Problem: Write a negative (OPTIONS:
- negative
- positive) movie review.

Answer: This was one of the worst movies EVER!!!!!!!! It was so bad, I was laughing through the WHOLE movie! The plot was SO cheesy; especially the end. This movie turns from an end-of-the-world-disaster to save-the-eels! I mean, c'mon! And I swear...I think they use SOCK PUPPETS for the eels! And there was this horrible kiss scene in the middle with the two main characters who happened to be divorced. How predictable! It was SO terrible that my mom, my sister, and I couldn't finish it, and when we DID finish it, it was about a year later! The second time we watched it and we finished it this time, we did MST3K-like comments throughout the movie.

Summary: Only watch this if you're a movie basher! Make hilarious comments, watch this at a sleepover for laughs, and I mean HUGE laughs. Also watch for mockery. The metaphor that explains this movie: This movie is a very shallow field full of cheese and sock puppets!

Problem: Write a positive (OPTIONS:
- negative
- positive) movie review.

Answer: The traditional Western is synonymous with wide open spaces, clearcut morality, inevitable storylines, the optimistic faith in a hero's ability to shape his own destiny, to escape his past. These qualities reflect directly the American sense of self, the self-shaping Dream, the pushing of boundaries and frontiers, which is why the genre is still alluded to by opportunistic politicians. With some noble exceptions (eg Wellman, Hawks), the Western was healthily free of neuroses or real anxiety. Anthony Mann changed all that forever, and this first foray into the genre is one of the most violent, vivid, complex, not to say exciting Westerns ever made.

The traditional Western depends on a hero who exemplifies rugged wholesomeness, whatever misfortunes he may have had in the past, a supporter of order and right, who dominates the film, removes its obstacles, restores harmony in effect; and an obvious villain, who often, ironically, drives the plot, forces the hero into certain actions. The difference between the two is often delineated as mythically simple as the wearing of white or black hats.

Mann's background was in film noir, a genre antithetical to wide open spaces and optimism. Noir was neurotically charged, focusing on the dissolution of an unstable protagonist, where morality is blurred, the hero is as often the villain, trapped in an interior-labyrinth of his own making, a passive victim to destiny. Noir is about regress not progress, the interrogating and denying of modes and signs of representation, not the creation and confirmation of them.

WINCHESTER 73 is fraught with noir anxiety. Noir is often considered a psychological genre, visualising the traumas of its protagonist's head. 73 does this too, and is all the more disturbing in that that protagonist is lovely, homespun Jimmy Stewart, initiating here his great run of difficult films with Mann and Hitchcock. In many ways, good-natured and sweet, representing right and trying to restore disruptions to the natural order, he is also a near-lunatic who will stop at nothing to achieve murderous revenge, whose relentless quest mirrors Ethan Edwards in THE SEARCHERS in its inhuman persistance, whose human instincts are frayed by this quest, and whose bursts of violence are genuinely terrifying to witness.

As in noir, his anxiety has a psychological base - unlike most 'healthy' heroes who have outgrown (symbolically killed) their fathers, McAdam's father was killed before he could complete the process; his chasing his brother is less moral revenge than an anguished protest against stunted growth. The climactic shoot-out is not cathartic: McAdam staggers back into 'normal' society, like he's just witnessed some of the world's most ghastly horrors.

What is most unsettling about the film is that it's not really about a hero or a villain at all, but an inanimate piece of weoponry that drives the action. 73 opens with the gun of the title privileged, on display behind a glass window, while its admirers are trapped, squashed, undifferentiated, framed, admiring it outside. Throughout the film, human power is reduced to the most arbitrary of signifiers - names change; Lin and Dutch mime shooting each other because they've no guns; quests lose their moral vitality and their practitioners veer close to madness; armies have to ask for help from Confederate strangers to fight battles; a man becomes worthy of respect only when he mentions his name; another man is revealed as a coward when he abandons his fiancee to the Indians; the gun retains its prestige, power, wholeness.

It's not the revenge plot which drives the film, but the story of the gun; this wrenches the film out of conventional expectations, and creates an eerie, alienating, modern feel. We become so caught up in the revenge plot that when we follow, with the gun, another plot entirely, we feel slightly bewildered.

This emphasis on the gun, symbol of potent masculinity, actually allows for a critique of that masculinity, revealing pointless elaborate rituals at the expense of society and order; brute capitalist greed; murderous Indian-traders who defraud both seller and enemy; cowards; psychotic killers; before returning to its 'true' owner, a broken hero thoroughly compromised, who has become as murderous as the murderer he seeks. The gun is never imprinted with the name of its owner, not only because there is no fixed owner, but because there is no fixed masculinity, an insight anathema to the traditional Western.

