A sampling of song lyrics from "Dreamgirls":
We are family
like a giant tree
branching out toward the sky
I'm sorry, but that's f*cking awful. "We are family, like a giant tree?" Seriously? And keep in mind, this is an in-story song, not part of a performance, which occurs at a pivotal moment with essentially the entire main cast circling one another, somberly intoning these inane, syrupy lyrics like some kind of holy scripture. Oh, and whenever the lyrics get to an "e" sound, everyone takes turns stretching it out in that loud, show-offy throw-my-voice-all-over-the-grid-to-prove-what-amazing-range-I-have fashion.
Eggh, what a frustrating movie...
"Dreamgirls" is one of those based-0n-a-Broadway-classic movies that you're only supposed to critique in terms of the skill of the adaptation and the visual work. The dialogue, the characters, the lyrics, the MEAT of the thing... you "can't" criticize that, because the original stage version won a mess of Tonys back in the day, and it's been pre-enshrined as "great." Fooey! No, I haven't seen "Dreamgirls" the play before seeing the movie, but I know melodramatic fluff when I see it and if the play boasts the same trite, hammy dialogue and obvious, cheeseball lyrics then it's likely not all that good, either.
The story, just so we're clear, is a roman a clef biopic of "The Supremes" and, by proxy, Diana Ross, Berry Gordy and the Motown musical phenomenon. "The Dreams" are a black female singing trio who get they're big break when ambitious would-be manager/producer Curtis Taylor Jr. (Jamie Foxx in the Not Berry Gordy role) drafts them as backup singers to flamboyant R&B artist James "Thunder" Early (Eddie Murphy in a sensational, show-stealing James Brown/Marvin Gaye riff) in the early 1960s. Fame soon has them touring as an act unto themselves, the cash-cow of Taylor's Motown-esque "Rainbow Records" label.
Frustrated by the reality that "black music" can't become mainstream until it's appropriated and re-sung by white artists, Taylor masterminds a break into the charts by loosening the "soul" of the music and re-tooling his artists as friendly, non-threatening pop acts. A key part of his master plan is a lineup-change in "The Dreams": moving "full-figured" soul-belting lead Effie White (Jennifer Hudson, late of the national embarassment known as "American Idol") to backup and putting slender, fair-featured Deena Jones (Beyonce Knowles as Not Diana Ross) into the lead. It works, as everyone gets rich and Deena becomes a megastar, but this and other events soon spiral into blah, blah, blah... ...and everyone learns a valuable lesson about being true to yourself.
The movie is predictable, plain and simple, and as a result no amount of musical heart-pouring or directorial flourish can keep it from being a crushingly dull exercise. Even if you don't know thing one about the history of Motown, you can pretty-much chart the entire story's progress from the first scene where we see the girls together and Effie complains about wearing a wig because "store-bought hair AIN'T natural!" You know what her arc is, and what the arc of the movie will be, and what everyone will have to learn. Everyone is a broad archetype, a caricature in a larger-than-life Gospel According To Oprah morality play ruminating on it's First and Second Commandments: Thou Shalt Keepeth It Real! and Thou Shalt GO, Girl!
The movie's heart is in the right place, and it's not that these messages aren't worth repeating.. it's just so blunt and shallow about it. Being true to yourself is important. Selling out is bad. Power corrupts. Some things are more important than money. Already knew all that? Well, too bad, because the film doesn't have any depth beyond those fortune cookie nuggets right there. It's not BAD, in the direct sense, it's just not much of anything. I didn't care.
The musical numbers, ironically the most difficult part of adapting a musical to the screen, are a mixed bag. Most of the songs are trite, though earnestly performed, and the ones that don't occur in the context of a performance or recording session all come off weird and forced: It doesn't happen enough, so when the characters "in-story" break into song it comes off jarring, silly and yanks one right out of the story. Say what you will about "Phantom of The Opera," but this is why they sing almost every damn word they say in it, so they won't have this problem. Jennifer Hudson's fearsome performance of "I'm Telling You" is, as you've heard, a showstopping and potentially starmaking moment... but it's just that, a moment, an isolated vignette that barely registers as part of a fractured, narratively incohesive film.
The highlights, where they are, are in the acting department. Hudson is a genuine talent and a terrific singer, though she tends to overact here in a manner that (to me) suggests poor direction than poor acting decisions on her part (memo to the filmmakers: We get it. Effie is a Proud Black Woman. WE GET IT. It is overkill to have her delivering every major "big" line swinging her head around like it's mounted on a spring. That's caricature, and it doesn't work.) Foxx is basically doing a Mephistopholean upgrade on his slick huckster bit from the "Booty Call" era, but it works. Danny Glover shines in a small but important role. But for me, the turn to celebrate comes from Eddie Murphy, giving probably his finest performance in a decade or more imbuing "Thunder" Early with great sympathy, energy and power. It's a fantastic "I'm still here and I still matter!" job from him, and my interest in the story leaves whenever he does, period.
Beyonce'... look, I'm sorry, but this is the final proof: She's not even a good actress when she's essentially PLAYING BEYONCE' KNOWLES. Can we please stick a fork in this doomed attempt to turn her into a movie star, already? She's pretty, she can sing, can we let that be enough, please?
I tried real hard to find a way to like this, and I just don't. At best, I can't completely despise any film that theorizes the invention of Disco as an apocalyptic event, but that's all. That this is already being talked up as a serious Oscar contender, and even a likely winner, is depressing but not at all surprising: It's a safe, shallow, utterly un-challenging bluehair-approved showpeice with ham-handed writing and sledgehammer-delivered moralizing.
Oh, well.
FINAL RATING: 4/10
Saturday 30 December 2006
Friday 29 December 2006
HOLIDAY CAPSULE REVIEWS
Okay, so... busy time of year for me. Really busy. Too busy to do big on-time relevant reviews, and for some at this point there wouldn't be a point. So, here's some quick-takes:
BLACK CHRISTMAS (2006)
It can't touch the genre-defining original, a classic sadly forgotten as the film that "loaded the bases" for "Halloween," by this remake at least gets credit for going all-the-way with the ramped-up tastelessness and secular blasphemy promised by the title and premise. Gore, blood and scantily-clad babeage abound, sure; but the film also piles on psychopathic backstories, child-abuse, seedy love-triangle twists, incest and kills that seem to have been thought up by walking through the Holiday department of a Craft Store and asking "how can we kill someone with that? Or that? Or one of those." Kind of like a glossier, shinier Troma offering.
THE PURSUIT OF HAPPYNESS
What a wonderful, modest, sincere little movie. It'd be so easy to turn the true story of a man who, literally, will-powers his way from homelessness to stockbroker wealth all while keeping his young son safe and secure during the hard times into treacly, over-sentimental Oscar bait... but this film avoids the easy route and trusts it's fate to a mezmerizingly genuine performance by Will Smith, who WILL snag an Academy nomination even without the bait. Happily, the film is entirely self-contained: There's no messageering, no partisan snidery about class and economics one way or the other, it even entirely sidesteps all issues of race. A treat.
NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM
Some movies just happen in the wrong era. "Night at The Musuem" ought to have occured as a Disney vehicle in the early-1960s, and it ought to have been Don Knotts stuck in a magic History Museum who's exhibits come to life at night. Instead, it's 2006 and Ben Stiller is the one taking the pratfalls, but it's cute anyway. Stiller knows enough to hang back, play it cool and let the FX and stuntmen do their work, and what a nice surprise to see Robin Williams opt to underplay it as Teddy Roosevelt. A fairly nifty twist is kept mostly in check, as well, thanks to a canny bit of casting.
ROCKY BALBOA
I liked it. A nice, slow-burn drama working off beats it's maker knows like the layout of his own bedroom. Stallone gives Rocky as proper sendoff that's uplifting, exciting and moving without being treacly, goofy or preachy.
BLACK CHRISTMAS (2006)
It can't touch the genre-defining original, a classic sadly forgotten as the film that "loaded the bases" for "Halloween," by this remake at least gets credit for going all-the-way with the ramped-up tastelessness and secular blasphemy promised by the title and premise. Gore, blood and scantily-clad babeage abound, sure; but the film also piles on psychopathic backstories, child-abuse, seedy love-triangle twists, incest and kills that seem to have been thought up by walking through the Holiday department of a Craft Store and asking "how can we kill someone with that? Or that? Or one of those." Kind of like a glossier, shinier Troma offering.
THE PURSUIT OF HAPPYNESS
What a wonderful, modest, sincere little movie. It'd be so easy to turn the true story of a man who, literally, will-powers his way from homelessness to stockbroker wealth all while keeping his young son safe and secure during the hard times into treacly, over-sentimental Oscar bait... but this film avoids the easy route and trusts it's fate to a mezmerizingly genuine performance by Will Smith, who WILL snag an Academy nomination even without the bait. Happily, the film is entirely self-contained: There's no messageering, no partisan snidery about class and economics one way or the other, it even entirely sidesteps all issues of race. A treat.
NIGHT AT THE MUSEUM
Some movies just happen in the wrong era. "Night at The Musuem" ought to have occured as a Disney vehicle in the early-1960s, and it ought to have been Don Knotts stuck in a magic History Museum who's exhibits come to life at night. Instead, it's 2006 and Ben Stiller is the one taking the pratfalls, but it's cute anyway. Stiller knows enough to hang back, play it cool and let the FX and stuntmen do their work, and what a nice surprise to see Robin Williams opt to underplay it as Teddy Roosevelt. A fairly nifty twist is kept mostly in check, as well, thanks to a canny bit of casting.
ROCKY BALBOA
I liked it. A nice, slow-burn drama working off beats it's maker knows like the layout of his own bedroom. Stallone gives Rocky as proper sendoff that's uplifting, exciting and moving without being treacly, goofy or preachy.
Wednesday 20 December 2006
"Bionicle" movie looking awesome!!!
Check it out, folks! Yahoo has the new teaser-trailer for Michael Bay's megabudget, July 4th opening movie adaptation of the popular Lego toy franchise, "Bionicle," an action-adventure series following the heroics exploits of spindly, bug-eyed, improbably-skeletal robots. Tyrese Gibson and Shia LeBouf have the "human" lead roles.WOW! That's what I call an action-movie teaser! I'm pumped! Nobody but nobody uses the men and machinery United States Armed Forces as props better than Michael Bay, and check out that visual scheme: Magic-hour shooting? Sunset-colored filters?? Dramatic lens flare??? THAT, my friends, is the kind of daring, novel re-invention that makes Bay one of our most innovative, completely unpredictable directorial talents today.
Now, I know what some of you are thinking: "The robots look stupid." And to the non-fan, yeah... they do. But you've gotta understand, they're supposed to look like that! Big and spindly and oddly-proportioned, with zero in the way of remotely-believable physical weight. And yes, they're even supposed to look like their made of a billion random little peices that you could smash to bits with just a damn baseball bat; I mean, they're made out of Lego! And didjya notice...
...wait, what?
...
This is supposed to be the TRANSFORMERS movie!??
Um... oh.
Shit.
REVIEW: Eragon
Let's be clear about one thing: The critical drubbing "Eragon," a studiously average teen-targeted action movie, has taken has (likely) more to do with it's genre than it's own merits, or lack there of. The mainstream critical press, by-and-large, has always looked, looks now and will continue to look down it's collective nose at the fantasy genre. The unprecedented undeniability of excellence in three successive genre-franchises, "Lord of The Rings," "Harry Potter," "Narnia," have made some converts and drawn largely grudging respect from more, but make no mistake: As a composite-being, The Critical Press is still wholeheartedly in agreement with Hugo Dyson's famously to-the-point "LOTR" critique: "Not another f*cking elf!" They've waited patiently for a weaker genre offering to emerge so that they can vent their simmering distaste, and now with "Eragon" the knives are out.
This isn't to say that "Eragon," a semi-loose adaptation of a novel primarily famous because author Christopher Paolini was only 17 when he wrote it, ought not be criticized. It should be. It's not a great film, and in spots it's downright lackluster. The script is dumbed-down, shallow and frequently lazy. The characters are, for the most part, thinly-sketched, and it resembles other better films FAR too closely. In other words, it has all the same problems as any other average, unspectacular film. It's just okay. It's not a keeper. But for me, here's the bottom line: Between a so-so movie with a dragon and a so-so movie without a dragon, with-a-dragon will win every time. And "Eragon" has a pretty kickass dragon, a statement which summarizes both the strengths and general plot of the movie.
Eragon, for the record, is our main character: A poor boy living on a farm with his uncle who dreams of joining the rebellion against the tyranical overlord oppressing his far-flung fantasy world, soon to realize that he is heir to an ancient but recently-decimated order of supernaturally-powered heroes, in this case magic-using "Dragonriders." And if that sounds a little familiar, it get's better: He'll need the aid of a wise elder teacher (Jeremy Irons) who was also a Dragonrider, who has personal history with the evil overlord (John Malkovich) the great betrayer and destroyer of the Dragonriders. You'll also find a rebel base, a semi-butch action-heroine princess and a pre-finale side-trip to rescue said damsel from the baddie's fortress.
So, yes, it's a little bit like "Star Wars." Okay, it's exactly like "Star Wars." Annoyingly-so, even, though the idealist in me mostly wants to give Paolini and his adapters the benefit of the doubt, and presume that this is more a case of Joseph Campbell being right once again than outright semi-plagiarism. Though it must be said that the shot of Eragon looking longingly up at that sunset makes it really difficult to do so...
The film lives and dies by it's dragon, Saphira, an (interestingly) female beastie that probably represents the best live-action realization of it's species since at least "Dragonslayer." The action scenes featuring Saphira in flight are the highlight of the show, and she gets all the snappiest dialogue (with the voice of Rachel Weisz, no less) via ESP voiceover. The slightly "off" relationship between Eragon and his steed is, in fact, the most interesting thing going on, though the film is either blind-to (or unwilling to explore) how just-this-side-of-creepy it veers with what what is, in the broader strokes, an unusually close relationship between a decidedly young man and what amounts to a more worldly, willful but ultimately-submissive older woman. Or maybe it's just me being an easy mark for any scenario where in Rachel Weisz continually demands to be ridden...
I don't know if this story gets any better in the (promised) next-installment, but for now what we have is a so-so, not-bad genre effort. No prizes for originality, but the dragon scenes are fun and Robert Carlyle seems to be enjoying himself as a waaaaay over the top vampire-like evil wizard. Not bad, not great, moving on.
FINAL RATING: 6/10
This isn't to say that "Eragon," a semi-loose adaptation of a novel primarily famous because author Christopher Paolini was only 17 when he wrote it, ought not be criticized. It should be. It's not a great film, and in spots it's downright lackluster. The script is dumbed-down, shallow and frequently lazy. The characters are, for the most part, thinly-sketched, and it resembles other better films FAR too closely. In other words, it has all the same problems as any other average, unspectacular film. It's just okay. It's not a keeper. But for me, here's the bottom line: Between a so-so movie with a dragon and a so-so movie without a dragon, with-a-dragon will win every time. And "Eragon" has a pretty kickass dragon, a statement which summarizes both the strengths and general plot of the movie.
Eragon, for the record, is our main character: A poor boy living on a farm with his uncle who dreams of joining the rebellion against the tyranical overlord oppressing his far-flung fantasy world, soon to realize that he is heir to an ancient but recently-decimated order of supernaturally-powered heroes, in this case magic-using "Dragonriders." And if that sounds a little familiar, it get's better: He'll need the aid of a wise elder teacher (Jeremy Irons) who was also a Dragonrider, who has personal history with the evil overlord (John Malkovich) the great betrayer and destroyer of the Dragonriders. You'll also find a rebel base, a semi-butch action-heroine princess and a pre-finale side-trip to rescue said damsel from the baddie's fortress.
So, yes, it's a little bit like "Star Wars." Okay, it's exactly like "Star Wars." Annoyingly-so, even, though the idealist in me mostly wants to give Paolini and his adapters the benefit of the doubt, and presume that this is more a case of Joseph Campbell being right once again than outright semi-plagiarism. Though it must be said that the shot of Eragon looking longingly up at that sunset makes it really difficult to do so...
