Editorials
‘Funny Games’ vs. ‘Funny Games’ – One of the Most Curious Remake Experiments of Them All
Watching two Michael Haneke features back-to-back doesn’t sound all that outrageous, right? What if they’re Funny Games (1997) and Funny Games (2007)? You start with one of the more disturbing flicks in Criterion’s closet, then immediately follow it with an American shot-for-shot remake that relives the same nightmare. My inner masochist couldn’t skip on tackling one of the stranger entries into Revenge of the Remakes, as two equally competent home invasion thrillers played out like a case of knife-twisting déjà vu.
Haneke jumped at the chance to make an American version of his Austrian commentary on the media’s exploitation of violence. Why wouldn’t he? A proud filmmaker saw an opportunity to help his bundle of anti-joy reach a wider audience, only made more relevant by the popularized 2000s period in horror history with “torture porn” leading the charge. Although, does shooting the exact storyboards like they’d been shipped overseas classify as a good remake? Haneke’s involvement is the trump card, because we’ve all seen what happens when a lesser filmmaker takes someone else’s script and creates something inferior (cough cough Cabin Fever cough cough).
The Approach
‘Funny Games’ (1997)
It’s the same. From the overhead highway opener to the closing hold on a deviant murderer staring back at the camera as a freeze frame. Avant-garde musical rebels Naked City get to hear their song “Bonehead” reused over the credits. There’s so little altered outside maybe how many pounds of steak are thawed (“three” versus “four,” curse our American greed)? Otherwise, Haneke doesn’t see any weakness in his wall-breaking narrative. Bless a filmmaker with the confidence not to question a single choice they once made, essentially insisting a movie so stupendous doesn’t require second guesses.
The queen of American horror remakes Naomi Watts and Tim Roth star as Ann and George Farber, doomed vacationers heading to their lake house with son Georgie (Devon Gearhart). Stepping in as the film’s vile torturers in snow-white collared shirts are Brady Corbet as Peter and Michael Pitt as Paul. If you’ve seen 1997’s original, you know what transpires because it’s copied and pasted like clip art. Peter and Paul ask the Farbers for eggs, their request turns out to be a ruse, and they spend the movie holding them hostage until a teased execution deadline. Before “Because you were home,” there was “Why not” — all we can do is voyeuristically watch as coincidental torment unfolds.
It’s a complex analysis because Funny Games goes against everything I believe about remakes. I’m always harping on filmmakers to find their voice while paying respect to someone else’s source material — but that’s not Haneke’s objective. It’s said that Funny Games (1997) might have been intended to be an English film from the start, then thwarted by budgetary issues. Funny Games (2007) allowed Haneke a second chance to see his first intentions become a reality, using the same blocking, frame selections, and props where possible. Haneke agrees that if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it — down to a hungry dog trying to raid an open refrigerator.
Does It Work?
‘Funny Games’ (2007)
As an identical sibling film born a decade later? Yes, Funny Games (2007) is a well-acted psychopath’s getaway that generates all the same icky-awful feelings as Funny Games (1997). Haneke speaks directly to American audiences through Paul, keeping the metatextual commentaries about how we’re participants in the violence on screen. Everything about Funny Games (1997) works in Funny Games (2007) because Haneke chooses a path of meticulous replication. As a standalone, Funny Games (2007) successfully duplicates the agony, dismay, and delirium that stems from a movie that boasts its bleakness like a hole-in-one.
As a remake, Funny Games (2007) feels like a redundant experience for those who’ve already seen Hanake’s foreign-language shocker. There’s nothing to analyze beyond performances and dog breeds when watched in tandem, which becomes a question of tastes. Chances are, whichever you watch first will be your favorite because the following film will feel like cycling through repetitively morbid motions. Haneke cannibalizes his own market by trying to expand the story’s reach, which is still the right move considering how many Americans won’t “ruin” their movie experiences with subtitles.
Can you sense the conflict swirling in my head like a cyclone? Usually, I’d have all these comparison points about changes that either misrepresent or improve between sources and remakes — but Haneke does his damndest to leave no pebble out of place. Production took place mainly in Long Island, New York, which barely gives the “update” more of a wealthy American hideaway atmosphere. Still, besides some new driveway layouts and other minimal architectural differences, Haneke stays militant in his recreation. It works as an American version of an Austrian sensation that doesn’t skip a beat but feels needless if watched immediately after the original because there are no profound exploratory possibilities between either edition.
The Result
‘Funny Games’ (2007)
Funny Games (2007) is Haneke doing what he does best — again. Darius Khondji’s cinematography is merely crisper while reshooting the same angles with presumably better cameras (90s vs. 00s technology). It’s easier for English-language audiences to embrace a narrative without subtitles, but dialogue is nearly uttered word-for-word. Haneke avoids a situation like [REC] vs. Quarantine where Americanization fails the translation of international horror to stateside theaters, but possibly creates a new one that will frustrate fans of his first Funny Games ten years prior.