73 brilliantly invokes Western myths - Wyatt Earp, Dodge City, the Cavalry, the Civil War, the wide open West - only to undermine them. Earp has an inflated reputation that is all name but never proven - Dodge City is no safer against outlaws than anywhere else; the Cavalry is inept (Custer has just lost Little Big Horn) and the bitter feud of the War is shown to be irrelevant. The myth of the open West is a site for a very closed, inescapable, circular plot which traps its characters, refuses to allow them shape their destiny, but allowing it to shape them.

The old John Ford silhouette of riders on a vast mountain is reprised, but signals here not progress but repetition and circularity. But for all its deconstruction, the film is also tangibly vivid in a way few Westerns ever achieve. Mann's incisive technique intrudes his camera in crucial positions, alternating revealing distance with intense examination, making the saloon doors and stagecoaches seem thrillingly alive and lived in.

Problem: Write a negative (OPTIONS:
- negative
- positive) movie review.

Answer:
I find it heart-warming and inspiring that the writing team behind such hopelessly mainstream Hollywood movies like INDIANA JONES AND THE TEMPLE OF DOOM, American Graffiti and HOWARD THE DUCK would begin their career with a low-budget exploitation horror film like this. Perhaps as a testament to the talent that would earn Willard Hyuck and Gloria Katz an Oscar nomination later in their respective careers, Messiah of Evil has potential, but sadly becomes frustrating exactly because it can't muster the film-making prowess to pull it off.

The premise involves a young girl who travels to a small coastal town in search for her painter father who went missing a while back. It doesn't take long for the fragmented narrative to abandon all hope and dive headlong in disjointed absurdity - and for a while it works admirably well to the point where you begin thinking that maybe Messiah of Evil needs to be reclaimed from the schlocky gutter of 70's exploitation as an example of artful mystery horror.

The surreal non-sequiturs keep piling on as the daughter stumbles upon a young couple in a seedy hotel room who are in town to conduct a research on the local legend of the 'blood moon', a scruffy and half-mad alcoholic (played by the great Elisha Cook Jr. in perhaps the best scene of the movie) who warns her about her father only to be reportedly found dead in an alley 'eaten by dogs' a little later, the blind old lady that owns the local art gallery and who has inexplicably removed all of her father's paintings from the shop and last but not least a retarded, murderous, squirrel-eating albino.

Part of the movie's charm is precisely this brand of bargain-basement artsy surrealism that defies logic and genre conventions every step of the way. Whereas with Lynch it is obviously the mark of a talented creator, with Messiah of Evil the boundaries between the 'intentional', the 'unintentional' and the 'didn't really expect it to come out this way but it's good enough - WRAP SCENE' blur hopelessly.

Take for example the double narration that flows in and out of the picture in a drug-addled, feverish, stream-of-consciousness way, one coming from the daughter as she wanders from place to place in search for her father, and the other narrated by her father's voice as she reads his diary.

While we're still talking about a 'living dead' picture, Messiah of Evil is different and only loosely one - at least with current preconceptions of what a zombie movie is supposed to be. The origin of the living dead here is a 100 year old curse, bestowed upon the town by a mysterious 'Dark Stranger' who came from the woods one day. In the meantime Hyuck finds time for snippets of mass-consumption criticism in a flesh-eating supermarket scene that predates DAWN OF THE DEAD by a good number of years (you can hear the MST3K line already: 'man is dead, only his capitalist food tins remain') and a nicely thought but poorly executed similar scene in a movie theater.

I generally think that the surreal works in careful, well measured doses - how is the absurd to work if it's not hidden within the perfectly normal? Hyuck seems to just smear it all over the picture and by doing so dangerously overplays his hand. When the albino for example picks up a girl hitching her way to town and eats a squirrel in front of her, you can almost imagine the director winking meaningfully at the audience, amused and satisfied with his own hijinks.

The general film-making level is also pretty low - after the half-way mark, the pace becomes muddled and the story tiresome and evidently going nowhere and not particularly fast either. Add to that the choppy editing, average acting and Hyuck's general inability to capture true atmosphere - the empty streets of coastal town are criminally misused - and I'd file Messiah under 'missed opportunity' but still grindhouse afficionados will find enough to appreciate - even though it's not particularly gory, trashy or sleazy.