The film lives and dies by it's dragon, Saphira, an (interestingly) female beastie that probably represents the best live-action realization of it's species since at least "Dragonslayer." The action scenes featuring Saphira in flight are the highlight of the show, and she gets all the snappiest dialogue (with the voice of Rachel Weisz, no less) via ESP voiceover. The slightly "off" relationship between Eragon and his steed is, in fact, the most interesting thing going on, though the film is either blind-to (or unwilling to explore) how just-this-side-of-creepy it veers with what what is, in the broader strokes, an unusually close relationship between a decidedly young man and what amounts to a more worldly, willful but ultimately-submissive older woman. Or maybe it's just me being an easy mark for any scenario where in Rachel Weisz continually demands to be ridden...
I don't know if this story gets any better in the (promised) next-installment, but for now what we have is a so-so, not-bad genre effort. No prizes for originality, but the dragon scenes are fun and Robert Carlyle seems to be enjoying himself as a waaaaay over the top vampire-like evil wizard. Not bad, not great, moving on.
FINAL RATING: 6/10
Thursday 14 December 2006
REVIEW: Apocalypto
WARNING: Since the film's trailers have been telling you almost nothing about the movie, for a change, this review can be considered positively loaded with SPOILERS. You have been warned.
When you get right down to it, Mel Gibson's "Apocalypto" is really just one more action/chase movie in which a single man makes mincemeat of an army of foes in order to (alternately) rescue and avenge the deaths of his friends and family, dressed up with subtitles and symbolism so that it may (partially) cross-dress as an experimental arthouse exercise. Imagine that Michael Bay has killed Werner Herzog, fashioned his skin into a suit and charged, shreiking, off into the wilderness and you'll have a pretty good idea what the result feels like: A schizophrenic hobgoblin of a movie that appears to have bound forth fully-formed from the diseased recesses of a dark and troubled mind, careening back and forth between the dreamlike state of a nightmare and the more familiar realm of rigid, lockstep genre formula as Gibson further refines the "Boy Versus The World" mythology he's been mining as an actor and director since we first met him as Mad Max all those years ago.
It's been said for quite some time that most, if not all, testosterone wish-fulfillment actioners function as love-letters to primitivism; their heroes so often successful only after embracing their inner cro-magnon. Recall "Die Hard's" John McClaine, streaked in blood and stripped of his shoes before he can confront the suit-clad Euro-foes. Recall John Rambo's retreat to the Forest Primeval to gain the edge of his better-armed pursuers in "First Blood." Recall that same John Rambo again in the sequel, rising camoflauged from the mud, shorn of clothing down to rags and a bare chest, taking down his enemies with weaponry which represents an entire epoch of pre-industrial human civilization... a bow and arrow.
"Apocalypto," in a way, represents an absolute boiling-down of this particular aspect of the genre's subtext; it's hero need not return to The Forest to recharge his heroic instincts, he's already there: Jaguar Paw (newcomer Rudy Youngblood) is a young husband and father in an unnamed hunter/gatherer tribe still living a peaceful Stone Age day-to-day existence despite their living (unknown to them) just on the outskirts of the advanced Mayan civilization during what is presumably sometime between the late 16th to 17th Century.
It's through this fascinating choice of setting that the story is able to continue it's overall merging of outward-otherworldliness with structural-formality: Amusingly, despite the filmmakers' gutsy achievement in crafting the first major motion picture set entirely among pre-Columbian Native American peoples in a Native American language, the film still manages to place it's characters in the same basic formula that Native American stories have been limited to for the last few decades: The clash of a good, Earth-centered, nature-connected tribal group (Jaguar Paw's people) and the evils of a corrupt, ecology-despoiling "advanced" civilization... the sole (but key) difference this time being that the Big Bad City-Dwellers are the also-native Mayans instead of the usual Europeans.
The Mayans sack the Peaceful Village of the good guys, snatch up Jaguar Paw and anyone left standing (JP has managed to hide his son and very pregnant wife in a rocky crevase, promising to retrieve them) and march them off to the Capitol City as sacrifices. They are, we learn, themselves ravaged by plauge and famine which, the film argues, are larger symptoms of a civilization rotting from within. Gibson dwells on the gory pagentry of the Mayans in a showpeice central scene of heart-ripping, head-hacking temple sacrifice. He lingers on the details of a field of corpses or the gatuitous (but undeniably awesome from a veteran-gorehound stanpoint) effects of stone-age axes, spears and arrows on the human skull with an eye that resembles no other filmmaker so much as Ruggero Deodato, the infamous Italian exploitationeer who's "Cannibal Holocaust"-era lost-in-the-jungle madness Gibson appears to have absorbed wholesale into his growing repetoire of personal psychosis. (And for those who thought that there was no possibility that even the maker of "The Passion of The Christ" could find a way slip a crucifix into a movie about the ancient Mayans, well... you'll just have to see.)
By astonishing coincidence (a phrase that can describe more than half of the big scenes in the film, just for the record) JP escapes this fate and beats feet back to the wife and kids with a platoon of Mayan Soldiers on his heels. the film holds so rigidly to formula and often outright-cliche that, were it to crop up to this degree in almost any other context it would be nearly unforgivable: Jaguar Paw's people are set-upon and ravaged by the Mayans in a scene that mimics almost beat-for-beat it's analouges in "Conan the Barbarian," Gibson's own turn in "The Patriot," and pretty much every other movie that has used this same opening to this same story before. There's the Pre-Setup Benign Tool That Later Becomes A Crucial Weapon from "Straw Dogs," the Hero Clasps Trinket Of Dead Or Endangered Loved One For Strength from "Rambo," the One Vine Above The Quicksand from, well, from every jungle movie ever made, there's the Leap Of Fate From The Waterfall from... take your pick, really. But here, perhaps, such adherence to the familiar is important: In a film with no recognizable stars, language or even terrain for the majority of it's prospective audience, the formula serves as both an anchor and a portal through which said audience can enter and find footing.
Less easy to forgive is the fact that it's 2nd act is, literally, a ludicrous succession of Deus Ex Machina escapes for Jaguar Paw, as he's aided in his flight from the Mayans by everything from a solar eclipse to a handily-placed viper to an actual Jaguar... all of these mounting coincidences "excused" earlier by... no, I'm not making this up... a plauge-ridden little girl who appears to the Mayans hissing a symbolist prophecy of impending doom. No, really, that's actually what happens.
Let it not be said that Gibson doesn't have an eye for detail: I'm no historian, but the costuming and occutraments of the Mayan bad guys look authentic as hell to me, as does the functionality of their lethally-ingenious weaponry. And the film has great fun (and invites us to join in) showing off the way Jaguar Paw turns his forest surroundings into one big arms cache; lobbing beehive "grenades" at his foes and snatching up a brightly-colored frog to assist him in quickly preparing some poison darts. My personal favorite: A brilliant application of ants in the suturing of a wound. By now, in addition, he's a well-learned stager of action scenes, giving what is essentially a prolonged foot-chase the kinetic thrills of a high-speed pursuit, and he knows how to turn a rain storm into a mini-armageddon in it's own right. And while I've seen more than enough movie moments where childbirth complicates an already-raging action scene, I doubt I've ever seen it quite like this.
Putting aside, as best one is able, all the hangups and obsessions of it's maker (be they the ones screamed at police officers or the ones evident in the filmmaking) "Apocalypto" is a one-of-a-kind animal, and that in and of itself qualifies it as something you should seek out. It's as brilliantly-realized a work of mad, hell-bent genius as you're likely to see this year; an action movie with the energy of a madman... crafted by a onetime action movie-star who just might be one himself. Whether or not continued exposure to the deeper and darker corners of the Mind of Mel will be, in the long term, a learning experience or an ordeal for The Cinema as a whole remains to be seen, but this time... THIS time... it's yeilded something genuinely worthy of study.
FINAL RATING: 8/10
When you get right down to it, Mel Gibson's "Apocalypto" is really just one more action/chase movie in which a single man makes mincemeat of an army of foes in order to (alternately) rescue and avenge the deaths of his friends and family, dressed up with subtitles and symbolism so that it may (partially) cross-dress as an experimental arthouse exercise. Imagine that Michael Bay has killed Werner Herzog, fashioned his skin into a suit and charged, shreiking, off into the wilderness and you'll have a pretty good idea what the result feels like: A schizophrenic hobgoblin of a movie that appears to have bound forth fully-formed from the diseased recesses of a dark and troubled mind, careening back and forth between the dreamlike state of a nightmare and the more familiar realm of rigid, lockstep genre formula as Gibson further refines the "Boy Versus The World" mythology he's been mining as an actor and director since we first met him as Mad Max all those years ago.
It's been said for quite some time that most, if not all, testosterone wish-fulfillment actioners function as love-letters to primitivism; their heroes so often successful only after embracing their inner cro-magnon. Recall "Die Hard's" John McClaine, streaked in blood and stripped of his shoes before he can confront the suit-clad Euro-foes. Recall John Rambo's retreat to the Forest Primeval to gain the edge of his better-armed pursuers in "First Blood." Recall that same John Rambo again in the sequel, rising camoflauged from the mud, shorn of clothing down to rags and a bare chest, taking down his enemies with weaponry which represents an entire epoch of pre-industrial human civilization... a bow and arrow.
"Apocalypto," in a way, represents an absolute boiling-down of this particular aspect of the genre's subtext; it's hero need not return to The Forest to recharge his heroic instincts, he's already there: Jaguar Paw (newcomer Rudy Youngblood) is a young husband and father in an unnamed hunter/gatherer tribe still living a peaceful Stone Age day-to-day existence despite their living (unknown to them) just on the outskirts of the advanced Mayan civilization during what is presumably sometime between the late 16th to 17th Century.
It's through this fascinating choice of setting that the story is able to continue it's overall merging of outward-otherworldliness with structural-formality: Amusingly, despite the filmmakers' gutsy achievement in crafting the first major motion picture set entirely among pre-Columbian Native American peoples in a Native American language, the film still manages to place it's characters in the same basic formula that Native American stories have been limited to for the last few decades: The clash of a good, Earth-centered, nature-connected tribal group (Jaguar Paw's people) and the evils of a corrupt, ecology-despoiling "advanced" civilization... the sole (but key) difference this time being that the Big Bad City-Dwellers are the also-native Mayans instead of the usual Europeans.
The Mayans sack the Peaceful Village of the good guys, snatch up Jaguar Paw and anyone left standing (JP has managed to hide his son and very pregnant wife in a rocky crevase, promising to retrieve them) and march them off to the Capitol City as sacrifices. They are, we learn, themselves ravaged by plauge and famine which, the film argues, are larger symptoms of a civilization rotting from within. Gibson dwells on the gory pagentry of the Mayans in a showpeice central scene of heart-ripping, head-hacking temple sacrifice. He lingers on the details of a field of corpses or the gatuitous (but undeniably awesome from a veteran-gorehound stanpoint) effects of stone-age axes, spears and arrows on the human skull with an eye that resembles no other filmmaker so much as Ruggero Deodato, the infamous Italian exploitationeer who's "Cannibal Holocaust"-era lost-in-the-jungle madness Gibson appears to have absorbed wholesale into his growing repetoire of personal psychosis. (And for those who thought that there was no possibility that even the maker of "The Passion of The Christ" could find a way slip a crucifix into a movie about the ancient Mayans, well... you'll just have to see.)
By astonishing coincidence (a phrase that can describe more than half of the big scenes in the film, just for the record) JP escapes this fate and beats feet back to the wife and kids with a platoon of Mayan Soldiers on his heels. the film holds so rigidly to formula and often outright-cliche that, were it to crop up to this degree in almost any other context it would be nearly unforgivable: Jaguar Paw's people are set-upon and ravaged by the Mayans in a scene that mimics almost beat-for-beat it's analouges in "Conan the Barbarian," Gibson's own turn in "The Patriot," and pretty much every other movie that has used this same opening to this same story before. There's the Pre-Setup Benign Tool That Later Becomes A Crucial Weapon from "Straw Dogs," the Hero Clasps Trinket Of Dead Or Endangered Loved One For Strength from "Rambo," the One Vine Above The Quicksand from, well, from every jungle movie ever made, there's the Leap Of Fate From The Waterfall from... take your pick, really. But here, perhaps, such adherence to the familiar is important: In a film with no recognizable stars, language or even terrain for the majority of it's prospective audience, the formula serves as both an anchor and a portal through which said audience can enter and find footing.
Less easy to forgive is the fact that it's 2nd act is, literally, a ludicrous succession of Deus Ex Machina escapes for Jaguar Paw, as he's aided in his flight from the Mayans by everything from a solar eclipse to a handily-placed viper to an actual Jaguar... all of these mounting coincidences "excused" earlier by... no, I'm not making this up... a plauge-ridden little girl who appears to the Mayans hissing a symbolist prophecy of impending doom. No, really, that's actually what happens.
Let it not be said that Gibson doesn't have an eye for detail: I'm no historian, but the costuming and occutraments of the Mayan bad guys look authentic as hell to me, as does the functionality of their lethally-ingenious weaponry. And the film has great fun (and invites us to join in) showing off the way Jaguar Paw turns his forest surroundings into one big arms cache; lobbing beehive "grenades" at his foes and snatching up a brightly-colored frog to assist him in quickly preparing some poison darts. My personal favorite: A brilliant application of ants in the suturing of a wound. By now, in addition, he's a well-learned stager of action scenes, giving what is essentially a prolonged foot-chase the kinetic thrills of a high-speed pursuit, and he knows how to turn a rain storm into a mini-armageddon in it's own right. And while I've seen more than enough movie moments where childbirth complicates an already-raging action scene, I doubt I've ever seen it quite like this.
Putting aside, as best one is able, all the hangups and obsessions of it's maker (be they the ones screamed at police officers or the ones evident in the filmmaking) "Apocalypto" is a one-of-a-kind animal, and that in and of itself qualifies it as something you should seek out. It's as brilliantly-realized a work of mad, hell-bent genius as you're likely to see this year; an action movie with the energy of a madman... crafted by a onetime action movie-star who just might be one himself. Whether or not continued exposure to the deeper and darker corners of the Mind of Mel will be, in the long term, a learning experience or an ordeal for The Cinema as a whole remains to be seen, but this time... THIS time... it's yeilded something genuinely worthy of study.
FINAL RATING: 8/10
Wednesday 13 December 2006
The BEST poster tagline of next year!
If there WAS a competition for such a title, it would already be over. With a hat-tip to AICN ( http://www.aintitcool.com/node/30961 ) here is the first teaser poster for Disney's August 07 slated live-action reworking of "Underdog":
"One Nation... Under Dog." YES! Perfect, perfect, perfect. Everything you want in a tagline: It's cute, it's clever, it's just dopey and eyeroll-inducing enough to permanently brand it into the brain of anyone who reads it. I'm literally smiling or outright laughing every damn time I read it. And it's the perfect compliment to the poster itself, both of them deftly capturing the promise of canine-themed ribbing of Superhero Movie bombast. As poster art goes, this thing is gorgeous, so perfectly evocative of the "Spider-Man"/"Superman Returns" key art design schematics that it actually takes the eye a crucial extra moment to realize that it's an adorable puppy-dog in a cape perched on that familiar-looking gargoyle instead of an angst-ridden costumed-vigilante.
I'll confess to having been extremely fond of re-runs of the cartoon, one of those gloriously bizzare dialogue-heavy mid-1960s network cartoon quickies, as a young'in, so it's a little "odd" at first that they're going the route of a "real" dog turned "super," though it does seem the only way to capture in live-action the odd concept of the show where Underdog is an anthropomorphic dog in a world of "normal" humans. And it's undeniable that the little fella IS too cute for words, overall a fitting remedy for the fact that Superman's dog Krypto will likely never see screentime in a live-action feature. I know it's unwise to trust that Disney will make something good out of this, but they did just produce one of the best superhero spoofs EVER in "Sky High," so you never know. Bottom line: A movie that actually delivered on what this poster promises would be friggin' awesome.
BTW, I agree with AICN's Merrick: Almost as awesome as that tagline is the prospect that, if this really is the final "hook" line for the movie, the "religious right" will pitch a fit over "mocking a reference to the Almighty." That's my kinda icing.