Performances from the English-language cast are the one aspect that helps set Haneke’s despicable exploitation apart and offer slim variations. Roth’s George isn’t a vocal screamer like Ulrich Mühe’s Georg Schober, bringing a broken quietness most appreciated after the whole sandwich-making distraction reveals its outcome. Watts matches Susanne Lothar’s Anna Schober, whether frustration or panic, paying homage to the original’s actress with chameleon abilities. Then there’s Corbet and Pitt finding more of a temperate threat level against original villain actors Arno Frisch and Frank Giering, likely to be welcomed into a residence due to their All-American appeal. Although, Pitt doesn’t play as coy when he talks into the camera during the fourth wall breaks, which has a fraction less fun with the twist — only super noticeable when compared side by side.
Neither is better. Both are successful as analytical presentations of violence to draw attention to our society’s sickest viewing habits. Both families endure the same unspeakable trauma, yet actors find borderline microscopic ways to make their performances their own. Haneke keeps the essence of his narrative pure in both versions, showing no desire to question his authority on the topic. The result is a rather impressive mimicry, for better and worse depending on your experience watching one Funny Games, or both, and how spaced apart you set your viewings.
The Lesson
‘Funny Games’ (2007)
I feel like I’m J.K. Simmons in Burn After Reading. “What did we learn here, Palmer? I don’t fuckin’ know either.” Month after month, I ramble on about how the best remakes manifest respectful reinvention. The point of a remake shouldn’t be to duplicate — and yet Haneke does just that for understandable reasons. Should more forgiveness be issued because the same filmmaker can cash in on an expanded market take that gives him access to new audiences? Again, “I don’t fuckin’ know either.” All I do know is Funny Games (2007) breaks my usual rules, and while it’s a worthless double-bill, isn’t wrong for its approach?
So what did we learn?
● Michael Haneke took full advantage of a situation few international filmmakers are given.
● Rules are meant to be broken every once in a blue moon, and Funny Games (2007) is a rare positive example of remake mimicry.
● Violent commentary against the media is unsettling in any language.
● You don’t have to teach an old dog new tricks.
Heed my warning and never watch both Funny Games movies in a row. It takes hardcore masochism to endure Funny Games (1997) and immediately chase that with the same nerve-shredding repugnance like you’ve just hit “Play Again.” There’s no reward for watching both, just a double-dip that’s oddly infuriating as the same events repeat in English. It’s the most curious experiment I’ve conducted here on Revenge of the Remakes (to date) because even the Cabin Fever ditto showcase a transparent quality dropoff. I’m baffled, annoyed, and enamored by Haneke’s ability to reshoot that same flippin’ movie, which I’ll never watch together again, but wholly defend as separate entities.
In Revenge of the Remakes, columnist Matt Donato takes us on a journey through the world of horror remakes. We all complain about Hollywood’s lack of originality whenever studios announce new remakes, reboots, and reimaginings, but the reality? Far more positive examples of refurbished classics and updated legacies exist than you’re willing to remember (or admit). The good, the bad, the unnecessary – Matt’s recounting them all.
College kids, strippers and vampires—those were Donald P. Borchers’ only requirements when he approached Richard Wenk about writing and directing a movie for New World Pictures. As requested, Wenk cooked up Vamp (1986), a tailor-made blend of the decade’s teen movie craze as well as its horror boom.
Grim and earnest stories were still very much a part of the ’80s horror landscape, yet Vamp is something of a comedy. One difference between it and, say, Saturday the 14th, though, is the former avoids using schtick. Wenk’s movie proves that horror comedies also don’t have to subtract thrills from their recipes. Of course, it takes a minute before reaching that point; college antics and culture shocks preface this one macabre misadventure.
Vamp‘s initial setup is apt for a typical college-set, sex-driven comedy; to bribe their way into a fraternity house, two pledges (Chris Makepeace, Robert Rusler) go looking for some adult entertainment. Without wasting time on any further exposition, the characters embark on an all-in-one-night trip that quickly detours into terror.
To procure their elusive MacGuffin—a stripper willing to gyrate for some frat boys—Keith (Makepeace) and AJ (Rusler), plus a third wheel named Duncan (Gedee Watanabe), trade the safety of their remote college campus for the seediness of some unnamed city. The setting is recognizably L.A. by day, but as soon as night falls, downtown, along with the characters, slips into a kind of surreal universe. Director of photography Elliot Davis gave this early entry on his prolific résumé an unusual yet distinctive look; that Mario Bava-esque, magenta-green lighting is omnipresent, so much so that it’s almost its own character.
Chris Makepeace and Robert Rusler in Vamp
The faint comparisons to Martin Scorsese’s After Hours are merited, although not just because of Vamp’s distinguishing nighttime aesthetic. Save for the primary characters, the supporting roles in Wenk’s movie are also quite colorful and transactional in their behavior. The difference here, though, is the additional urge to ruin Keith and his friends at every turn. Some of that harm is humorous and tolerable enough, whereas the moment Vamp dishes out its first fatality, it’s abundantly clear how this movie qualifies as horror.
Vamp falls into that category of horror movie that reveals its genre with a scream rather than a series of whispers. The opening scene can function as a hint of what lies ahead—things are not at all what they appear to be—but otherwise, Wenk is more than happy to hold off on the horror. When that time does come, though, it catches the viewer off guard. In addition to the pure shock value is that sudden decision to upend the movie’s foremost feature. Or so it would seem.
