Mandy
Transfixing; transgressive; transportive: I spent the night in the 1970’s.
I have a fantasy, one of a quintessential night for an adolescent in the 1970’s or ‘80’s. It generally involves ditching school after 5th period and going to the skatepark. Then the gang and I stumble over to the arcade down on Washington Ave with a roll of quarters. We finish the night off by sneaking into an R-rated flick (my buddy has an older brother, probably named Kevin, that works at the theater and gets us in, of course). We’re talkin’ "Aliens". We’re talking "The Terminator". We’re talking...other movies not directed by James Cameron. You know, "Robocop", slashers, the ‘80’s midnight movie oeuvre.
I had a similar experience watching “Mandy” at the Historic Howell Theater. And even though the film is set in 1983, I would more accurately peg my experience as a night in the 1970’s, with all of the aforementioned nostalgia. They haven’t made movies like “Mandy” since 1979, and the tacky wallpaper that lines the two-screen Howell theater has surely been out of print since then too. Nevertheless, it was an incredible experience.
I entered the theater from Earth, and I came out somewhere entirely different.
For those two hours, I traveled across time. Facing a warmly tinted, modestly sized screen, and surrounded by dingy walls and patch-laden jean jacket wearing misfits, I wore the moment like a wool blanket. And I must attribute the success of the experience in large part to the film.
“Mandy” is a continuous crossfade of the most striking and transfixing imagery. Heightened by the atmosphere of the joint, I was mesmerized from end to end. Speaking of joints, you may have heard that this film is akin to a drug trip. This is true. Panos clearly has some experience. Not only that, but this a film that could only be made by an older person. Panos Cosmatos demonstrated a ‘70’s painterly eye for crafting frames that are both traditional and transgressive. I felt violated and welcomed at the same time.
As far as influences go, Panos drew from a murderers row of unsung stylists. “Hellraiser”. “Red State”. The Pacific Northwest flavor and mood of a Jeremy Saulnier picture. “Mandy” is what would happen if Shane Carruth was profoundly influenced by “Hobo with a Shotgun”. Panos plays Guitar Hero for the cutscenes; the guy is a madman.
At one point, I had to slap myself because I was thinking, “Is this ‘post-movie’?” I groaned at my own obnoxious thought, and yet I was intrigued at what I felt. The “title card”, if you even want to think of it as one, doesn’t drop until at least an hour in. There are brief animated interludes that heighten the artisanal quality of the film, almost beyond what I would consider a traditional movie.
I haven’t even gotten to Nicolas Cage yet, the One True God. He proves once again that his singular acting style is enchanting beyond remark, and cannot be mimicked. His face, his voice, his mannerisms, they all conjure a distinct brand of uncanny, something truly of the devil.
Nic Cage let the devil in a long time ago, and we’ve watched him be tortured by the horned bastard for years. Just google a picture of his face, and you’ll recall what I’m referring to. I think it was Ethan Hawke who said something along the lines of, “Most actors aim to disappear into their characters, but Nicolas Cage’s characters disappear into him.”
“Mandy” couldn’t have been a better demonstration of that truth. If you can handle weird shit at a slower pace, “Mandy” will be a transportive experience.
Oh, and also, Kevin Smith, who conducted the Q&A session after the show, was wearing a shirt emblazoned with a picture of his own Funko Pop on it, and Cage was modeling an all-gold jacket, charmingly extolling about his first love: the sea. What a night. What a- night.