REVIEW: Blood Diamond
Let us now consider the Paradox of Edward Zwick. Zwick is a moderately-prolific filmmaker of great talent, who specializes in grandly-mounted sagas which also function as "issue" films. He is, demonstrably, so determined that the audience recieve the messages he aims to impart that he is willing to build expensive mass-appeal action/dramas around them. The paradox is as follows: Zwick's films are too often concerned TOO much with making the message as accesible to his primarily Western/European audience; to the extent that despite often being based in fascinating stories of African-American ("Glory,") Japanese ("The Last Samurai,") or African ("Blood Diamond") history, they twist and contort themselves into a gangly mess in order to spotlight a white/western hero.
"Blood Diamond," ostensibly an action thriller set amid the world of Seirra Leone "conflict diamond" (diamonds mined and sold to the West in order to finance guerrilla terrorist groups) smuggling in the 1990s, thusly becomes Zwick's latest well-intentioned exploration of a theme which can easily be summarized by paraphrasing Homer Simpson's thoughts on alcohol: "White people: The cause of AND solution to all of life's problems."
The ever-commanding Djimon Honsou technically drives the plot as a poor African fisherman shanghaied into mining the titular diamonds by a savage gang of terrorists. When he finds stone of incredible size and worth, he hides it and runs away, aiming to use his find as leverage to reunite his war-displaced family (including a son who has been brainwashed into the guerrilla's squad of "child soldiers.") But the film focuses it's "hero arc" and lead story on Leonardo DiCaprio as a South African mercenary turned diamond smuggler who offers to "help" Honsou, seeing a 50/50 split of the diamond as his ticket out of war-torn Africa. So determined is the film that DiCaprio remain at it's narrative focus that it provides him a love interest: Jennifer Connelly as, yes, a Crusading Journalist who (say it with me now) Is Looking For THE STORY To Make America Care.
So, yes, once again we have the troublesome case of a film which is technically superb and even rousing as an above-average action peice; but is so determined to Make. People. CARE. that it undermines it's own overall effect by embracing unnecessary familiarity and rigidly formulaic story beats. So, yes, just looking at what the film wants you to feel and the lineup of characters delivers an instant roadmap of every single thing that will happen. You know who will live, who will die, and what will transpire along the way. You'll know the precise plans and fates of our two villians, (one white, one black) and everything else that will occur over the course of the feature.
None of that, of course, is meant to suggest that "Blood Diamond" isn't a good film, it is. It's just not the GREAT one it could have been if it had put the focus where it belongs (on Honsou's character) and not been so committed to such a tired Issue Movie formula. There's great stuff in there, the highlights being the chilling scenes of the terrorist indoctrination used to create the Child Soldiers and Honsou's overdo chance at getting to do something at the arrival of the third act. The pace is tight, considering it's a fairly lengthy story, and Zwick remains a criminally underrated director of action.
One of these days, Zwick WILL top "Glory" and make the Movie of His Career, and it'll be the day he redisovers the desire to make the audience care as much about the MOVIE in equal proportion to the desire to make them care about the issue.
FINAL RATING: 7/10
"Blood Diamond," ostensibly an action thriller set amid the world of Seirra Leone "conflict diamond" (diamonds mined and sold to the West in order to finance guerrilla terrorist groups) smuggling in the 1990s, thusly becomes Zwick's latest well-intentioned exploration of a theme which can easily be summarized by paraphrasing Homer Simpson's thoughts on alcohol: "White people: The cause of AND solution to all of life's problems."
The ever-commanding Djimon Honsou technically drives the plot as a poor African fisherman shanghaied into mining the titular diamonds by a savage gang of terrorists. When he finds stone of incredible size and worth, he hides it and runs away, aiming to use his find as leverage to reunite his war-displaced family (including a son who has been brainwashed into the guerrilla's squad of "child soldiers.") But the film focuses it's "hero arc" and lead story on Leonardo DiCaprio as a South African mercenary turned diamond smuggler who offers to "help" Honsou, seeing a 50/50 split of the diamond as his ticket out of war-torn Africa. So determined is the film that DiCaprio remain at it's narrative focus that it provides him a love interest: Jennifer Connelly as, yes, a Crusading Journalist who (say it with me now) Is Looking For THE STORY To Make America Care.
So, yes, once again we have the troublesome case of a film which is technically superb and even rousing as an above-average action peice; but is so determined to Make. People. CARE. that it undermines it's own overall effect by embracing unnecessary familiarity and rigidly formulaic story beats. So, yes, just looking at what the film wants you to feel and the lineup of characters delivers an instant roadmap of every single thing that will happen. You know who will live, who will die, and what will transpire along the way. You'll know the precise plans and fates of our two villians, (one white, one black) and everything else that will occur over the course of the feature.
None of that, of course, is meant to suggest that "Blood Diamond" isn't a good film, it is. It's just not the GREAT one it could have been if it had put the focus where it belongs (on Honsou's character) and not been so committed to such a tired Issue Movie formula. There's great stuff in there, the highlights being the chilling scenes of the terrorist indoctrination used to create the Child Soldiers and Honsou's overdo chance at getting to do something at the arrival of the third act. The pace is tight, considering it's a fairly lengthy story, and Zwick remains a criminally underrated director of action.
One of these days, Zwick WILL top "Glory" and make the Movie of His Career, and it'll be the day he redisovers the desire to make the audience care as much about the MOVIE in equal proportion to the desire to make them care about the issue.
FINAL RATING: 7/10
Thursday 7 December 2006
PS3 Commercials...
My, by I'm sick of Sony's weirdo "Look! We watched a Naya Deren movie once!" PS3 commercials, and not just because they remind me of the similarly head-scratching 3DO ads from way back.
So I did something about it. Enjoy!
So I did something about it. Enjoy!
Monday 4 December 2006
REVIEW: The Nativity Story
NOTE: Look, we all know it's not possible, fair or honest to talk about this movie without at least a mention of "The Passion," so I'll get that detail out of the way first.
When "The Passion of The Christ" was breaking boxoffice records, there emerged two competing "explanations" for why a pornographically-violent Aramaic-language film was earning so much money. The first theory, trumpted by the film's fans and supporters, was that the massive B.O. take was evidence of a long-unslaked thirst for Christian entertainment from the American moviegoing public. The alternate theory, concluded by the film's detractors (myself included) was that the film was making most of it's money not based on it's actual "value" as a film but because of the "movement" behind it: That it's "fans" were buying tickets and talking it up not because of the film itself but because "supporting" it was touted in certain powerful circles as a method of "striking back" against, well... Democrats, "Liberals," Jews, Homosexuals and everyone else the power-brokers of the Fundies are convinced "run" the entertainment industry. (It will come as no surprise that "maybe it's a little of BOTH" was not generally considered a viable compromise by either side.)
Implicit in either theory is that the "proving" would have to wait until the NEXT wide-release Hollywood film with a devoutly Christian religious theme: If said film is a similar juggernaut, then there just might be something to the notion of "middle America" crying out for big-budget Bible movies; if it's not, well... then the theory that "Passion" was a phenomenon of marketing and politics, not filmmaking and spirituality, gains significantly more credence.
Fair or not, the first major Hollywood "Christian Film" post-"Passion" is Catherine Hardwicke's "The Nativity Story," and it has now opened in wide-release in the middle of the Christmas season... at 4th place. So, yeah... even taking into consideration a probable uptick in sales as the holiday approaches... it looks like "Passion' was a manufactured, politically-motivated exception" has the edge among the theories. Sigh. I hate being right sometimes, and this would be one of those times. Because "The Nativity Story" is a genuinely good, worthy film, and while it's all well and good to have this "see? The emperor is NAKED!" moment over "Triumph of The Mel," it's kind of sad that this film has to take the "hit" to bring it about.
"Nativity" concerns itself will the conception and birth of Christ, with the main arc of the story focused on Mary ("Whale Rider's" Keisha Castle Hughes,) here pictured in terms of (likely) historical accuracy as a teenaged girl coming of age in Nazareth; an impoverished rural community straining under the harsh rule of both Ceasar Augustus and Herod, the cunning but paranoid King of Jerusalem. Herod is deeply protective of his lavish lifestyle, the upkeep of which requires that he keep order on behalf of his Roman colonial superiors. The greatest threat to that order, in his eyes, is the mounting belief that the ancient Hebrew prophecy of the birth of a Messianic "New King" is soon at hand.
Soon after finding herself betrothed to the older (but good-hearted) Joseph, Mary gets a head's-up from the Angel Gabriel that she is to give Virgin Birth to said Messiah. This turns her into something of a local pariah among her devout village, but faith (and loyal support from her new Husband) helps them endure... until they recieve a greater test of being forced on a long journey to Bethlehem to register for census; a ploy of Herod's which coincides with the journey of three Magi ("Wise Men") who are following an astrological sign which they believe will lead them to the Messiah.
The film succeeds mightily both in being a solid, focused character drama while at the same managing a visual and structural synthesis of the general understandings and conceptions about the story. In plainer terms, the film perfectly captures the essential events, compositions and beats from the "everybody knows" version of the story while affording the characters room to become deeper than the porceline figures on Grandma's shelf this time of year.
Specifically, it gives greater nuance to Joseph, rendering him as a man compelled to do the right thing even when unsure or not able to understand what he's found himself involved in: In one terrific touch, the event of Gabriel reassuring Joseph of Mary's fidelity in a dream is presented as the angel interupting a nightmare in which Joseph imagines himself as part of a mob gathered to stone Mary for adultery; while a clever earlier scene affords the ubiquitous donkey an origin of it's own.
Also getting more dramatic attention than usual are Mary's elder cousin Elisabeth (Shoreh Agdashloo, late of "24" and "House of Sand and Fog,") and her husband Zachariah, portrayed as an older couple from whom Mary recieves basic lessons in the ways of parenthood. The oft-omitted subplot of Zachariah's temporary muting even makes an appearance, as no servicable Bible retelling can exist without at least one sequence of The Almighty being inexplicably "jerky."
The film finds a working visual balance between the traditional "nativity scene" renderings and the now-current go-to look of big-budget "ancient" and/or mystical films (it's best to just accept that "Lord of The Rings" is now the Rosetta Stone of such films for the forseeable future.) Special mention needs to be made of the score, which sublty blends the classical music and hymns generally associated with the story; listen close, you'll find the strains of "Emmanuel" and "O Holy Night" drifting in right where they ought to.
This is a terrific little movie, a well-made mini-epic superior in every way to "Passion" or most other recent religious films, period. It's bound to have more ressonance, of course, to Christians or others more immediately invested in the material, but for what it's worth it's a fine film and towards the end stirred some of my long-dormant memories of seeing/hearing this stuff told back when I was much younger and it all seemed much more involving; which I assure you is no small feat.
FINAL RATING: 8/10
When "The Passion of The Christ" was breaking boxoffice records, there emerged two competing "explanations" for why a pornographically-violent Aramaic-language film was earning so much money. The first theory, trumpted by the film's fans and supporters, was that the massive B.O. take was evidence of a long-unslaked thirst for Christian entertainment from the American moviegoing public. The alternate theory, concluded by the film's detractors (myself included) was that the film was making most of it's money not based on it's actual "value" as a film but because of the "movement" behind it: That it's "fans" were buying tickets and talking it up not because of the film itself but because "supporting" it was touted in certain powerful circles as a method of "striking back" against, well... Democrats, "Liberals," Jews, Homosexuals and everyone else the power-brokers of the Fundies are convinced "run" the entertainment industry. (It will come as no surprise that "maybe it's a little of BOTH" was not generally considered a viable compromise by either side.)
Implicit in either theory is that the "proving" would have to wait until the NEXT wide-release Hollywood film with a devoutly Christian religious theme: If said film is a similar juggernaut, then there just might be something to the notion of "middle America" crying out for big-budget Bible movies; if it's not, well... then the theory that "Passion" was a phenomenon of marketing and politics, not filmmaking and spirituality, gains significantly more credence.
Fair or not, the first major Hollywood "Christian Film" post-"Passion" is Catherine Hardwicke's "The Nativity Story," and it has now opened in wide-release in the middle of the Christmas season... at 4th place. So, yeah... even taking into consideration a probable uptick in sales as the holiday approaches... it looks like "Passion' was a manufactured, politically-motivated exception" has the edge among the theories. Sigh. I hate being right sometimes, and this would be one of those times. Because "The Nativity Story" is a genuinely good, worthy film, and while it's all well and good to have this "see? The emperor is NAKED!" moment over "Triumph of The Mel," it's kind of sad that this film has to take the "hit" to bring it about.
"Nativity" concerns itself will the conception and birth of Christ, with the main arc of the story focused on Mary ("Whale Rider's" Keisha Castle Hughes,) here pictured in terms of (likely) historical accuracy as a teenaged girl coming of age in Nazareth; an impoverished rural community straining under the harsh rule of both Ceasar Augustus and Herod, the cunning but paranoid King of Jerusalem. Herod is deeply protective of his lavish lifestyle, the upkeep of which requires that he keep order on behalf of his Roman colonial superiors. The greatest threat to that order, in his eyes, is the mounting belief that the ancient Hebrew prophecy of the birth of a Messianic "New King" is soon at hand.
Soon after finding herself betrothed to the older (but good-hearted) Joseph, Mary gets a head's-up from the Angel Gabriel that she is to give Virgin Birth to said Messiah. This turns her into something of a local pariah among her devout village, but faith (and loyal support from her new Husband) helps them endure... until they recieve a greater test of being forced on a long journey to Bethlehem to register for census; a ploy of Herod's which coincides with the journey of three Magi ("Wise Men") who are following an astrological sign which they believe will lead them to the Messiah.
The film succeeds mightily both in being a solid, focused character drama while at the same managing a visual and structural synthesis of the general understandings and conceptions about the story. In plainer terms, the film perfectly captures the essential events, compositions and beats from the "everybody knows" version of the story while affording the characters room to become deeper than the porceline figures on Grandma's shelf this time of year.
Specifically, it gives greater nuance to Joseph, rendering him as a man compelled to do the right thing even when unsure or not able to understand what he's found himself involved in: In one terrific touch, the event of Gabriel reassuring Joseph of Mary's fidelity in a dream is presented as the angel interupting a nightmare in which Joseph imagines himself as part of a mob gathered to stone Mary for adultery; while a clever earlier scene affords the ubiquitous donkey an origin of it's own.
Also getting more dramatic attention than usual are Mary's elder cousin Elisabeth (Shoreh Agdashloo, late of "24" and "House of Sand and Fog,") and her husband Zachariah, portrayed as an older couple from whom Mary recieves basic lessons in the ways of parenthood. The oft-omitted subplot of Zachariah's temporary muting even makes an appearance, as no servicable Bible retelling can exist without at least one sequence of The Almighty being inexplicably "jerky."
The film finds a working visual balance between the traditional "nativity scene" renderings and the now-current go-to look of big-budget "ancient" and/or mystical films (it's best to just accept that "Lord of The Rings" is now the Rosetta Stone of such films for the forseeable future.) Special mention needs to be made of the score, which sublty blends the classical music and hymns generally associated with the story; listen close, you'll find the strains of "Emmanuel" and "O Holy Night" drifting in right where they ought to.
This is a terrific little movie, a well-made mini-epic superior in every way to "Passion" or most other recent religious films, period. It's bound to have more ressonance, of course, to Christians or others more immediately invested in the material, but for what it's worth it's a fine film and towards the end stirred some of my long-dormant memories of seeing/hearing this stuff told back when I was much younger and it all seemed much more involving; which I assure you is no small feat.
FINAL RATING: 8/10
Saturday 25 November 2006
REVIEW: The Fountain
WARNING: Review will contain minor plot spoilers, and is preceded by lengthy Harry Knowles-ish tangential digression. But you'll also get a funny clip from YouTube.
Has this ever happened to you?
You see this girl (YES, I call women my own age girls, and I'm sticking with it.) She's gorgeous. Fascinating. Different. Breath-of-fresh-air. You can tell. Oh, she's pretty, sure... but thats not the important part. That's not what made you look twice. No. It's the "different" part. The "weird" part. Oh, not bad weird. Not "Kathy Bates in 'Misery' weird. No... she's good weird. "Kate Winslet in 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' weird. Helena Bonham Carter in "Fight Club" weird. Off-puttingly-adorable-goth-chick-who-works-at-the-music-store weird. We're all on the same page now, right? HOT weird.
