurant. Enjoy!