BLOGGER'S NOTE: This post is a part of the Michael Mann Blogathon going on over at the Seeti Maar - Diary of a Movie Lover blog. If you get a chance, check it out as there are all kinds of amazing contributions so far.
Let’s get this out of the way – The Keep (1983) is not a good film. It is, at times, an interesting one that has its inspired moments, but it is a narrative mess with lackluster performances. It is the equivalent of David Lynch’s Dune (1984) – a big budget folly beset by production problems and an uncaring studio that butchered the film before its release. And like Lynch, the experience was so painful for Michael Mann that he has never revisited it since. It’s all George Lucas’ fault. The success of Star Wars (1977) motivated all kinds of directors to dabble in the science fiction, horror and fantasy genres. For example, in the year The Keep was released, Peter Yates directed Krull, John Carpenter and David Cronenberg tackled Stephen King adaptations with Christine and The Dead Zone, respectively, Tony Scott’s directorial debut was the gothic vampire tale The Hunger, and there was also Something Wicked This Way Comes. These films, however, were overshadowed by the third installment of the Star Wars trilogy, Return of the Jedi, which dominated the box office.
After Thief (1981), Mann was offered all kinds of urban crime films. He was not interested in repeating himself and wanted, instead, to do something like Gabriel Garcia Marquez’s One Hundred Years of Solitude that would allow him to make a film that was “non-realistic and create the reality.” He worked briefly on the screenplay for Jim McBride’s Breathless (1983) but left that project to make The Keep, an adaptation of F. Paul Wilson’s novel about a mysterious force within a Nazi fortress. The film begins with a transition from a black screen to blue sky and then pans down to the action. Mann would do the exact same thing at the beginning of Manhunter (1986) three years later. As is typical with the beginning of a Mann film, the opening sequence is devoid of dialogue. A convoy of trucks filled with Nazi soldiers drive through desolate countryside. They arrive at a small village in the Dinu Pass in the Carpathian Alps in Romania circa 1941. The town’s inhabitants look at these intruders suspiciously. Out of the fog, the convoy arrives at the Keep, which is to be their new base of operations. The commanding officer, Woermann (Jurgen Prochnow) proudly proclaims to a subordinate, “Now we are the masters of the world. Doesn’t that enthrall you?” The irony of this statement is that it is said before the Nazis invaded Russia and failed.
The Keep is a massive, imposing structure. Mann used vintage arc lamps from the 1920s and 1930s to get “a certain kind of hard blue shaft of light coming through all the openings in the keep.” The village outside of the Keep was shot with very bright light and in white in order to represent innocence. However, something is not quite right and this is symbolized by the fact that none of the rooftops are symmetrical. In contrast, everything inside the Keep is dark. Mann said, “We exposed for the highlight and let all the shadows go. Instead of a flood or a wash of light, there are very defined shafts of light. It’s only in those shafts that we can see things.”
Father Fanescu (Robert Prosky) is the caretaker of the Keep and warns Woermann that he and his men should not stay inside the structure because bad dreams drive out people who attempt to stay too long. Naturally, Woermann scoffs at such notions. He is an overconfident antagonist like Leo in Thief, Waingro in Heat (1995) and Thomas Sanderford in The Insider (1999). Fanescu also warns them never to touch the many metal crosses embedded in the walls. Of course, two greedy soldiers on night watch try to pry one out, believing that it hides some kind of treasure. In doing so, they uncover the vast interior of the Keep and a powerful force that kills them. They have unknowingly awakened a being known as Molasar (Michael Carter). This even awakens a man by the name of Glaeken (Scott Glenn) who lives in Greece. He quickly packs his things and goes to Romania. This man is a loner, much like other Mann protagonists. He is a man of few words, driven by intensely personal reasons to do what he does.
Reinforcements arrive led by a vicious officer, Major Kaempffer (Gabriel Byrne) who starts killing villagers in retaliation for the mysterious deaths of five soldiers. He finds inscriptions on a wall in a language that none of them can decipher but Fanescu knows of a scholar who can – Dr. Cuza (Ian McKellen). He and his daughter Eva (Alberta Watson) are summoned from a concentration camp. When two soldiers try to rape Eva, they are eradicated by Molasar and enveloped by smoke. In comparison to the cold, calculated Kaempffer, Woermann seems much more reasonable. He is smart enough to fear this unknown force and has enough compassion to send Eva to the local inn. Kaempffer is weak of mind, like Freddie Lounds in Manhunter and Van Zandt in Heat. Kaempffer thinks too rationally and deludes himself into believing that he is in control.