And not just weird... INTERESTING! Maybe you heard her say something super-clever about some obscure topic you swore only you would say something like that about. Maybe it's the tattoo of unidentifiable origin. Maybe it's just the six different dye colors in the hair, whatever it is, you're mind starts going "she's gotta be fascinating. Deep. Talk to her for hours. New surprise every day."
So you're hooked. But you don't just go ask her out. No, of course not. That's what rational, proactive people do. That's what people with guts do. No, your smitten ass has to go "find out" about her. You've gotta ask mutual aquaintances about her. "So-and-so? Eh, don't know her too well outside whatever... but she seems like a TRIP, right?" What's that, you say? She has a LiveJournal!? Well, let me read THAT whole damn thing... WOW! It's so weird, so interesting, you were totally right!
So you ask her out. Finally. And she says yes. You pick yourself up off the floor, and you're PSYCHED. This is it. Good times are coming. She's gonna expand your mind. Thrill your senses. Maybe you'll wake up someplace cool, like a belltower; or in some story-worthy condition, like with fang-marks in you're neck. Or.. y'know, maybe you'll have great connection over dinner, hit it off and begin a meaningful, fulfilling relationship. Either one is good.
And then you actually go on the date and... Meh. Oh, it's not a disaster. She's... nice. Friendly. Pleasant company. Good new aquaintance. But at some point, earlier than you'd have thought, you arrive at a slightly dissapointing feeling: "Hm. She's not quite as 'interesting' as I'd thought she was" (For me, this feeling usually pops up right after "Omigod.. don'tcha just love Meg Ryan?")
Now, to be fair, most of this is your fault. You're a male, so you have largely unrealistic expectations of women, and you're a geek, so the unreality of those expectations is fantastical to the point of absurdity - you're model of the feminine ideal falls somewhere at an intersection between Chun-Li and Lady Ewoyn.
And then, you get another feeling. Probably right around the time she starts in about something "important." Oh, don't misunderstand, she's still cool. Fun. Good new lady-friend. But you've hit a realization that's a definate buzzkill in terms of attraction: "Uh-oh. She's not as interesting as SHE thinks she is."
Eh... y'know what? This "Family Guy" clip says it better than I can:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyuPip3i3Vc
ACTUAL REVIEW (with minor spoilage) BEGINS HERE
So... finally getting to see "The Fountain" is kind of like that. For me, anyway.
For how long have we been hearing about this movie? This next-step masterpiece from Darren Aronofsky, seemingly doomed but rescued and given a second chance AND a big holiday release? This visual "trip" who's promotions promised a dizzying time-and-mind-bending rush? The trailer's, featuring science labs, Spanish conquistadors, magic trees, flaming swords and bubble-based space flight?? There's that feeling again: It looks different. INTERESTING. HOT weird.
And then you go, you buy the ticket, you're ready to have you're mind blown. Here it comes and... Hm. Oh, it's GOOD. Let's be clear here. This is a solid, well-made, well-acted peice of moviemaking, certainly more original overall than most other things you could be watching right now. And yet... nope. My mind falls kinda short of "blown." My senses decidedly not-shredded. I didn't wake up in the belltower. "It's not as interesting as I thought it'd be," yup. And, sadly, "it's not as deep OR interesting as IT thinks it is," either. In terms of overall effect, it calls to mind no film more than "What Dreams May Come," and somehow I don't think many of us are heading into a promised Darren Aronofsky mind-screw to get the same feeling one gets from a flawed but visually-sumptuous Robin Williams vehicle.
What we have hear are three "parallel" stories which are not exactly parallel but have something or possibly everything to do with one another. In the first, Hugh Jackman is a Conquistador charging into battle against a Mayan shaman to retrieve the sap of the Biblical "Tree of Life" (the "Fountain" of the title is meant as-in "Of Youth," for the record) for his immortality-seeking Queen (Rachel Weisz) who's quest for the Fountain has made her the target of an evil Priest who has deemed her quest blasphemous and is using the power of The Inquisition to impede her.
That story occurs in the pages of a book being written by a cancer-ridden woman (Rachel Weisz again) in the modern-set main story. She's married to a brilliant scientist (Jackman again) who is obsessively trying to save her by researching a miracle cure (get it?) derrived from "a mysterious tree in South America." What he gets could indeed be called a Fountain of Youth... but it doesn't cure cancer. In the "final" story, set in either the real or imagined future, Jackman's scientist is now a bald holy man, practicing Buddhist-style meditations as he hurls through outer space in a magic bubble, the Tree of Life (and his memories) his only companions.
The three stories bend and twist around eachother, eventually wrapping the story up into an intricate narrative not that promises to conceal something deep, profound and fascinating once unfurled. Sadly, that promise isn't quite delivered on, and all the bombast and weirdness eventually appears designed to conceal how simplistic and (sorry, but it's true) predictable and mundane it's themes and messages are.
Tell me, had you heard before that "the quest for Eternal Youth is self-defeating and futile?" Perhaps, I dunno... in every story about Eternal Youth before this? Were you aware that "death is just a part of life?" Or that "you need to learn to let go?" Oh, you were? Well, then, unfortunately "The Fountain" has nothing new to offer you in terms of larger theme, other than the curious way in which it ultra-villianizes it's Spanish Inquisitor villain only to wind up essentially endorsing his opinion on the subject of Eternal Life (despite having previously revealed him as a torturer, murderer, conspirator and hypocrite.) I'm not saying these aren't worthy themes, but really now... wrapping up such routine sentiments in the guise of fractured-narratives and metaphysical dream-imagery is the filmmaking equivalent of trying to improve an average Hallmark card by translating it into Enigma Code.
Taking this route actually worked for Aronofsky last time: A veneer of auteur bravado and gotcha shock-value helped cloak the sucker-punch of "Requiem For A Dream's" eventual revelation as the bluntest "don't do drugs" statement ever filmmed. But this time, while he's made a visually beautiful, well-acted and often deeply moving film; he's also made one that demands a certain amount of intellectual commitment but fails to reward it. "The Fountain" asks it's audience to dig through dense layers of symbolism and narrative trickery, and all that's waiting at the bottom is a "truth" so simplistic (as opposed to "simple") and worn that it would be right at home in a fortune cookie or as a moral lesson from the mouth of Elmo. Heck, if you went through grade school in the 80s or 90s you probably already recieved every "message" this could impart when "Tuck Everlasting" was on the summer reading list.
Still... I'm going to offer that I mostly liked it, and think it's worth a look. Aronofsky has come up short, but he tried hard to offer something unique and different even if he only partially succeeded. And I'm of the mind that we need to encourage that in our filmmakers. He hasn't made a bad film, just one that isn't nearly as good as it ought to be (or, sadly, as it THINKS it is.) And an overall-underwhelming "HOT weird" movie is, like an overall-underwhelming "HOT weird" girl, STILL more fun than a just-plain-boring one of either.
Reccomended... with reservations.
FINAL RATING: 6/10
Has this ever happened to you?
You see this girl (YES, I call women my own age girls, and I'm sticking with it.) She's gorgeous. Fascinating. Different. Breath-of-fresh-air. You can tell. Oh, she's pretty, sure... but thats not the important part. That's not what made you look twice. No. It's the "different" part. The "weird" part. Oh, not bad weird. Not "Kathy Bates in 'Misery' weird. No... she's good weird. "Kate Winslet in 'Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind' weird. Helena Bonham Carter in "Fight Club" weird. Off-puttingly-adorable-goth-chick-who-works-at-the-music-store weird. We're all on the same page now, right? HOT weird.
And not just weird... INTERESTING! Maybe you heard her say something super-clever about some obscure topic you swore only you would say something like that about. Maybe it's the tattoo of unidentifiable origin. Maybe it's just the six different dye colors in the hair, whatever it is, you're mind starts going "she's gotta be fascinating. Deep. Talk to her for hours. New surprise every day."
So you're hooked. But you don't just go ask her out. No, of course not. That's what rational, proactive people do. That's what people with guts do. No, your smitten ass has to go "find out" about her. You've gotta ask mutual aquaintances about her. "So-and-so? Eh, don't know her too well outside whatever... but she seems like a TRIP, right?" What's that, you say? She has a LiveJournal!? Well, let me read THAT whole damn thing... WOW! It's so weird, so interesting, you were totally right!
So you ask her out. Finally. And she says yes. You pick yourself up off the floor, and you're PSYCHED. This is it. Good times are coming. She's gonna expand your mind. Thrill your senses. Maybe you'll wake up someplace cool, like a belltower; or in some story-worthy condition, like with fang-marks in you're neck. Or.. y'know, maybe you'll have great connection over dinner, hit it off and begin a meaningful, fulfilling relationship. Either one is good.
And then you actually go on the date and... Meh. Oh, it's not a disaster. She's... nice. Friendly. Pleasant company. Good new aquaintance. But at some point, earlier than you'd have thought, you arrive at a slightly dissapointing feeling: "Hm. She's not quite as 'interesting' as I'd thought she was" (For me, this feeling usually pops up right after "Omigod.. don'tcha just love Meg Ryan?")
Now, to be fair, most of this is your fault. You're a male, so you have largely unrealistic expectations of women, and you're a geek, so the unreality of those expectations is fantastical to the point of absurdity - you're model of the feminine ideal falls somewhere at an intersection between Chun-Li and Lady Ewoyn.
And then, you get another feeling. Probably right around the time she starts in about something "important." Oh, don't misunderstand, she's still cool. Fun. Good new lady-friend. But you've hit a realization that's a definate buzzkill in terms of attraction: "Uh-oh. She's not as interesting as SHE thinks she is."
Eh... y'know what? This "Family Guy" clip says it better than I can:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dyuPip3i3Vc
ACTUAL REVIEW (with minor spoilage) BEGINS HERE
So... finally getting to see "The Fountain" is kind of like that. For me, anyway.
For how long have we been hearing about this movie? This next-step masterpiece from Darren Aronofsky, seemingly doomed but rescued and given a second chance AND a big holiday release? This visual "trip" who's promotions promised a dizzying time-and-mind-bending rush? The trailer's, featuring science labs, Spanish conquistadors, magic trees, flaming swords and bubble-based space flight?? There's that feeling again: It looks different. INTERESTING. HOT weird.
And then you go, you buy the ticket, you're ready to have you're mind blown. Here it comes and... Hm. Oh, it's GOOD. Let's be clear here. This is a solid, well-made, well-acted peice of moviemaking, certainly more original overall than most other things you could be watching right now. And yet... nope. My mind falls kinda short of "blown." My senses decidedly not-shredded. I didn't wake up in the belltower. "It's not as interesting as I thought it'd be," yup. And, sadly, "it's not as deep OR interesting as IT thinks it is," either. In terms of overall effect, it calls to mind no film more than "What Dreams May Come," and somehow I don't think many of us are heading into a promised Darren Aronofsky mind-screw to get the same feeling one gets from a flawed but visually-sumptuous Robin Williams vehicle.
What we have hear are three "parallel" stories which are not exactly parallel but have something or possibly everything to do with one another. In the first, Hugh Jackman is a Conquistador charging into battle against a Mayan shaman to retrieve the sap of the Biblical "Tree of Life" (the "Fountain" of the title is meant as-in "Of Youth," for the record) for his immortality-seeking Queen (Rachel Weisz) who's quest for the Fountain has made her the target of an evil Priest who has deemed her quest blasphemous and is using the power of The Inquisition to impede her.
That story occurs in the pages of a book being written by a cancer-ridden woman (Rachel Weisz again) in the modern-set main story. She's married to a brilliant scientist (Jackman again) who is obsessively trying to save her by researching a miracle cure (get it?) derrived from "a mysterious tree in South America." What he gets could indeed be called a Fountain of Youth... but it doesn't cure cancer. In the "final" story, set in either the real or imagined future, Jackman's scientist is now a bald holy man, practicing Buddhist-style meditations as he hurls through outer space in a magic bubble, the Tree of Life (and his memories) his only companions.
The three stories bend and twist around eachother, eventually wrapping the story up into an intricate narrative not that promises to conceal something deep, profound and fascinating once unfurled. Sadly, that promise isn't quite delivered on, and all the bombast and weirdness eventually appears designed to conceal how simplistic and (sorry, but it's true) predictable and mundane it's themes and messages are.
Tell me, had you heard before that "the quest for Eternal Youth is self-defeating and futile?" Perhaps, I dunno... in every story about Eternal Youth before this? Were you aware that "death is just a part of life?" Or that "you need to learn to let go?" Oh, you were? Well, then, unfortunately "The Fountain" has nothing new to offer you in terms of larger theme, other than the curious way in which it ultra-villianizes it's Spanish Inquisitor villain only to wind up essentially endorsing his opinion on the subject of Eternal Life (despite having previously revealed him as a torturer, murderer, conspirator and hypocrite.) I'm not saying these aren't worthy themes, but really now... wrapping up such routine sentiments in the guise of fractured-narratives and metaphysical dream-imagery is the filmmaking equivalent of trying to improve an average Hallmark card by translating it into Enigma Code.
Taking this route actually worked for Aronofsky last time: A veneer of auteur bravado and gotcha shock-value helped cloak the sucker-punch of "Requiem For A Dream's" eventual revelation as the bluntest "don't do drugs" statement ever filmmed. But this time, while he's made a visually beautiful, well-acted and often deeply moving film; he's also made one that demands a certain amount of intellectual commitment but fails to reward it. "The Fountain" asks it's audience to dig through dense layers of symbolism and narrative trickery, and all that's waiting at the bottom is a "truth" so simplistic (as opposed to "simple") and worn that it would be right at home in a fortune cookie or as a moral lesson from the mouth of Elmo. Heck, if you went through grade school in the 80s or 90s you probably already recieved every "message" this could impart when "Tuck Everlasting" was on the summer reading list.
Still... I'm going to offer that I mostly liked it, and think it's worth a look. Aronofsky has come up short, but he tried hard to offer something unique and different even if he only partially succeeded. And I'm of the mind that we need to encourage that in our filmmakers. He hasn't made a bad film, just one that isn't nearly as good as it ought to be (or, sadly, as it THINKS it is.) And an overall-underwhelming "HOT weird" movie is, like an overall-underwhelming "HOT weird" girl, STILL more fun than a just-plain-boring one of either.
Reccomended... with reservations.
FINAL RATING: 6/10
Wednesday 22 November 2006
Kid's today don't know how lucky they've got it...
I know, I know, my whole generation is old before our time (Just think how nostalgiac-yet-bitchy we'll be when we're actually OLD!) but still, lemme get something off my chest... This is directed at... basically everyone under the age of 17 who's any kind of video gamer. Does that describe you? Okay.
Here's the thing: When I was you're age (ugh, that feels lame) and we "won" a game where the goal (in the story) was to rescue/impress "the girl" (and that was most of them) here's basically what we got:
And we were damn glad to get it! You kids have no IDEA how hard games had to be back when you couldn't count on 1080p HD graphics and a looped Audioslave track to keep you engaged. One run through Level 8-4 of the original "Super Mario Bros." and Master Chief would piss his armor rusty.
But you get to the end and there she is: The Princess. Granted, she's only slightly more discernable as a princess than the "springboards" are as springboard (old folks, tell the truth: You wondered why jumping on an hourglass made Mario bounce,) but you've got the manual and the merchandising to tell you that those pixels represent a classically-kawaii Manga-esque babe, and she's all your's. That was enough.
That was 1986. 20 years ago.
Do you kids have ANY clue how good you have it? That gal was our reward for finishing the whole game! But you guys? This is one of the rewards you get just for doing pretty good for a bit in the new just-for-fun fighting game volleyball spinoff "Dead or Alive: Extreme Beach Volleyball 2." Look:
So just THINK about this, y'little rugrats, the next time you decide to complain that the texture mapping isn't perfect in this title, or that the "hair animation" doesn't flow right on that character... just remember how lucky you are that that little Russ Meyer-esque throwaway gag above get's to be part of your adolescence.
Ahem.
Hey, while I'm on "Dead or Alive"... hey, Hollywood! Can we get Corey Yuen's "DoA" movie into some THEATRES already!? You've kept me waiting like a year for this thing:
Can you blame me? Out with it, already!