If afraid of major spoilage, those new to Vamp would be wise to stop reading here. There’s just no skirting around the fact that the central fellowship in this buddy movie hits a serious snag when AJ is killed. That development causes the story to become more of a “long, bad night” journey for Keith and his romantic interest. So while Wenk scores points for subverting expectations, there is also a touch of sadness in his decision. Because if Vamp does anything well, it’s making the characters likable.
Something that comes easily to Vamp—and other teen horror movies from this same era—is its ability to invent young characters worth caring about, or at the very least, are interesting and not so immediately off-putting. More impressive is how Wenk did all this without actually fleshing out those characters. Still and all, Keith and his kind are a grade above cookie-cutter, and in some cases, aren’t completely devoid of growth.
Grace Jones in Vamp
Vamp appeals with an assorted cast of characters. No two are the same, nor are they operating on the same wavelength. The cinematically extroverted AJ, whose actor conveyed charm and vulnerability in near equal amounts, comes alive when he’s at his most undead. Makepeace then makes the chronically cautious Keith a sympathetic fellow, even as he’s more and more affected by the night’s bizarre events. Meanwhile, Duncan is indeed the designated loser of the whole bunch, but Watanabe still manages to humanize him. As a bonus, the role didn’t require him to pull a Long Duk Dong.
As for Dedee Pfeiffer, she is plain adorable as the mysterious After Dark server nicknamed “Amaretto”. She spends all night fixing her dress strap while at the same time trying to get Keith to remember how he knows her. As their offbeat romance grows, it becomes another highlight of this movie. Whether or not Pfeiffer’s character is really a vampire also creates some welcome tension in the story.
Like a lot of its contemporaries, Vamp went on to become a bit of a cult classic. That current status is determined by several factors, but without a doubt, the casting of Grace Jones is the most considerable. The image of her writhing on that unique-looking chair, a Keith Haring original, springs to mind whenever this movie is brought up.
Chris Makepeace, Billy Drago and Paunita Nichols in Vamp
Prior to that first display of unequivocal horror, local vampire queen Katrina (Jones) took to the stage and delivered a strip show like no other. One would expect nothing less from that renowned model and performance artist. By now reports of Jones’ tardiness on set are no secret, yet it’s also hard to deny her commitment to the part of Katrina. It was, in fact, Jones who took charge of her character’s appearance—on top of Haring painting her body and that now-iconic chair, she had Andy Warhol handle her costuming. And not too many actors could seize a room’s attention without saying a single line of dialogue.
In 2022, Vamp received a retrospective novelization from Encyclopocalypse. This literary union of preexisting source material—Wenk’s original screenplay—and new ideas from author Christian Francis amounts to a more comprehensive visit to the After Dark Club. The basic story there is no different than what’s shown on screen; however, Francis gets creative with the characters’ origins and designs, and he enhances a number of key scenes.
The novelization expands on the urban and social decay of the main setting, and supplies a background for the After Dark Club. Sandy Baron’s character, Katrina’s emcee and familiar, is given ample motivation for sticking around; up until the fiery end, he is loyal to his friend and former business partner “Squeak”, who looks like he was “fed through a combine harvester, and left as nothing more than a heap of mangled remains”. Then there is Billy Drago’s character Snow, the leader of a street gang called The Dragons. His reason for menacing Keith and AJ is more altruistic than in the movie; he and his peers act tough to scare off any potential food for the vampires.
Lisa Lyon in Vamp
If not for all the backstories, Francis’ Vamp would be a hell of a lot shorter. Instead, this tie-in read dives into how AJ met Keith—the orphaned Anthony Joseph hailed from a broken home back in Brooklyn—and how their friendship flourished over the years. Keith’s archership is no longer just an assumed part of his entire being; it’s a confidence-building extracurricular for a boy who got picked on before coming into the protection of the new kid in town. These supplemental, in-depth looks at the protagonists, plus their close connection, are maybe unnecessary. The movie already did a fair and concise job of addressing their platonic intimacy without the need for flashbacks and insights, specifically in that scene where AJ lays it all out as he sacrifices himself.
Where the novelization gets off course is its approach to the minor characters. Intermittently backstorying the likes of Katrina’s indentured servants, Seko (Leila Hee Olsen) and Vlad (Brad Logan), ends up disturbing the flow of the writing. Was it absolutely essential that readers know Vlad was the Grand Duke of the House of Romanov, or how Snow’s accomplice Maven (Paunita Nichols) became so dentally challenged? No, not really. However, one’s mileage with these random biographies may vary.
The novelization is a more substantial experience, but for a movie like Vamp, less is more. And as plentiful as they are, it never simply coasts on its campy charms, either. The character work sits comfortably in that realm between cursory and meticulous, the script is sharper than first realized, and Greg Cannom’s vampire makeup is straightforward yet effective. Most of all, the movie didn’t squander its out-of-the-box concept. Richard Wenk made his vision of a “comic nightmare in which just about anything that can go wrong does” come true, and it is very enjoyable.
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