For Molasar, the more it kills the more of a physical presence it has. It makes a deal with Dr. Cuza that if he carries out the talisman that keeps it imprisoned in the Keep, Molasar will kill all of the soldiers. However, Glaeken knows that if Molasar is released, it will destroy the world. Glaeken is not just a traveler, as he describes himself, but also watches over the Keep and makes sure that Molasar does not get out.
As the film builds towards its climax, Woermann confronts Kaempffer and tries to appeal to his conscience one more time:
“All that we are is coming out, here in this Keep. And what truth do you see, what are you discovering about yourself, Kaempffer? I murder all these people. Therefore I must be powerful. Smash them down because only that raises you up. It’s a psychotic fantasy to escape the weakness and disease you sense in the core of your soul ... You have released the foulest that dwells in all men’s minds. You have infected millions with your twisted fantasies. And formed millions of diseased mentalities that worship your twisted cross.”
This is not only an indictment of the Nazi philosophy but also the godlike mentality alluded to by Hannibal Lecktor to Will Graham in Manhunter. Dr. Cuza has become corrupted by power like those he hates – the Nazis. When Molasar heals him of his diseased state, he loses sight of what is good and evil.
Producers Gene Kirkwood and Howard W. Koch, Jr. optioned F. Paul Wilson’s book for Paramount. Not surprisingly, Mann was not interested in a straightforward adaptation. He did not want to make a traditional horror film. As he said in an interview at the time, “What it is overall is very dreamy, very magical, and intensely emotional.” Mann admired fairy tales and was drawn to Wilson’s best-selling novel as a way to make a fairy tale movie for adults.
The filmmaker did not use Wilson’s book as his starting point, but it was actually a meeting with Otto Skorzeny in 1969. Skorzeny was a former member of the S.S. and one of World War II’s most successful commandos. He led the raid that rescued Benito Mussolini from Italy in 1943. At Nuremberg, Skorzeny successfully defended himself and was acquitted. After the war, he ran a mercenary operation out of Spain. Mann was fascinated by Skorzeny’s psychology. Mann said in an interview that “the overt politics interest me less than the states of mind: the specific kinds of aberration that explain why a lower middle-class bourgeois in Munich would be attracted to the Waffen SS in 1933.”
Mann also read The Walter Langdon Report, a document commissioned by the Office of Strategic Services to psychoanalyze Adolph Hitler. Walter Langdon was a New York doctor who had talked to many people that knew the dictator before the war. This portrait of Hitler and how he reflected the psychosis of whole nation fascinated Mann. Another primary influence on the film was Bruno Bettelheim’s The Uses of Enchantment, which posits the theory that fairy tales were complex morality fables. Bettelheim argues that myths have clearly defined heroes and usually end in tragedy, while fairy tales were universal with happy endings. It goes on to propose the theory that most enduring children’s stories do not teach moral messages as fables do but deal with action and horror in a way that allows children to deal with real world horror over time.
Mann first scouted locations in Romania but was unable to find a mountain pass of black rock in Pyrenees or the Alps. He then asked experts at a nearby university to use their geology computer to help him find the location he wanted. With the help of production designer John Box, Mann found an abandoned slate quarry in Wales. The quarry was 150 feet deep and a lift or a crane had to take people in and out. Cinematographer Alex Thomson placed his lights on cherry pickers around the edge of the quarry and at one point 80 miles per hour winds threatened to knock the lights in.
Mann first wrote the screenplay and then made additional changes while shooting the film. “Now the words are plastic, flexible,” Mann remarked in an interview at the time. He constantly rewrote dialogue before shooting which frustrated his actors. Two days before a scene was shot the actors would get new pages. Then, a day before they got additional new pages. Mann storyboarded the entire film only to get on the set and realize that the lighting was different and so he threw them out, opting instead to work on a more instinctual level. On the set, Mann listened to the music of Tangerine Dream and Laurie Anderson. He was particularly taken with Anderson’s vocal stylings and wanted Glenn to speak like she does in her songs.