Tuesday 21 November 2006
REVIEW: Happy Feet
George Miller is one of the great eclectic filmmakers to emerge in the previous few decades, an Australian director (and licensed physician) who's work runs the gamut from his breakthrough in the genre-defining "Mad Max," to the emotional drama "Lorenzo's Oil" and even to the producer of both "Babe" movies (and director of the second.)
Counting "Happy Feet," it can be said that Miller has been behind three phenomenal animal-related family films that all share two common traits: That they are excellent films... and that they are stunningly bizzare in the realm of mass-market family entertainment. "Happy Feet" is, without a doubt, one of the wierdest things that is going to play at a multiplex this year. It begins by (often literally) stacking oddity upon oddity just to set up it's premise and world, and then proceeds to branch off into a quest story of straight-faced absurdity and metaphysical trippiness likely to rival anything we're soon to see from "The Fountain." The film may owe it's financial backing to the megahit "March of The Penguins," but it's closer spiritual cousins are "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" or "Watership Down."
The story plays out in Anarctica, chiefly among the massive colony of Emperor Penguins that call the vast ice-fields home. Emperor Penguins, we learn, are born with both the ability and the desire to sign pop songs to one-another, especially at mating season where the ability to blend respective "heartsongs" into a duet is paramount to hooking up. Elvis-crooning Alpha-male Memphis (Hugh Jackman) wins the heart of bombshell Norma Jean (Nicole Kidman) and soon enough a baby is on the way...
...but said Baby, named Mumble HappyFeet (Elijah Wood,) is born, well.. different. He can't sing, not at all, and doesn't seem to posess a "heartsong." The only way he seems comfortable, indeed a prodigy, at expressing himself is through tap-dancing. Dance, however, is apparently "not Penguin," and soon enough the Elders who reign over the religion practiced by the Penguins are declaring Mumble's fancy footwork a blasphemy against their god, The Great Guin... and possibly the cause of the increasing fish famine that has imperiled their very existance.
Mumble, however, believes there may be another cause... possibly related to the strange stories of technologically-advanced "alien invaders" who've been overfishing the Arctic waters, (guess who,) and sets out on a quest to save his people... even as the Elders continue to insist that all solutions other than increased fealty to The Great Guin will only bring further punishment. His adventure will bring him new friends, harrowing encounters with predators (including the scariest Orcas since, well... "Orca") clashes with the ideology of the Elders and even his family... and a "the HELL just happened??" third act that calls to mind nothing so much as "2001."
Here we have it, without a doubt the finest musical ever made about a Penguin battling religious intolerance and "alien" invasions with tap-dancing as his only weapon. And believe it or not, describing it that way makes "Happy Feet" sound MORE normal than it actually is. Compounding the surreality is the atypical realism of the animation; the "humanization" of the characters is very limited, making all the singing and toe-tapping look all the more outlandish coming from what are basically photo-realistic Penguins. And the musical score, often a dizzyingly-complex medley of Penguin-remixed pop-standards, is a wonder of song-choice and sound editing.
George Miller has delivered a poignant, moving and geniunely beautiful film that is also one of the most original and unusually visionary movies of 2006. Listen close: You NEED to see "Happy Feet."
FINAL RATING: 9/10
Counting "Happy Feet," it can be said that Miller has been behind three phenomenal animal-related family films that all share two common traits: That they are excellent films... and that they are stunningly bizzare in the realm of mass-market family entertainment. "Happy Feet" is, without a doubt, one of the wierdest things that is going to play at a multiplex this year. It begins by (often literally) stacking oddity upon oddity just to set up it's premise and world, and then proceeds to branch off into a quest story of straight-faced absurdity and metaphysical trippiness likely to rival anything we're soon to see from "The Fountain." The film may owe it's financial backing to the megahit "March of The Penguins," but it's closer spiritual cousins are "Jonathan Livingston Seagull" or "Watership Down."
The story plays out in Anarctica, chiefly among the massive colony of Emperor Penguins that call the vast ice-fields home. Emperor Penguins, we learn, are born with both the ability and the desire to sign pop songs to one-another, especially at mating season where the ability to blend respective "heartsongs" into a duet is paramount to hooking up. Elvis-crooning Alpha-male Memphis (Hugh Jackman) wins the heart of bombshell Norma Jean (Nicole Kidman) and soon enough a baby is on the way...
...but said Baby, named Mumble HappyFeet (Elijah Wood,) is born, well.. different. He can't sing, not at all, and doesn't seem to posess a "heartsong." The only way he seems comfortable, indeed a prodigy, at expressing himself is through tap-dancing. Dance, however, is apparently "not Penguin," and soon enough the Elders who reign over the religion practiced by the Penguins are declaring Mumble's fancy footwork a blasphemy against their god, The Great Guin... and possibly the cause of the increasing fish famine that has imperiled their very existance.
Mumble, however, believes there may be another cause... possibly related to the strange stories of technologically-advanced "alien invaders" who've been overfishing the Arctic waters, (guess who,) and sets out on a quest to save his people... even as the Elders continue to insist that all solutions other than increased fealty to The Great Guin will only bring further punishment. His adventure will bring him new friends, harrowing encounters with predators (including the scariest Orcas since, well... "Orca") clashes with the ideology of the Elders and even his family... and a "the HELL just happened??" third act that calls to mind nothing so much as "2001."
Here we have it, without a doubt the finest musical ever made about a Penguin battling religious intolerance and "alien" invasions with tap-dancing as his only weapon. And believe it or not, describing it that way makes "Happy Feet" sound MORE normal than it actually is. Compounding the surreality is the atypical realism of the animation; the "humanization" of the characters is very limited, making all the singing and toe-tapping look all the more outlandish coming from what are basically photo-realistic Penguins. And the musical score, often a dizzyingly-complex medley of Penguin-remixed pop-standards, is a wonder of song-choice and sound editing.
George Miller has delivered a poignant, moving and geniunely beautiful film that is also one of the most original and unusually visionary movies of 2006. Listen close: You NEED to see "Happy Feet."
FINAL RATING: 9/10
Monday 20 November 2006
REVIEW: Casino Royale (2006)
James Bond has been "rebooted" a few times before, in fact the hiring of a new regular actor to take the role has usually led the producers to talk about new directions and big changes. "Casino Royale" is noteworthy because this time they actually mean it, setting the film up as an "origin-story" that officially starts the franchise over from point A.
Newcomer Daniel Craig (what you've heard is true) is the freshly-promoted Agent 007, already an overly-aggressive "blunt instrument" of a spy on the outs with his superiors. The mission, tailored to Bond's in-agency fame as a card shark, is to mess with the poker-playing fortunes of "terrorist banker" Le Chiffre (Mad Mikkelsen) who likes to up his risk-factor by gambling with cash borrowed from his trigger-happy clients.
The thing about the Bond movies is that they are largely famous and beloved for the same things that they are mocked and called "dated" for: The outlandish bad guys, the zany gadgets, the jokingly-named femme fatales, the adherence to formula, and so on. The series' first great entry was "Goldfinger," featuring the nutty Fort Knox robbery scheme, the razor-brimmed derby and Pussy Galore; and it's cast a long shadow over the all the later entries.
"Casino's" solution, which probably owes it's entire genesis to the success of "Batman Begins," is to leave some of the trickier aspects of the series out (no gadgets, no Q, no Moneypenny) and hedge the series' future bets with the fig leaf of "a new beginning": The stuff people like will stay, the stuff people don't can be removed and chalked up to "hey, it was just the origin!"
On it's own, the film is a solid entry with (probably) the best script of the Bond series and great star debut for Craig, who's easily the best Bond since Connery and gets the added bonus of playing the closest approximation yet to Ian Fleming's original conception of a coldly fatalistic secret agent. Though here limited to more "earthbound" foot and car chases, shootouts and a painful-looking torture sequence, the action scenes are stellar and thankfully free of "Bourne"-style shaky-cam nonsense. And it knows not to throw out everything from the past: Dame Judi Dench returns as "M," a role she's occupied since the start of the Brosnan run. It was a gag at first, "ha-ha, James Bond takes orders from a tough older lady," but somehow she feels appropriate for it still.
As for the larger picture of the reboot... I'm not gonna lie, I've always preffered the Bond films that more brazenly straddled the line between realism and outright fancy. My favorite installment remains "You Only Live Twice," featuring the ninja army and the hidden volcano bad guy lair. I appreciate what they're aiming for here, and understand what necessitated it... but I hope they won't continue to be as restrictive to the "real" as the new series continues. Reality is fine, but I don't want to occupy a movie landscape where all the supervillian hideouts are just hotel rooms, and the Oddjobs just carry guns.
...of course, if so, there's always "The Transporter"...
FINAL RATING: 8/10
Newcomer Daniel Craig (what you've heard is true) is the freshly-promoted Agent 007, already an overly-aggressive "blunt instrument" of a spy on the outs with his superiors. The mission, tailored to Bond's in-agency fame as a card shark, is to mess with the poker-playing fortunes of "terrorist banker" Le Chiffre (Mad Mikkelsen) who likes to up his risk-factor by gambling with cash borrowed from his trigger-happy clients.
The thing about the Bond movies is that they are largely famous and beloved for the same things that they are mocked and called "dated" for: The outlandish bad guys, the zany gadgets, the jokingly-named femme fatales, the adherence to formula, and so on. The series' first great entry was "Goldfinger," featuring the nutty Fort Knox robbery scheme, the razor-brimmed derby and Pussy Galore; and it's cast a long shadow over the all the later entries.
"Casino's" solution, which probably owes it's entire genesis to the success of "Batman Begins," is to leave some of the trickier aspects of the series out (no gadgets, no Q, no Moneypenny) and hedge the series' future bets with the fig leaf of "a new beginning": The stuff people like will stay, the stuff people don't can be removed and chalked up to "hey, it was just the origin!"
On it's own, the film is a solid entry with (probably) the best script of the Bond series and great star debut for Craig, who's easily the best Bond since Connery and gets the added bonus of playing the closest approximation yet to Ian Fleming's original conception of a coldly fatalistic secret agent. Though here limited to more "earthbound" foot and car chases, shootouts and a painful-looking torture sequence, the action scenes are stellar and thankfully free of "Bourne"-style shaky-cam nonsense. And it knows not to throw out everything from the past: Dame Judi Dench returns as "M," a role she's occupied since the start of the Brosnan run. It was a gag at first, "ha-ha, James Bond takes orders from a tough older lady," but somehow she feels appropriate for it still.
As for the larger picture of the reboot... I'm not gonna lie, I've always preffered the Bond films that more brazenly straddled the line between realism and outright fancy. My favorite installment remains "You Only Live Twice," featuring the ninja army and the hidden volcano bad guy lair. I appreciate what they're aiming for here, and understand what necessitated it... but I hope they won't continue to be as restrictive to the "real" as the new series continues. Reality is fine, but I don't want to occupy a movie landscape where all the supervillian hideouts are just hotel rooms, and the Oddjobs just carry guns.
...of course, if so, there's always "The Transporter"...
FINAL RATING: 8/10
Wednesday 15 November 2006
Only 4 more days until Wii...
Y'ever start out trying to respond to a simple message board topic and you wind up typing a freaking essay? I just did that over at 1up.com, on a thread about the relevance (or lack thereof) of the Super Mario Bros. game franchise. Came out (I think) decently enough that I figured I'd re-post it here, since the blog could use some lightening up here and there.
This would be the link:
http://boards.1up.com/zd/board/message?board.id=SpeakingUp&message.id=3147&page=4
And this would be the actual text:
What's important about Mario, and why he/it still matters absent the nostalgia factor, is that he's the "leader" of the ever-shrinking number of viable gaming icons who are unique unto gaming itself, and not a tweaked appropriation of some other trend or archetype. More and more, the "iconic" characters of gaming are simply re-appropriations of movie, TV or pop-culture "in" fixtures: Bad-ass super-soldiers, hip-hop infused ghetto warriors, and so on and so forth. And that's just the ones who can still charitably be called "characters;" let's not even go near the ones for whom "character" is beside the point: Does it really matter, in the scheme of things, that Master Chief is a near-total cypher when for 90% of "his" games "he" is just a hand holding a gun? (Hey, now there's an idea... an FPS where the "hero" is literally just a disembodied hand! Tre-META!!!!)
It's important, I think, that Mario is more than just an unofficial video game "version" of some other movie or TV hero. That his very LOOK is still defined in terms originally created because he was a game: The hat instead of hair, the mustache (to define the face) the overalls (to define the arms) all existed initially to allow him to be discerned in the limited graphical terms at the very genesis of the medium. As a character-model, he is gaming, born-of gaming; as opposed to gaming, born-of "Starship Troopers" (looking at YOU, Halo) or gaming, born-of whatever subgenre of crime movies Rockstar is riffing on this time (looking at YOU, GTA.)
In addition, I think there is a reason beyond pure nostalgia and "tradition" (and the fact that Miyamoto IS the greatest designer that will ever be and HIS Mario titles have remained consistently popular and re-port-able) that this particular character and franchise have endured. Think about it: It's 2006. We're on (at least) the third generation of post-SMB gamers, and Mario is still popular. Were the only "heat" coming from the aging members of Generation-NES, Mario and company would've been supplanted "g'bye Alex Kidd hello Sonic"-style years ago by Pokemon as Nintendo's benchmark franchise. But when Nintendo needs a set of characters to build a party-game or goof-off sports-spoof title around, well... It's not called "Pikachu Party." There's no "Squirtle Superstar Baseball."
I think there's a reason, perhaps not always fully realized why this figure still defines "game hero" for so many. Look at him: He's not ripped, in fact he's a bit of chub. He wears what are universally recognized as ordinary blue-collar work clothes, and a puffy hat that was out of style even before his silly mustache was. Even if you don't still take "accidentally-warped Italian plumber from Brooklyn" as canon, everything about him says "this is an ordinary guy." "This is an average man." "This is an everyman." But yet he gets to travel to strange worlds where he is not just a hero, but a super-hero - literally, a "strange visitor from another world with powers and abilities far beyond that of normal me.. er.. mushrooms." And I'd argue that there's something about THAT characterization, the unspectacular-spectacular man, that touches on something deep and all-important about WHY we play video games in the first place: A regular person becoming a hero in a strange new world sort-of defines the very act of engrossing oneself in a game, no?
Could it be that this, above all else, is what keeps drawing gamers to Mario? That the simple setup.. average-joe-as-dragonslayer.. serves as a kind of hyperrealized vision of the experience we hope to derive from the most satisfying of times spent gaming? The "fantasy" of the Super Mario Bros. franchise is, when you get down to it, that the ordinary man can be the Super Man. That a short, pudgy, blue-collar guy can travel to a new world, use magical powers, fight the monsters, save the day, become the hero and (especially) bed the hot Anime princess. Does that fantasy not, to a degree, encapsulate why gamers game? Most of us are average people. Most of us will never play in the NFL, fight the terrorists, go to space, fight the monsters OR, sadly, bed the hot Anime princess (though if you're the guy with the "sweet" hotel room at E3 or ComicCon, you can increase you're chances of bedding someone dressed just like one.) A good deal of us, I'll wager (myself included) are even shaped a little bit like Mario, too.
And when we game, we can be like Mario. We can be heroes, we can see and use magic, we can slay the dragon and sometimes we can even save the princess. That's what it comes down to, I think. Mario is all about what gaming is all about.
Lots of characters are in Video Games. Mario is Video Games.
This would be the link:
http://boards.1up.com/zd/board/message?board.id=SpeakingUp&message.id=3147&page=4
And this would be the actual text:
What's important about Mario, and why he/it still matters absent the nostalgia factor, is that he's the "leader" of the ever-shrinking number of viable gaming icons who are unique unto gaming itself, and not a tweaked appropriation of some other trend or archetype. More and more, the "iconic" characters of gaming are simply re-appropriations of movie, TV or pop-culture "in" fixtures: Bad-ass super-soldiers, hip-hop infused ghetto warriors, and so on and so forth. And that's just the ones who can still charitably be called "characters;" let's not even go near the ones for whom "character" is beside the point: Does it really matter, in the scheme of things, that Master Chief is a near-total cypher when for 90% of "his" games "he" is just a hand holding a gun? (Hey, now there's an idea... an FPS where the "hero" is literally just a disembodied hand! Tre-META!!!!)