By certain accounts, the shoot was a particularly grueling one. The crew worked 16-18 hour days in cold, rainy weather. In particular, make-up artist Nick Maley remembers that he had to change make-up effects three times in one week. He claimed that Mann did not listen to more experienced crew members and that eight of them suffered nervous breakdowns as a result of the film’s demanding schedule. Maley also claims that he was exhausted a lot of the time from the miscommunication he experienced with Mann over prosthetics for Glaeken. Six weeks into filming, Mann changed the color of Molasar’s final costume, which meant some scenes had to be re-shot.
Mann described Molasar as the essence of “just sheer power, and the appeal of power, and the worship of power, a belief in power, a seduction of power.” This is a description that could easily apply to future Mann antagonists, Francis Dollarhyde and Hannibal Lecktor in Manhunter. Mike Carter played Molasar and spoke highly of Mann: “His direction was simple and clear—always the best. The physical presentation of Molasar was always carefully worked out. The way in which I played Molasar was pretty much my decision. Obviously he would have changed things if he didn’t like it.” However, Carter was not blind to the problems that Mann faced on the film: “We went over budget and over schedule, but he was trying to make a particular kind of film, almost a German Expressionist movie, and I’m not surprised it was as long and expensive as it was. It needed to be a big-budget movie.”
There was a six-month delay because of the death of special effects expert, Wally Veevers two weeks into post-production, forcing Mann to rethink the film’s effects after the cast and crew had departed. Without Veevers to provide the needed opticals for Molasar, the creature resembled the Michelin Man as opposed to an ominous force of evil. To make matters worse, Veevers had not made any storyboards for his vision of the movie and no one knew his methods. The production went over schedule by 22 weeks and tens of millions of dollars.
When it came to the finale, Mann chose between two different endings. Glaeken versus Molasar in the dark cave of the Keep or on its summit. The director went with the former but was forced to scale it down. Originally, he had wanted a more visually elaborate, ending with Glaeken fighting Molasar with a giant laser coming from the Keep that evolved into something akin to 2001: A Space Odyssey (1968). After Veever’s death, Paramount did not give Mann enough money to finish the film and he had to abandon certain sequences. French artist Enki Bilal was brought in to help design Molasar. He traveled to Shepperton Studios five or six times and felt that the film was ruined during the editing process. Special effects make-up artist Bob Keen felt that one of the biggest problems was the long, grueling shoot and that by the end of it a lot of the crew members had left.
The current version of the film runs 90 minutes but rumors say that the rough cut ran over two hours. The Keep was released on December 16, 1983 in 508 theaters, grossing $1 million in its opening weekend. It went on to make $4.2 million in the United States and was a commercial and critical failure. In his review for Time magazine, Richard Corliss wrote, “It boasts some pictures as pretty as any to be seen on a gallery wall, and, in narrative terms, it is a mess.” Vincent Canby, in his review for The New York Times, wrote, “The movie makes no sense as either melodrama or metaphysics, so that its expensive special effects go up in smoke. Literally ... At the screening I saw, the film's soundtrack, as stuffed with talk as with ominous sounds and music by Tangerine Dream, was so sibilant that I longed to stuff cotton in my ears or, at least, to hear a character who lisped.” At the time, Mann felt that The Keep was “emotionally deeper because it tries to get at the way you think and feel in the way dreams work.” However, after many years had passed, Mann admitted, “The Keep was really hard because I did something I swore I’d never do again. And that is that I went into pre-production without a completed screenplay.”
Author F. Paul Wilson joined in on the critical bashing of Mann’s film and dispelled the rumor that it might have been the victim of studio interference. “The film followed his (bad) script pretty faithfully. He simply decided that he wouldn’t mention the word ‘vampire,’ anywhere in the film. Of course, that’s the major red herring in the story.” Wilson felt that Mann did not understand the novel or how to adapt it. “He did not build character. He did not tell a coherent story. When I read the script, I wrote to him and I pointed out all of this to him in a very gentle, non ego trampling way, I thought. But he ignored me.” To put it mildly, Wilson was not happy with Mann’s film as he commented in an interview, “the dialogue was wooden, dumb, phony and stupid. And the direction, all those pregnant pauses ... And I would have chucked that stupid looking monstrosity that passed for Molasar. What a joke!” However, like what happened to Lynch after the soul-crushing failure of Dune, Mann went back to familiar subject matter and ended up making one of the best films of his career, Manhunter. I admire Mann’s ambition to tackle a new genre for him at the time but he was clearly out of his depth and it shows in the final film. Since The Keep he has wisely stuck to his strengths – urban crime films and historical biopics.
Also, check out this excellent analysis of the film over at the Wonders in the Dark blog and this comprehensive fan site.
"...the main purpose of criticism...is not to make its readers agree, nice as that is, but to make them, by whatever orthodox or unorthodox method, think." - John Simon
"The great enemy of clear language is insincerity." - George Orwell
Showing posts with label Jurgen Prochnow. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Jurgen Prochnow. Show all posts
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Monday, October 26, 2009
In the Mouth of Madness

The film doesn’t exactly get off to a good start with sub-par Metallica-esque music playing over the opening credits. Fortunately, once this music mercifully ends proper suspenseful music that we’ve come to expect from Carpenter’s films kicks in and we are tantalized with a teaser set in the present. Much like the opening scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers (1956), In the Mouth of Madness’ protagonist is brought into the authorities looking visibly distraught and ranting about the end of the world. John Trent (Sam Neill) is forcibly admitted to a mental institution (by none other than John Glover). He’s wild-eyed and frantic, claiming that he’s not insane despite the straitjacket that says otherwise. In a nice, cheeky touch, the administration drowns out the patients’ ravings with a Muzak cover of The Carpenters’ “We’ve Only Just Begun” and Trent groans, “Oh no, not The Carpenters too.” And then we are hit with the film’s first jolt as Trent is menaced by a mysterious figure who speaks cryptically to him.
A doctor (genre veteran David Warner) soon visits Trent to figure out what he’s on about and discovers that his patient has decorated his padded cell (and himself) with all sorts of black crosses of various shapes and sizes in black crayon. Trent appears to be crazy or, as we find out later on, is he the only sane person in an insane world? He no longer wants to escape because he feels that it’s the only safe place and tells the good doctor his story. Trent was an insurance investigator and we see him expertly plying his trade as he grills a man (played with wonderfully sweaty desperation by Carpenter regular Peter Jason) trying to pull a fast one on the insurance company. This scene evokes a similar one in the classic film noir Double Indemnity (1944) where Edward G. Robinson trips up a hapless man trying to cash in a phony claim. Sam Neill is fantastic in this scene as he confidently talks the man into a corner, presenting damning evidence until it is painfully obvious that he’s guilty.

As luck would have it (or is it?), Trent’s next assignment is for a publishing house. They represent popular horror writer Sutter Cane (Jurgen Prochnow) who disappeared two months ago. No one has been able to contact him, including his agent who just happened to be the lunatic with the axe. The publisher (Charlton Heston) is eager to get his hands on Cane’s new manuscript but the reclusive author has only given him part of it. So, Trent is assigned the task of finding Cane and getting the rest of the book. The cynical Trent thinks that this is all a public relations stunt to promote sales of Cane’s new book. However, the deeper he delves into the investigation, the more his strange nightmares bleed into his waking life. Also added into the mix is the increasing chaos of the outside world as reading Cane’s books causes his more impressionable readers to lose touch with reality and news reports tell of riots occurring at book stores in several major cities in the United States.
Along for the ride is Linda Stiles (Julie Carmen), Cane’s editor, and the film really takes off when she and Trent arrive in the town where Cane resides. It is like they’ve entered H.P. Lovecraft country or, more accurately, the world as depicted in Cane’s books. At first glance, it seems like any small town in America but there is an unnerving lack of activity. Where is everybody? Stiles and Trent stay at the Pickman Inn (a reference to the Lovecraft short story “Pickman’s Model”) and are greeted by a seemingly kind old lady (David Lynch alumni Frances Bay). Stiles begins to spot details right out of Cane’s novels as if they’ve been transported into his fictional world. For example, there’s a painting in the lobby of the inn that ominously changes its appearance when she looks at it.