It's important, I think, that Mario is more than just an unofficial video game "version" of some other movie or TV hero. That his very LOOK is still defined in terms originally created because he was a game: The hat instead of hair, the mustache (to define the face) the overalls (to define the arms) all existed initially to allow him to be discerned in the limited graphical terms at the very genesis of the medium. As a character-model, he is gaming, born-of gaming; as opposed to gaming, born-of "Starship Troopers" (looking at YOU, Halo) or gaming, born-of whatever subgenre of crime movies Rockstar is riffing on this time (looking at YOU, GTA.)
In addition, I think there is a reason beyond pure nostalgia and "tradition" (and the fact that Miyamoto IS the greatest designer that will ever be and HIS Mario titles have remained consistently popular and re-port-able) that this particular character and franchise have endured. Think about it: It's 2006. We're on (at least) the third generation of post-SMB gamers, and Mario is still popular. Were the only "heat" coming from the aging members of Generation-NES, Mario and company would've been supplanted "g'bye Alex Kidd hello Sonic"-style years ago by Pokemon as Nintendo's benchmark franchise. But when Nintendo needs a set of characters to build a party-game or goof-off sports-spoof title around, well... It's not called "Pikachu Party." There's no "Squirtle Superstar Baseball."
I think there's a reason, perhaps not always fully realized why this figure still defines "game hero" for so many. Look at him: He's not ripped, in fact he's a bit of chub. He wears what are universally recognized as ordinary blue-collar work clothes, and a puffy hat that was out of style even before his silly mustache was. Even if you don't still take "accidentally-warped Italian plumber from Brooklyn" as canon, everything about him says "this is an ordinary guy." "This is an average man." "This is an everyman." But yet he gets to travel to strange worlds where he is not just a hero, but a super-hero - literally, a "strange visitor from another world with powers and abilities far beyond that of normal me.. er.. mushrooms." And I'd argue that there's something about THAT characterization, the unspectacular-spectacular man, that touches on something deep and all-important about WHY we play video games in the first place: A regular person becoming a hero in a strange new world sort-of defines the very act of engrossing oneself in a game, no?
Could it be that this, above all else, is what keeps drawing gamers to Mario? That the simple setup.. average-joe-as-dragonslayer.. serves as a kind of hyperrealized vision of the experience we hope to derive from the most satisfying of times spent gaming? The "fantasy" of the Super Mario Bros. franchise is, when you get down to it, that the ordinary man can be the Super Man. That a short, pudgy, blue-collar guy can travel to a new world, use magical powers, fight the monsters, save the day, become the hero and (especially) bed the hot Anime princess. Does that fantasy not, to a degree, encapsulate why gamers game? Most of us are average people. Most of us will never play in the NFL, fight the terrorists, go to space, fight the monsters OR, sadly, bed the hot Anime princess (though if you're the guy with the "sweet" hotel room at E3 or ComicCon, you can increase you're chances of bedding someone dressed just like one.) A good deal of us, I'll wager (myself included) are even shaped a little bit like Mario, too.
And when we game, we can be like Mario. We can be heroes, we can see and use magic, we can slay the dragon and sometimes we can even save the princess. That's what it comes down to, I think. Mario is all about what gaming is all about.
Lots of characters are in Video Games. Mario is Video Games.
UPDATE: Toys For Tots gives-in on "Jesus Doll" issue
Even in those instances where one can see it's for the greater good, I still can't help but feel sad when I see a Marine have to back down.
From "Toys For Tots'" website:
The Talking Jesus doll issue has been resolved. Toys for Tots has found appropriate places for these items. We have notified the donor of our willingness to handle this transaction.
No big mystery as to what occured here: TFT either found a channel (or one stepped up to provide it on their own) in order to make sure these toys reached (presumably) Christian families (that they might go to families that didn't want religious-indoctrination toys was the original concern.)
In the broad sense, it makes sense for TFT to find a way to compromise and defuse the situation. Their concern is getting the donations to those who need them, and had they held their ground too sternly it is (depressingly) possible that some Christians who might otherwise have made donations would decide NOT to via this percieved "slight" to "The Reason for The Season." It sucks, but it's the way it is.
Doesn't change the initial issue: This was either a stupid or sleazy thing for the "Jesus Doll" makers to pull, and it's just slightly annoying that they're kind of getting away with it.
From "Toys For Tots'" website:
The Talking Jesus doll issue has been resolved. Toys for Tots has found appropriate places for these items. We have notified the donor of our willingness to handle this transaction.
No big mystery as to what occured here: TFT either found a channel (or one stepped up to provide it on their own) in order to make sure these toys reached (presumably) Christian families (that they might go to families that didn't want religious-indoctrination toys was the original concern.)
In the broad sense, it makes sense for TFT to find a way to compromise and defuse the situation. Their concern is getting the donations to those who need them, and had they held their ground too sternly it is (depressingly) possible that some Christians who might otherwise have made donations would decide NOT to via this percieved "slight" to "The Reason for The Season." It sucks, but it's the way it is.
Doesn't change the initial issue: This was either a stupid or sleazy thing for the "Jesus Doll" makers to pull, and it's just slightly annoying that they're kind of getting away with it.
Tuesday 14 November 2006
Y'know what word for "unspeakably rotten" you don't hear much anymore? "GALLING."
Of all the occupations in this world that can truly be called admirable, I can't imagine many that ought be closer to the top of the list than United States Marine or Children's Charity Worker. So you can imagine that I have a deep, abiding respect and admiration for "Toys For Tots," a Marine Reserves-run program that collects and distributes donated gifts for children in need during the Holidays.
Check them out HERE:
http://www.toysfortots.org/
(and maybe show some donation love while you're at it, eh? Tis the season.)
These people... this program... are good in the plainest, bluntest sense of the word. And anyone who would try to use it for their own ideological agenda, (or worse, for cheap, bad-faith publicity,) anyone who would taint something like this, well... there's a few other words for that.
And, sadly (but predictably,) when it comes to the tainting of the simply good, no force of the modern age is more brazen or more determined than organized religion.
Set faces to stunned:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15717485/
"LOS ANGELES - A company that sells Bible-quoting Jesus dolls said it was surprised and disappointed that the Marine Reserves’ Toys for Tots program turned down its offer to donate 4,000 of the talking dolls."
By the way, "Bible-quoting" is a fairly broad term. Details:
"According to one2believe’s Web site, the button-activated, bearded Jesus doll recites Scripture such as “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.""
The bolding of the text is mine, for emphasis. Get the problem? This doll doesn't only talk, and doesn't only offer "Bible quotes," it proselytizes for a specific version of a specific religion. Do you think that's an appropriate thing for a non-denominational charity to be distributing? If you do, would you object to Richard Dawkins dropping 4,000 "there is no god"-emblazzoned teddy bears into his nearest Toys For Tots bin? If the local chapter of Hezbollah wants to toss in some "Baby's First Burka" kits, are you cool with that, too? Howard Deans wants to kick-in his brand new mascot "Zowie-Howie The Bush-Whackin' Donkey?" Hm?
Here's the Marines' reasoned response:
"Bill Grein, vice president of Marine Toys for Tots Foundation, in Quantico, Va., said the offer was turned down because Toys for Tots doesn’t know anything about the religious affiliations of the children who receive its gifts.
“We can’t take a chance on sending a talking Jesus doll to a Jewish family or a Muslim family,” Grein said Tuesday. “Kids want a gift for the holiday season that is fun.”
How much y'wanna bet he said this with an unsubtle hint of "you've got to be f*cking kidding me" to his voice at the idea that his organization even has to respond to something like this.
And by the way, I'm not buying for a second "one2believe" had no idea this was going to be an issue. They're a business, which requires a certain amount of competency and common sense to exist. This was likely, in my estimation, a deliberate, knowing act either to use Toys For Tots to send indoctrination materials to children; or maybe even worse... to use them for a sleazy publicity grab.
Think about that second one: This is a religious organization, which means they probably know at least one, oh, I dunno... CHURCH!? Which tend to have their own ties to very powerful and well-organized charities? Ones that could garauntee that these Christian toys reached Christian children (or at least don't have the ethical objections otherwise that Toys For Tots does?) So why go to the trouble of wrapping up 4,000 dolls for a secular charity which common sense would dictate MIGHT have an issue with them?
Could it be that they knew (or at least were pretty certain, this MUST have come up before) that the donation would be refused and did it purely for the media attention on them and their movement that this would innevitably garner? Hm? After all, it makes a catchy headline, even my local news carried the story. And it's garaunteed to gin-up the "They're takin' the Christ outta Christmas!!!" contingent, so don't be surprised if you see this as a "special report" from Bill O'Reilly as part of his asinine "War on Christmas" bitching.
If anyone from "one2believe" is reading this, let me be clear: There's two possibilities, neither of them good. Either you really did have no clue this would be a problem, in which case you are unbelievably dense and deserve to be ridiculed for it...
...OR you knew exactly what you were doing, in which case you tried to use a charitable organization run by the United States Marines to (one way or another) propagandize on behalf of your agenda, in which case you deserve far worse than ridicule. I happen to believe that at least ONE of those dolls you made is based on a real person, and if I know anything at all about Him, He is not thrilled with you right now.
Merry Christmas.
Check them out HERE:
http://www.toysfortots.org/
(and maybe show some donation love while you're at it, eh? Tis the season.)
These people... this program... are good in the plainest, bluntest sense of the word. And anyone who would try to use it for their own ideological agenda, (or worse, for cheap, bad-faith publicity,) anyone who would taint something like this, well... there's a few other words for that.
And, sadly (but predictably,) when it comes to the tainting of the simply good, no force of the modern age is more brazen or more determined than organized religion.
Set faces to stunned:
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/15717485/
"LOS ANGELES - A company that sells Bible-quoting Jesus dolls said it was surprised and disappointed that the Marine Reserves’ Toys for Tots program turned down its offer to donate 4,000 of the talking dolls."
By the way, "Bible-quoting" is a fairly broad term. Details:
"According to one2believe’s Web site, the button-activated, bearded Jesus doll recites Scripture such as “I tell you the truth, no one can see the kingdom of God unless he is born again” and “Love your neighbor as yourself.""
The bolding of the text is mine, for emphasis. Get the problem? This doll doesn't only talk, and doesn't only offer "Bible quotes," it proselytizes for a specific version of a specific religion. Do you think that's an appropriate thing for a non-denominational charity to be distributing? If you do, would you object to Richard Dawkins dropping 4,000 "there is no god"-emblazzoned teddy bears into his nearest Toys For Tots bin? If the local chapter of Hezbollah wants to toss in some "Baby's First Burka" kits, are you cool with that, too? Howard Deans wants to kick-in his brand new mascot "Zowie-Howie The Bush-Whackin' Donkey?" Hm?
Here's the Marines' reasoned response:
"Bill Grein, vice president of Marine Toys for Tots Foundation, in Quantico, Va., said the offer was turned down because Toys for Tots doesn’t know anything about the religious affiliations of the children who receive its gifts.
“We can’t take a chance on sending a talking Jesus doll to a Jewish family or a Muslim family,” Grein said Tuesday. “Kids want a gift for the holiday season that is fun.”
How much y'wanna bet he said this with an unsubtle hint of "you've got to be f*cking kidding me" to his voice at the idea that his organization even has to respond to something like this.
And by the way, I'm not buying for a second "one2believe" had no idea this was going to be an issue. They're a business, which requires a certain amount of competency and common sense to exist. This was likely, in my estimation, a deliberate, knowing act either to use Toys For Tots to send indoctrination materials to children; or maybe even worse... to use them for a sleazy publicity grab.
Think about that second one: This is a religious organization, which means they probably know at least one, oh, I dunno... CHURCH!? Which tend to have their own ties to very powerful and well-organized charities? Ones that could garauntee that these Christian toys reached Christian children (or at least don't have the ethical objections otherwise that Toys For Tots does?) So why go to the trouble of wrapping up 4,000 dolls for a secular charity which common sense would dictate MIGHT have an issue with them?
Could it be that they knew (or at least were pretty certain, this MUST have come up before) that the donation would be refused and did it purely for the media attention on them and their movement that this would innevitably garner? Hm? After all, it makes a catchy headline, even my local news carried the story. And it's garaunteed to gin-up the "They're takin' the Christ outta Christmas!!!" contingent, so don't be surprised if you see this as a "special report" from Bill O'Reilly as part of his asinine "War on Christmas" bitching.
If anyone from "one2believe" is reading this, let me be clear: There's two possibilities, neither of them good. Either you really did have no clue this would be a problem, in which case you are unbelievably dense and deserve to be ridiculed for it...
...OR you knew exactly what you were doing, in which case you tried to use a charitable organization run by the United States Marines to (one way or another) propagandize on behalf of your agenda, in which case you deserve far worse than ridicule. I happen to believe that at least ONE of those dolls you made is based on a real person, and if I know anything at all about Him, He is not thrilled with you right now.
Merry Christmas.
Monday 13 November 2006
Sunday 12 November 2006
Look at this quick! (UPDATED! You too slow!)
...because Marvel/Sony will probably ask everyone to "cease and desist" showing this pretty soon. (Hat-tip to AICN)
What we've got here looks to be a good-quality copy of the "for fans only" ComicCon teaser for "Spider-Man 3." It's rough, with unfinished FX work, animatics and storyboards standing in for some of the bigger moments (which you've now seen in-full in the official new trailer) but it's the one little tag at the very end that's the reason to look: A fast but final-looking shot of VENOM.
(Note: Non-fans looking to remain 100% pre-info free may want to think twice, as this WILL essentially tell you where Topher Grace's character's story seems to be going.)
UPDATE! Told ya that wouldn't be up for long. Hope most of you got to look at it here or elsewhere, at least. For now, here's the screen-grab that matters:
One thing immediately jumps to me: This would indicate that Venom won't be in the actual movie until at or near the very end. Check out the clip, it's pretty evocative of a "Jason-jumping-up-out-of-the-lake" "Boo!" moment; the type that ideally comes right before or after "The End." Me, I think that'd make a pretty kick-ass way to tell everyone to start anticipating "Spider-Man 4," but maybe some might end up feeling gyped? Thoughts?
What we've got here looks to be a good-quality copy of the "for fans only" ComicCon teaser for "Spider-Man 3." It's rough, with unfinished FX work, animatics and storyboards standing in for some of the bigger moments (which you've now seen in-full in the official new trailer) but it's the one little tag at the very end that's the reason to look: A fast but final-looking shot of VENOM.
(Note: Non-fans looking to remain 100% pre-info free may want to think twice, as this WILL essentially tell you where Topher Grace's character's story seems to be going.)
UPDATE! Told ya that wouldn't be up for long. Hope most of you got to look at it here or elsewhere, at least. For now, here's the screen-grab that matters:
One thing immediately jumps to me: This would indicate that Venom won't be in the actual movie until at or near the very end. Check out the clip, it's pretty evocative of a "Jason-jumping-up-out-of-the-lake" "Boo!" moment; the type that ideally comes right before or after "The End." Me, I think that'd make a pretty kick-ass way to tell everyone to start anticipating "Spider-Man 4," but maybe some might end up feeling gyped? Thoughts?
Friday 10 November 2006
NEW Spider-Man 3 trailer!
From iFilm:
And the direct link:
http://www.ifilm.com/presents/spiderman3
So... Color me interested.
First, it's a cracking good trailer. Second, like most good trailers for a film of this type, it's very good at saying two very different sets of things to fans and non-fans.
To non-fans (or, more accurately, those with decidedly less than Official Hanbook of The Marvel Universe-level familiarity with the pre-movies history of the franchise) it says: "Yup, Spider-Man is back! The story continues! Check out our big new villian, he's made of SAND! And the cool new black costume is made of some kinda creepy living goo, betcha' wanna know what THAT'S about! Coming Soon!"
To fans, on the other hand, it's designed primarily to bring up talking points and questions about canonical fidelity, the better to keep it at or near the forefront of the Film Geek collective experience until the next big trailer and/or casting announcement.