Movie executive Michael De Luca wrote the screenplay for In the Mouth of Madness based on his experiences in the streets of New York City and his love for H.P. Lovecraft’s stories about the Cthulhu mythology. He would walk to the Port Authority transit terminal each night to take the subway home from his job at New Line Cinema. He became fascinated with the homeless people that populated the terminal. De Luca remembers, “Late at night it got pretty scary and I started to think, what if everyone wandering around me is part of an otherworldly conspiracy to replace the human race?”
De Luca combined this idea with Lovecraft’s mythos about a race of ancient creatures that controlled the Earth, were banished and are now trying to return. The final component was the notion of a writer who was a combination of Stephen King and L. Ron Hubbard – in other words, a popular author with a rabid fanbase that bordered on a religion. He also referenced horror films that influenced him, including Equinox (1970), The Exorcist (1973), and The Shining (1980). De Luca also wanted to evoke Invasion of the Body Snatchers with Cane’s books being like the pods and “turning you into something else, as opposed to saying these people were screwed up before hand.”

In the Mouth of Madness received mixed critical reaction. Roger Ebert gave the film two out of four stars and wrote, “the movie does what no horror movie can afford to do, which is to play tennis without a net. Stories like this need rules; it's not enough to send the beleaguered hero on a roller-coaster ride through shocking images.” In her review for The New York Times, Janet Maslin wrote, “this is a film with the temerity to think big, if only for the magnitude of the wickedness it invokes. Nothing less than ‘an evil older than mankind and wider than the known universe’ must be reckoned with before this cautionary tale is over.” The Los Angeles Times’ Kevin Thomas praised the film as “a thinking person's horror picture that dares to be as cerebral as it is visceral.” However, in his review for the Washington Post, Desson Howe called it, “a bewildering, boring assembly of rock-video-surreal nightmare sequences with more repetitive episodes than Groundhog Day. I said, with more repetitive episodes than – oh never mind. Just consider yourself warned.” Entertainment Weekly gave the film a “C” rating and Lisa Schwarzbaum described it as an “only spottily successful homage from director John Carpenter (Halloween) to novelist H.P. Lovecraft's kooky-wooky Who-really-rules-the-universe philosophies, the computerized capabilities of Industrial Light & Magic, and Carpenter's own, greater thriller-movie successes.” In his review for the San Francisco Chronicle, Mick LaSalle wrote, “In the end the most interesting thing about In the Mouth of Madness is its weird relationship with itself – its cheesy horror celebrating the power of cheesy horror, while pretending to be appalled.”

In the Mouth of Madness cleverly comments on itself as it plays around with notions of what is real and what is fiction, often blurring the line that separates the two. Carpenter is obviously having fun with the notion that conservative watchdog groups would have you believe that certain horror films and books are evil, promote wicked behavior and have a corrupting influence on their audience. They also believe that some of the artists that work in the genre must also be bad or how else could they conjure up such horrors? It would be so easy for them if there were more artists that acted like the deliciously evil Cane. Fortunately, it’s not that easy and good horror holds up a mirror to our society. It shows us its dark, primal side, albeit from a safe distance.
After the career low of Memoirs of an Invisible Man, Carpenter bounced back with In the Mouth of Madness and demonstrated that with the right material, he could still deliver a smart and entertaining horror film. Since this one, none of the scripts he’s worked with have been as good but fans of his still hold out hope that he’s got at least one great film left in him. As it stands, Mouth of Madness is a fitting conclusion to his informal Apocalypse trilogy that also includes The Thing (1982) and Prince of Darkness. These films all feature protagonists that must prevent the end of the world with varying degrees of success and at considerable cost to themselves. Mouth of Madness is no different as we are left with Trent laughing crazily at a film version of the misadventures he’s just been through while the world outside has gone to hell in a hand basket.
SOURCES
Boulenger, Gilles. John Carpenter: Prince of Darkness.
Silman-James Press. 2003.
Williams, David E. “Memoirs
of Madness.” Sci-Fi Universe.
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