In this case, the main "WTF!??"-generating element (NOT a spoiler cuz it's in the trailer) is the apparent revelation of what is at least part of the film's main storyline: Sandman (Thomas Hayden Church) is apparently responsible for the murder of Uncle Ben Parker back in movie #1 (not sure how that works yet... the car-thief guy had an accomplice?)
Make no mistake, letting this point out early is probably very deliberate: The "bad guy just happens to have had hand in heroes formative-tragedy" bit was a groaner waaaay back in the 1989 "Batman" and has remained a sore-spot for fans ever since (see: "Daredevil.") So getting it out of the way now is a preemptive move. Also, going back to the non-fans, it allows them to set up the idea of Sandman as the film's major source of evil... and in doing so, give fans a peek at what might shape up to be an interest plot-point involving the mysterious Black Costume.
Fans, y'see, are pre-aware that the Black Costume is not only alive, it's a bad thing and the eventual heralding of super-baddie Venom (aka "the BAD Spider-Man.") They also know that, in most tellings of this story, the Black Costume (aka "Symbiote-Suit") causes trouble by driving Peter Parker toward his darker, nastier impulses. If you watch the trailer close, it's clear that Sandman isn't exactly a master-of-evil... he's a thug, scared witless and out of his league, and doesn't even seem to have much enjoyment over his newfound super-powers.
Translation: This will be a big part of the "inner conflict" being represented by the classic-suit vs. black-suit outer conflict; Spidey fighting the urge to revenge-murder Sandman and instead do the right thing and bring him to proper justice.
I like it.
And the direct link:
http://www.ifilm.com/presents/spiderman3
So... Color me interested.
First, it's a cracking good trailer. Second, like most good trailers for a film of this type, it's very good at saying two very different sets of things to fans and non-fans.
To non-fans (or, more accurately, those with decidedly less than Official Hanbook of The Marvel Universe-level familiarity with the pre-movies history of the franchise) it says: "Yup, Spider-Man is back! The story continues! Check out our big new villian, he's made of SAND! And the cool new black costume is made of some kinda creepy living goo, betcha' wanna know what THAT'S about! Coming Soon!"
To fans, on the other hand, it's designed primarily to bring up talking points and questions about canonical fidelity, the better to keep it at or near the forefront of the Film Geek collective experience until the next big trailer and/or casting announcement.
In this case, the main "WTF!??"-generating element (NOT a spoiler cuz it's in the trailer) is the apparent revelation of what is at least part of the film's main storyline: Sandman (Thomas Hayden Church) is apparently responsible for the murder of Uncle Ben Parker back in movie #1 (not sure how that works yet... the car-thief guy had an accomplice?)
Make no mistake, letting this point out early is probably very deliberate: The "bad guy just happens to have had hand in heroes formative-tragedy" bit was a groaner waaaay back in the 1989 "Batman" and has remained a sore-spot for fans ever since (see: "Daredevil.") So getting it out of the way now is a preemptive move. Also, going back to the non-fans, it allows them to set up the idea of Sandman as the film's major source of evil... and in doing so, give fans a peek at what might shape up to be an interest plot-point involving the mysterious Black Costume.
Fans, y'see, are pre-aware that the Black Costume is not only alive, it's a bad thing and the eventual heralding of super-baddie Venom (aka "the BAD Spider-Man.") They also know that, in most tellings of this story, the Black Costume (aka "Symbiote-Suit") causes trouble by driving Peter Parker toward his darker, nastier impulses. If you watch the trailer close, it's clear that Sandman isn't exactly a master-of-evil... he's a thug, scared witless and out of his league, and doesn't even seem to have much enjoyment over his newfound super-powers.
Translation: This will be a big part of the "inner conflict" being represented by the classic-suit vs. black-suit outer conflict; Spidey fighting the urge to revenge-murder Sandman and instead do the right thing and bring him to proper justice.
I like it.
Monday 6 November 2006
Affleck "humiliated" by last successful role?
From IGN:
http://movies.ign.com/articles/743/743897p1.html
"In a report that has been picked up by various European news outlets, Affleck told the press at the London premiere of his new film Hollywoodland, "By playing a superhero in Daredevil, I have inoculated myself from ever playing another superhero. ... Wearing a costume was a source of humiliation for me and something I wouldn't want to do again soon." "
It's helpful to remember that, in context, Affleck is offering these thoughts in relation to his most-recent boxoffice dud, "Hollywoodland," in which he plays doomed TV "Superman" George Reeves. However, myself and IGN can't be the only ones who find it kind of, well... "huh?" that Affleck is this regretful over appearing in a not-great superhero flick when he's done so much worse elsewhere. "Gigli?" "Survivng Christmas?" "Jersey Girl?" "Paycheck?" Let's get real here: Wearing Daredevil's horns didn't kill this man's career, wearing Jennifer Lopez's leash did.
Part of this goes to (at least partially) illuminating just why "Hollywoodland" eventually didn't work despite decent-enough acting from all involved. The film failed, ultimately, to address the central irony of Reeves' tragedy: The irony that his Superman performance, even if he never took it very seriously... his embodiment of the icon so captivated the audience that it eventually consumed him. It approached the material with the tired, old-guard, "serious actors beware!!!" elitist skew that Reeves was degraded by "Superman's" silliness, when it now strikes me that he was more-accurately eclipsed by "Superman's" pop-culture godhood.
Even taking Affleck at his word here, it's likely that the specific dwelling on "Daredevil" as a source of scorn is very much intentional: The same old-guard that still makes the rules on the "high-art/low-art" division also march in lockstep to the "Hollywoodland" vision of such material. Every scrap of dwindling hope they can get that the Geek Age of Cinema isn't here to stay is ambrosia to them, and this sort of quip coming from an actor is usually designed to appeal to them so that "______ is back to making real films again!" becomes part of the reviews.
http://movies.ign.com/articles/743/743897p1.html
"In a report that has been picked up by various European news outlets, Affleck told the press at the London premiere of his new film Hollywoodland, "By playing a superhero in Daredevil, I have inoculated myself from ever playing another superhero. ... Wearing a costume was a source of humiliation for me and something I wouldn't want to do again soon." "
It's helpful to remember that, in context, Affleck is offering these thoughts in relation to his most-recent boxoffice dud, "Hollywoodland," in which he plays doomed TV "Superman" George Reeves. However, myself and IGN can't be the only ones who find it kind of, well... "huh?" that Affleck is this regretful over appearing in a not-great superhero flick when he's done so much worse elsewhere. "Gigli?" "Survivng Christmas?" "Jersey Girl?" "Paycheck?" Let's get real here: Wearing Daredevil's horns didn't kill this man's career, wearing Jennifer Lopez's leash did.
Part of this goes to (at least partially) illuminating just why "Hollywoodland" eventually didn't work despite decent-enough acting from all involved. The film failed, ultimately, to address the central irony of Reeves' tragedy: The irony that his Superman performance, even if he never took it very seriously... his embodiment of the icon so captivated the audience that it eventually consumed him. It approached the material with the tired, old-guard, "serious actors beware!!!" elitist skew that Reeves was degraded by "Superman's" silliness, when it now strikes me that he was more-accurately eclipsed by "Superman's" pop-culture godhood.
Even taking Affleck at his word here, it's likely that the specific dwelling on "Daredevil" as a source of scorn is very much intentional: The same old-guard that still makes the rules on the "high-art/low-art" division also march in lockstep to the "Hollywoodland" vision of such material. Every scrap of dwindling hope they can get that the Geek Age of Cinema isn't here to stay is ambrosia to them, and this sort of quip coming from an actor is usually designed to appeal to them so that "______ is back to making real films again!" becomes part of the reviews.
Sunday 5 November 2006
REVIE: Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Khazakstan
Very nice.
Sacha Baron Cohen, aka "Ali G," "Borat Sagdiyev" and most-recently the gay French Nascar rival in "Taladega Nights," is undisputedly one of the most talented comedians on the planet right now. And with "Borat," a feature film mockumentary expanding on a character from his "Da Ali G Show," he may eventually have to add to his credits having provided perhaps the most profoundly important foriegn influence over American comedy since "SCTV." This is the funniest movie of the year.
The premise is simple: Cohen inhabits the persona of Borat, a popular TV reporter from the impoverished Central Asian nation of Khazakstan, who has been sent to America to film a documentary about U.S. culture in order that his countrymen may learn from it. But here's the gag: Cohen-as-Borat films his own encounters with real people who are not in on the joke. As far as the various politicians, newspeople, celebrities, business owners and passers-by know, the man they are speaking to really is a strange little man from a country they've never heard of.
And so we have it: Real-world reactions to a character who isn't real, but seems to be. And what a character he is, an all-in-one summation of every caricature ever drawn about wacky Old World tourists; at once a naively innocent yokel (yes, thats a live rooster in his luggage) and a boorish, misogynist anti-semite (Cohen is Jewish.)
He's designed, it seems, to bring out the silliest in people regardless of their culture or ideology. His accent and overly-affectionate greetings draw threats and shock from "conservatives," but he mines the best comedy gold in what amounts to an all-out assault on "progressive" cultural relativism: Without the lingering spectre of Political Correctness, "Borat" wouldn't work. It's the dogged determination of "sophisticated" Americans and Euros to excuse the ridiculous (and often outright offensive) words and actions of certain groups and/or people because "well, that's their culture, and we have to respect those differences and be open minded" that makes their reaction to Borat so damn hillarious.
For example, it's funny enough when Borat casually asks a gun salesman which weapon would be best to kill a Jew (Jews, we are shown, are regarded as demonic creatures of myth in Borat's Khazakstan) but the real hilarity is watching the salesman continue to grimmace his way through the sale, eventually reccomending a 9mm. If he followed his apparent gut instinct and simply told Borat to get the hell out of his store, it wouldn't be nearly as funny. (Ali G worked a similar duality, mocking both the absurdities of African American hip-hop culture AND the absurdities of white British youth trying to emulate it.)
It must be said, though, that the film get's it's most prolonged laugh for one of it's scripted moments: A scene of bewildering gross-out physical comedy as Borat engages in an impromptu nude fistfight/wrestling-match across a fancy hotel with his surly, overweight producer. The scene is funny enough to draw tears, which have the added advantage of obscuring some (but not all) of what has to be the most unpleasant male nudity put on film in a long time. Other scenes, like the running subplot about Borat's quest to find Pamela Anderson or a surreal moment involving the live bear that Borat is keeping in his ice cream truck transportation, prove that Cohen and company are as adept at scripted comedy as they are at improvised lunacy.
The comedy is so inspired that it's generating humor without even trying: Khazakstan, the real Khazakstan, is so enraged by the film (the Khazakstan Borat comes from is a fictionalized place defined by poverty, incest, prostitution and a festival called "The Running of The Jew," and was filmmed in Romania) and the prospect that people might mistake Mr. Sagdiyev for a real Khazak that they've allocated government funds to produce a historical epic to "refute" Borat, and last month even sent their ambassador to the White House in order to conference on improving U.S./Khazak relations in the wake of the film. Guess who crashed the party, or rather stood outside the gates and drew all the media attention.
Amazingly, the film is only playing in 800 theaters... but at the time of this writing the boxoffice numbers are coming in showing that "Borat" defied all analysts predictions and out-performed the assumed juggernaut "Santa Clause 3." Come Monday morning, all of Hollywood will be abuzz about one thing: A low-budget "niche" spoof about a man with a fake accent asking bystander's stupid questions is now the number one movie in America. There will be reverberations, a ripple effect, maybe a Best Actor nomination for Cohen (though I betcha Borat will be a presenter either way, just wait) etc. Comedy filmmaking just got it's biggest refreshment in years.
Great success!
FINAL RATING: 9/10
Sacha Baron Cohen, aka "Ali G," "Borat Sagdiyev" and most-recently the gay French Nascar rival in "Taladega Nights," is undisputedly one of the most talented comedians on the planet right now. And with "Borat," a feature film mockumentary expanding on a character from his "Da Ali G Show," he may eventually have to add to his credits having provided perhaps the most profoundly important foriegn influence over American comedy since "SCTV." This is the funniest movie of the year.
The premise is simple: Cohen inhabits the persona of Borat, a popular TV reporter from the impoverished Central Asian nation of Khazakstan, who has been sent to America to film a documentary about U.S. culture in order that his countrymen may learn from it. But here's the gag: Cohen-as-Borat films his own encounters with real people who are not in on the joke. As far as the various politicians, newspeople, celebrities, business owners and passers-by know, the man they are speaking to really is a strange little man from a country they've never heard of.
And so we have it: Real-world reactions to a character who isn't real, but seems to be. And what a character he is, an all-in-one summation of every caricature ever drawn about wacky Old World tourists; at once a naively innocent yokel (yes, thats a live rooster in his luggage) and a boorish, misogynist anti-semite (Cohen is Jewish.)
He's designed, it seems, to bring out the silliest in people regardless of their culture or ideology. His accent and overly-affectionate greetings draw threats and shock from "conservatives," but he mines the best comedy gold in what amounts to an all-out assault on "progressive" cultural relativism: Without the lingering spectre of Political Correctness, "Borat" wouldn't work. It's the dogged determination of "sophisticated" Americans and Euros to excuse the ridiculous (and often outright offensive) words and actions of certain groups and/or people because "well, that's their culture, and we have to respect those differences and be open minded" that makes their reaction to Borat so damn hillarious.
For example, it's funny enough when Borat casually asks a gun salesman which weapon would be best to kill a Jew (Jews, we are shown, are regarded as demonic creatures of myth in Borat's Khazakstan) but the real hilarity is watching the salesman continue to grimmace his way through the sale, eventually reccomending a 9mm. If he followed his apparent gut instinct and simply told Borat to get the hell out of his store, it wouldn't be nearly as funny. (Ali G worked a similar duality, mocking both the absurdities of African American hip-hop culture AND the absurdities of white British youth trying to emulate it.)
It must be said, though, that the film get's it's most prolonged laugh for one of it's scripted moments: A scene of bewildering gross-out physical comedy as Borat engages in an impromptu nude fistfight/wrestling-match across a fancy hotel with his surly, overweight producer. The scene is funny enough to draw tears, which have the added advantage of obscuring some (but not all) of what has to be the most unpleasant male nudity put on film in a long time. Other scenes, like the running subplot about Borat's quest to find Pamela Anderson or a surreal moment involving the live bear that Borat is keeping in his ice cream truck transportation, prove that Cohen and company are as adept at scripted comedy as they are at improvised lunacy.
The comedy is so inspired that it's generating humor without even trying: Khazakstan, the real Khazakstan, is so enraged by the film (the Khazakstan Borat comes from is a fictionalized place defined by poverty, incest, prostitution and a festival called "The Running of The Jew," and was filmmed in Romania) and the prospect that people might mistake Mr. Sagdiyev for a real Khazak that they've allocated government funds to produce a historical epic to "refute" Borat, and last month even sent their ambassador to the White House in order to conference on improving U.S./Khazak relations in the wake of the film. Guess who crashed the party, or rather stood outside the gates and drew all the media attention.
Amazingly, the film is only playing in 800 theaters... but at the time of this writing the boxoffice numbers are coming in showing that "Borat" defied all analysts predictions and out-performed the assumed juggernaut "Santa Clause 3." Come Monday morning, all of Hollywood will be abuzz about one thing: A low-budget "niche" spoof about a man with a fake accent asking bystander's stupid questions is now the number one movie in America. There will be reverberations, a ripple effect, maybe a Best Actor nomination for Cohen (though I betcha Borat will be a presenter either way, just wait) etc. Comedy filmmaking just got it's biggest refreshment in years.
Great success!
FINAL RATING: 9/10
REVIEW: Flushed Away
This newest feature from the venerable Aardman animation house isn't quite one for the ages like most of their previous efforts, but that doesn't mean it's not great fun in it's own right. A bit slight, yes, but it finds a good balance of fun somewhere between "Chicken Run's" earnest pluck and "Wallace & Gromit's" dry mock-sophistication and settles into it nicely.
The biggest change of note to Aardman fans (or animation buffs in general) is that the famously stop-motion devoted company has opted to dip it's toe into the CGI pool for this one, apparently a concession to the sheer difficulty of creating a film which takes place almost-entirely in, on or around moving water. Stylistically, though, it's obvious that great pains have been taken to ensure that the character models and movements replicate the studio's signature style. Another welcome mainstay, more pronounced than even in "Wallace," is Aardman's unabashed affection for the cultural quirks of their native Britain.
Hugh Jackman (late of "The Prestige" and, as the film takes great joy in reminding us, "X-Men,") dons his broadway-honed "rakish fop" hat as the voice of Roddy St. James, the pampered pet rat of a wealthy British family (are rats more popular as pets in England?) Roddy spends his life in, literally, a gilded cage; but when left alone leads a rich fantasy-life amid toys and dolls which seems almost enough to make him forget that he is, well, alone. One home-invasion by boorish sewer rat Sid (Andy "Gollum" Serkis, who just got done giving Jackman a hard time in "The Prestige,") and botched ejection attempt later, though, and Roddy is hurtling down the toilet drain and into the London sewer system, here imagine as a bustling urban metropolis of cockney, working-class rodents.
So, yes, we're in "African Queen"/"Romancing the Stone"/"Temple of Doom"/pampered-city-slicker-forced-into-real-world-jungle/ghetto territory once again, though this time with an amusing gender-switch: Roddy as the archetypal Brit aristocrat and tomboyish salvage boat captain Rita (Kate Winslet) as his only hope of navigating the way home, a way that becomes blocked both by Roddy's own naivete and the larger danger of The Toad, (Sir Ian McKellan, aka "Magneto," heh!,) the local gangster who's got a bizzare fetish for all things Royal Family, a beef with Rita and a genocidal scheme in mind for his rodent "inferiors."
Okay, the plot is formula. You know more-or-less how this is going to play out. You know that Roddy will fall instantly in-love with Rita after watching her perform some great feat of daring, that he'll come to learn the value of friendship, etc. You can even likely guess the how/why/when of Rita coming around on him, and maybe even what all the random references to World Cup Soccer are building to. But it's the getting-there that's fun.
The Aardman wit is as sharp as ever, but what works best here is the excellent "physical" comedy of the characters. Deliriously-funny bits emerge from such odd places as Roddy attempting a song and dance routine for an elderly woman who mistakes him for Tom Jones, or a showstopping sequence involving a frog mime and a camera-phone that must be seen to be believed. Even what seem like tired gags turn out to be gems, like Jean Reno's supporting turn as Toad's hitman cousin Le Frog, a running gag which seems to incorporate every single worn-out joke about the French but somehow makes them funny again; and even the obligatory sequence of crotch-hit gags come off fresh and funny.
I had fun with this, very-much reccomended.
FINAL RATING: 7/10
The biggest change of note to Aardman fans (or animation buffs in general) is that the famously stop-motion devoted company has opted to dip it's toe into the CGI pool for this one, apparently a concession to the sheer difficulty of creating a film which takes place almost-entirely in, on or around moving water. Stylistically, though, it's obvious that great pains have been taken to ensure that the character models and movements replicate the studio's signature style. Another welcome mainstay, more pronounced than even in "Wallace," is Aardman's unabashed affection for the cultural quirks of their native Britain.
Hugh Jackman (late of "The Prestige" and, as the film takes great joy in reminding us, "X-Men,") dons his broadway-honed "rakish fop" hat as the voice of Roddy St. James, the pampered pet rat of a wealthy British family (are rats more popular as pets in England?) Roddy spends his life in, literally, a gilded cage; but when left alone leads a rich fantasy-life amid toys and dolls which seems almost enough to make him forget that he is, well, alone. One home-invasion by boorish sewer rat Sid (Andy "Gollum" Serkis, who just got done giving Jackman a hard time in "The Prestige,") and botched ejection attempt later, though, and Roddy is hurtling down the toilet drain and into the London sewer system, here imagine as a bustling urban metropolis of cockney, working-class rodents.
So, yes, we're in "African Queen"/"Romancing the Stone"/"Temple of Doom"/pampered-city-slicker-forced-into-real-world-jungle/ghetto territory once again, though this time with an amusing gender-switch: Roddy as the archetypal Brit aristocrat and tomboyish salvage boat captain Rita (Kate Winslet) as his only hope of navigating the way home, a way that becomes blocked both by Roddy's own naivete and the larger danger of The Toad, (Sir Ian McKellan, aka "Magneto," heh!,) the local gangster who's got a bizzare fetish for all things Royal Family, a beef with Rita and a genocidal scheme in mind for his rodent "inferiors."
Okay, the plot is formula. You know more-or-less how this is going to play out. You know that Roddy will fall instantly in-love with Rita after watching her perform some great feat of daring, that he'll come to learn the value of friendship, etc. You can even likely guess the how/why/when of Rita coming around on him, and maybe even what all the random references to World Cup Soccer are building to. But it's the getting-there that's fun.
The Aardman wit is as sharp as ever, but what works best here is the excellent "physical" comedy of the characters. Deliriously-funny bits emerge from such odd places as Roddy attempting a song and dance routine for an elderly woman who mistakes him for Tom Jones, or a showstopping sequence involving a frog mime and a camera-phone that must be seen to be believed. Even what seem like tired gags turn out to be gems, like Jean Reno's supporting turn as Toad's hitman cousin Le Frog, a running gag which seems to incorporate every single worn-out joke about the French but somehow makes them funny again; and even the obligatory sequence of crotch-hit gags come off fresh and funny.
I had fun with this, very-much reccomended.
FINAL RATING: 7/10
Thursday 2 November 2006
Monday 30 October 2006
REVIEW: Running With Scissors
The worst thing about child abuse, aside from the abuse itself, is that it's one of those crimes that tends to create a cycle: Abuse victims will often group up with damaged psyches which will lead them to commit abuse against others, and so-on and so-fourth, essentially just bringing more and more abuse into the world. Augusten Burroughs, for example, endured an excruciatingly abusive childhood which he then turned into a bestselling memoir called "Running With Scissors," which has now been made into a film of the same name, which is right now abusing the HELL out of anyone who makes the mistake of seeing one of this year's crappiest movies.
Plotwise, the story plays out like nothing so much as some kind of campy PSA warning against the dangers of permissive parenting. Augusten is being raised by an exasperated alcoholic father (Alec Baldwin) and a psychotic mother (Annette Benning.) Mom is the bigger of the two problems, a clearly unbalanced lunatic obsessed with Anne Sexton who fancies herself a world-class poetess in the making, under the constant delusion that her husband, men in general, society, the world etc. are conspiring to "oppress her creativity." Nuttiness leads to divorce, which leads to psychotropic drugs, which leads (evnetually) to Augusten being shipped off via adoption to mom's gonzo psychiatrist Dr. Finch (Brian Cox) and his eccentric (as in "Addams Family" level) family.
I'm at a loss to explain how something this bad get's made. It's not as though I'm naive enough to expect great or even decent films to regularly be made from poor-me "recovery" memoirs, the whole shebang reaks of Starbucks and Oprah before you even know what exactly it is, after all. But the sheer level of misfire on display here is staggering. How does this happen? Was it directed by various apes? Did the writers get to the part where Augusten comes out as gay and decide that meant they should play the whole thing as Jon Waters-wannabe camp?
The casting of the otherwise talented Joseph Cross as Burroughs is a disaster. He's supposed to be playing this character as a 13 year-old, but so clearly resembles an adult as to completely neuter what ought to be part of the story's central "ick"-factor, Augusten's obsessive relationship with a pederast (Joseph Feinnes, channeling Christopher Lambert for some reason.) His performance otherwise is decent, but he's stuck as the "lead" in a film that's more concerned with it's cast of eccentrics than with it's actual star.
Ironically, the film forgoes most of it's focus on Augusten to focus on his mother, Deidre. Ironic because the film SEEMS to understand that this psychopath's delusions of stardom are what destroyed her and those around her, but dives headlong into turning her into the main feature of the film. Yes, Mrs. Benning, we get it. You play self-obsessed bitches better than anyone in Hollywood. Good for you. Now, let's try doing it in a good movie.
There is one scene in the film that serves to define the entire experience: That would be the moment where Dr. Finch calls the family into the bathroom to look at his morning bowel movement, literally insisting that this shit MEANS something!
No, it doesn't.
FINAL RATING: 1/10
Plotwise, the story plays out like nothing so much as some kind of campy PSA warning against the dangers of permissive parenting. Augusten is being raised by an exasperated alcoholic father (Alec Baldwin) and a psychotic mother (Annette Benning.) Mom is the bigger of the two problems, a clearly unbalanced lunatic obsessed with Anne Sexton who fancies herself a world-class poetess in the making, under the constant delusion that her husband, men in general, society, the world etc. are conspiring to "oppress her creativity." Nuttiness leads to divorce, which leads to psychotropic drugs, which leads (evnetually) to Augusten being shipped off via adoption to mom's gonzo psychiatrist Dr. Finch (Brian Cox) and his eccentric (as in "Addams Family" level) family.
I'm at a loss to explain how something this bad get's made. It's not as though I'm naive enough to expect great or even decent films to regularly be made from poor-me "recovery" memoirs, the whole shebang reaks of Starbucks and Oprah before you even know what exactly it is, after all. But the sheer level of misfire on display here is staggering. How does this happen? Was it directed by various apes? Did the writers get to the part where Augusten comes out as gay and decide that meant they should play the whole thing as Jon Waters-wannabe camp?
The casting of the otherwise talented Joseph Cross as Burroughs is a disaster. He's supposed to be playing this character as a 13 year-old, but so clearly resembles an adult as to completely neuter what ought to be part of the story's central "ick"-factor, Augusten's obsessive relationship with a pederast (Joseph Feinnes, channeling Christopher Lambert for some reason.) His performance otherwise is decent, but he's stuck as the "lead" in a film that's more concerned with it's cast of eccentrics than with it's actual star.
Ironically, the film forgoes most of it's focus on Augusten to focus on his mother, Deidre. Ironic because the film SEEMS to understand that this psychopath's delusions of stardom are what destroyed her and those around her, but dives headlong into turning her into the main feature of the film. Yes, Mrs. Benning, we get it. You play self-obsessed bitches better than anyone in Hollywood. Good for you. Now, let's try doing it in a good movie.
There is one scene in the film that serves to define the entire experience: That would be the moment where Dr. Finch calls the family into the bathroom to look at his morning bowel movement, literally insisting that this shit MEANS something!
No, it doesn't.
FINAL RATING: 1/10
Sunday 29 October 2006
REVIEW: Saw III
Note: This review does not spoil the central surprises of "Saw III." It does, however, involve discussion of the central surprises of "Saw" and "Saw II."
The "Saw" movies, now totalling three films, are strangely compelling "endurance-horror" gorefests which thus far have all shared myriad shortcomings (some questionable acting, noticeably-constrained budgets) and have all largely overcome them through visual invention, narrative cleverness and a great central figure in "Jigsaw," who's shaped up to be at least the most welcome (serious) addition to the pantheon of horror icons in a decade or more.
The pitch: Jigsaw is an especially diabolical serial killer... who technically hasn't "killed anyone." He likes to place his victims into lethal traps and provide for them a fairly simple escape... with a catch: The escape will involve the endurance of horrifying physical and/or psychological torture. See, Jigsaw fancies himself a kind of extreme life-coach. His victims are people whom, in his view, are wasting their lives; and his "tests" are designed to FORCE them to appreciate the little things... like, say, being able to draw another breath.
"Saw" eventually revealed Jigsaw to be a frail cancer patient (Tobin Bell) who's actions are motivated by his apparent disgust with those "wasting" the life he's soon to lose. "Saw II" revealed a sidekick in the person of Amanda (Shawnee Smith) a former drug addict and rare survivor of a Jigsaw test who's taken his message to heart. "Saw III" opens with the tying up of loose ends (read: survivors) from the previous sequel, and establishes a troubling new mystery: Someone is setting up Jigsaw-style traps with a new twist: The escapes are phony, and death is garaunteed.
The real Jigsaw, meanwhile, is not long for the world but, regardless, has set up his torture chambers for one more big game. His subject this round is Jeff, (Angus MacFayden,) a man losing his grip on family and reality due to the hit-and-run death of his son. The test: to present Jeff with the various players responsible for his boy's death, all locked up in brand-spanking-new Jigsaw deathtraps, and give him the chance to either free them or watch them die. Jigsaw has his usual cryptic reasons for wanting to see how this one turns out, and to that end he's kidnapped a trouble female surgeon to keep him alive to the end... or else.
Everything that worked in the previous installments works, everything that didn't still doesn't. On the plus-side, the structure is still wickedly ingenious, the surprises are still nasty and the pace still cooks. On the down-side, the threshold of disbelief is still stretched pretty thin, and some of the acting is still pretty questionable. The latter isn't a problem for Bell, an ever-reliable character actor who's turned Jigsaw into a genuinely fascinating movie-psycho (and who will richly deserve the better roles he'll be belatedly offered now that this franchise has raised his profile.)
The film puts itself into a corner with the Jeff character. Problematically, he's never believably insane enough for there to be any tension as to whether or not he's going to let anyone die... but if he WERE it'd be harder to root for him to survive. It's not a deal-breaker, but it doesn't help. Fortunately, the side-stories involving Jigsaw's makeshift medical care (and Amanda's growing mental breakdown) are more interesting and provide this installment's best gore: Onscreen power-tool brain surgery. Nice.
This can only go on so far, but for now the franchise remains worthy Halloween fare. Recommended.
FINAL RATING: 7/10
The "Saw" movies, now totalling three films, are strangely compelling "endurance-horror" gorefests which thus far have all shared myriad shortcomings (some questionable acting, noticeably-constrained budgets) and have all largely overcome them through visual invention, narrative cleverness and a great central figure in "Jigsaw," who's shaped up to be at least the most welcome (serious) addition to the pantheon of horror icons in a decade or more.
The pitch: Jigsaw is an especially diabolical serial killer... who technically hasn't "killed anyone." He likes to place his victims into lethal traps and provide for them a fairly simple escape... with a catch: The escape will involve the endurance of horrifying physical and/or psychological torture. See, Jigsaw fancies himself a kind of extreme life-coach. His victims are people whom, in his view, are wasting their lives; and his "tests" are designed to FORCE them to appreciate the little things... like, say, being able to draw another breath.
"Saw" eventually revealed Jigsaw to be a frail cancer patient (Tobin Bell) who's actions are motivated by his apparent disgust with those "wasting" the life he's soon to lose. "Saw II" revealed a sidekick in the person of Amanda (Shawnee Smith) a former drug addict and rare survivor of a Jigsaw test who's taken his message to heart. "Saw III" opens with the tying up of loose ends (read: survivors) from the previous sequel, and establishes a troubling new mystery: Someone is setting up Jigsaw-style traps with a new twist: The escapes are phony, and death is garaunteed.
The real Jigsaw, meanwhile, is not long for the world but, regardless, has set up his torture chambers for one more big game. His subject this round is Jeff, (Angus MacFayden,) a man losing his grip on family and reality due to the hit-and-run death of his son. The test: to present Jeff with the various players responsible for his boy's death, all locked up in brand-spanking-new Jigsaw deathtraps, and give him the chance to either free them or watch them die. Jigsaw has his usual cryptic reasons for wanting to see how this one turns out, and to that end he's kidnapped a trouble female surgeon to keep him alive to the end... or else.
Everything that worked in the previous installments works, everything that didn't still doesn't. On the plus-side, the structure is still wickedly ingenious, the surprises are still nasty and the pace still cooks. On the down-side, the threshold of disbelief is still stretched pretty thin, and some of the acting is still pretty questionable. The latter isn't a problem for Bell, an ever-reliable character actor who's turned Jigsaw into a genuinely fascinating movie-psycho (and who will richly deserve the better roles he'll be belatedly offered now that this franchise has raised his profile.)
The film puts itself into a corner with the Jeff character. Problematically, he's never believably insane enough for there to be any tension as to whether or not he's going to let anyone die... but if he WERE it'd be harder to root for him to survive. It's not a deal-breaker, but it doesn't help. Fortunately, the side-stories involving Jigsaw's makeshift medical care (and Amanda's growing mental breakdown) are more interesting and provide this installment's best gore: Onscreen power-tool brain surgery. Nice.
This can only go on so far, but for now the franchise remains worthy Halloween fare. Recommended.
FINAL RATING: 7/10
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